A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  Moaning, she drew her knees up on the seat and straddled him, rocking against his body, and she threw her head back to receive the feverish kisses he rained down her throat. Flying fingers knocked his hat to the floor, and she gripped his hair. He shoved at the tangle of skirts, cloak and robe, and twisted until she lay beneath him and he could run his hand along the curve of her leg, seeking that erotic bare strip of pale skin above her stocking.

  Blinded by passion, his mind reeling with the dark intoxication of frantic, demanding kisses, he didn’t realize the carriage had halted until a persistent knocking penetrated their gasps and small urgent moans of pleasure.

  They froze and stared into each other’s eyes. Lily’s hat was knocked askew and several long gleaming curls had come unbound and dropped near the half-opened bodice of her gown. Her lips were swollen and her gaze disoriented.

  “What?” he shouted, his gaze locked to hers. It had to be Morely. Curse the man. His timing could not have been worse, damn him.

  Morely cleared his throat, the sound carrying in the quiet cold night. “Ah, we’re home, sir.”

  Lily’s eyes widened and a hand flew to her lips. A twinkle appeared in her gaze, and then she laughed, pushing him to the floor between the seats.

  He pulled himself onto the facing seat and frowned down. His shirt was open to the waist. God only knew where the studs were. His gloves had vanished along with Lily’s in the pile between the seats that contained the lap robe, her cloak, his hat, gloves, and studs, hairpins, and one of her stockings. Falling back on the seat, he watched Lily hastily attempting to restore order to her appearance.

  Then he, too, laughed and shook his head at the ludicrous picture they presented, and he wondered how much Morely had overheard before the knocking at the carriage door had intruded on their absorption in each other.

  “A moment, if you please,” he said, leaning out the window. Morely gazed at him without expression, then walked away in the direction of the horses. Cranston’s silhouette hovered behind the glass framing the front door.

  “What on earth will Cranston think when he sees us?” Lily murmured, shoving hair up beneath her hat. “This isn’t going to work, I’m missing too many hairpins. Lord, I know I was wearing gloves when I left the house.”

  He buttoned his waistcoat, then found her cloak and her stocking, which she shoved into a cloak pocket. His hat was near the bottom of the pile and crushed beyond redemption.

  “How do I look?” she asked, leaning into the light and gazing at him with twinkling eyes and a laugh on her swollen mouth.

  “Like a brazen hussy who’s been doing what you’ve been doing,” he said, grinning. “How do I look?”

  She inspected his open shirt and crushed hat and returned his grin. “Like a bounder who’s been doing what you’ve been doing.” After leaning over to slide on her shoe, she straightened her shoulders and drew a breath. “Well. This is the best we can manage.” A long curl of gold sagged then tumbled down her back. “Let’s go scandalize Cranston.”

  Cranston opened the door as they climbed the porch steps. His eyebrows soared; otherwise, he did not betray any surprise or curiosity regarding their disheveled appearance.

  “Mr. Kazinski is in the family parlor, sir.”

  Lily removed her hand from Quinn’s arm. “Damn.” When Cranston’s eyes widened, she made a fluttery gesture, then hurried toward the staircase, waving at Quinn to follow. “Please inform Mr. Kazinski that we’ll join him after we’ve freshened up.”

  Laughing, his eyes on her bottom, Quinn followed her upstairs.

  * * *

  Throughout dinner they discussed her first at-home, and Lily watched Paul relax as he understood that the afternoon had gone well. Satisfaction and triumph gleamed in his dark eyes, and well it should. She understood that she was his creation, knew her success was directly due to his instruction and coaching.

  “Don’t let it go to your head, my dear,” he said over coffee in the family parlor. “If you become too confident, you’re sure to err and revert to old bad habits.” A frown pointedly directed her attention to the fact that she had kicked off her slippers and sat sprawled in an unladylike posture, her bare feet crossed on a velvet ottoman.

  As if this reprimand were not enough to remind her that she was not a lady born and bred, he smiled pleasantly, and added, “Will you favor us with a song, Miriam?”

