The Mistress' House

by Leigh Michaels

  “No,” Anne said, automatically.

  He arched his eyebrows at her and reached for her dance card. “There is no name written opposite this dance,” he pointed out. “In fact, there are no names for the rest of the evening. Are you planning to make an early night of it?”

  “Anne, take the man away before he becomes annoying,” Lady Stone ordered. “There’s no place for you to sit, anyway. I’ll stay and coze with Madeleine while you dance.”

  How very rude of him to leave her entirely alone for most of the evening and then demand a dance! And of course he couldn’t have chosen one of the stately country dances, where she wouldn’t have to talk to him, Anne thought resentfully. No, it would have to be a waltz, where she was required to circle the room clasped in his arms, reminded with every step of a very different sort of dance they had shared in the bedroom on Upper Seymour Street… reminded of the way his warm hands had felt against her bare skin…

  He led her onto the floor, and his hand on the small of her back seemed to burn her, even through his glove and the fabric of her moss-green dress. They made a stately circle of the ballroom without a word, and she began to hope they might finish the dance in silence.

  Except it felt even worse to be in his arms and share no teasing double meanings, no wickedly funny remarks, no whispered reminders of what they had been to each other, no suggestive smiles.

  Without even an angry accusation…

  She began to hope that he’d rip up at her for being a fool because she’d ended up in Freddy’s clutches. Unfair as it would be if he said such things, it would prove that he cared—at least a little—what she did. Because right now he didn’t seem to care at all. Was he only dancing with her now because—having paid attention to her for days—there would be talk if he didn’t?

  It’s all over, she thought wearily. I’m in love with him—but he’s already moved on.

  “Are you all right?” he asked finally.

  She looked up at him, intending to give him her brightest smile, her most reassuring sparkle—and felt instead the prickle of tears.

  He said something under his breath that she didn’t catch, and a moment later they were gliding off the edge of the dance floor and out of the ballroom, across a deserted hallway and into a small reception room where a few candles glowed and a fire had burned down to embers. The door creaked as he closed it, but then there was no sound.

  “Come now, Mrs. Wilde,” he said.

  Anne bit her lip. “Don’t torment me. I can’t stand it.”

  He took out a handkerchief and used the edge of it to blot her lashes.

  She forced a smile. “I just need a moment to gather myself. Go back to the ballroom, please.”

  “A rake returning without the lady he has just escorted from the room? My reputation would never recover.”

  “You dare mention reputations to me?” she flared. “Why didn’t you tell me how silly I was being to think that taking a lover would solve my problems?”

  For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Because it fitted very well into my plans.”

  “Your… plans?”

  “Did you think it was mere chance that we met at the jeweler’s shop that morning, Anne?”

  “It was not?”

  “No. It took me rather a lot of effort to discover where I could find you, but eventually my groom made connections with one of Braxton’s footmen, who had overheard you… Oh, my dear girl. You seriously thought that a dalliance with me would make you unmarriageable? My heart, you could have seven illegitimate children and still men would want you. I would want you.”

  It was a shame, she thought sadly, that there couldn’t be a child. Then, at least, she would have a reminder of him always.

  “Look at me, Anne.” His voice was gentle, but his hand under her chin was insistent. “Will you marry me?”

  The world rocked underneath her. Had her ears failed? Was she—somehow—dreaming? She stole a look up at him. He seemed perfectly normal… except that he wasn’t smiling. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, and there was a tightness about his mouth…

  “What?” she burst out. “You told me you had no desire to marry me!”

  “If I recall the conversation correctly,” he said pensively, “you told me what my intentions—or lack of them—were.”

  “But you agreed!”

  He smiled, faintly. “Yes—at the time. You have changed my mind.”

  She could barely get her breath. “It’s Braxton, isn’t it? He’s desperate to save my reputation. Even Braxton can’t bring himself to marry me off to Freddy—”

  “Of course not. Freddy will be making a long stay on the Continent, by the way, as soon as his nose and the other injuries he sustained from his… fall… have healed enough for him to travel.”

