The Mistress Diaries

by Julianne MacLean

  “Pardon me, I thought you did.” She looked around. “If you don’t mind my saying, there is a wee bit of a chill in here.”

  Cassandra felt a shiver, and smiled at Iris. “Indeed you are right, there is. Since I am awake, a fire would be lovely, thank you.” She fluffed the pillows behind her and leaned back against the headboard. “I am having some trouble sleeping.”

  The maid moved to the hearth and knelt down, then set about her work. “I could bring you some brandy, if that might help.”

  “I doubt anything will help at this point,” Cassandra said. “I have far too many conflicting thoughts dashing around inside my brain. It is an exploding battlefield in my head tonight.”

  The maid laughed quietly. “I know what that is like, milady.” She swept the ash out from under the grate. “I don’t suppose it has anything to do with that handsome young lord who comes to visit every day. He would keep me awake, too, I dare say.”

  Cassandra couldn’t help but give in to a melancholy smile. “I suppose it doesn’t take a genius to see that we are…” How could she put it? “That we are friends.”

  Keeping her back to Cassandra, Iris laid out the kindling. “No, milady, it doesn’t, and if you don’t mind my saying, I understand how difficult it must be for you. I was in your shoes once myself, a very long time ago.”

  Cassandra tilted her head to the side. “May I be so bold as to ask the particulars?”

  “I loved a man I could not be with,” the maid replied without hesitation. “There were circumstances keeping us apart, which seemed impossible at the time. We had a child together.”

  Cassandra’s heart beat uneasily inside her chest. “I see.”

  Iris lit a match and sat back on her heels. Still, she did not turn around. “But then my love died, and I had to raise my son without him.”

  “I am so sorry,” Cassandra said.

  “It was a very long time ago.” She brushed off her apron and rose to her feet, facing Cassandra at last. “The good news is our son went on to accomplish great things.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He is passed on.”

  Cassandra cleared her throat. “My deepest condolences, Iris.”

  “Thank you. That is very kind.”

  “Do you have any regrets about your…association with that man?” Cassandra asked.

  Iris shook her head. “Not about loving him, and if I could do it all over again, I would. I wouldn’t change a thing, except for the fact that I wasted so much time fighting it. Life is so very short.” She picked up her bucket and made for the door. “Maybe you should reconsider that glass of brandy. It might help you sleep. I just refilled the decanter in the drawing room.”

  “Thank you, Iris.”

  The maid left, and Cassandra lay for a long time staring up at the ceiling. Iris was right. A glass of brandy might ease the burden of her thoughts, and after hearing what her maid had chosen to disclose, she had even more to think about.

  She slid out from under the covers and touched her feet to the cool floor, then padded across the room to fetch her wrapper.

  A moment later she was in the drawing room lighting the lamp and tipping the crystal decanter over a glass. She raised it to her lips and sipped, squeezing her eyes shut as the drink blazed a searing path down her throat. She took another sip and strolled to the window.

  It was a beautiful night, brightly lit under a full moon and a star-speckled sky. She looked up and imagined herself at Langley Hall, far away from here, miles from Pembroke Palace.

  It would be less complicated then, she told herself, when she and June were not so convenient for daily visits from Vincent. It was less likely he would come so often, once the weather turned and snow blocked the roads.

  Just the thought of it made her feel lonely inside. She would miss him. She could not deny it.

  Oh, Iris was right, she admitted to herself at last. Life was short. And love was a rare and precious gift.

  She raised the glass to her lips and swallowed another mouthful of brandy. When she looked out the window again, however, a nervous fluttering arose in her belly, for she spotted a man. He was sitting under the tree on the bank of the river at the bottom of the hill. The moonlight was reflecting off the water, and he was silhouetted against the sparkling ripples. His horse was tethered to the tree, its long neck bowed down to the grass.

  It was Vincent—that much she knew, even though it was impossible to identify anyone from such a distance in the darkness.

  What was he doing there? She had heard him leave almost two hours ago. Had he been sitting there all this time, or had he left and returned?

  She set her glass down on the table. If she knew what was good for her, she would go back to bed this instant and forget she ever saw him. She would try to remember her principles and convictions.

  But that would require her to guzzle the entire contents of what remained in the brandy decanter, enough to knock her out until dawn, because the fact of the matter was—she cared for him. She cared for him a great deal. And somehow she knew that he needed her.

  She watched him rise to his feet, pat his horse on the neck and wander along the river’s edge.

  Cassandra picked up her glass and finished what was left in it. Iris’s words kept repeating themselves over and over in her mind. Life is so very short.

  She could not fool herself. She wanted to go down there. Her heart was telling her it was the right thing to do.

  Perhaps it would be all right if she did. She could ask him why he was here. She could behave as she always did, with restraint and in a manner consistent with their newfound friendship. It was such a beautiful night, and she had come to trust Vincent not to behave dishonorably.

  But could she trust herself?

  That, perhaps, was the burning question of the moment, for she could almost feel the slow and reluctant surrendering of her heart.

  It left her terrified.

