My Fair Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Not that she was interested in another man. For goodness sake, she was five months pregnant! A woman that far along would either have to be madly in love or in need of a quick trip to Bedlam in order to consider starting an illicit love affair. Besides, as much as she liked Russell Summersfield, she had never felt more for him than friendship, and she knew she never would.

  Raising her arms, she let Daisy slip a nightgown over her head, then help her into her a warm, ruby-colored velvet robe. Shooing her sleepy maid from the room to find her own much-needed bed, Julianna took a seat at her dressing table and reached for her brush.

  Regardless of her feelings for the earl, she mused as she pulled the bristles through her hair, Rafe had no right to treat her or Summersfield in such a shabby manner. He’d acted rudely, embarrassing both of them, and for no good reason. Not to mention the fact that Rafe had warned the other man off, as if she had no say in her dance partners nor her friends.

  She set down her brush with a sharp click.

  Whomever I choose to like or dislike is my business and none of Rafe’s, she thought. He may be my husband, but he doesn’t run my life—well, not all of it anyway, she amended, thinking how he’d gotten his way in nearly every confrontation they’d had since their marriage, and even earlier than that, come to think of it.

  Before she had time to reconsider her actions, she rose to her feet and walked across the room. Twisting the key to unlock the connecting door, she rapped her knuckles briefly on the polished wood, then, without waiting for his reply, shoved open the door.

  Just a few steps past the threshold, she stopped.

  Spacious yet comfortable, the room held a distinctly masculine flavor, trimmed in warm browns and deep reds that resurrected long-ago thoughts of dragons and shadowy lairs.

  Having never before been in the room, she couldn’t help but glance at the huge tester bed with its burgundy hangings and satin counterpane. Nor could she fail to see the massive mahogany chest-on-chest that stood against the far wall, its top cabinet doors opened to display a double row of books and a crystal decanter of brandy, the round stopper lying next to the bottle.

  With only a lone candle on one nightstand and the mellow illumination from the fire burning quietly in the grate, she didn’t immediately see Rafe. Seconds later, she spied him seated in a wide leather wing chair not far from the fireplace. Still dressed in his white evening shirt and black breeches, his throat lay bare; his discarded cravat piled in a heap on his dressing table, his waistcoat draped over the back of another chair. A lock of raven hair curled against his forehead, a faint shadow of whiskers riding his cheeks. With his legs stretched out in a negligent pose, he looked the part of sin personified.

  Her pulse quickened at the sight of him, her breath growing momentarily shallow.

  Having been caught in the midst of taking a drink, he swallowed a mouthful of liquor, then lowered his glass.

  “I would have a word with you, my lord,” she declared, stepping farther into the room.

  He raised a single, inquiring eyebrow. “About what?” he drawled. “Unless you have come to apologize.”

  Her mouth fell open, breath catching in her chest. “Apologize! If anyone needs to apologize, it would be you. Your behavior tonight at the ball was inexcusable. You were unconscionably rude to Lord Summersfield, to say nothing of myself. I have rarely been so mortified.”

  “And what of your own behavior, madam?” he countered. “You are hardly without fault in this matter, cavorting around the ballroom in full sight of everyone.”

  “I wasn’t cavorting, I was dancing. Or do you not know what dancing looks like?”

  “Of course I know. And that”—he paused, circling a pair of fingers in the air—“whatever it is you were doing, displayed a far greater resemblance to the former than the latter.”

  “For your information, the dance is called the waltz, and it is all the rage.”

  “I’m sure it is, since it allows a libertine like Summersfield to put his hands all over a lady. He ought to keep his blasted hands to himself.”

  She stiffened. “The earl is not a libertine.”

  Rafe gave an impolite snort.

  “And that is quite beside the point,” she continued, moving closer. “He and I did nothing wrong tonight. You are the one who barged in and created a scene. A scene, I might add, that could have damaged your brand-new reputation among the Ton. You should be glad Summersfield isn’t the sort to talk, or else he could make a great deal of trouble for you.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Believe me, I am not worried about Summersfield so long as he stays well away from you.”

  She took another few steps forward. “And that is another thing. You had no right warning him off. I will choose my friends as I please.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You may choose as many female friends as you like, but not men, and especially not Summersfield. Perhaps other members of your set don’t mind being cuckolded, but I am not one of them.”

  Her mouth nearly dropped open again, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is that what you think? That I am having an affair?”

  “No. At least not for the time being. But I will not like it later any more than I would like it now. As I recall, I once told you I don’t share what is mine. And you, my dear wife, are mine.”

  She blew out a breath. “Why do you even care? You don’t want me except as something you can manipulate and control.”

  An intense gleam sparked in his eyes. “Who says I don’t want you? As I recall, you are the one who banned me from your bed. I will be happy to return anytime you like.”

  A quiver rippled over her skin.

  Rafe, back in my bed?

  A part of her longed to say yes, a strong part. Inwardly reciting all her reasons against allowing such a thing, she forced herself to shake her head. “No.”

  He tossed back the last of the spirits, then set the glass aside. “Are you sure? You don’t look entirely certain to me.”