  “That’s good news, I suppose,” she said absently. “But Braxton’s obviously still determined to marry me off, so if he can find someone else instead of Freddy…”

  “Me, you mean? I don’t act because someone like Braxton attempts to compel me, Anne. In any case, he didn’t. This is entirely my own idea.”

  She stared at him. He sounded quite serious. And yet—the most confirmed rake in London proposing marriage… to her?

  “Oh, dear,” he said. “Well, that confirms it—you’re standing there with your mouth hanging open, and I still think you’re the most beautiful creature on earth.”

  “You don’t want to marry,” she protested.

  “I never have before. But there has never been a woman I couldn’t live without, before.”

  She wanted to believe, but she couldn’t. “You’re only saying you want to marry me because of what Freddy did.”

  “On the contrary, my dear. Freddy’s not going to talk—or come back anytime soon, either.”

  There was a thread of steel in his voice. Anne couldn’t decide whether to be glad her brother had taken her out of the Red Dragon before Freddy had come back to his senses after that first blow or to regret that she’d missed seeing what had happened next. How much persuasion had Freddy required before he’d decided that a lengthy repairing lease on the Continent would be just the ticket? She wondered exactly how badly Thorne’s knuckles were grazed and if that was why he hadn’t removed his gloves tonight…

  “In any case,” he went on, “my decision was made before Freddy acted. I had just sought your brother out this afternoon to tell him I intended to marry you when I got the message from the Red Dragon.”

  “But… but why marriage? It’s so… so…”

  “Final? Permanent? Exclusive? Am I getting close?”

  She nodded, sadly.

  “But that’s exactly the reason, Anne. If you were to remain my mistress, I would have you only in scattered moments, whenever you could break away from your other obligations. I want you all the time. I want the joy of protecting you and the pride of claiming you as my wife. And…” his voice dropped. “I need you.”

  She swallowed hard. He had made his proposal; she had given him every opportunity to withdraw it… Or had she? “No,” she whispered. “No. I can’t marry you.”

  He smiled at her.

  Anne’s heart dropped to her toes. Was he relieved that she had refused him, in no uncertain terms? He could no longer be held responsible…

  “Yes,” he said. “If you wish a formal courtship, I will call on you tomorrow to renew my question, and the day after, and the day after that, for as long as it takes until you can no longer deny that I mean what I say.”

  Hope fluttered inside her.

  His voice was almost somber. “Keighley was an old, sick, selfish man. I know he gave you a distaste for marriage, Anne—but I beg you to take your chances with me. I love you. Please say you’ll have me.”

  Her head was telling her she should continue to resist, but her heart was skipping madly. He loves me… He loves me! Then she remembered something else, and the flutter of hope died. “I can’t give you an heir.”

&n
bsp; “Then I will live happily without one. But I think there’s a very good chance you may be carrying the next Lord Hawthorne right now.”

  She was trembling. “No. That’s not possible.”

  “I assure you it is. I didn’t make certain you were safe from a pregnancy, my dear—not after the first time we made love. I made a deliberate choice not to, and I would make the same choice again. You were so sad then, when you told me that you could never have children, that I wanted you to have a child. My child. That was when I began to know—though I didn’t want to admit it—that having you as my mistress would not be enough.”

  “But it’s not fair to you if I can’t have a child. And you can’t expect… It was four years, Thorne!”

  “We shall see, in due time. And until then, we shall have a lot of fun testing which of us is correct.” Somehow he’d gotten his arms around her, and he was kissing her throat.

  She tried—but only halfheartedly—to break free. “Wait a minute. You said you went looking for Braxton to tell him you intended to marry me. Not to ask his permission?”

