My Fair Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  That had hurt worst of all.

  Grinding his teeth, he shoved back his chair and stood. Crossing to the fireplace, he bent down to retrieve the ruined balls of paper. Slowly, he fed them to the flames, his thoughts still centered upon his wedding night.

  Wedding night, hah! More like wedding nightmare.

  After he’d slammed his way out of her room, he’d come downstairs for a much-needed drink. But the liquor hadn’t helped. If anything, the spirits only seemed to increase his ire, to fan the flames of his outraged emotions and sexual frustration even more.

  Nearly two hours later, he’d returned to his bedchamber to climb beneath his solitary sheets, and there he’d lain, utterly unable to sleep. At five, he’d given up any attempt at rest, dressed and shaved himself, then gone out for a ride.

  The exercise did little to alleviate his mind, but at least he’d worked up an appetite by the time of his return.

  He’d just been finishing breakfast when Julianna appeared, her face guarded and a bit pale. Without a word, he’d tossed down his napkin and left, retreating to his study.

  He’d hoped to work, hoped to bury himself in dry financial matters that would drive all thoughts of her from his thoughts. And though he’d managed to accomplish something, it had been a very little something indeed.

  Growling now under his breath, he tossed the last ball of paper into the fire.

  Instead of remaining here at the house for what was sure to be a torturous dinner, he ought to send around notes to Tony and Ethan to see if they would like to join him for an evening on the Town. But doing so would be tantamount to admitting that his marriage was a disaster after only one day.

  The same would prove true if he went out to find a convenient and willing partner to satisfy his lust. Taking another woman to his bed would serve Julianna right. But despite his anger, he knew he couldn’t humiliate her that way.

  Besides, he didn’t want another woman. He wanted his wife, who happened to be upstairs in her bedchamber right at this very moment. But he’d sworn not to touch her again, and he wouldn’t.

  Gripping the edge of the mantelpiece, he wondered what he was going to do. How can I bear living in the same house with her, he pondered, wanting her yet knowing she is out of reach?

  The same way he’d done without her all the time before their marriage, he supposed.

  He’d given her up to protect her. He’d married her to do the same. He would honor his vows. He just hoped it didn’t kill him first.

  “Yes, my lady. I will see to it immediately.”

  “Thank you, Martin,” Julianna said.

  Seated in the morning room, she and her butler were finishing one of their twice-weekly meetings concerning the running of the household. “Is there anything further?” she added.

  The older man straightened his already straight shoulders and cleared his throat. “Well, ma’am, though I do not like to trouble you with such things, there is the matter of a certain large individual. Despite my many admonitions that he not do so, he is still opening the front door to callers. Yesterday he scared poor Lady Neville when she stopped by for a visit, and then he had the bad manners to leave her waiting in the foyer.”

  Heavens! Julianna thought. No wonder she had found Beatrice waving her bottle of smelling salts beneath her nose when she had entered the room.

  “I left instructions that one of the footmen is to answer the door when I am unavailable,” the butler continued, “but that person does not listen. And he intimidates the footmen so they haven’t the nerve to gainsay him.”

  That person, of course, being Hannibal, she realized without needing further explanation.

  When she had moved into Rafe’s house five weeks ago, she had brought along several of her own servants. In general, the adjustments in the household had gone smoothly with one notable exception. Stubborn and independent to a fault, Hannibal deferred to no one.

  Except Rafe, of course.

  She knew the easiest way to remedy the problem would be to go to Rafe, explain the situation, and ask him to put an end to Hannibal’s cantankerous behavior. Unfortunately, she and Rafe were not on comfortable speaking terms these days.

  In fact, despite living in the same house, they saw very little of each other. Occasionally they would share a meal, during which Rafe was always unfailingly polite. First he would inquire after her health, wanting to know if she was feeling well and if there was anything she required to make her pregnancy easier. Once she assured him she was well, the conversation would turn to mundanities—the weather, events around Town, or perhaps some interesting story one of them had heard.

