His Mistress

by Treva Harte

Fool. He hadn't even begun to know frustration then.

  James felt his cock hardening and the old wave of guilt and longing swept over him. He'd been in a strange kind of hell ever since she came to live there as the master's wife. James had grown almost used to the constantly felt sweet desire and sour regret intertwined while he looked at what he couldn't have.

  Mercy smiling, Mercy scowling as she tried to decide something...Mercy working to stay calm when her life was changing around her.

  He shifted on the floor. When he chose to sleep here tonight, as far from anyone else in the house as he could manage, he'd hoped he would need the privacy. That they would need the privacy.

  Oh God. Where was she? Asleep upstairs? That was where she'd been night after night while he hadn't slept. Couldn't sleep.

  If she continued to say no, he could do nothing. But he had no idea how he would bear her decision. James gritted his teeth. He couldn't force her even if he wanted to use force. She controlled their world. If she didn't come to him, he'd go mad but he'd stay. He was indentured to her now and he meant to keep his word. Indentured servants did run away of course—and many weren’t ever found again, either. Those that did were punished.

  James bit back a smile as he recalled her threat to discipline him. The punishment for running away wouldn’t be laughable. If he did and was caught, his punishment would have to be serious. He’d seen friends of his whipped publicly for making the attempt.

  But he wouldn’t leave. Not because he was afraid of her, but because she needed him. She knew a great deal but she hadn't spent the last five years learning the trade she now owned. He had. His master had taught him when he'd been just a scrawny youth who knew nothing and was worth less than that to anyone. Now James knew he was finally of use to the shop and his mistress. He couldn't leave. He was bound to help Mercy by more than the paper that said he must.

  Please let her come to me.

  Then he heard the footsteps. They were hesitant but they were coming down the stairs.

  She'd chosen. She'd chosen to be with him.

  The heady joy hit him almost like an unexpected blow. James thought for a stunned moment that he might cry. He'd prepared himself for disappointment. He didn't know what to do with fulfillment.

  Certainty and a strange calm rushed over him next. By God, he might not know yet, but together they'd find out what to do with fulfillment.

  Chapter Two

  For hours now she'd debated. A sensible woman wouldn't go. A wise woman, a chaste woman wouldn't dream of what might happen if she did. Perhaps she'd misread the situation. She'd be humiliated. She'd...Mercy had looked at herself in the bedroom mirror and seen herself clearly. She wasn't a sensible, wise or chaste woman right now. She was a woman who was lusting.

  She could stay here, in the bed she'd shared with her husband, the one he'd died in. She could stay here, sensible, wise, chaste and alone until she died.

  Or she could go downstairs and see what James could offer her. She thought of what his eyes and words and body promised. Mercy had shivered. And the Bible said Eve had held out temptation?

  Foolishly, once she'd gotten within reach of what she wanted, the terror had risen up to almost choke her. Mercy fought this new fear. Sex outside the marriage bonds or possible humiliation if they were discovered wasn't as frightening as—what? The loss of her new freedom? If anyone could tempt that from her it would be James.

  So she'd hesitated suddenly, afraid to move, just watching James' body under the pile of blankets.

  "James?"

  The body on the pallet by the fire sat up instantly. Mercy bit her lip. He'd been waiting. Somehow that made her visit easier.

  He must be as eager as she was. The fire inside her, demanding she go to him, forced her to walk forward. One step. Two.

  Then he was on his feet and walking toward her. Oh heaven. James was naked.

  Not like George. Perhaps George had been beautiful when he was young. She didn't know, would never know. But James was. Hard muscles bunched and unknotted as he walked toward her, the darkness coyly hiding and then the fire's light revealing his body. His penis was already stiffening. Oh yes. Everything about him was beautiful.

  "You wanted to talk to me?" His voice was beautiful, too. She'd heard that voice in the shop sometimes and she'd stop everything just to listen. James had a dark, rich rumble of a voice. When he spoke just the tone felt like it was caressing her.

  "Paul! Where is he?" Now she knew how much apprentices could hear.

