The Mistress' House

by Leigh Michaels

  Just as he’d suspected. She couldn’t do it. So what was she playing at?

  His desire had never been far beneath the surface since the first time he had touched her; now it flared into an inferno, and common sense turned to ash. He advanced slowly on her, not looking away and not stopping until his body was brushing hers. Through the thin fabric of her dress, he could see the way her nipples peaked, the automatic response of a woman to her lover.

  She darted a glance up at him and then looked away as if denying that he was there. His chest brushed her breasts with every breath he took. She sighed as if in surrender—and suddenly he was kissing her, his lips devouring hers, hot and fierce and demanding.

  And she was answering. He plundered her mouth, and she kissed him in return as if she was starving for him. Satisfaction surged through him at her reaction, firing his desire to new heights.

  His hands roamed freely over the body he had explored so fully, and she gasped and molded herself to him. “You’re mine,” he said harshly, “and you’ll remain mine as long as I choose.”

  She turned to a statue in his arms. “Let me go.”

  “Felicity, what the devil—I beg your pardon. What do you mean?”

  “I cannot go on. It was a mistake. I beg of you—just forget me, my lord. Forget that I was so foolish.”

  Forget her? She was standing in his arms, his kisses still hot on her lips, and she wanted him to simply forget that she had been his lover and go away quietly? Was the woman mad?

  “Or what, my Lady Desire?” he said. “What will you do if I don’t agree to… forget? What if I let a word slip to your good friend Lady Hawthorne?”

  Her voice was small but determined. “Then I fear I would have to tell Lady Colford.”

  He smiled. “Go ahead. But I do beg that you’ll allow me to be present, for I’d hate to miss the fun.”

  He heard a step on the stairway and then another in the carpeted hallway outside. What ailed the butler to make him forget his oh-so-convenient training at this of all moments?

  Felicity tugged herself loose. “I am expecting a caller.”

  The butler cleared his throat outside the door, and by the time he entered the room, Felicity was sitting on the sofa, her spine very straight and her pose that of a perfect lady.

  She was quick on her feet; Richard had to give her that… though of course she’d had the advantage of knowing that they would soon be interrupted. He wondered if she’d planned it that way. Was his delightful little golden mistress playing a deeper game than he’d given her credit for? What if her caller was the Countess of Hawthorne, come on purpose to discover him in a compromising position?

  Then Miss Mercer was about to get a very large surprise… Though if she had intended to compromise him, why had she moved, rather than staying in his arms?

  He turned to survey the new arrival and was startled to see that Felicity’s caller was not the countess but a man. He was dark-haired, solidly built and a good six inches shorter than Richard, with square shoulders that looked far too wide for his height. His coat was fashionable, his neckcloth correct—but something about him whispered that the effect had been achieved only with much effort and great expense.

  The newcomer advanced on Felicity with a wide smile. “Miss Mercer, I am glad to see you well.”

  Was he blind? Richard thought. She looked far from well.

  “Lord Colford, may I present Mr. Rivers.” Felicity’s voice was colorless. “Mr. Rivers is the manager of my father’s mill. I mean… my mill.”

  Rivers turned to face Richard. His gaze sharpened, and for a moment his face looked almost feral. Then he smiled broadly and bowed. “My lord.”

  Richard wished he had a quizzing glass. He didn’t want a better look at this specimen. But it would be interesting to see the mill manager wilt under a close inspection—and the cad deserved it for aspiring to Felicity…

  So it comes to this, he told himself. Sparring over a woman.

  “Lord Colford was just leaving,” Felicity said. “Thank you for delivering the message in person, my lord. Mason will see you out.”

  He was stunned. She actually thought she was going to dismiss him?

  But he bowed politely and took his leave. He would let Miss Mercer—and her dandy of a mill manager—think they had routed him.

  For the moment.

