His Favorite Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “Yes, I…am sorry to trouble you…”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” Lady Pendragon smiled. “I just put the baby down for her nap and my son is presently in his room killing Frenchmen—little toy ones, that is,” she finished with a laugh. “Oh, but you must be exhausted from your travels. Please, please, have a seat.”

  Gabriella glanced behind her at the nearest chair, frowning as she saw the exquisite green damask upholstery. I can’t sit on that, she thought, not without fear of ruining the fabric. “I am fine standing.”

  “Do not fret over a little travel dust, I won’t. Though here, let me take your cloak. Martin should have seen to it when you arrived.”

  “Is that the man at the door?”

  “Our butler, yes.” With a kind yet implacable look, she waited, clearly expecting Gabriella to hand over her cloak. After a faint hesitation, Gabriella did, watching as the baroness carried the garment out to give to a servant in the hall. When she returned, Lady Pendragon motioned a hand toward the chair. “Sit, please.”

  Gabriella sat, trying not to be aware of the plain look of her serviceable, long-sleeved yellow wool dress beside the sophisticated cut of Lady Pendragon’s gorgeous sapphire velvet gown.

  Across from her, Julianna Pendragon took a seat as well, meeting her gaze for a moment. “So, you are Gabriella,” she said in a quiet voice. “Gabriella St. George, did I hear Martin say?”

  Her shoulders grew taut, well aware that some might say she had no right to bear her father’s name, since he had never publicly acknowledged her. Yet for the whole of her life, St. George was what she had been called, her mother giving her the name when she had been a very little girl.

  “Just because your papa and I are not married doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled,” her mother used to say. “You are as much a St. George as any of the rest of that family, and a St. George you shall be.” That and the fact that her mother had detested her own surname—Smollett—had decided the matter.

  Although since learning of her father’s past, Gabriella had considered changing her name—perhaps adopting one of her own creation like many in the theater did. Mama had done so, going by the stage name Annabelle LaFleur. But such flamboyant verbal plumage was not for her, and in the end she’d decided it easiest to stay with St. George. Besides, she thought, she’d never remember to answer to anything else. At least not until she married one day; then she supposed she would have no choice but to adjust to a new name.

  Lifting her chin, she met Lady Pendragon’s gaze. “That is correct. I am Gabriella St. George. My father was Burton St. George, Lord Middleton.”

  She waited for the condemnation, the superior look of a lady born in the sanctity of marriage toward one who had been conceived on the wrong side of the blanket. But none came, Julianna Pendragon’s expression both understanding and accepting.

  “Yes, Rafe told me of your visit to the townhouse. I am sorry for the loss of your mother. I know how difficult that can be. As for your father…well, I should probably say nothing.”

  “Did he really kidnap you?” Gabriella blurted without stopping to think.

  Lady Pendragon paused. “He did, yes. And held me for ransom, though I rather doubt he ever intended to let me go free. He also tried to kill my husband. Your papa was not a nice man.”

  Gabriella lowered her gaze. “Yes, so everyone tells me.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Which is why I understand if you do not want me here. Lord Pendragon…my…u-uncle said I might come to him, but I can see that I should not have intruded.”

  “Why not? Rafe told me everything and I entirely agree. You are not to be blamed for the actions of your father, however dreadful they may have been.” She paused. “Although I trust you did not come bearing a gun this time?”

  Gabriella’s eyes grew wide, her lips parting in surprise. “No, my lady, I did not.”

  “Good, then you are most welcome here. Though you should have let us know your plans, instead of running away from Hannibal that day you stopped by the house—yes, he wrote to tell Rafe. The large man with the bald head.”

  “And the scar,” Gabriella added.

  Lady Pendragon nodded her lovely head. “Just so. Had you only stayed, Rafe would have arranged for you to use one of our coaches. I hate to think of your having traveled all this distance by mail coach, and on your own, too, since you have no maid. Thank God you arrived without harm. You are well, are you not?”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  “No more ‘my lady.’ You are family. From now on, you must call me Julianna, or Jules, as my siblings are wont to do. In Rafe’s case, I suspect he would prefer you use his given name as well rather than uncle. Uncles, he’ll say, are white-haired old men and he is far too young to be in his dotage yet,” she finished, amusement twinkling in her dark, expressive eyes.

