His Favorite Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  As it was, people had taken to whispering about her, breaking off their conversations whenever she happened near. Often they would wait in silence until she moved away, then resume their tattling as soon as they assumed her to be out of earshot. She fought not to let their behavior trouble her; she’d dealt with far worse than snubs in her life. But she hated the distress such actions were causing Julianna, who had started hovering around her like a mother hen ever since the trouble with her aunt had begun. Lily Andarton and Maris Waring had joined the effort as well, all three women visibly determined to lift her spirits despite her assurances that she was fine.

  Although tonight she wasn’t completely positive she was fine, wishing mightily that she could leave early and put the evening behind her. Pride held her in place, though. Pride and Wyvern’s admonition that she withstand this bit of “rough weather,” as he had called it. If only he were here tonight! But as everyone in the Ton knew, the Duke of Wyvern did not attend Almacks—ever.

  “Why do we not visit the refreshment table?” Julianna suggested from where she sat next to her. “Another glass of lemonade perhaps? Or a bite of cake? What do you think?”

  “Yes,” piped Lily with an encouraging smile from her other side. “Cake and lemonade sound delicious.”

  Gabriella knew they were trying to cheer her up. And their idea might even have worked if she hadn’t already drunk two glasses of lemonade and sampled a slice of pound cake, which she’d found bland and a bit dry. She smiled and shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t, but you two go on.”

  A tiny frown settled on Julianna’s brow. “You’re right. Snacks now will only ruin supper. We shall sit here and enjoy the music.”

  “Yes. The quartet is in fine form this evening,” Lily agreed.

  Gabriella waved a hand. “Please stop, both of you. You are so sweet to keep me company, but it isn’t necessary. Do go on and enjoy yourselves. Have some food, dance if you like, flirt with your husbands. I shall not mind in the slightest.”

  “But I enjoy sitting with you,” Lily defended.

  “As do I.” Julianna sent her a smile. “Passing the time with you is never a hardship.”

  “Perhaps not,” Gabriella said, “but we are here at an entertainment and I want both of you to be entertained, not sitting around nursemaiding me. Please, go have fun. I shall be quite all right on my own for a while.”

  “Well…” Julianna began, her hesitation clear.

  “If you do not leave, I shall be very cross,” Gabriella threatened. “Now, shoo. Shoo!”

  “If you are sure,” Lily stated, rising slowly to her feet. “But if you look at all blue-deviled, I shall be back in a thrice.”

  “As will I.” Julianna stood. “I won’t have you miserable.”

  “Not a miserable bone in my body,” Gabriella declared, pinning a huge smile on her face. “Now, be gone!”

  Their reluctance clear, Julianna and Lily made their way across the room. Gabriella maintained the happy expression on her face until she knew both women were otherwise occupied, only then did she release the sigh she had been holding inside.

  The set ended, and not long after a new one began. Yet despite her hopes, no gentleman approached to invite her to stand up with him. As the music resumed, she cast a glance at the clock. Only five minutes to eleven. At the stroke of the hour, the doors would be closed and locked, no one else permitted to enter regardless of their status or explanations for being late. She was beginning to wonder if she should visit the refreshment table after all, if only to dispel her boredom, when she turned her head and felt her heart thump hard beneath her ribs.

  Suddenly, there stood Wyvern framed in the entrance, his saturnine countenance as darkly handsome as the devil himself were he to assume mortal guise. As custom required, the duke was attired in black silk knee breeches and a cutaway coat, his starched white linen neckcloth tied in an urbane knot that emphasized the strong lines of his face and the masculine set of his jaw. “Magnificent” was the word that came to mind, and yet not even that description did him justice. He was…delicious—like a pot of the deepest, darkest, most decadent chocolate.

  A shiver raced over her, so strong she placed a hand against her chest and forced herself to draw a measured breath. And then his gaze met hers and she forgot all about breathing.

