My Fair Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “You do? But you never said—”

  “I should have done, another lamentable omission on my part. My only excuse is that at first I didn’t know, or at least if I did, I refused to admit the truth even to myself. I didn’t want to be in love, you see. And then, well, I wasn’t sure how you felt in return. I know you only married me because of the baby, because I forced you to take vows you did not wish to make—”

  “I married you because I loved you,” she interrupted. “I only refused your offer because you’d made it clear you didn’t want me. You had, if you’ll recall, cast me aside.”

  Dropping down to sit beside her on the bed, he drew her into his arms. “I didn’t want to end our affair. The only reason I did is because of St. George. After I found out about his interest in you and your sister, I knew I could not go on seeing you. You would have been in danger had he discovered you were my mistress. I lost Pamela; I wasn’t about to take that same risk with you, so I lied about my feelings to drive you away.”

  “Well, you did an excellent job. I thought I was nothing but a burden to you.”

  “No, never that, never ever that.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you only wanted the baby and not me?”

  “Did I? I thought spending half a million pounds on a title so you could be Lady Pendragon showed some measure of affection.”

  “But you did that for Cam and for your legacy.”

  He shook his head. “No, love. I did that for you. Believe me, I’ve had ample opportunity over the years to acquire a title for myself had I wished, but such trappings were never important to me. Once we were to be wed, though, I knew I could not see you disgraced, could not bear to watch you shunned by your friends and family, not when I had the means to effect a far different outcome. It was my gift to you, though apparently rather clumsily done.”

  She slid her arms around his back. “Oh, Rafe, I had no idea. And so much money. You shouldn’t have done it. My family would have stuck by me, and my true friends as well.”

  “Perhaps, but I didn’t want to put you through the pain.”

  “And here I assumed you didn’t love me, only the baby.”

  “I love our son,” he said, brushing a kiss over her cheek. “But I love you more. I have to confess, though, that the baby gave me a good excuse to do what I’d wanted to do all along. To take you as my own, to claim you as my wife, so I could love you as I pleased. It nearly killed me when you kicked me out of our bed.”

  “It killed me too. Oh, we’ve been such fools!”

  “We have, haven’t we?” He skimmed his lips across her jaw. “When St. George abducted you, I feared I’d lost the chance to tell you how much you mean to me. But I’ll never make that mistake again. I love you, Julianna, now and forever.”

  In the next breath, his mouth claimed hers, kissing her with a fervor that made her senses grow giddy with pleasure and her spirits soar. Holding him closer, she poured all her love, all her life, into their embrace, knowing she never wanted to be separated from him again.

  He was starting to ease her against the pillows to deepen their kiss even further, when she suddenly remembered something.

  Turning her head, she broke away. “What about that woman?” she demanded, her breath coming out in a pant.

  “What woman?”

  A scowl creased her forehead. “Your new mistress. The beautiful blond.”

  “What blond? I don’t know who you’re talking about, I…oh, you mean Yvette Beaulieu.”

  “Is that her name? Yvette.” Drawing in a deep breath, she prepared herself to forgive him, no matter what.

  “Yes, and she is not my mistress.”

  Hope flared in her breast but she tamped it down, still not quite willing to believe him. “Then who is she?”

  “The widow of an old friend, who is in need of a bit of cash. I hired her to paint your portrait—yours and Cam’s.”

  “What!”

  “It was going to be a surprise, but given your suspicious nature, I don’t think I should make any further attempt to keep it a secret.”

  “You’re sure? She’s awfully pretty.”

  He chuckled. “Quite sure. Madame Beaulieu may be attractive but she’ll never compare to you, my love. You are the only mistress I’ve had since the day we met, and you’re the only one I’ll want for as long as I live.”

  A smile stole over her lips, growing wider and wider. “Well, in that case, you may kiss me again.”

  With an exuberant laugh, that’s precisely what he did.

  Epilogue

  West Riding, England

  May 1813

  SEE THAT THESE are included in today’s post,” Rafe said, handing a small stack of correspondence to Martin.