  “I am,” she assured him, wondering why her words didn’t sound convincing, not even to herself.

  “Mayhap we need to test the matter,” he continued.

  “Test it how?”

  Before she could think to evade him, he reached out and captured one of her hands, pulling her forward to gently tumble her onto his lap.

  “Rafe, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  She squirmed. “Let me go.”

  “Shh, quit that now. You’ll only hurt yourself. Anyway, you know you have nothing to worry about. I’ll release you if that is what you truly wish. After our last less-than-satisfactory time together, you surely can have no doubts as to my trustworthiness on that subject?”

  He has a point there, she conceded. He’d been as primed for sex as a man could possibly be, hard and ready, and yet he had forced himself to free her and leave the room. If he could summon that kind of willpower once, he could do so again. Particularly since as far as she was concerned they were not going to get anywhere near a bed.

  Anyway, he is probably just baiting me, she decided, determined to teach me what he thinks will be some sort of lesson. Well, he was in for a surprise, since she planned to rebuff him yet again.

  Tired of wiggling—especially given that her figure wasn’t what it used to be—she fell still.

  A moment passed.

  “Well?” she asked. “Are we just going to sit here?”

  His gaze moved to her waist, his fingers reaching to untie her robe. The velvet folds parted, revealing her thin lawn nightgown and the slight roundness protruding beneath.

  Lifting a hand, he laid his palm against her belly, slowly tracing her shape. “I had no idea you’d grown so much. It certainly doesn’t show beneath your gowns.”

  “Not yet. By next month, I suspect there will be no concealing anything.”

  A fierce expression crossed his face. “Good. I don’t want you hiding our son.”

&
nbsp; There it is again, that possessiveness, she thought.

  She was just about to climb free of his lap when the baby shifted.

  “What was that?” he questioned.

  “You felt it?”

  He splayed his hand wider. “Is it the baby?”

  Seeing his eager excitement, she couldn’t refuse to share. “Yes. She is moving around. She’ll settle down again in a minute or two.”

  “So this has happened before?”

  She nodded. “More and more often. She’ll be giving me full-fledged kicks soon, I suspect.”

  Gently stroking her belly, he waited, clearly hoping to feel their child move again. When a minute passed and nothing happened, he lifted his hand.

  But he wasn’t finished.

  A gentle gasp escaped her lips as he reached for her hem and pulled the material upward. Shifting, she tried to stop him. “Rafe!”

  “Hush, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I just want to feel.”

  “You’ve been feeling.”

  “Not like this.”

  Bunching the cloth beneath her breasts, he exposed her naked belly. Tingles shivered through her as he pressed his big, warm palm against her bare skin, slowly caressing the slight curve. She held back a tremor, an odd lassitude creeping through her, along with a pleasure she could not deny.

  And then it came again, the visceral flutter of sensation that accompanied the movements of her child.

  Their child.

  Glancing up, he smiled, his eyes alive with delight. Holding her secure, he leaned forward and dropped a kiss onto her belly.

  “Hmm, you smell so good,” he said.

  She quivered, knowing she should leave.

  Breathing against her, he kissed her belly, once, then twice more. Gently. Reverently.

  Her eyelids drooped.

  Shifting her slightly again inside his strong arms, he straightened. Before she could think to say a word, he bent and captured her lips.

  From the instant his mouth touched hers, her mind turned to mush, every lucid thought evaporating beneath the power of his kiss. Her toes curled, the flesh of her stomach warming beneath the easy, soothing strokes of his hand.

  Humming in the back of her throat, she opened her lips to let his tongue delve inside, hot and slick and delicious. Teasing and tempting, he urged her to join in, coaxing her to play with him as he was so delightfully playing with her.

  And she did. Sliding her fingers into his soft hair to hold his head steady, she matched the dark, wet wonder of his kiss with an undeniable need of her own. Within seconds she was lost, Rafe filling her senses, consuming her so that all she could feel was him and her own explosive response.

  Her conscience whispered something in her head, but she brushed the warning aside, suddenly unable to remember exactly why it was she’d been holding Rafe at bay. What was the point in denying him? Not when his touch felt so right, so good.

  Oh so good.

  His caresses moved lower, his fingers trailing across her naked thighs. Easing her legs slightly apart, he traced the ultrasensitive flesh there but stopped short of touching her in the most intimate place of all.

  His movements drove her crazy, each controlled stroke akin to torture of the most exquisite kind. Fine tremors rose beneath her skin, vibrating through her flesh and blood and bone.

  Growing bolder and more demanding, his kisses challenged her to match his ardor with a raw passion of her own. As she strove to rise to the task, her breath grew ragged, her body turning hot, skin damp as if she were in the throes of a raging fever.

  Curling her fingers against his shoulders, her nails bit into the cloth of his shirt. She clung, needing the safety of his strength as a thousand sensations whizzed and whirled through her like Chinese fireworks blazing in a dark summer sky.

  Nuzzling beneath her ear, he strung a line of kisses down her throat before returning to her nape to give her a gentle bite. She cried out, her eyelids fluttering closed in a rush of bliss. Angling her face, she rubbed her cheek against the faint roughness of his own, before leaning closer to take his mouth in another sizzling mating of lips and tongues.