  Gabriella blinked, her own eyes growing moist with unexpected emotion. Of all the things she had expected to hear, words of warmth and kind concern had not been among them. Suddenly, she was very glad she had come here, very glad indeed.

  “Now,” Julianna continued, “you must be hungry. Before I came downstairs, I asked Cook to prepare tea and a few cakes for us. The tray should be here any moment, unless you are too tired to eat and would rather have a lie-down? I’m having the blue room prepared for you in the family wing.”

  My own room in the family wing, Gabriella thought, more of her earlier fears evaporating. Suddenly a smile of genuine pleasure spread over her face. “Tea and cakes sound delightful, my lady…I mean, Julianna. To be honest, I…missed breakfast this morning.” She decided not to say it was because she hadn’t possessed the funds.

  Julianna smiled back. “Well then, you must eat double the cake. In the meantime, you can tell me all about yourself. Rafe says your mother was an actress.”

  Two weeks later, Anthony Black stepped down from his coach, glad to be free of the vehicle’s confines after long days of travel. The mid-March afternoon was brisk but sunny, the kind that lured people to defy the lingering chill in order to savor a long, invigorating draft of new spring air.

  “Good day, Your Grace, and welcome,” greeted the Pendragons’ butler as he and a pair of footmen hurried forward to assist with Tony’s arrival. “How was your journey? Uneventful, I hope.”

  “Too uneventful, Martin,” Tony replied. “Downright tedious, in sections, especially given the mud that plagued us from Hertfordshire on north. But I am here now and fully prepared to enjoy the celebration. What of the others? Has anyone else made it past the morass?”

  The butler smiled. “Only one other. Mrs. Mayhew, her ladyship’s cousin, arrived yesterday and immediately took to her bed with a case of rheumatism. We are hopeful she will be feeling well enough to take dinner with company this evening. All the other guests are expected either today or tomorrow.”

  Tony nodded, then glanced around. “So where are Lord and Lady Pendragon?” Usually Rafe and Julianna came out to greet him when he arrived for a visit.

  “His lordship is meeting in his study with a pair of investors who drove over from Leeds this morning. And I believe her ladyship is out taking Master Campbell for a stroll in the garden. Allow me to inform them you are here.”

  “No, don’t trouble yourself,” Tony said, waving aside the offer. “I’ll just slip around back and announce myself. I know the way.”

  Martin inclined his gray-haired head. “As you prefer, Your Grace.”

  With a grin, Tony set off, hands tucked inside the pockets of his many-caped greatcoat, his boots sinking comfortably into the soft, cold ground beneath him as he walked. Birds chattered in the trees and bushes, one of them with lively yellow feathers pausing on a branch to complain about Tony’s proximity, the bird’s throat warbling as he sent his urgent call to the others of his flock. Amused, Tony watched for a moment, then continued on, the vast grounds of the garden stretching out before him. With the exception of a few rows of drowsy-headed white snowdrops and a handful of yellow daff
odils brave enough to dare the weather, the flower beds stood dormant, green life waiting to burst forth at the faintest hint of steady spring warmth.

  The garden appeared deserted—no sign of Julianna and her rambunctious two-year-old son. Moving onward, he continued his search, suddenly spying her dressed in a lovely dark green wool pelisse that blended into her surroundings like summer leaves against grass. Drawing to a halt, he stared, momentarily amazed by the sight of her most unusual position. Kneeling on the ground, her distinctly feminine posterior was pointed toward the sky, her head and shoulders stuck under an evergreen bush. Of all the situations in which he might have expected to discover Julianna Pendragon, this one would never have entered his mind.

  “You may find this an impertinent question, your ladyship,” he drawled, “but what are you doing down there?”

  She jerked, a muffled murmur following before she began backing out from underneath the bush.