  ***

  Even after Richard was gone, his presence seemed to linger in the room. Mr. Rivers kept looking around as if expecting Lord Colford to tap him on the shoulder, and Felicity couldn’t focus on the report the mill manager was giving her. When for a third time she had to ask him to repeat himself, Mr. Rivers smiled broadly and seated himself beside her on the sofa. “Perhaps we should leave discussion of business for another occasion.”

  “Yes,” she said gratefully. “I don’t seem to be able to take it all in just now.”

  “There’s really no need for you to fret your mind about it at all.”

  His patronizing tone—as if he was patting her on the head and reassuring her that it was perfectly all right not to be smart enough to understand her finances—flicked Felicity raw. “I beg your pardon?”

  “My dear Miss Mercer, surely you know that my greatest wish is to be of service to you. If you would but say the word, I would be honored to take over all responsibility for your financial affairs.”

  Felicity frowned a little. “Say the word?”

  He seized her hand. “I should restrain myself, I know. I intended to wait until you got this London nonsense out of your head and came home to York where you belong. But I find I cannot. Seeing you again, after these few weeks apart, has confirmed the nature of my feelings. You are more beautiful, more charming than ever.”

  Not today, she almost said.

  “My dear Miss Mercer, let us stop dancing around the subject. Once you have agreed to be my wife…”

  “Your… wife?” Felicity said faintly.

  “Then you need never concern yourself about your finances again, for all your affairs will rest comfortably in my care, and you need occupy yourself only with matters of our household and our children. You may devote yourself to making our mansion a true family home.”

  Our mansion? Was he thinking of the big, old dark house—the one she never wanted to see again—as already belonging to him?

  Children? The mere thought of bearing a child that wasn’t Richard’s made her shudder. Yet…

  Should she, for the sake of the child she might already be carrying, at least consider Jason Rivers’ proposal? She could go home to York as a wife. Her child would have a name. No one would ever know, and she wouldn’t have to make up a story about a husband who had died…

  Jason Rivers had managed to get hold of her hands, and he was looking into her eyes. But his gaze, she thought, contained a great deal more calculation than soulful adoration. “And we will never speak of anything you might have done while you were here,” he went on.

  As for the men of my own class, she had told Richard, they too put a premium on virginity. Clearly, Jason Rivers had his suspicions. If she married him, Felicity—and ultimately her child—would pay for those suspicions. If her child was born with her own golden hair—and Richard’s—rather than with Jason Rivers’ dark coloring…

  No. Bearing an illegitimate child and raising him or her with love would be far better than putting herself and her baby in the grip of a man who would hold that child’s father over their heads forever.

  Jason Rivers must have seen the hesitation in her face, for his grip tightened. And perhaps… did she see the slightest hint of desperation in his eyes? Certainly it had been clumsy of him to let slip that he suspected her of not being chaste. “I am willing to overlook many things, Miss Mercer.”

  But in return for what? All your affairs will rest comfortably in my care…

  For the first time, Felicity wondered if he had already arranged to take over her finances. Was this proposal simply the final step in a plan he’d been putting
into motion for months?

  When her father had died, she had still been numb from Roger’s desertion—and she had been grateful to have an experienced manager in place, someone who could step into her father’s shoes and take the necessary actions to keep the mill operating.

  She had only started to recover from the double loss when she had heard of Roger’s death, and again she had leaned on Jason Rivers. He had always been respectful and careful to consult her… but had he only been going through the motions, manipulating her while he actually acted as he pleased?

  Why had she not wondered before now whether he really had her best interests at heart, or his own?

  The profits from the mill had been much lower during the past year than she had expected. But she had accepted Jason Rivers’ figures and his explanations. She had assumed that she must have misunderstood what her father had said—for he’d never fully explained the business to her.

  Because I never cared to listen, she admitted.

  Too caught up in her grief to ask questions, she had never thought to doubt Jason Rivers. But then, she had also never suspected that he might harbor warm feelings for her—and surely she should have seen that before, if those feelings had really existed.

  Now he had proposed marriage. But why? Because finding her with another man had made him realize that he cared about her, and so he must speak quickly or risk losing her?