  She rolled her eyes toward the piano. “Not tonight. It’s been a long and exciting day.” She flicked a hooded glance at Quinn. “I’m too tired to play.” Plus, she didn’t know how.

  But Paul had painted an image in her mind. Miriam sitting gracefully at the piano, playing and singing while the gentlemen enjoyed their coffee. Miriam was cultured; Lily was not.

  Her eyes narrowed speculatively as she wondered who was the real target of Paul’s reminder? Herself? Or Quinn?

  She hadn’t forgotten that Paul believed she was an adventuress seeking to ensnare Quinn with her body. Quinn hadn’t forgotten either. Both had made a point to be cool and distant to each other during dinner. A performance within a performance for Paul’s benefit.

  As the conversation shifted to politics, she sipped her coffee and stole quick peeks at Quinn. He’d changed his shirt and combed his hair back, revealing strands of grey near his temples. If she’d had to make a choice, she would have said she preferred his cowboy attire, as it made him more accessible. Business and formal attire accentuated the authority and power in his features. However he dressed, her heartbeat accelerated when she gazed at him.

  They would become lovers.

  Accepting the inevitability sent a tremor thrilling down her spine, and her cheeks flushed. Her coffee cup rattled slightly between trembling fingers as she set it on the marble-topped table beside her chair.

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she said, standing. “I believe I’ll retire early and prepare for bed.”

  “How risqué, Miriam, to mention the word bed,” Paul said, also rising to his feet. The instructions and reminders continued.

  Quinn relaxed near the fireplace, his arm on the mantel. A flash of heat burned in his eyes before he controlled his expression. “Good night, darling. Sleep well.”

  “I’m afraid I’m too excited by the day’s events to sleep immediately,” she said, trying not to smile.

  “Shall I have something hot sent to your room?” Quinn inquired. “Milk? Something else?”

  “Perhaps something else.” She let her gaze travel down his body. “But not immediately.” She turned her smile to Paul. “I need time to prepare myself for, ah, sleeping.”

  Instincts flaring, Paul looked back and forth between them, and his lips thinned. His habitual frown appeared as if he were trying to decide if meanings flowed beneath meanings.

  Trying not to laugh, Lily wiggled her fingers at him, then picked up her shoes and left the gentlemen to a political discussion which she guessed would be brief tonight.

  Upstairs, she sent Elizabeth away, then hung away her gown, washed thoroughly, brushed out her hair and let it hang loose down her back. She perfumed her arms and throat, then slipped her nightgown over her head and climbed into bed to wait.

  Tonight, she did not let herself wonder who Quinn saw when he looked at her. Tonight it was enough that she knew who she saw when she looked at him.

  Would she regret welcoming him into her bed? Perhaps. But she wouldn’t borrow trouble by worrying about it now.

  It was later than she’d expected by the time she heard Quinn enter his bedroom. Quickly she laid aside the book she’d been reading, lowered the wick in the lamp near her bed, and pulled a long curl forward on her breast. When the connecting door opened, Lily placed a hand over her pounding heart and struggled to breathe slowly.

  He wasn’t wearing his dressing gown as she had expected. Nor was his expression what she had hoped to see. He leaned in the doorway, holding a glass of whiskey, staring at her with a contemplative frown.

  Fighting a swamp of dis
appointment and feeling slightly foolish, Lily stiffened against the pillows. “Was it Paul?” she asked softly. “Did he remind you that I’m scheming to wed you secretly? That I’ll demand marriage in exchange for not exposing this deception and ruining your candidacy? Or does he think I hope to extract more money by luring you into my bed?”

  “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted another woman,” he said in a low, tight voice. “And not because you look like Miriam. You don’t sound like her, move like her, taste like her.”

  “But you’ve changed your mind.” Hoping her disappointment wasn’t flaming on her face, she buttoned the buttons she had earlier opened down the front of her nightgown.

  “No.” When she looked up quickly, he came farther into the room and sat on the end of her bed. Extending his arm, he offered her the whiskey glass, and Lily took it.