  The butler bowed and accepted the missives. “Of course, my lord; I’ll send a boy with them now.”

  “Thank you, Martin. Have you seen my wife? Is she still in the garden?”

  “I believe so. Her ladyship took master Campbell outside about half an hour ago and they were still there last I noticed.”

  Rafe nodded, then turned, walking down the long hallway that led to the rear of the house. Anticipation bubbled in his blood, effervescent as champagne, his every step seemingly lighter than the next. He shook his head at his eagerness, unable to contain the grin that spread over his mouth at the thought of joining his wife and son. Foolish since he’d seen Julianna at nuncheon only three hours earlier and spent time with Cam that morning as well.

  He was glad he’d let Julianna talk him into leaving London and spending the spring and summer at their country estate. The rolling Yorkshire dales were magnificently green as they stretched out as far as the eye could see.

  Opening a side door that led to the gardens, he stepped through, his shoes crunching on the pebbled path. As he walked, he drew the air deep into his lungs, enjoying the scent of clean earth and burgeoning nature. He’d been here many times, but could not recall a more glorious May, the sky a vivid symphony of blue, trees unfurling their leaves like young girls preening for a ball, while flowers bloomed in explosions of fragrance and color.

  Despite the love I felt for my mother, I’ve never fully appreciated all this until now, he realized. Until Julianna. She makes everything she touches brighter, most especially me.

  Warmth hummed in his blood, his smile widening as he came upon her and Cam. The pair of them were settled atop a blanket beneath the wide, sheltering limbs of a giant oak, a tree he’d called his friend as a boy.

  As Cam grows larger and stronger, I will show him how to climb that tree, how to sit in its sturdy branches and dream the way I used to do. But since the boy is scarcely two months old, Rafe reminded himself, I suppose I will have to exercise a bit of patience.

  Julianna looked up and saw him, a happy smile parting her lips, her velvety eyes alight with pleasure. “Have you finished your work?”

  Nestled on a separate baby quilt at her hip, their son lifted a small fist and waved it as if to say hello.

  Rafe restrained the impulse to waggle his fingers back in reply.

  Dropping down beside Julianna, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Not all of it, no, but I couldn’t stay inside a moment longer, not with this glorious day and the two of you waiting for me outside.”

  She caught his hand inside her own. “It is lovely, just the right temperature, neither too hot nor too cold. The baby likes it. He’s been laughing.”

  “Laughing, hmm? You know his nurse will say it is only a bit of trapped wind.”

  “Mrs. Bascom is a kind and wise woman, but she is wrong in this instance. Cam is definitely laughing. Watch.”

  Placing her palms over her eyes, she bent over the baby, who watched her with rapt fascination. “Peek-a-boo!” she exclaimed in an exuberant voice, opening her hands as quickly as she could to once again reveal her face.

  The baby paused for a half second, then let out a high-pitched giggle. After a moment, he grew still, watc
hing.

  Julianna hid her face again, then sprang the surprise. “Peek-a-boo-boo-boo!”

  Cam giggled again, his infant laughter rippling into the breeze.

  “See,” she said, turning to Rafe in delight. “He is laughing.”

  “He certainly is.” Rafe grinned and made a funny face at his son. Cam chuckled, meeting his gaze with eyes that had turned nearly as green as his own. “Isn’t he amazing?”

  Julianna nodded, her gaze turning solemn. “He is. Our little miracle.”

  He slipped an arm around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “I can’t wait until you feel well enough for us to try for another.”

  Although they were sleeping in the same bed every night, they hadn’t made love since well before the birth, a situation that was wearing on them both, especially him.

  “Actually, the doctor stopped by this morning while you were out inspecting the tenant farms,” she said.

  Rafe raised a hopeful brow. “Oh, and what did he say?”

  “He said I’m very healthy. So long as I feel like it, I can resume relations anytime I wish.”

  He paused. “And do you—feel like it?”