  Or because finding her with another man made him fear that if she married, her husband might ask questions about the mill that Jason Rivers would find uncomfortable?

  One thing was certain: she could not afford to let him realize that she no longer trusted him.

  “This is so sudden,” she said, letting a girlish quiver creep into her voice.

  She saw the flare of confidence in his eyes and dropped her own gaze so he couldn’t read her distaste there.

  “Not sudden at all, Miss Mercer. You must know that I have admired you for years. It was only the sad loss of your father that kept me from speaking before now.”

  Or made it possible for him to cement his position with her… “I am very flattered, of course. But I must have a little time to consider. It would hardly be proper of me to accept a proposal immediately.” He gave her a wide, toothy smile and pressed her hand between his. Felicity didn’t know how she managed not to shake off his touch.

  “Then I shall leave you to consider,” he said warmly. “I will call on you again tomorrow, and I beg that you will be ready to give me the answer I crave.”

  ***

  Felicity’s butler—or perhaps to be more accurate, Thorne’s butler—might be elderly, but he certainly hadn’t lost his touch. As Richard came down the stairs, Mason moved into position by the front door, already holding Richard’s hat—quite as if he’d been expecting Richard to get his marching orders.

  Richard noted a tinge of sympathy in the old man’s rheumy eyes, and annoyance trickled through him. What business was it of the butler’s what went on above stairs, anyway? On the other hand…

  He took his hat and dropped a gold sovereign into Mason’s hand. “The… person… who is upstairs with Miss Mercer,” he said. “Has he visited her before?”

  The sovereign vanished into the butler’s pocket as neatly as if he were a magician. “No, my lord.”

  But Felicity had obviously been expecting him…

  As if he had read Richard’s mind, Mason said, a bit too loudly, “He sent a message this morning.”

  “Was she pleased to receive it?”

  Mason looked thoughtful. “I would say not. She seemed… resigned.”

  “Yet she agreed to meet with him alone?”

  “It seems to be a matter of business, my lord, at least on her side. Mr. Rivers is in trade.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “When it comes right down to it, Mason, so is Miss Mercer. He runs the factory—but she owns it.”

  Mason’s jaw set tightly. “Miss Mercer may own a factory, my lord, but despite that she is a lady through and through.”

  My Lady Desire… “Indeed she is,” Richard murmured. “Being one thing does not mean she can’t be the other as well. But you said, at least on her side. I wonder what he is after.”

  The butler cleared his throat. “I should say, my lord, that he had the look of a man who is about to make an offer of marriage.”

  Richard couldn’t say he was surprised; the same thought had occurred to him when Rivers had started posturing. But the fact that the butler had picked up the identical signals shook Richard to his core. His hand tightened on the brim of his hat, and he had to force himself not to turn on his heel, run back up the stairs, and burst into the drawing room to—if necessary—tear Felicity from the cad’s arms and plant Rivers a facer while he was about it.

  “You know that look well, do you, Mason?” he asked lightly.

  But the butler answered quite seriously. “I have seen it many times, my lord.”

  Not in Thorne’s household, Richard would bet. He smiled at the thought.

  “As I have seen the look of a lady who is uncertain how she will answer, my lord.”

  Mason sounded so somber—so concerned—that Richard also sobered. Surely Felicity wasn’t going to entertain an offer from a man like Jason Rivers!

  Yet she had told Richard their affair was over, that she had come to her senses, that she couldn’t see him anymore.

  Had she begged him to forget her because she was going to marry Rivers? Surely not of her own free will… for she didn’t seem to be very happy about it. Was the cad blackmailing her somehow?

  Something of the sort must be going on, Richard thought, because Felicity Mercer would not, absolutely could not prefer Jason Rivers to himself.