  “Paul and I didn’t discuss you after you left. But talking about the future reminded me of what’s at stake. Every step I’ve taken for the last few years has been calculated to bring me closer to the governor’s seat. I’ve worked for the party. I’ve cultivated the men who make the decisions. I’ve made myself visible to voters. I made certain I was appointed to the committee drawing up the state’s charter, I’ve given speeches, kissed babies, shaken hands.”

  “I know that,” she said, letting the whiskey burn down the back of her throat. “And you’ll continue to do those things.”

  “What you need to understand is that nothing is going to stand in my way, Lily. Not Miriam. Not you.”

  “Then you believe Paul,” she whispered, smoothing her hand across the counterpane. She had removed Miriam’s wedding rings, thinking the sight might upset him.

  “You should know by now that Paul and I seldom agree on any issue. But I don’t reject his opinions out of hand. If there is any possibility, however vague, that you’re thinking our passion for each other will change anything . . . it won’t happen.”

  His blunt words and harsh tone made her draw back against the pillows and anger flared in her eyes. “I’ve known from the beginning that ambition is your God,” she snapped. The statement was something Miriam might have said, and Lily wished she hadn’t said it.

  “My marriage is over, Lily, but I have a wife. I couldn’t marry you if I wanted to. If making our arrangement permanent is somewhere in the back of your mind, it’s not possible.”

  “Damn it, Quinn.” She tossed back the rest of the whiskey, then sighed. “I’m not asking for marriage. I haven’t talked about it, threatened it, or even brought up the subject. It’s hard for you to understand a woman who doesn’t want to get married, but you’re looking at one.” Because the weight of his body depressing the mattress disturbed her, she threw back the covers and swung her bare feet out of bed. Striding past him, she went to the vanity and briskly dragged a brush through her hair before she began plaiting it into the braid she wore for sleeping.

  “You say that now,” he said, turning on the bed, “but there’s something between us, and walking away will be difficult.”

  “Will it? You’ll have your governorship to console you and keep you too busy to think about me, and I’ll have Rose to go to.” Pride was speaking. They both knew he was right. Every day filled them with each other, heightened the tensions between two people who had not known physical pleasure in a very long time, who were powerfully drawn to each other.

  “If you can accept that our association will be temporary, then . . .”

  “You’ve stopped worrying that I might feel used?”

  “Why are you angry? I haven’t said anything you didn’t know. As for you feeling used—Lily, this whole damned thing is about using you and your resemblance to Miriam,” he said flatly. “How far are you willing to let it go?”

  She had considered that question. Perhaps they were two lonely people using each other. Raising her arms, she coiled the braid around her head and jabbed the hairpins securely in place. “I don’t want you to take a mistress.”

  Her reply must have surprised him because he laughed, the sound short and humorless. “That’s what we’re discussing, isn’t it? And you’ve come right to the point.”

  “Does Paul know your decision?” She knew the suggestion that he required Paul’s approval would annoy him. But it annoyed her that he made a liaison sound like a business arrangement.

  “If we’ve agreed to proceed—and if you believe Paul should be told, then I’ll inform him.”

  Lily stared at herself in the mirror. Nothing had changed. She still wanted him. She felt his eyes on her and knew he still wanted her. Marriage was not an option, and she didn’t intend to blackmail him or raise any difficulties when it came time for her to leave. “Tonight you sound like a lawyer,” she said, holding her gaze on the mirror. “Laying down rules.”

  “You’ve made it clear that you don’t care about the outcome of the election, and I don’t expect you to. But I do. I want it very clear from the beginning that winning the election comes first. In this instance, that means honoring the terms of your employment.”

  “I understand the rules, and I accept them. I always have because there was never a choice.” She threw the hairbrush across the room and watched it bounce off a chair, then she faced him, hands on hips, her face burning. “I’ll be your mistress.”

  “Excellent!”

  “I don’t want Paul involved in this.”

  It occurred to her that they were shouting, and she hoped their angry voices didn’t carry to the third floor, where the servants were presumably sleeping. Or listening.