  “Not at all. If he had tried to withhold his approval, I’d have made you an offer anyway. However…” He paused. “You need to know that in a moment of fear this afternoon, I told your brother what we have been to each other. If you don’t marry me, he will certainly call me out, Anne. And I’d have to let him shoot me, you know, because of what I’ve done. ”

  “You told him?” Anne was stunned. Not by the idea that Braxton knew she had taken a lover, though that was certainly problem enough. Her rake—the man who had never played a card wrong in the game of love—had been so frightened for her that he’d lost control of what he said?

  The little flutter of hope had expanded, shifting into a bubble of joy so strong it threatened to lift her off her feet. The sheer wonder of it—that Thorne loved her—was making her dizzy.

  “Save my life, darling. Marry me.” He kissed her temple. “We haven’t had much time for conversation,” he said softly. “But there has been fun and, I believe, the foundation of friendship.”

  Did the man remember everything she had ever said to him? She tried to make her voice severe. “You’ve left me no option, my lord.”

  “I do hope not.” A silvery gleam was suddenly dancing in his eyes again. “Because if you happen to think of another one, I’ll have to set about destroying it, as well—even though I’d much rather be kissing you.” He demonstrated.

  The door creaked open, and light from the hallway poured in and captured them—Anne with her head thrown back, Thorne nuzzling the top of her breast, and not enough space between them to fit a sheet of paper—just as Charlotte Barnsley burst into the room.

  Thorne stopped nuzzling, but he didn’t release Anne. “I do hope you meant that as a yes, my darling,” he murmured, “because I really must leave off being a rake. I’ve lost my touch. Charlotte, if you’re planning to expose us…”

  Charlotte’s eyes flashed. “Oh, no! I’m not going to do anything that would make it easier for her to capture you! Just because this trollop—”

  Thorne’s tone was chilly. “Be watchful what you say, Lady Barnsley. An apology is in order.”

  “—likes to masquerade as the nonexistent Mrs. Wilde—”

  A tart voice from the door interrupted her tirade. “The nonexistent Mrs. Wilde?” Lady Stone said. “Oh, dear. My good friend Mrs. Wilde will be quite unhappy to hear she doesn’t exist. A small lady. Elderly. Quite round. Very fond of butterflies…”

  Charlotte looked as if she’d been slapped. “There really is a Mrs. Wilde?” She stamped her foot and stormed off.

  “…And strawberries,” Lady Stone said blandly. “You owe me, dear hearts. I’m going to demand every detail—later. But now that Charlotte has been routed, I suggest you follow me back to the ballroom, before every last one of the people who are holding their breaths to see what you’re about faints in unison.” She left the door wide open when she departed.

  Anne looked up at Thorne in puzzlement. “Charlotte doesn’t know about Mrs. Wilde? But she was…”

  “Charlotte was never my mistress. Really, Anne—give me leave to have some taste. In any case, there has never been another Mrs. Wilde. Only you.”

  “Oh, really? You expect me to believe you have never before used that oh-so-convenient little house as a trysting spot?”

  “Why do you think I didn’t take you there instead of to the Red Dragon the first time we met? Because it wasn’t ready. Oh, I had some such idea when I bought it last autumn—a nice quiet little house, so conveniently located just around the corner from my own. But I hadn’t got round to fixing it up. It wasn’t until I wanted to take you there that I had the workmen start. Did you actually not notice that the furnishings were the perfect shade to complement your coloring?”

  She hadn’t. She’d been too busy thinking of how Charlotte Barnsley’s red hair would look against the rich emerald bed curtains…

  “You have no idea how difficult it is to redecorate in just two days.”

  “You did that for me?”

  “I wanted everything to be lovely for you. Not sordid.”

  “You’ve lied to me, you know,” she said softly. “You are a gentleman. Even when I was only your lover—”

  “My dear, you could never be only a lover. I’ll give you the house, if you like—so long as I may come and visit Mrs. Wilde from time to time.”

  “Whenever you wish—Mr. Wilde.”