  Her cheeks flushed a light pink. “Yes, I do, quite strenuously, in fact.”

  If they hadn’t been outside in full view of the house with the baby next to them, he would have laid her down on the blanket and had his way with her right then. Instead, he had to content himself by other means.

  Cupping her jaw, he crushed her mouth to his, pouring every ounce of his passion and adoration into the kiss. Julianna trembled and moaned, threading her hand into his hair as she parted her lips wider to invite his tongue inside. Intoxicated by the pleasure, he took them both deeper, his senses afire in a way that made him shake.

  Only by sheer force of will did he find the strength to pull away, breath shallow in his lungs. He and Julianna stared at each other for a long moment, then turned together toward the baby.

  Cam was sleeping, peacefully unaware.

  “That got a bit out of hand,” she murmured.

  He nodded. “Just a bit.”

  In unison, they sighed, then laughed.

  “I love you, Rafe.”

  “I love you, too. More each day, if that’s possible.”

  “It is,” she said. “Because I feel the same.”

  He kissed her again, careful to keep the embrace light. “You know, it is time for Cam’s nap. We could take him upstairs and let his nurse see to him for a while.”

  Her eyes gleamed with interest. “I suppose we could. I sometimes take a nap in the afternoon as well. No one would remark if I stayed in my room for a couple of hours.”

  “And there is a book I’ve been meaning to retrieve from my bedchamber. I could come upstairs and stay for a bit.”

  Slow smiles curved over both their mouths.

  Standing, he gently picked up his son. With the baby nestled in his corner of his arm, he reached down a hand to Julianna.

  “Shall we, my love?”

  “Yes, Rafe.”

  Placing her hand in his, he lifted her to her feet. Together they strolled toward the house.

  Read on for a sneak peek at

  The Accidental Mistress

  by Tracy Anne Warren

  Coming from Ballantine Books

  Available wherever books are sold

  April 1814

  Cornwall, England

  ONLY A FEW more yards, Lily Bainbridge told herself. Only a little while longer and I will be safe. I will be free.

  An icy wave struck her dead in the face. Gasping for breath, she pushed on, arm over arm as she fought the unrelenting drag of the rough, rolling sea. Above her, lightning flashed against a viscous gray sky, slashes of rain hurtling downward to sting her skin like a barrage of tiny needles.

  Arms quivering from the strain, she put the discomfort out of her mind and kept swimming, knowing it was either that or drown. And despite the suicide note she’d left back in her bedroom at the house, she had no intention of dying, certainly not today.

  Many would call her insane to plunge into the sea during a storm, but regardless of the danger, she’d known she had to act without fear or hesitation. Delay would mean marriage to Squire Edgar Faylor, and as she’d told her stepfather, she would rather be dead than bound for life to such a loathsome brute. But her stepfather cared naught for her wishes, since marriage to Faylor would mean a profitable business deal for him.

  Slowing, she scanned the jagged shoreline, and the waves that crashed in thunderous percussion against the rocks and shoals. Although she’d swum these waters for nearly the whole of her twenty years, she’d never done so during such a seething tempest. Alarmingly, nothing looked quite the same, familiar vantage points distorted by the dim light and the churning spray of the surf.

  Treading fast, she fought the clinging weight of her gown, the sodden muslin coiling around her legs like iron shackles. Doubtless, she would have been better off stripping down to her shift before taking to the sea, but her “death” had to look convincing, enough so that her stepfather would not suspect the truth. If she lived through this and he discovered she was still alive, he would hunt her down without an ounce of mercy.

  With her heart drumming in her chest, she swam harder, knowing she dare not let herself drift and be swept out to sea. A knot formed in the base of her throat at the disquieting thought, a shiver rippling through her tired limbs. What if I’ve miscalculated? she worried. What if the storm has already carried me out too far?

  Her apprehensions evaporated when a familiar sight came into view—a narrow fissure, black as coal, that cut its way into the towering cliffs, which lined the shore. To the casual eye, the opening appeared no different from any of the other sea caves in the area, but Lily knew otherwise. For beyond its foreboding exterior lay protection and escape.