  A moment later, he strode forward.

  Only then did she become aware of the hush that had descended over the room, some of the dancers actually stopping to stare. Lady Jersey and Princess Esterhazy stood with their mouths agape, their lorgnettes lifted to their eyes as if both women needed to make certain they were not seeing some sort of collective illusion. From the other side of the assembly room, Countess Lieven hurried across, waylaying the duke only moments before he would have reached Gabriella.

  “Your Grace,” the countess exclaimed, dropping into a full-skirted curtsey in front of him. “How do you do? May I say how delighted we are that you could join us this evening.”

  He paused and executed a crisp bow. “Countess.”

  When he said nothing further, the patroness continued. “I suppose it is no revelation to admit my surprise at your arrival. The other ladies and I had quite given up hope that you would ever attend one of our balls. Might I be so bold as to inquire what has changed your mind?”

  “Who,” he said in his low, whisky-tinged voice. “Who has changed my mind.”

  And then, stepping around the countess, he stopped in front of Gabriella and made her a low, elegant bow. “Miss St. George, a pleasure as always. May I say how lovely you look tonight. Although from what I have observed, you always look lovely.”

  “You flatter me, Your Grace,” she murmured, aware of every eye in the room upon her as she dropped into a curtsey. Peeking up at him from beneath her lashes, she smiled as she returned to her full height.

  “I speak nothing but the truth,” he assured her “If you are not otherwise engaged, may I have the honor of the next dance?”

  She knew he was putting on a show for the assembled crowd, realizing his intent was to repair the damage her aunt had caused. Still, she couldn’t keep her pulse from speeding faster, nor stop a surge of uncontrollable flutters from exploding like confetti inside her stomach. “I would be delighted.” Then suddenly she remembered. “Oh, except the next set is a waltz, I believe, and I am not yet permitted to engage in that particular dance.”

  Graceful and urbane, Wyvern turned once again toward Countess Lieven, who had been unabashedly eavesdropping through the entire conversation. He sent the patroness a devastating smile, one whose power was so strong Gabriella felt the residual energy wash over her as well. “Surely you will not deny myself and Miss St. George the pleasure of enjoying the next dance?” he urged. “You have only to say yes. If I am not mistaken, I see a yes forming on your lips right now. Say it, dear ma’am. Please, just say it.”

  The great lady tittered, girlish color creeping upward into her cheeks. A moment later, she waved a hand. “Of course, of course. Yes, she has permission. Go on, you two.”

  “You are indeed everything gracious,” he said. Making the countess another polished bow, he clasped Gabriella’s hand and laid it on his sleeve.

  As they strode toward the dance floor, Gabriella struggled to collect her emotions, not fully trusting herself to speak. Only after the new set formed and she was standing in the circle of his arms did she gaze up and into his midnight-blue eyes. “You are here,” she stated.

  His brow arched. “Did you think I would not be?”

  She shook her head. “Truthfully no, since you never attend Almacks. You have quite set all their tongues awagging.”

  “I should certainly hope so. They’ll wag even more when I dance with you twice tonight and with no other lady. I expect the event will make the Society column. You must be sure to cut out the clippings.”

  A laugh caught her. “You are very naughty.”

  “Of course. You wouldn’t wish me any other way, now would you?”

>   No, she realized. She wouldn’t want him to be anyone other than himself. Loyal, kind, and filled with a true verve for life. She longed to thank him again for everything he was doing to help her, but knew he would dismiss any further expressions of appreciation on her part.

  Yet is that all I feel for him these days—gratitude? Hardly, she confessed to herself, her skin warm and tingly from his touch, her blood humming with an electricity she experienced only when she was in his company. She thought back all those weeks ago to her time in the country when she’d wished to explore her feelings for him. So much had happened since then, leaving her almost afraid now of what too much soul-searching might reveal.

  Do I want to love him? she asked herself as he whirled her in his arms. He smiled and turned her knees to jelly. Or, heavens above, is it already too late to have a choice?