  “Though now that I think about it…” He paused to kiss her so thoroughly that Anne almost forgot what he was talking about. “Not Mrs. Wilde,” he said finally. “You shall be Lady Hawthorne all the time, of course. But now and then, will you be my Lady Wilde?”

  She whispered her answer… and he smiled.

  Three

  THE COUNTESS RECEIVES A LETTER

  Anne, Lady Hawthorne, rose late and looked over her letters as she breakfasted on a slice of dry toast and a cup of tea sweetened with honey. The Season would be coming to an end in a few weeks, and then London would be quiet as the ton retreated to resorts, to the seaside, or to their country estates—but she needed to respond to a considerable number of invitations in the meantime.

  The invitations were forgotten, however, as she unearthed a letter at the bottom of the pile, broke the wafer, and spread the page. The letter was short, the lines uncrossed, the handwriting firm and deliberate and clear.

  My dear Anne—What wonderful news! I cannot tell you how happy I am for you or how touched that you have invited me to visit you. You have reminded me that though I still miss my father very much, it is long past time to put off my black—and that means a visit to London. So I shall look forward to calling on you in Portman Square within the next week.

  However, I cannot think your husband would like to have your old school friend actually in residence for any length of time, and I fear I would be a burden to you. I prefer not to go into society, and I would not have you give up your own plans to keep me company. In any case, once established in London, I may decide to stay for a while, replenishing my bookshelves as well as my wardrobe and enjoying all the culture that the capital offers.

  Perhaps Lord Hawthorne’s man of business—I assume he has one?—could be prevailed upon to assist me in finding a small house that I could lease for a few months. If such a house exists, perhaps he would go ahead and make the arrangements in my name so that I might finalize them immediately upon my arrival.

  With greatest sincerity I remain,

  Your devoted friend,

  Felicity

  Anne had not seen Felicity Mercer for years, but obviously the girl she had known hadn’t changed as she had grown into womanhood. Felicity had been—and evidently still was—always thoughtful of others, always reluctant to call attention to herself, and always afraid she might accidentally create trouble for someone.

  Anne knew better than to try to convince Felicity to stay in Portman Square. She hadn’t missed her friend’s pai
nful little phrase about preferring not to go into society. It was nonsense, of course—despite Felicity’s origins, she was better educated and more well mannered than the average lady of the ton.

  Anne refolded the letter and rang for the butler to tell Perkins she needed to see him. Poor Perkins would have his hands full trying to find a house for Felicity at this time of year. In another month such a search would be easy, as families began to leave town. But now, with the Season still ongoing…

  However, if Felicity wanted a house, then a house she would have.

  “My lady?” Perkins stood at the door of the morning room. “You wished to speak with me?”

  “I appreciate you coming so promptly, Perkins. Come and sit down. Would you like tea?”

  He looked uneasy at the notion of sitting at table with the lady of the house, much less partaking of refreshment in her company—even though, in his position of responsibility, he was hardly a servant.

  Or perhaps, Anne thought with wry humor, he was feeling uneasy over what she might be building up to ask. Not that she could blame him.

  “No, thank you, my lady. Was there something you needed?”

  “A house.” Anne picked up the letter. “A small house for a friend of mine to lease for a few months, starting next week.”

  She thought Perkins smothered a sigh. “Yes, my lady. I shall do my best. Although…”

  “I know it won’t be easy at this time of year. But I have great faith in your powers, Perkins. His lordship often says that you work miracles.”

  He cleared his throat. “My lady, there is… No, I beg your pardon—I should not have spoken of it.”

  “Please, Perkins. What were you going to say?”

  He swallowed hard. “I was just going to mention that Number 5 Upper Seymour Street is… Now that his lordship is no longer… I mean…” He turned fiercely red and looked terrified.

  Anne surveyed him thoughtfully. “Now that his lordship no longer needs it?” she asked sweetly.