  Giving an exuberant pair of kicks, she continued forward, crossing at an angle through the waves. With the tide now at her back, the surf pushed her fast. For a second she feared she might be dashed to pieces against the rocks, but at the last second the current shifted and washed her inside with a gentle, guiding hand.

  Darkness engulfed her. Tamping down a momentary sense of disorientation, she swam ahead, knowing better than to be afraid. The cave was an old smuggler’s pass that had fallen into disuse, a secret retreat that had once provided a perfect hideaway for inquisitive children, and now a truant, would-be bride.

  With seawater eddying around her at a placid lap, she glided forward until she brushed up against the cave’s perimeter wall. A small search soon revealed a ledge that told her she was in the right place. Dripping and shivering, she hoisted herself up onto its surface, then paused for a moment to gain her breath before rising to her feet. Careful of each step, she followed the cave’s gentle bell shape until the interior gradually widened to provide a pocket of natural warmth and dryness. When her foot struck a large, solid object, she knew she had arrived at her ultimate destination.

  Teeth chattering, she leaned over and felt for a wooden lid, opening the trunk. Her fingers trembled as they curved around the lantern she knew lay inside and the metal matchbox set carefully to one side. With the strike of a match, light filled the space, flickering eerily off the rough walls and low stone ceiling. Stiff with chill, she stripped off her clothes, then reached again into the trunk for a large woolen blanket, wrapping herself inside.

  Thank heavens she’d had the foresight to secret away these supplies! After her mother’s death six months ago, she’d known she would eventually have to flee, aware that as soon as the mourning period ended, her stepfather, Gordon Chaulk, would likely decide “to do something about her,” as he’d been threatening to for years.

  And so, while out on her regular daily walk, she had slowly filled the smuggler’s chest with necessities, including money, food, and a set of men’s clothes she’d altered from an old one of her father’s. As for boots, she’d had no choice but to steal a pair from one of the smaller stab
le boys. Not wanting the lad to suffer for his loss, she’d anonymously left him enough coin to purchase new ones. He’d grinned about the odd theft and his propitious windfall for weeks.

  To her knowledge, no one but a few old-time smugglers knew about this hide-out, despite the thriving business of sneaking contraband tea and French brandy past the noses of the local excise men. Certainly her stepfather wasn’t aware of the caves. To most Cornishmen, he was still considered an outsider, despite having lived here for five years—ever since marrying her mother and taking up residence at Bainbridge Manor.

  Five years, Lily sighed. Five years to wear the life out of a good woman who’d deserved far, far better than she’d received.

  A familiar lump swelled in her throat, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Ruthlessly, she dashed it away, telling herself that now was not the time to dwell upon her mother’s untimely demise. If only she’d been able to convince Mama to leave years ago! If only she’d been able to keep her mother from falling prey to the blandishments of a handsome charmer, who’d turned out to have the heart of a poisonous viper! But having been a child at the time, her opinion had not been sought, nor heeded.

  Toweling dry the worst drips from her hair, Lily crossed to a pile of kindling stacked against the far wall. Using some of the wood, she built a small fire. Blessed heat soon warmed the space, calming the worst of the shivers that continued to rack her body. Returning to the trunk, she dressed in a shirt, trousers, and coat, the masculine attire feeling strange against her skin. At least the clothing is warm, and—even better—dry, she mused. And until I reach London, I had best get used to being dressed like a boy.

  She wasn’t so foolish as to imagine she could journey to London on her own, at least not dressed as a woman. A female traveling without escort would invite comment, but worse, she would be subject to all manner of predators wishing to make her their prey—out to steal her reticule, or, shudder the thought, her virtue. And in addition to providing her some measure of safety, the ruse would allow her to leave the area without detection. Rather than accept help of any kind, she planned to make the long walk to the coaching inn at Penzance. That way, should her stepfather question anyone later, they would have no cause to remember a redheaded girl matching her description.