  Chapter 14

  I believe I am doomed. Yet somehow, inexplicably, I am bursting with joy.

  —from the journal of Cassandra Montrose,

  Lady Colchester,

  June 25, 1874

  Ten minutes later Cassandra found herself standing on the riverbank in silence, filled with self-doubt and apprehension, while she faced Vincent squarely. A warm breeze fluttered her white wrapper around her ankles, and her hair blew loose around her shoulders.

  “I thought you were a ghost,” he said, “when I saw you floating down the hill.”

  “I was hardly floating. I was wincing over all the thorns that were pricking my feet.”

  Amused, he looked down at her toes, which were peeking out from under her white nightdress. “Really?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I am in great pain presently, but doing my best to keep a stiff upper lip.”

  He laughed. “Cassandra, my dear, let me help.” He moved toward her and offered his hand. “Sit down. I shall take a look.”

  Slipping her hand into his, she lowered herself to the grass and stretched her legs out in front of her.

  He knelt down and took her bare foot in his hand. “No thorns visible. Where does it hurt?” He ran both his thumbs along her arch.

  “Everywhere.”

  He proceeded to massage her foot, rubbing his thumbs in small, slow circles, which was most decidedly outside the bounds of propriety and exactly what she feared would happen when she debated coming down here, but she could not bring herself to tell him to stop. It felt far too wonderful, as all the tension she’d endured in bed drained from her mind and body.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said. “Did the puppy bark?”

  “No, I simply couldn’t sleep. I was already up when I saw you down here.”

  He nodded and turned his attention to the other foot. His hands were warm, his fingers skillful, as he stroked and probed in all the right places. She breathed deeply the fresh, spring fragrance of the night.

  “Does this feel good?” he as
ked a moment later, lifting his gaze.

  Her head was swimming in the pleasure of it, even though she knew it was terribly wicked and very, very dangerous.

  She blinked rather drunkenly at him. “Yes, but I wish it did not.”

  He continued to stroke her foot, and went so far as to slide a hand up the back of her leg and massage the muscle of her calf before he hesitated, stared fixedly at her for a moment, then drew his hands away and sat back on his heel.

  Folding his wrists over a knee, he said, “I wish the same thing, so I shall stop. I have been doing very well behaving myself over the past few weeks, wouldn’t you agree? I would hate to spoil it now.”

  They gazed at each other in the moonlight before he moved to sit beside her, leaning back on one arm and lifting a knee.

  “What a night,” he said, looking up at the stars.

  “It is perfect, isn’t it?”

  “Not quite perfect, Cassandra.”

  Keeping her eyes on the sky, she slowly exhaled. “Only seconds ago you said you were going to behave yourself.”

  “I will if you want me to.”

  She looked at him. “Sometimes I don’t know what I want.” She turned her eyes to the stars again. “Tonight you said that we would be able to muscle through this, yet here we are only a few hours later, sitting alone in the moonlight when we should not be together like this. I should be inside sleeping, and you should be at the palace with your fiancée.”

  “I am aware of that,” he said, “and I promise I will not offend you by asking for more. No matter how soft and delicate your foot was in my hands just now, and no matter badly I want to touch you everywhere else. And I do, Cassandra. I cannot lie about it.”

  And she could not deny that his words filled her with pleasure and joy.

  “I should not have come out here,” she said. “I knew it would make things more difficult, but I could not help myself. How is it you have such power to crush my resolve to be good? I am drawn to you like steel to a magnet.”

  “I worry that I am eventually going to spoil what has become very comfortable between us.”

  “Comfortable in some ways, excruciating in others.”

  He leaned closer. “How is it excruciating for you? Tell me. I need to hear you say it. Perhaps it will be enough to satisfy me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to say it. I want to deny it, hide it away and bury it.”

  “Burying it will not make it go away.”

  “Perhaps it will in time,” she argued.

  He sat back farther and sighed. “I don’t want it to.”

  All of sudden her eyes were filling with tears, and she could not believe she was in danger of losing this battle she had been fighting for so long. “I don’t want it to end either.”

  A gentle nighttime breeze blew her hair across her face.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, inching closer on the grass and nuzzling her ear. The feel of his hot breath against her skin sent her spiraling into a very dangerous place.

  “Please,” he whispered, “let me kiss you. Just once.”

  Closing her eyes, she rubbed her nose against his cheeks and lips, even while a part of her was still fighting to resist. She should not let him kiss her. She should put a stop to this now by returning to the house. But she knew she was not going to do that. She had traveled too far down this tempting path.

  “Perhaps just one kiss,” she replied, touching her lips tentatively to his.

  His hands cupped her face and he tilted his head to the side. Suddenly there was nothing tentative about it. He was devouring her with his open mouth, caressing her with his soft, skillful tongue. Her body melted against his as passion pounded from her heart to the very edges of her existence.

  The next thing she knew, he was easing her down onto the cool grass and settling his heavy body upon hers. Nothing could stop the desire burning through her veins and her need to touch him. She slid her hands into his jacket and ran them over his waistcoat, glorying in the firm muscles of his torso.