  "I sent him to sleep in the shop." James didn’t seem overly concerned about the problem.

  "He didn't object?"

  "I don't let him object."

  She let out a small whoosh of laughter that caught in her throat as James' tongue entered her mouth. Mercy didn't want to laugh any more. Her head bent backward and her fingernails bit hard into his chest.

  His hand reached down and then pulled up her thin nightrobe. That hand soothed its way down her stomach and then fondled, just lightly, almost touching her pubic hair. That felt so good...so tormenting.

  "James—" Mercy breathed it out. "I came to—to—"

  She wasn't sure what to say or how to say it.

  "You wanted to talk to me, Mistress?" His voice was hoarse. And amused. "To discipline me for what I did earlier?"

  "Yes. No. I don't remember."

  He smiled. Mercy wanted to snap at his amusement. How dare he laugh at her? But she whimpered instead as his hand brushed down and one finger traced a part of her body that was swollen and aching. She knew the finger could feel the wet slickness inside her. She could hide nothing from him.

  Hide? Suddenly Mercy didn't want to hide anything. She was aching and wanting, but she knew that her need made him all the more eager. She could hear it as his breath caught. She could feel it in how those hands trembled. She could see it in that stiff penis.

  "I'll be happy to accept my punishment." He whispered it in her ear and then lifted her up to rest his own swollen erection between her thighs.

  She'd never— This was what a man could do? Mercy rubbed against his cock and quivered. And then she realized the head of that cock was slightly damp. She could feel a drop of his semen drip against her skin. He wasn't going to end everything this quickly, was he? No. Oh, no! Damn him. If he did intend to finish, she wanted...something quickly. Something for herself this time.

  She did her best to squirm onto that shaft but the position of her body and her own tightness made it impossible. Mercy gave a sound that was more a growl of frustration than a whimper this time.

  That was when James dropped to the floor, cushioning her as they went down together. She rested on top of him and his eyes, bright and knowing, smiled into hers. What was she to do?

  "Anything. Anything you want," he whispered.

  She'd straddled her husband before but this—this was different. What did she want? She wanted to touch that chest, to trace the hair all the way down to...oh, yes. Mercy eased herself onto his hard length slowly, stretching to accommodate that size. This was almost familiar but not. Mostly not. This wasn't her married sex. Mercy had no idea anyone could be so big. She watched James' eyes start to shut and his jaw begin to clench.

  "Mercy..." he whispered the word as more a plea than her name.

  Mercy smiled. She liked that. James was a large man. But she knew she would be able to take all his hard masculine strength and make this man lose control of it.

  Ah. At last she fitted herself onto him. Very big. Very hard. She felt stretched, but excitingly full. Experimentally she clenched her muscles and closed over all that hardness. He half-rose upward and her eyes widened. How delightful! How powerful.

  Then she rose and slammed herself down, hard and fast. Once she did, she knew she'd been wrong. James wasn't going to finish quickly. Even though he was below her, she could feel the forceful way he pushed up into her. God, he was strong. His cock was going to last for a long time.

  Not that it needed to. Within
moments Mercy was riding him fiercely and within moments more she could feel waves of sensation rushing over her...wonderful sensations that she'd never felt before. His hands toyed with her nipples as she began to cry out. Those hands on her breasts sent whips of excitement through her. She hadn't ever imagined sex could be like this. She felt his potency and stamina and...his body was made for riding. Fierce, hard riding. Mercy tried to hold off for a little while and realized she had no control over herself right now.

  She moved down his cock hard and squeezed. More, more, more. Tightness and strength and sensation. She wanted, she craved, everything he had. She wanted to be overwhelmed, she wanted him to be overwhelmed. Oh Lord. And she was and he was. Together.

  "Now!" Mercy realized it was her voice. She realized it was her screaming as the tension built and built and then—finally released.

  James groaned too, as if he was hurting. Almost immediately she felt him spurting up deep inside her. Her legs were shaking but her hands were still holding the length of his dark hair as she gradually opened her eyes. James wet his lips and then his eyes opened.