  Chapter Ten

  O N A WARM June night nearly three weeks later, Tony leaned his shoulder against a pillar in the far corner of the Eckfords’ ballroom and watched Gabriella dance. Lilting strains of music floated on the air as couples glided in measured time and step. To his eye, though, none of the other ladies were half so enchanting as Gabriella, her every movement bespeaking refinement and grace—an opinion apparently shared by her current partner, the besotted expression on the fellow’s face speaking volumes. If he wasn’t careful, the young man was in a fair way to making a fool of himself. Although he wouldn’t be the first, now that a new flock of gallants had flown to her side.

  Just as Tony had promised, Gabriella had regained her standing in the Ton, the whole matter with her aunt having blown over so that it was now all but forgotten. Not that matters hadn’t required a definite amount of finessing, but with diligent effort, the trick had been successfully achieved. In fact, she seemed more popular than ever, at least judging by the quality of the invitations that arrived daily at the Pendragons’ townhouse.

  He should be glad.

  He was glad.

  With any luck, she might still make a good match this Season. He just hoped she would have better taste than to choose one of the assorted young fops who hovered like slavering puppies at her heels, no matter how dashing she might find them and their smiles. Tossing back a swallow of the brandy his host had been good enough to dispense earlier, Tony averted his gaze.

  He’d danced with Gabriella already this evening, leading her out for the first waltz before everyone’s interested gaze. Until now, she’d needed his help and he’d been glad to lend it, dancing with her at balls, strolling with her during the interval at the opera and the theater, taking her riding and driving. He’d even introduced her to Lord Elgin, the scholar himself giving them a private tour of the collection of marbles he’d had shipped from the Parthenon in Greece. Tony had enjoyed that outing and many others, never the least bit bored in Gabriella’s vibrant company. But now he supposed it was time their close association ended, time for him to start pulling away.

  Speculation was already running wild, the betting books full of wagers predicting whether or not the two of them would wed. He’d even received a visit at Black House from his cousin Reggie, his heir apparent, who was curious to know if he should soon expect to be cut out of the title. Tony had given him a firm reassurance to the contrary, since his intention to remain a bachelor had in no way changed. Gabriella might be full of fun and an enthusiasm for life that made him see each new day in a different light, but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry her. As for wanting her…well, that was another matter entirely.

  Whenever she was around, desire inevitably rose inside him, a need he ruthlessly strove to suppress. So far he’d managed to restrain his baser urges. But if she’d been anyone other than Rafe’s niece, he very much suspected he wouldn’t have been able to keep from giving her a tumble, virgin or not.

  Finished with the dance, she smiled up at her partner. Tony’s fingers tightened on his glass as he watched them walk off the floor. Tipping back his snifter, he downed the rest of his brandy in a quick, burning swallow.

  “Careful, Your Grace,” purred a throaty feminine voice. “Or you just might do yourself a harm.”

  Turning his head, he encountered a pair of vivid green eyes framed within a lovely heart-shaped face. “Lady Repton. What brings you this way? I thought you were deep into a game of whist.”

  A sultry smile curved her lips as she gently fanned her face. “Oh, I find I am often deep into something, but for now, I have grown tired of it being cards. Are you in need of another?” she asked, inclining her head toward his glass as she took a step closer. “Or perhaps you have need of something else entirely.”

  He sent her a knowing look. “Ah, so I assume Lord Repton is out of town again.”

  “Yes. Off to Brussels over this dismal hullabaloo with Boney. He should be away for a month or more at least.” Closing her fan, she slid the edge against his chest. “You could come keep me company. Remember all the fun we had the last time he was gone?”

  “Of course,” he murmured. “How could I forget? Or the time before that as well.”