  By sheer force of will, he resisted the urge to laugh. “I certainly hope Rafe doesn’t know you’re doing this. He wouldn’t approve of finding his wife scuttling around on the cold ground on her hands and knees.” He broke off as another thought suddenly occurred. “Cam’s not under there, I hope.”

  “No,” she stated in a voice that didn’t sound at all like her own. Moments later her head popped out from beneath the bush, and she sat up on her knees. “I’m trying to rescue a litter of kittens. They’re huddled under there and I don’t want them to freeze.”

  Abruptly, his amusement turned to surprise as she tipped back her head—because the eyes that met his own weren’t the brown he’d been expecting, but rather a stunning shade of violet.

  Chapter Four

  “YOU!” HE SAID.

  Raising a hand to shield her eyes against the bright sunlight, Gabriella peered up at Wyvern towering above her. Even crouched beneath a bush as she’d been moments ago, she had instantly recognized his voice, the rich timbre and deep, whiskied cadence sending a warm tingle through her that fought the cold breeze tugging at her cloak.

  As she knelt before him now, her pulse gave a funny little hop, an appreciative sigh rising to her lips that she managed to repress only by sheer dint of will. I don’t know how it’s possible, she marveled, but I do believe he’s even handsomer in the daylight than he was in the darkness that evening in Rafe’s study. His hair was still a dark, almost satiny black, and yet in the sunshine she detected strands of red that glinted like a simmering, secret fire. His midnight-blue eyes were mesmerizing, more vibrant and intense than before, while his classic, patrician features made her spin fancies, wondering if he might have stepped out of some great masterwork highlighting the gods. And though she knew it was likely just a trick of her present, awkward angle, he appeared taller than her memory of him, his shoulders seeming wide as a doorway beneath the fine, black wool of his greatcoat, his long feet and legs planted sturdy as a pair of oaks inside his polished leather Hessians.

  “Yes,” she replied, finding her voice. “Though you might do better to call me Gabriella or Miss St. George rather than ‘you’ during your visit here. I assume you have come for the christening.” She had known a great many people would be arriving for the event, but hadn’t realized, until now, that Wyvern would be among their number.

  “Quite correct,” he said, “I have come to witness the baptism. But pray allow me to begin again and greet you properly this time.” He paused and executed a bow. “Good day, Miss St. George. May I say it is an unexpected pleasure to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Mr…. I mean, Wyvern—or should I perhaps call you my lord?”

  A curious expression passed over his handsome face. “No, Wyvern will do at present. I must say I am surprised to find you here. I was not aware you had changed your mind and decided to take Rafe up on his offer after all.”

  She glanced downward at her hands. “Yes, my…um…circumstances changed and I decided this would be best.” Her gaze rose once more to meet his own. “Rafe and Julianna have been very kind, more than I ever imagined or likely deserve.”

  A slow smile crossed his mouth. “Oh, I am sure you are quite deserving if for no other reason than you arrived unarmed this time. At least I am assuming you did,” he teased.

  “Hmm, yes. As I recall, someone confiscated my weapon. Although I am sure I could find a suitable firearm or two inside the house should such be required. Might I be requiring protection, Wyvern?”

  A laugh burst from his sensuous lips. “Not at the moment, no, but if you do acquire another pistol, I could always be persuaded to disarm you again.”

  At his comment, she remembered how it had felt to be pressed against his body, as well as the heated, delectable slide of his mouth against her own. Suddenly too warm beneath her cloak, she pushed away such thoughts. “So, do I surmise that you came in search of Lady Pendragon? She took Cam upstairs to the nursery a couple of minutes ago.”

  “While you stayed here.”

  “Of course. I couldn’t leave, not after finding these kittens. That’s what persuaded Julianna to take Cam inside. He wanted to crawl under and get them.” As if on cue, a round of high-pitched mews sounded from beneath the bush.

  Wyvern bent slightly at the waist in an attempt to see, but the little cats were well concealed inside their thicket of greenery. “Surely their mother will return to care for them.”