  "Again?" he asked.

  Again? He could manage more? Could she manage more and still live?

  "Is that possible?" she whispered.

  His laughter was warming. She could feel him inside her, that his body found it quite possible. "I'll gladly take more of the same punishment, Mistress. I'm just happy my offense is so grave."

  His clever fingers probed at her, stroking a new fire within her almost before the old one had quite flickered out. Mercy moaned and felt herself begin to tremble all over again.

  "I can give you all night and more, Mistress," James promised. "I've waited much too long to be satisfied with less."

  He shifted so that she was beneath him and she found she liked feeling a man's solid weight above her. Then he moved her legs so that her heels touched his shoulders.

  When he entered her, filling her, she sobbed. She was so sensitive from last time that the almost painful pleasure of his cock's slow slide inside her had her wanting to climax already.

  "I'll play more next time, Mistress. I swear," James whispered, tickling words against her ear, moving so the head of his penis tickled other parts of her body. "There's a great deal we can do. But I think we both don't need any more to make us ready right now."

  She was so hungry. She’d had no idea she was this starved for sex, for the thrust of a penis within her, for…for James. She couldn’t imagine any of that without James. No one else could do this so exquisitely.

  Mercy opened her mouth when a pounding on the outside door began.

  "Open up in the King's name!" A harsh British accent called out.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. Her stupid, eager body was making her wits slow. The body merely wanted to continue what she'd started. Her brain was demanding that she think.

  Soldiers? Out so late? That must mean trouble.

  "Coming!" James barked out. He rolled off of her, then lifted her up easily to her feet. He began ducking for the breeches and shirt that she saw scattered on the floor. He turned to her and said, "Get dressed. You'll not want them ogling you like this."

  He was right, though his tone could be less commanding. Perhaps she'd tell him so when they had leisure. Her body still protesting the postponement of her treat, Mercy fled upstairs while James slowly unbarred the door.

  As she worked to dress herself, cursing at the darkness and her inability to hurry, she heard James say clearly from downstairs, "There's been a death here today. The house is in mourning. Is this an emergency?"

  "We know about the death." The harsh voice responded. "That means there's room enough for someone to be quartered here. We're here for the house."

  * * * * *

  Mercy sat up in bed and held her head. It hurt terribly. She realized she was thirsty, too.

  She looked out the window. It was almost dawn. She'd managed to sleep, actually sleep, for several hours. Whatever the nurse had managed to get for her had worked better than anything else she'd tried for weeks.

  Sleep. She wished she could have more. Her body still ached for sleep and the sudden desolation swept over her again as she remembered where she was and why.

  But she wasn't as unhappy as she had expected to be. That dream had taken her out of herself and her grief. She could remember every moment of it, vividly, unlike most of her dreams. What an amazing story her brain had concocted! So different from her own life…

  Mercy went to switch on a light. She knew there wouldn't be any more oblivion tonight. She didn't want to think about Luke right now. Distraction was called for. If not sleep, what did she have to distract herself with?

  Books. She had a sudden desire to read about Boston and the Revolutionary War.

  Chapter Three

  She looked down at the gray suit that hung loosely on her. Perhaps she'd forgotten to eat once too often. Mercy had always been a little too thin, a little too tall...but she could see she was turning gaunt.

  Stupid. She wasn't the one who had been ill. She was starting to look like Luke had in those last months. Mercy clasped her hands tightly together, vowing to eat. Soon. As soon as she got this last business done with.

  "Ms. Ward?" The man who walked in was younger than she expected. Better looking, too. He had light red hair and happy blue-gray eyes. He looked as carefree as Luke used to long ago. And almost as handsome in his way.

  He was slighter than Luke, but even as he shook her hand, very correctly, she could feel the vitality pulsing inside him. Masculine intensity and life. Mercy caught herself imagining what he might look like, act like in bed.

