A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2)

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “That’s quite the self-denial.”

  “I can’t have my chits seeing me wandering about the corridors, drunk as a sot, can I?” Jon said with a slight grin. Yet, his eyes were serious and focused on Adrian.

  Uneasiness rippled down Adrian’s back.

  Jon gripped then back of the chair nearest him then stared down at Adrian, with a scowl that was strangely an expression of concern. “You don’t look well.”

  “Too many late-nights, followed by too many long, wakeful mornings spent in Chelsea,” Charlie was quick to supply.

  “Ah, that explains it.” A slight smile twisted Jon’s thin mouth. “Miss Miranda Jones.”

  Adrian cut Charlie a glower. However, there was no need for Adrian to respond to Jon and the older man’s feigned surprise was an insult to his intelligence. Everyone shared gossip. Every gentleman knew who the choicest courtesans were and who patronized them.

  Adrian flinched inside at that word.

  Patronize.

  That was what others would surely call what he did with Miranda. He patronized her at her home and paid handsomely for the pleasure of her favors.

  What he shared with her was far more profound than that!

  Yet, what else could they ever be to each other besides a mistress and her protector?

  “She quite the high-flier.”

  Jon’s words, so carelessly spoken, settled over Adrian’s already inflamed sensibilities, each word like a nettle, stinging.

  “Expensive goods,” Charlie said, with a grin.

  Adrian flashed Charlie a death glare this time. “Shut your mouth.”

  Charlie paled then instantly glanced down at the table, becoming suddenly quite interested in his drink.

  “Adrian, I am counting on your vote.” Jon tapped his fingers on the narrow strip of glossy wood. “I need every Whig vote.”

  “I shall be able to vote,” Adrian replied, stiffly.

  Jon’s gaze narrowed speculatively, a hint of an amused grin played about his mouth. “You look like a man on the verge of a collapse.”

  Indignation burned through Adrian. He scowled. “Will you have the decency to mind your own business?”

  “I don’t want to be indelicate—” Jon began.

  Adrian shot him a glower. “Then don’t.”

  There were certain trespasses one would only allow family. Gratitude for that earlier championship and support was the only thing that kept Adrian from bolting to his feet and exiting the chamber.

  “Leave us, Sutherland,” Jon said.

  It wasn’t within Charlie’s ability to resist the command in the older man’s tone. He made to rise.

  Adrian’s hand shot out and grasped his cousin’s arm. “Charlie is welcomed to stay.”

  Jon’s grin broadened even as the displeasure shown in his eyes. “Very well.” He sat opposite Adrian. Those vivid blue eyes bore into him. “I need every Whig vote.”

  Adrian returned his gaze steadily. “I’ve told you. I shall be present and able to vote.”

  Jon studied him for a moment. “You’re working yourself too hard.”

  “This is the season for easy winnings. Luck has been with me.” Adrian allowed a false grin. “And I’d prefer to strike while luck is on my side.”

  “You’ve been winning and spending an alarming amount.”

  “It is my own business.”

  Jon raised his brows. “What happens when your luck turns?”

  “I’ll worry about that when it happens.”

  Jon frowned. “It is not like you to be so feckless about money.”

  Feckless.

  The word burned into Adrian.

  Accusing him.

  A soft laugh from Charlie did little to ease the building tension in the air. The sound held a false ring. “I think I shall go and find some less serious company.”

  Charlie pushed his chair back and stood, waiting with an uneasy expression for either man to reply.

  Feckless.

  The word burned into his mind.

  How dare Jon accuse anyone of being feckless? The man had come home from the Dragoons and spent years amusing himself before marrying and throwing himself body and soul into his political career.

  The study clicked softly with Charlie’s hasty exit.

  Adrian narrowed his gaze. “You never stinted with Mrs. Howland.”

  Just the mention of that lady brought with it whole volumes of self-indulgence and vice on the part of his older cousin. A phase of his life spent solely on the pursuit of material and sensual pleasures.