  “But nothing is going to happen tonight,” she said, lowering her voice to a hiss. Whirling, she leaned to the vanity, dipped her fingers into a jar, and slathered cream on her face. When he laughed, she scowled at him. “I have to do this to protect my skin.”

  “It isn’t that,” he said, shaking his head and pulling a hand down his jaw. “If you only knew how many times I’ve heard ‘not tonight’ in this room.”

  Rising, he walked forward, drew her lightly against his body, and kissed her on the lips. “What is that stuff?” he asked, wiping his mouth. “It tastes like lard.”

  “For all I know, it is lard.”

  “Soon, Lily,” he said, narrowing his eyes on hers. And now she saw the hard burn of desire.

  Her mouth dried and the back of her knees felt hot. “Yes.”

  At the connecting door, he looked back. “Two things. Buy some new perfume and throw away every bottle of forget-me-nots. And come out of mourning. Marietta Teasdale is your seamstress. Contact her and order a new wardrobe. I don’t care what you order or what it costs, as long as the colors are bright. Do it immediately.”

  After his door closed, Lily sank to the bench seat before the vanity mirror. She had just agreed to become her husband’s mistress. Except he wasn’t really her husband any more than she was the person everyone thought she was.

  And the deception had taken on another layer, widening to deceive Paul as well.

  Climbing back into bed, she reviewed the details of this long, nerve-wracking day. But a question kept intruding on her restless thoughts.

  When would Quinn come to her? When would they begin?

  * * *

  They breakfasted together on Monday morning, Quinn in business attire and Lily wearing a simple morning gown. When she noticed he wasn’t reading his newspaper but gazing at her above the pages, she smiled. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Do you need to ask?”

  They studied each other down the length of the table, and Lily swallowed hard, feeling a rush of crimson climb her throat. If Cranston hadn’t appeared to refill their coffee cups, she might have teased him with a provocative remark of her own.

  “What are you doing today?” Quinn asked, folding away his paper and consulting his pocket watch.

  “I’m going out,” she said, after murmuring a word of thanks to Cranston. “I’ll repay a few calls. Do a little shopping.”

  She was looking
forward to venturing out on her own. Yesterday she had asked Quinn if she required a companion for today’s errands, and he had explained that Morely, the carriage driver, would fulfill that function. He had also explained that she didn’t need the addresses of the ladies she would call on as they were the same ladies she always called on. Morely was not a new employee, he knew Miriam’s regular schedule, knew which of her friends and acquaintances received on Monday, Tuesday, et cetera.

  Quinn put away his pocket watch, hastily finished his coffee, then kissed the top of her head, touched her shoulder, and departed for his firm.

  Following a routine that was gradually becoming habitual, Lily took up the newspaper he had left behind and browsed through the pages over another cup of coffee. Then Elizabeth called for her bath, and afterward dressed her hair and assisted with buttons and tapes, sashes and the buttonhooks to fasten her boots. Once dressed, she met Cranston in her household office, where they decided the menus for the day and discussed any household matters he wished to bring to her attention. After Cranston left, she reviewed the cards of the ladies on whom she would be calling, then she instructed Elizabeth to fetch her hat, gloves, and cloak, and summon Morely and the carriage.

  “The usual Monday places, Miz Westin?” Morely asked, dropping the step before the carriage door.

  “Yes, please,” she said after he’d handed her inside and given her the lap robe. “And sometime today I want to stop by Frederick’s Fabric Shop,” she added, having gotten the name from Quinn.

  Morely gave her a long look, rather sad, rather sweet, and she suddenly understood that the old man was infatuated with her. His rheumy eyes held a puppy-dog look of slavish adoration.

  “I’m glad to see you home and looking well, ma’am.”

  “I’m glad to be home,” she said, smiling at him.

  Miriam had run away from so many people who had cared about her. Lily thought of the women who had attended her at-home and the genuine concern in their eyes, and Mary Blalock, who had sent her a pie from the third floor yesterday, and now Morely.

  Usually Lily wondered where Miriam had gone. This morning she wondered why Miriam had fled.