  “I am sure she will, but I heard she took a fright this morning after one of the kittens was nearly trampled by a horse. That’s when she moved them out of the stables and apparently stuck them here.”

  “If she’s with them, they will be fine.”

  “Not if it snows this evening as Cook predicts,” she pronounced with a firm shake of her head. “They must be moved where it is warm and safe. Now, hold out your arms.”

  He gave her an arch look. “For what purpose, might I inquire?”

  “You will see. Arms, please,” she persisted.

  He raised an arrogant brow as if unused to being given orders, then with a slight twist of his lips, he stuck his arms straight out toward her.

  “No, not like that,” she corrected. “Fold them a bit.” Still on her knees, she demonstrated the shape with her own arms.

  “Ah, I begin to see.” Repeating the motion, he formed a kind of cradle against his chest. “Might I proffer a suggestion, however? Rather than use me as a basket, why do we not go inside the house and find a real one?”

  Before Tony had a chance to say more, Gabriella ducked beneath the bush again and stretched out onto her stomach. In amazement, he watched her, unable to resist leaning closer to get a better view of her very attractive bottom as it wiggled beneath the folds of her cloak.

  I suppose I ought not to notice such things, he mused, since she is Rafe’s niece and all. But how is a man expected to ignore such a fine show when the performance is going on right before his eyes?

  Agile as a cat herself, Gabriella emerged a few moments later, a trio of crying kittens tucked against her chest. “Here,” she said, rising smoothly to her knees, then onto her feet. “Take them. There are more.” Gently depositing the squirming noisemakers into his arms, she dove downward again.

  “Good God!” he commented aloud, wondering how many more there might be. Holding the kittens, he hoped none of his little charges would try to escape. But the black-and-white balls of fluff simply meowed, terror shining in their small, round green eyes. “Hush, now,” he murmured, “I’ve got you and there is nothing to fear.”

  “These are the last,” she declared in a triumphant if faintly winded voice, when she reemerged a minute later. Cradled in her arms were two more kittens—one with bright orange stripes, the other gray with patches of white. Following their siblings’ lead, they added to the chorus of high-pitched meows.

  “Shall I take those as well?” he asked over the racket.

  “Five seems rather much. I’ll carry my two.”

  “And where is it we are headed? Back to the stables?”

  Her e
yes widened. “Gracious no! Their mama will only move them out again. No, I’m taking them into the house.”

  A laugh escaped him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? After all, with so many guests arriving, the staff isn’t going to appreciate having a litter of kittens underfoot, to say nothing of Rafe and Julianna.”

  A momentarily wounded expression crossed her pretty face. “Rafe and Julianna like animals; Julianna told me so herself not twenty minutes ago. And the kittens won’t be underfoot, not in my bedroom. I’m sure they will disturb no one there.”

  Her bedroom! He considered pointing out a few difficulties inherent in such an arrangement, but at her look decided he would be better off holding his tongue for now. “Lead on, then. I am yours to command.”

  She flashed him a smile that made his blood heat—leaving him suddenly glad his arms were full of kittens—before she turned and started across the garden. Managing his furry cargo, he allowed her to precede him toward a rear garden doorway. Just as he reached out to turn the knob, a streak of orange and black caught his eye. Glancing to his left, he found a calico cat seated a few feet distant, keenly monitoring their progress.

  “Our missing mama cat, I presume,” he observed in a low voice.

  Gabriella nodded. “I knew Aggie would turn up. Leave the door open and we’ll see if she follows.”

  Again, Tony held his tongue as they moved inside. He and Gabriella were halfway up the stairs when the cat darted in, trailing them at a run. She continued to follow a few paces behind all the way to Gabriella’s bedchamber.

  Inside the room, Gabriella carefully placed her two kittens onto the plush Aubusson carpet, far enough from the fireplace to protect them yet close enough to still give them some warmth.

  “There you go,” she cooed to the adult cat. “There are your babies.”

  Tony crossed the room and stood silent as Gabriella plucked the kittens out of his arms and set them, one by one, next to their siblings. As soon as all five were reunited, their mother joined them, purring out her pleasure.