  Although she did her best to participate, to be equally polite and equally attentive, the encounters always left her drained and despairing afterward. Everything between them was surface now, without an iota of genuine warmth or intimacy.

  We might as well be strangers, she mused.

  Her fault, she supposed, since she had sent him from her bed. True to his word, Rafe had made no further attempts at having sexual relations with her. Lately, he barely looked at her, and never with anything close to passion gleaming in his eyes.

  I should be relieved. And I am, she assured herself.

  Yet she couldn’t deny wishing things might be different, wishing by some miracle that Rafe loved her.

  But he does not, she scolded, and I am only torturing myself by entertaining such idiotic thoughts.

  She would endure the next few months and at the end of them have her reward.

  Her baby.

  She couldn’t wait to give all her love to her child. Once her little one was born, she would be content. She would be happy. At least she would try to be.

  For now, though, she must deal with life as it was, including resolving tensions among the staff.

  “Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention, Martin. I will see what I can do.”

  He nodded his gray head. “My sincere appreciation, my lady.” With a smart bow, he excused himself and departed the room.

  Nearly an hour later, dressed in a warm but stylish blue velvet gown and a gray woolen cloak, she made her way downstairs. In need of a few more winter dresses that would accommodate her ever-increasing waistline, she was on her way to visit her mantua-maker. She planned to take Lady Neville up in her carriage so the pair of them could shop together.

  At nearly the same instant she entered the main foyer, so did Hannibal. Seeing him reminded her of her earlier promise.

  Drawing in a fortifying breath, she decided there was no time like the present. “Hannibal, I would have a word with you, if you please. Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?”

  He peered down at her from his towering height, clearly deciding whether or not to obey. With a barely perceptible shrug, he moved down the hallway.

  Once inside, she shut the door behind them. “You are scaring visitors who come to the front door and I wish you to stop,” she began, cutting straight to the point. “You are also upsetting certain members of the staff, and I wish that to cease as well.”

  When she paused, he stood silent, crossing his ham-sized arms over his chest.

  Swallowing against her own nerves, she forced herself to continue. “I realize that this was your home for a long while before my arrival, and that you have been used to doing things a certain way. However, those ways must now change. I am mistress of this house, and as such am in control of the household. I trust you will comply with my requests.”

  “Why have you kicked Dragon out of your bed? That don’t sound very wifely to me.”

  Her mouth dropped open as hot color rushed into her cheeks. A long moment passed while she collected herself.

  “My relationship with your master is none of your business,” she said in a chill voice, “and I will thank you to mind your impertinent tongue. If you do not, you may find yourself looking for alternate employment.”

  “Dragon won’t sack me. We’ve known each other since our days on the docks.”

&nb
sp; She shivered, knowing he was likely right. But she couldn’t allow such defiance to go unanswered.

  “Perhaps so,” she said, “but you would be wise not to test my mettle. If you push me, we’ll see which one of us prevails.”

  With eyes as black as tar, he stared at her for what seemed like forever. Then suddenly a wide smile split his mouth. “You’ve got pluck, missus. I like that. I like that a lot. All right, I’ll leave off his nibs the butler and those jelly-kneed footmen of yours. They all need to grow a new backbone. Won’t be near the fun around here not being able to needle them no more.”

  So he has been doing it deliberately, she thought. I suspected as much.

  “My thanks for your sacrifice,” she said.

  He laughed. “You’re welcome, missus. I know you’re carrying a little Pendragon so I won’t cause you more trouble. Expectant mothers need to stay calm.”

  Then you shouldn’t have put me through the last few minutes, she retorted silently.

  “Still, you ought to let Dragon back in your bed. He’s touchy as a bear and ten times as cross these last few weeks.”

  Is he? she wondered. Around her, Rafe never seemed anything but cool and composed. Did it mean anything that Hannibal saw something different? No, she decided, shaking off the notion.