  Lydia Repton laughed, her pretty face lighting with undisguised pleasure. But then that’s the kind of woman she was, always up for a bit of dalliance whether it be with her husband or some other man who’d caught her eye. He and Lydia had been occasional lovers over the years, usually when one of them was bored and between steady partners. Taking her to bed would be wild and passionate, he knew, a quick, meaningless coupling that would slake the pent-up need simmering in his body.

  God knows he had a hunger, since inexplicably, he’d been without a woman these past few weeks, practicing a celibacy that was completely foreign to his nature. Usually he availed himself of feminine company several times a week—sometimes every night. Yet he’d made no effort to find a new mistress, and he had no taste for the bawdy houses.

  All he need do was accept Lydia’s offer and escort her home. And if he didn’t feel like waiting the hour it would take to get there, he was sure she would be perfectly willing to skip the preliminaries and find a convenient room here in the house so they could enjoy each other immediately.

  He told himself to say yes. Why should he not, after all? He had no ties, no commitments to any female.

  “Delightful as your invitation sounds,” he heard himself say, “I am afraid I must decline.” The moment the words were out, a ping of surprise resonated inside him.

  What is wrong with me? he wondered. She is beautiful and eager, a free-spirited bedmate who is more than willing to satisfy my desire. What more do I want? Yet deep down he knew what he wanted, or rather who he wanted, and it wasn’t Lydia Repton.

  At his refusal, her lips turned downward into a pout. “Really? But why? From what I hear, you gave Erika Hewitt her congé weeks ago. She was none too pleased about it either, if the stories are to be believed. She claims she was the one to end it with you, but of course, everyone knows the truth. You aren’t the kind of man women leave, not voluntarily anyway. Don’t tell me the two of you are back together again?”

  “No, we most definitely are not,” he drawled with complete indifference. Since breaking up with his former paramour, he’d barely given her a passing thought.

  “Hmm.” Lydia unfurled her fan again and waved the painted fabric in languid arcs. “Someone new, then?”

  He said nothing, deciding he’d be better off letting her interpret his silence as she chose.

  A moment later, a fresh round of music filled the room as a new dance began. Without meaning to do so, he glanced over at the couples, his gaze seeking, and finding, Gabriella. Exactly as she had all night, she looked stunning in a gown of pale yellow silk, her luxurious sable hair pinned atop her head, her cheeks flushed with exuberant good health.

  “Surely you are not serious about that girl you’ve been squiring around Town?” Lydia remarked, apparently noticing the direction of his gaze. “Despite the rumors, I had assumed it was nothing more than nonsense.”

  “It is nonsense,” he stated, drag
ging his eyes away from the dance floor. “She is Rafe Pendragon’s niece, and my recent attentions toward her are nothing more than a favor to a friend.”

  “Hmm. Interesting favor.” Turning her head, she looked again in Gabriella’s direction. “She is extremely pretty, I must say, though a bit long and thin for the current fashion. The gentlemen don’t seem to mind, though, do they?”

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I haven’t noticed.”

  She laughed. “Of course you have. You notice everything despite those bored looks you so often enjoy affecting. Certain you are not considering making her an offer?”

  “Quite certain,” he said in a clipped tone. “I will never marry.”

  But clearly Lady Repton was not about to be put off. “Oh, don’t say never. Invariably such a vow creeps up to bite the promiser in the…well, let us say a very delicate location.”

  His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I’m not worried.”

  “Not now perhaps, but then again most men don’t think they’ll wed, at least not until they find themselves sliding a ring onto their bride’s finger. I shall be intrigued to see if you escape.”

  “I have all these years. The future shall be no different.”

  “Of course not, Your Grace.” With a smile, she used her fan to tap him again on the chest. “Let me know if you change your mind about the other matter we have been discussing this eve. You have only to send ’round a note, and I shall see to it the side door to the library remains unlocked.”

  Smiling, he took her hand and dusted a kiss over its back before making her a bow. “My thanks, Lady Repton. You are far more generous than I deserve.”