  Only the tiniest widening of Jon’s eyes betrayed the older man’s surprise to be faced with something so incriminatingly personal.

  Yet, since the conversation was already personal…

  Jon tapped the table briefly. “Mrs. Howland was never a demanding mistress. Her needs and even her wants were never extravagant.” Jon busied himself with extracting an elegant case from his pocket and procuring himself a cigar.

  He handed the case to Adrian.

  Adrian held up a hand and shook his head. Jon had acquired a taste for cigars during his time spent in America. Adrian had never taken up such habits before and had no desire to do so now, or ever.

  Jon arose to go and light it. He stood at the hearth, drawing on it for a few moments. Then his deep voice broke the silence. “Adrian, I need you now more than ever.”

  “You have my vote.” Adrian compressed his lips and struggled to keep the rising ire from his voice. “How many times must I pledge it to you?”

  “I need you for more than your vote.”

  Dread crept through Adrian’s gut. “I can’t pledge more than my vote.”

  A brief pause accentuated the building tension. Then Jon spoke again, “You’re energetic and persuasive, quite passionately so—” that vivid blue gaze focused on Adrian, sending an uneasy chill through him. “—when you chose to be. You are well liked by most everyone.”

  Adrian’s heart began to hammer his chest wall, as it did every time they had this discussion. “Jon, I—”

  “I need you to take on a more assertive role.” An expression of utter seriousness sharpened Jon’s already fierce countenance. “The family needs you to take on a more active, responsible role. There’s no one else of our blood that is better suited for —”

  “I’ve told you before.” Adrian said, putting a cold, finality to his tone. “I am not interested in politics.”

  Jon took a few more draws on his cigar. “I don’t understand you. You could be so much more. You could have so much more.”

  “You mean political power?” Adrian shook his head. “I don’t need that kind of power.”

  “Political power can lead to wealth a lot quicker than cards.”

  “Political power demands a price and that price would be my freedom. It would require too much of my time.”

  Jon nodded as he took a deep pull on his cigar. “I see.” A sardonic note gave an edge to his brief chuckle. Then he shook his head. “What the devil is wrong with you? You will not work for something real, something for your sons. Yet, you will drive yourself to the brink for a bit of fluff that—

  The casual, derogatory term lit Adrian’s blood like a charge. The chair made a screeching sound on the floor boards as he dimly perceived himself jolt to his feet.

  Jon paused with his cigar held part way to his lips.

  “You mean Miss Jones?” Adrian heard the edge in his voice and felt the fisting of his hands at his sides.

  Jon gaped at him. “Good God, it is worse than I’ve been led to believe.”

  “Led to believe? By who?”

  “Dorothy and Charlie are quite concerned for you.”

  Dorothy and Charlie had gone bearing tales to the Earl of Ruel? Ah, well, wasn’t that something?

  “They should mind their own business, as you should.”

  “Take a look at yourself, Danvers. A long, hard look.”

  “You don’t understand the situ
ation.”

  “It is easy for a young man to become fascinated with a lovely courtesan.”

  Adrian let a sneer twist his lips. “Ah, you’re referring to my father.”

  “I am referring to any man who mistakes infatuation for—

  “Just say what you’re determined to say and be done with it,” Adrian said, grittily.

  “You can’t afford such a finely feathered miss.”

  “That is a matter which concerns only the young lady and I.”

  “She is Winterton’s natural daughter.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And Winterton hates the chit.”

  That brought Adrian’s head up. How did Ruel know that? “He has no warm feelings for her, that much is clear.”

  “You don’t need problems with Winterton.”

  “I can handle Winterton.”

  Ruel studied him closely. “Winterton has disappeared, unexpectedly.”

  “Perhaps he is traveling.”

  “Perhaps.” Ruel studied him several more moments, his gaze boring into Adrian. “I hear you’re becoming quite friendly with Stephen Drake.”

  “I wouldn’t characterize it as ‘quite friendly’.”

  “The man is dangerous and you’d do well to avoid him.”