  “That will be all, Hannibal.”

  With a salute of his chin, he strode from the room.

  Slowly, she followed. As she approached the front door, she discovered Martin and the two footmen hovering, anxiety plain in their gazes.

  “Is everything all right, my lady?”

  “Quite well. You have sole custody of the door from now on.”

  Amazement lightened their expressions.

  “Now, my coach, please.”

  Immediately, all three men sprang to do her bidding.

  A few hours later, the bell jingled as Julianna came out of the milliner’s shop, a small package containing a length of cherry-red ribbon clutched in her hand. With her mind still on the bonnet she planned to retrim for the holidays, she didn’t notice the gentleman striding up the sidewalk until he was nearly upon her.

  With a quick hand, he caught her by the arm and steadied her before she could take a tumble. “My pardon, ma’am, are you all right?” he asked.

  Glancing up, she saw a familiar face. “Lord Summersfield! Good heavens, forgive my clumsiness. I nearly ran you down.”

  He smiled. “I believe I was the one in danger of running you down, but I am relieved you are unharmed.”

  Drawing her to one side, out of the way of other foot traffic, he released her. “So, you are shopping, I see. Are you on your own?”

  She shook her head. “No, I am here with Lady Neville. But Beatrice always has a frightful time making up her mind about which trims to buy, so I decided to wait for her out here. I was headed for my carriage when we had our near miss.”

  Nodding in the direction of her equipage, she noticed the coachman and footman watching them. Having been observed, the servants discreetly turned away.

  “What are you doing in Town this time of year?” she said. “I thought you generally went west to your estate.”

  “Yes, you’re right, but I’d had enough grouse hunting and the partridges are thin this year, so I thought I would force myself to do my duty and actually attend a few sessions of the Lords.” He broke off, then smiled. “And what of you? I understand felicitations are in order. Best wishes on your recent marriage.”

  She glanced away for a moment. “Oh, yes, thank you.”

  “Pendragon is a lucky man. I’m not sure how he won you, nor how the pair of you came to meet, but he caught himself a true prize.”

  “My lord,” she said, once again meeting his gaze, “have I not told you before I have no need of such flattery?”

  “And have I not told you, dear lady, that I am only being honest?”

  Oh, dear, she thought. Did I misjudge him? Were his proposals in earnest after all?

  But when he gave her a fresh smile, without so much as a hint of regret in his gaze, her qualms subsided.

  Summersfield tucked a hand in his greatcoat pocket. “I hear as well we are soon to have a new peer. There’s scarcely been talk of anything else since word came out that the Regent is granting your husband the rank of baron. Pendragon has been summoned to appear before the Lords in only two weeks hence so that he may take his seat.”

  “Yes, and we have both been called to appear at Court as well. Shulz is tailoring Rafe’s attire for the occasion.”

  Julianna thought about the feathers and tippets as well as the full hooped skirt with train that she would be required to wear, glad that the cumbersome gown would thoroughly conceal any signs of her pregnancy. Not that she was showing yet—a benefit of the current fashion for high-waisted dresses—but she suspected all that would change in the very near future. With each week that passed, she felt the baby move more often as he grew bigger and stronger. But for now, she preferred that Society not know of her pregnancy, or the mental arithmetic would surely start to fly.

  The shop’s little bell rang again as Lady Neville emerged, a bandbox swinging on a small string over her arm. “Well, good day, Summersfield,” she said, curtseying to the earl. “Have you been keeping poor Julianna entertained while I dallied over choosing just the right bonnet?”

  He bowed. “Yes, I had the happy chance to stumble upon her. Quite literally, I might add. We have been having a merry conversation ever since.”

  “Oh, do tell.”

  He did and more besides, making both Beatrice and Julianna laugh.

  Soon, Julianna realized they were taking up rather too much room on the sidewalk, a few passersby beginning to give them looks. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it is time we were on our way, my lord. It has been a pleasure seeing you again.”