  His growl of pleasure made her smile, his hand tightening for a moment against the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Feeling suddenly shameless, she spread her legs a little wider, hoping he would touch her where her desire burned the hottest.

  Instead he kissed her before sliding his arms beneath her legs and back. Holding her secure, he rose to his feet, their mouths still fused as he carried her across the room.

  A rush of cool softness enveloped her for a moment as he lay her against the sheets, his bed seeming as big as a sea around her. Then she didn’t have time to think about beds or sheets or anything else but Rafe as he came down beside her and once again claimed her mouth in a fervid kiss.

  Needing to touch his bare flesh, she slipped her hands under his shirt, delighting in the play of warm, smooth skin layered over taut muscle and hard bone. He seemed to approve, moaning low in his throat at her increasingly bold strokes. Exploring further, she slid her fingers beneath his waistband to tease the slight dip where his back merged with his hips. He pulled in an audible breath, shuddering beneath her touch.

  Leaning up, he reached for her nightgown and tugged it to her waist. With one hand, he stroked her thighs again, caressing her sensitive flesh until she truly thought she might go insane.

  Legs shifting, she whimpered, desperate for him to take her. Obviously aware of her heightened need, he spread her legs and slid a finger into her wet heat.

  She arched and moaned, lifting her hips to urge him to stroke deeper, harder. But he kept his touch light, teasing her so that her desire built in ever-widening spirals. Shivering, she waited, her body poised on the very edge of completion. She knew she was close, that all it would take was a single stroke in just the right spot to send her over into oblivion.

  But suddenly his hand grew still.

  She shifted in restless hunger, needing him to continue.

  “Do you want me?” he said, his mouth against her ear.

  “What?”

  “Do you want me?” he demanded, his voice a mixture of velvet and steel. “Tell me you want me, Julianna, or we stop now.”

  Stop? Oh God, we can’t stop now.

  And then she realized what he was doing. How he’d slowly led her to this place, playing on her hunger until he literally held her on a razor’s edge of need, his will alone the difference between bliss or agony.

  He wants me to beg, she thought. Wants me to humble myself and admit my need for him.

  Pride insisted she refuse. Passion told her not to be a fool.

  For a long moment she lay torn, then he moved his fingers again, just enough to taunt her. And suddenly her body gave her no choice.

  “Yes,” she cried, “I want you.”

  “Say it again. Tell me you want me in your body and in your bed.”

  Closing her eyes, she silently cursed him. “I want you inside me and inside my bed. Now, take me, Rafe, please.”

  Moving hastily to unbutton his falls, he did as she asked, removing his hand to sheath himself inside her. Reaching between them, he flicked his fingers and sent her hurtling, the pleasure flooding through her glorious as a starburst.

  But he wasn’t through, setting a pace that refused to let her desire cool, that urged her to climb up the precipice and jump over with him again.

  And no matter what he’d done, she couldn’t deny the beauty, the sheer wonder of his touch, the pure, unadulterated heaven of being held again in his arms, their flesh joined together as one.

  Despite his obvious need, he was tender, stroking inside her with controlled power, making sure she was with him every step of the way as each of them drew closer to the ultimate satisfaction.

  She wasn’t prepared when the climax slammed into her, sensation rushing upon her so fast she screamed against the shattering burst of ecstasy that threatened to break her. But she rode the wave, awash in heat
and light, and yes, love, as Rafe found his own completion.

  Holding him, she didn’t let herself think, didn’t let herself regret, knowing there would be plenty of time for such things come the dawn.

  Curling against him, weary and replete, she slept.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THE NEXT THREE weeks passed slowly, life falling into a new pattern now that she and Rafe were lovers again.

  After Rafe’s skillful seduction, where he’d literally made her beg him to take her, Julianna had known the battle between them was lost. Despite her lingering sense of hurt, she found herself unable to do more than offer a token resistance when he came to her room and climbed into her bed the next night. And once he kissed her, there’d been no use at all trying to deny his need or her own.

  Still, in many ways her situation seemed hopeless. She loved and wanted him, yet she existed in a constant state of anxious misery, waiting to see how long his desire for her would last this time. His passion for her would end, she knew, maybe sooner rather than later considering how large she was beginning to grow with their child.

  He loved the baby, of that she had no doubt, Rafe apparently fascinated by all the changes occurring to her body. Often she would wake to find his hand on her belly, as if he craved the connection. But she feared the link he sought was to his son and not to her. He might make love to her but he never said a word about his feelings, his silence on the subject telling her everything she needed to know.

  Out of bed, their lives were much as before. He worked during the day while she saw to the household. They shared meals and the occasional outing. To all outward appearances, they were a typical married couple.

  Only she knew they were not.

  So when Maris wrote asking her and Rafe to join them for the holiday, she’d been delighted to accept, hoping the visit would lift her spirits.

  Now, alighting from the coach at Waring Keep, she knew she had been right.

  “Maris!” Julianna exclaimed, smiling as she hurried across the pebbled drive and into her sister’s welcoming embrace.