  She went back to gripping her fingers even tighter. As if what he seemed like made any difference. She might not be able to help this sudden, unexpected, unwanted interest in a man. But he’d have no interest in her. She was completely—completely unsuitable. She wasn’t here for him. Just for what information he could give her. Information she’d have to pay for.

  "Mr. Grant?"

  "Call me Cullen." His smile was charming and wide.

  "Mercy." She knew what was expected of her. But she didn't feel charming. Her manners felt as ill-fitting as her suit.

  His smile dimmed for a moment. “My deepest sympathies.”

  She was sick of hearing other people mouth platitudes, too, even though he sounded truly sincere. Mercy tried not to sound as disgusted as she felt. It wasn’t this man’s fault that Luke was gone and that he himself seemed so full of life. What would he know about enduring death? "I hope this won't take long. Luke didn't have much to dispose of."

  "You might think so. But things have changed since Luke wrote his will."

  She put a hand up to her mouth. Changed? How could they have changed other than Luke being dead?

  "Don't look so worried, Ms. Ward. Several weeks ago someone made a gift to Luke. A sizeable one. Luke died much wealthier than you probably ever expected he would."

  "What? Who?" Mercy knew she sounded stupid. She felt stupid.

  "Please come into my office."

  She sat down inside and stared at him. Mercy stared at her hands. How long could she keep grasping them? Then she stiffened her shoulders. She was tired of looking like an idiot. "What do you mean Luke had money? Who would give him—“

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"

  "Two hundred and fifty—?" Mercy repeated.

  "Someone else who was dying from the same disease he had."

  Mercy knew she wasn't stupid because she instantly realized what that meant. No longer dazed or hesitant, Mercy hissed, "You mean the bastard who infected Luke thought two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was enough to pay for his life?"

  "No. I mean a man who was dying and who was Luke's friend and who thought perhaps he had hurt Luke unknowingly put his entire estate in trust for Luke and his heirs. That man gave all he had to give." The charming smile was gone from Cullen Grant's face.

  "So did Luke." Mercy stood up.
"Why would I want any of that creature's money?"

  She wasn’t interested in what this man could tell her. He hadn’t known Luke or his suffering. Or hers. The hospitalizations, the desperate search for funds for those hospitalizations. The failure of medicine to do anything to help his pain.

  "Please think about what you want to do. Don't rush to any conclusions."

  She stood up, fighting for her composure. She’d gotten good at hiding her feelings. After all, you couldn’t cry or rage constantly in front of a dying man and his nurses. It exhausted both you and them.

  “You’re angry.” Cullen Grant wasn’t fooled. “At me? Your brother told me about you when we spoke about his estate. He admired your strength and kindness. So do I. I’m not the enemy, Ms. Ward.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “No one is now. Even the man you’re angry at is dead. “

  “Yes.” Would he please stop talking? His voice was making her…making her disturbed. She didn’t want to stir up emotions. Emotions hurt. She was just tired and wanted to rest.

  “The only man here right now wants to help.” She had to look at him then. He deliberately reached out to cover her hands, the hand she realized she still had clenched. “Truly I do. I know others must. You’re not alone.”

  Of course I am! Mercy wanted to scream the words. But she looked at the hands covering hers, warming them, and felt her lips begin to tremble. No. She wasn’t going to cry. Something about this man who was paid to help her might make her inner barriers shaky, but she’d worked too hard to build them. An attractive man’s few kind words and a careless caress wouldn’t make them fall.

  She didn't bother to answer him as she stood up, walked to the door, and just got to her car as quickly as she could. On the way home the tears she'd fought began to trickle down again. What was Luke's life supposed to be worth? What was a man's atonement worth? And how much was she willing to accept for her own sorrow?

  Quarter of a million dollars. Surely that wasn't the right amount of money.

  Mercy stumbled into the house. She'd meant to eat once she got home. She wasn't hungry now. Mercy knew she ought to at least warm up some soup but all she wanted was to go into her blessedly quiet bedroom and sleep. The tears had made her eyes burn. She was exhausted again from the emotions tearing at her.