  “Indeed it has,” he agreed, giving them both a pleasant smile. “I have an idea. Why don’t I take you ladies out for something warm to drink and a pastry? Surely you can both spare a few minutes more to drink a dish of tea and rest your feet?”

  Julianna frowned. She had been out for several hours already and was expected home soon. But tea and a treat sounded lovely.

  She thought of Rafe, knowing he wouldn’t like her going anywhere with Lord Summersfield. Then again, perhaps he no longer cared. It wasn’t as if he would be jealous.

  And there could be no conceivable harm in such an outing. Married women appeared in public with single men all the time, many flaunting their cicisbeos with the same casualness they used among their women friends. Besides, even if Rafe did hear of the outing somehow, how could he object with Beatrice along?

  “Yes, my lord,” Julianna said. “That sounds like a splendid plan. Beatrice, do you not agree?”

  Lady Neville nodded her blond head. “Oh, completely. You know how susceptible I am to a sweet.”

  “Shall we then, ladies?” he asked, offering each of them an arm.

  “Then what did they do?” Rafe demanded, his brows lowered like a pair of daggers over his eyes.

  Julianna’s bodyguard—one of three who kept her under constant surveillance—cleared his throat before continuing. “She and the bloke talked for several minutes right there on the street. Her friend, Lady Neville, finally came out of the shop and the three of them started nattering on.”

  Rafe turned his letter opener over between his fingers. “Yes? What then?”

  “Well, after that, they all went to a tea shop on Bond Street. Sat inside for more than an hour eating and drinking, happy as a flock of canaries. Laughing, too, as if they hadn’t a care.”

  “And did you find out this man’s name?”

  “I did, guv’nor. Once the ladies climbed back into their carriage, John followed after them while I trailed the gentleman back to his home. A pretty little kitchen maid I chatted up told me the bloke what lives there is an earl. The Earl of Summersfield.”

  Rafe’s grip tightened on the silver blade, hard enough that had it been a re
al knife, he would have drawn blood. After a long moment, he forced his fingers to loosen.

  “Thank you, Pointer. Continue watching after Lady Julianna.”

  The other man gave a nod. “Like she was me own sister. And we all have the sketches of that other fellow, that Viscount Middleton. If he pokes ’is head back in the city, we’ll spot him straight off.”

  Yes, Rafe thought. With the runners I’ve hired, plus Hannibal and his own handful of men, St. George’s return will not go unnoticed.

  The bodyguard departed. Rafe leaned back in his leather chair, alone again in his study. Exhaling, he worked to calm his temper. Of course, the exercise did him little good, his efforts now no more successful than all his earlier attempts to end the frustration and discontent that had simmered in his gut for the past few weeks.

  Julianna was his wife. They lived in the same house and yet they scarcely saw each other.

  Hades, he cursed, I spent more time in her company when we were sneaking off for assignations in Queens Square! And we were certainly closer then, since I was at least welcome in her bed.

  But not anymore.

  His thoughts returned to the information he’d gleaned from the bodyguard, and Julianna’s meeting with Summersfield, his fingers toying with the letter opener.

  What had she been doing openly chatting with the earl? She’d given her word she would not encourage the man. Of course that had been earlier. Did she imagine she no longer needed to honor her promise? That he wouldn’t mind her flirting with a rake like Summersfield?

  Flipping the blade up, he poked the tip into his leather-bound blotter.

  The man had nerve, sniffing around Julianna’s skirts like some randy hound when he knew she was newly married. Perhaps he hoped to lay a foundation for later, counting on his luck turning, and her agreeing to take him as her new lover some months in the future.

  Still, Rafe’s more rational side realized that today’s encounter was likely innocent, especially with Beatrice Neville along as an inconvenient third. The news that Julianna had enjoyed such a merry time over tea with Summersfield grated, though.