  It had been more than a year since she dashed out of a London ballroom with him, was kissed senseless in the carriage as they drove across town, and lost her mind to ecstasy. She felt the same way now—wild and reckless and oblivious to her morals and values. All she wanted was to tear off his clothes, feel the heat of his body and his breath in her ear as he whispered her name.

  “I’m sorry, Cassandra,” he said, dropping hot kisses across her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead. “I tried, but I cannot keep my hands off you. This madness I feel for you knows no bounds.”

  “I feel it, too.” She could barely breathe enough to speak. “It doesn’t matter how much I try to resist, or how much I once hated you, I am powerless.”

  “You don’t hate me now, do you?”

  “No. I suppose I haven’t hated you for quite some time. All I want now is to feel your hands on me.”

  He kissed her again and pressed his body tight against hers until they were both writhing with need on the riverbank.

  “I must have you,” he said.

  She threw her head back on the grass, giving him leave to press more kisses down her neck. “This is wrong. I should tell you to stop. I should run back to the house. I should send you home. Why can’t I do any of those things?”

  “Should, should, should.” He lifted his head. “Stop saying that word. What about what you want?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I want, nor what you want. There is duty and honor and decency to consider. You are betrothed to another woman.”

  “But it was my father who chose her, not me, and he is mad.” He lowered his mouth to her neck again, and she quivered at the sensation of his lips and tongue, probing hotly across her collarbone. “There must be a way we can be together,” he said.

  “God help me,” she said, arching her back and looking up at the stars, “I cannot resist you.”

  “Then don’t fight it,” he said.

  He pushed her wrapper aside and reached down to lift her nightgown to her waist. He shifted his body and mounted her.

  “Vincent…” Barely able to breathe, she parted her legs for him, pointing her knees toward the sky.

  “Don’t say no.” He fumbled with the fastenings on his trousers. “Say yes for me,” he whispered, kissing her neck again. His knees in the grass provided the thrust for his hips. “We must be together, Cassandra.”

  “Yes.” The instant the word breezed past her lips, he was sliding into her with hot, slick ease, slowly and torturously. Her body shuddered with pleasure.

  “God in heaven,” he groaned.

  She arched her back in response, grabbing hold of his firm buttocks and pulling him in deeper. “You feel so good.”

  “I can’t live without this,” he said. “I cannot keep up the pretense of friendship…”

  She pushed forward with her hips against every furious thrust of his. “Nor can I.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her tight against him, held her bottom in his hands and lifted her clear up off the ground. He drove into her with insistent, pounding force, grunted and groaned into the night, while her own pleasures mounted to impossible heights.

  The magnificence of her climax astounded her. It could not be matched.

  “I can’t hold back any longer,” he said.

  “Please, Vincent, do what you must to prevent another child.”

  With one last thrust, he shuddered, then withdrew. He quickly pulled back onto his hands and knees, wrapped his hand around his shaft and spilled his seed onto the grass.

  Cassandra inched backward out of the way. He toppled over onto his back beside her and lay there in silence for a long time.

  “I am spent,” he finally said. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move again. You’ll need an ox and harness to get me up.”

  For Cassandra, however, playful smiles or laughter would not come. All she could do was stare up at the stars in dismay. “I cannot believe we
just did that.”

  He turned his head toward her. “I must have you this way, Cassandra. As my lover.”

  “But you were not free to have me this way tonight. You are engaged to another woman.”

  “To a woman who does not love me and accepts openly that I will have mistresses. She will also have lovers of her own. It is not a love match, and we both know it.”

  “It seems unfathomable to me.”

  “Why? Can you not comprehend that a man and woman of our social class might marry for property or position? It is the norm, Cassandra.”

  She did not answer for a while. “Perhaps you are right,” she said at last. “Perhaps I am too romantic. Perhaps I have always been.”

  He rolled onto his side to face her. “What is the point in fighting this? We desire each other, that is obvious. You have already borne me a child. You are not an innocent. I shall ask you again. Be my mistress.”

  Her body was still weak and languorous from their lovemaking, and she had to struggle to keep a clear head. “Romance and idealism aside, what of my principles? How can I, in good conscience, say yes to that?”

  He seemed to be searching for more arguments to convince her. “Most of the married men I know have mistresses, and you’ve heard me declare that I shall be no different once I am wed. But you are the one I want.”

  “And do you always get what you want?” she asked heatedly.

  He frowned. “The answer to that is a very definitive no.”

  She lay there for a long time, finding it hard to believe she was even having this conversation. Was it because of what Iris had said?

  “What if I were to try to find a way to marry you?” he asked. “If there was something that could be done. If I said to hell with my father’s will.”

  Her heart began to pound. It was an enormous concession for him just to say those words. She could not ignore that.

  “Then that would be different,” she replied.

  He covered his eyes with a hand. “But my brothers…”

  She wished she could be selfish, just once, but alas she could not. “You cannot betray them for me. You would only resent me one day. I know you would.”