  ***

  As soon as she saw Jason Rivers climb into a hack and drive away, Felicity ran down the stairs, calling for her cloak and a maid to accompany her around the corner to the Hawthornes’ town house. Perhaps Lord Hawthorne would be at home, and she could ask his advice. Or failing that, perhaps Perkins could help her. There must be a way to determine whether Jason Rivers was defrauding her.

  A carriage waited in front of the Hawthorne house—the one Anne habitually used, Felicity thought. The Hawthornes’ butler admitted her to the front hall, and as Felicity’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside, she saw that Anne was at the foot of the stairway, carefully pulling on her gloves.

  She came over to greet Felicity. “How perfectly wonderful! I wanted you, and here you are.”

  “But you’re going out.”

  “Yes, I am—but will you do me the greatest favor and come calling with me?”

  “I don’t mean to be a trouble to you. In fact, I really wish to speak with his lordship—or with Mr. Perkins.”

  Anne shook her head. “They’re both out, I believe. Something to do with a canal.”

  Felicity’s heart dropped. But it had been silly to expect that Lord Hawthorne would be free to see her at a moment’s notice, even if he had been in the house.

  “Come calling with me now,” Anne offered, “and after we return, you can speak with Thorne at dinner.”

  “I’m not dressed to pay calls.”

  “Nonsense. You’re always perfectly well turned out.”

  “Anne, I’m not up to your style of society.”

  “This is hardly society. I’m to pick up Lady Stone at Grosvenor Square, and we’re only visiting Thorne’s aunt, who’s an old friend of Lady Stone’s.”

  If she went back to Upper Seymour Street, Felicity thought, she would no doubt simply pace the floor—so she might as well be occupied. And she liked Lady Stone.

  Besides, it would be just as well for Felicity not to be at home, in case Richard decided to return to finish their interrupted conversation. Not that she expected he would, for she had surely made her point. All that nonsense about her remaining his mistress until he decided otherwise and the threat to tell Anne about their affair were simply manifestations of his pride.

  At least, sh
e was almost certain of that.

  She had barely agreed before Anne was sending the maid back to Upper Seymour Street and sweeping Felicity out to the waiting carriage.

  “Anne,” Felicity said as they threaded their way through traffic on Oxford Street and down toward Grosvenor Square, “you’ve coped with your share of unwelcome suitors, haven’t you?”

  “A few. Why?”

  “I don’t know how to handle Jason Rivers. He proposed marriage to me this afternoon.”

  “Felicity, that’s…” Anne went very still. “You said he’s an unwanted suitor?”

  “Yes. I think he only offered for me because he doesn’t want me to realize he’s been stealing my money.”

  Anne stared at her. “Stealing… but Fliss, how awful! You had no idea?”

  “I’ve… I’ve found it difficult to concentrate on the business of late.”

  “Is this why you decided to sell your house?” Anne’s face was warm, full of concern. “Are things so very bad that you can’t afford it any longer?”

  “Oh, no—I was going to do that anyway. I’m not impoverished, Anne. Since my father died, the profits from the mill have been smaller, yes—but I thought it was because customers who were used to dealing with Papa might have been drifting away…” She shrugged. “It sounds foolish, I know, not to have asked questions.”

  “Not at all. When you lost your father, of course you didn’t have a thought to spare for the mill. But… You mean it wasn’t him? Jason Rivers, I mean. He wasn’t the man who had you so flustered? But then who…?”

  Just then, to Felicity’s relief, the carriage pulled up in front of a huge house on Grosvenor Square. A footman swung down and went to the door, and Felicity shifted over to the rear-facing seat to leave room for Lady Stone beside Anne in the forward-facing one.

  Noting Anne’s thoughtful gaze, Felicity said hastily, “No doubt this entire thing is largely my own fault. I should have been paying more attention—learning about the mill and stepping in to run it myself. It’s my responsibility, after all.”

  “You might rely on a husband to look after it for you,” Anne said gently.

  Felicity shook her head, trying to keep her face calm. Marrying someone who wasn’t Richard? Pain stabbed through her heart at the very idea. “I thought his lordship might advise me about how to proceed.”