  Chapter Nine

  Adrian couldn’t deny a sense of pride as he walked about Vauxhall Gardens with Miranda. It seemed nearly the last opportunity to enjoy such a stroll before winter set in for certain. And the bright autumn foliage and architecture gave them something pleasant upon which to base their conversation. Something to give Miranda some enjoyable distraction.

  She was still not happy with him over his decisions regarding Davey’s living arrangements.

  “Miss Jones! Miss Jones!”

  Stunned at the sound of that boyish voice, Adrian down and into his youngest son’s eyes. Davey was practically beaming with joy. Dorothy had laid her hands on him, restraining him, for it was clear he meant to run to Adrian—

  No, not Adrian.

  But Miranda.

  The child had met Miranda at Applewaite. How wise had that been? Certainly his uncle and even the likes of Jonathon Lloyd had called him into account for such scandalous daring as to allow his sons to meet Miranda.

  But it was not as though Miranda was a streetwalker and his sons would eventually learn of such women and the manner of how noblemen like himself kept them. It was simply the way of the world.

  As it was, he had simply introduced Miranda as a “friend.”

  Yet, Davey had discovered her in Adrian’s bed one night when awakened by a nightmare, so perhaps Adrian had not been so wise after all…

  No matter now. If Adrian had made a mistake, it couldn’t be undone. And apparently, Davey had not forgotten Miranda and still held her in rather a high regard.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Chadwick,” Adrian said coolly, his mind still struggling with the aspect of meeting her here, today.

  When he was in company with his mistress.

  Damned awkward.

  It couldn’t possibly be such a coincidence. And Davey was not supposed to leave his bedchamber, much less leave the house.

  But he couldn’t deny his pleasure to see his son and if he immediately rounded on Dorothy and demanded an explanation, Davey would be confused, upset. The boy already had fragile nerves. So, Adrian hid his rising ire and with no thought for dignity, he dropped to his knees and held his arms out.

  Dorothy frowned and released the boy.

  Davey launched himself with force into Adrian’s arms. “Papa! Papa!” he piped. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you today!”

  Davey showed considerably more spirit than he had in some weeks. Adrian had not seen his son’s eyes shine with happiness since…

  Well, since the day Miranda had left Applewaite.

  The child glanced up at Miranda. “Miss Jones! Have I missed you.”

  Miranda smiled down. “How are you, Davey?”

  “I’ve been ill,” Davey replied with the exuberant bluntness of a small boy.

  “Have you?” Miranda’s voice rang with soft concern.

  Adrian became aware of Dorothy glaring at Miranda.

  No love was lost between the two women. That much was for certain.

  But it brought to mind again, what the devil was Dorothy doing here today with his son? For God’s sake, the doctor had ordered complete quiet and bed rest for Davey.

  This was no coincidence.

  And Adrian wondered, not for the first time, had Dorothy placed a spy in his household? How had she known he would be here today?

  What was her purpose?

  Yet, he didn’t like to think her capable of such scheming. She was a kind, practical woman. She’d been his friend for years. Yes, his romantic attraction towards Miranda had ended their affaire.

  But it didn’t change his friendly regard for his former lover, his late wife’s sister.

  In any event, what would be her purpose to contrive to be here?

  No, matter, she had contrived to be here.

  Had she done out of concern for Davey? Was she, like Miranda, trying to convince him to take a more active, daily role in the boy’s life?

  Well, that was a possibility. In fact, it was the only logical one he could find. He frowned. Damned women and their interfering ways. Yes, he wanted his son with him. But he knew it wasn’t for the best.

  Davey squirmed in his embrace, and Adrian loosened his hold. Davey went straight to Miranda. “That’s a lovely hat, Miss Jones. The color is most becoming,” Davey said in a slightly wooden tone, one that made it clear that he was repeating a polite conversation he’d overheard.

  Adrian couldn’t help grinning. Couldn’t help sharing that grin with Dorothy. But Dorothy was stone-faced, her eyes wide and her face considerably paled.

  “I am so hungry,” Miranda said, in a confessional tone as she bent down towards Davey. “But I hear the food here is hit or miss. Have you ever eaten here, Lord Davey?”

  She used the affectionate title that the servants used towards his son.

  A huge smile split Davey’s face. “I like roast beef!”

  Adrian was startled. He’d not seen Davey show any enthusiasm for food in over a month or more.

  “Is it on the menu here?” Miranda sounded concerned.

  “I don’t know, I have never supped here,” Davey admitted.

  “We’re not eating here,” Dorothy said, in a clipped tone.

  “Davey’s doctors think a diet of bread and water is best for now,” Adrian explained to Miranda.

  “Bread and water?” Miranda blinked several times. “That’s no fit sustenance for a growing boy.” She frowned. “It rather sounds like he’s being punished.”

  Dorothy’s face flamed. “The finest doctors in Mayfair have attended to this child. I think they know best.”

  Miranda touched Davey’s cheek and the boy practically glowed with pleasure.

  Her fingers traced the hollow there. Her frown deepened. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “Last night,” Davey said. “I had bread and water with my nanny.”

  “If you had roast beef now, would you eat it?” Miranda asked.

  “Would I?!” Davey exclaimed. “I could eat a whole plateful!”

  “Why are you tormenting the poor child like this?” Dorothy said, through an obviously tensed jaw. “He cannot possibly eat beef.”

  But suddenly, Adrian wasn’t so sure that his son wouldn’t benefit from some solid food like meat. “Maybe he really would eat,” he said to Dorothy.

  “And he will have a grand stomachache to show for it.”

  Adrian found himself willing to risk that. His son, had to eat again, didn’t he? And Miranda was exactly right. Weeks and weeks of bread and water had done nothing to cure whatever was ailing Davey’s stomach and it was really no fit sustenance for a small boy.

  Miranda looked down at Davey’s face, so different now than when she’
d first met him. His formerly chubby, rosy cheeks were now hollow and pale. Dark circles lay like smudges under his eyes. A lump swelled and burned her throat. She closed her eyes, briefly and swallowed hard. If this little boy wanted roast beef, he would have it.

  Miranda would allow no one to get in the way of her procuring it for him.

  Adrian was arguing the matter with Dorothy, so intent on the issue that Miranda took the opportunity and grasped Davey’s hand.

  “Come along now, we’ll see about getting some roast beef,” she said in cheerful tones.

  His eyes grew wide with delight, and he quickly followed her.

  She heard Dorothy, calling angrily after them. She ignored it and just kept walking, a little faster, with Davey’s hand securely held in hers.

  Aware of Dorothy Chadwick, sitting apart from them with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, Miranda slowly ate her meal, tasting none of it. Beside her, Davey chewed noisily, visibly enjoying his whole serving of beef. And then he inserted himself between Adrian and Miranda and happily accepted more than half of her portion as well, grinning ear to ear as she offered it to him.

  With a sigh, Davey sat back and placed his hand on his stomach then looked up at Adrian. “I wish we could live like this all the time.” He paused, a sad expression darkening his face, a little miniature of Carrville’s. “I wish that I could live with you and Miss Jones like we did at Applewaite.”

  Applewaite came out sounding a little more like able-wait.

  But his meaning was clear.

  Dorothy gave an outraged gasp, and she turned a fearsome glare on Adrian. “You actually lived with Miranda at Applewaite whilst Davey was in your care?”

  Adrian cast a sideways glance at Davey. “Careful, Dorothy, he doesn’t realize what it means and he won’t unless you—”

  “I cannot believe my own ears!” Dorothy’s voice was a strident whisper.

  “I didn’t have any stomachaches when I slept with you and Miss Jones,” Davey added. “I wish we could live that way all the time.”

  Oh Lord. From the mouths of babes. Miranda felt herself vacillating between panic and a desire laugh hysterically.

  It was just one of those moments.

  “Oh my God!” Dorothy said, more loudly this time.