His Favorite Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “Another one of Aggie’s litters,” Julianna remarked. “They needed homes and we thought of you. They’re both boys, so you shouldn’t have too many more.”

  Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Thank God for small favors.”

  Gabriella sent him a look. “Don’t be a spoilsport. They’re adorable, and I love them already.” Carefully, Gabriella lifted one of the kittens into her arms, eliciting a fresh round of meows.

  “In that case, I suppose there is nothing else to say, but thank you.” Walking nearer, Tony reached out to pet one small, furry head.

  Gabriella had just set them down outside the basket when a scrabbling of claws and barks announced the arrival of Rafe’s two dogs, Max and Digger. She and Tony reached for the kittens at the same time, but it was too late—the little cats arched their backs and started spitting as a frenzy of commotion broke loose. It took them a couple of minutes, but they managed to secure the dogs and catch the frightened cats, returning them to the safety of their hamper.

  “Well,” Tony said as he wound a handkerchief around his bleeding hand. “This should be an interesting holiday.”

  “Would you care for a brandy?” Tony asked two weeks later as he and Ethan walked into his study, afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows to warm the room in spite of the frosty January air outside. Ethan agreed to the proffered drink and took a seat in one of a pair of comfortable wing chairs near the fireplace.

  All the other guests had departed a few hours earlier—everyone except Ethan and Lily, who had decided to remain another day due to Lily’s having awakened that morning with a queasy stomach.

  “I never did get an opportunity to give you a proper toast, what with all the recent festivities,” Tony said. “After all, it’s not every day a man learns he is to become a father.”

  A wide smile creased Ethan’s face. “True, especially the first time. Lily is so excited. I am, too.”

  Filling the snifters, Tony replaced the crystal stopper, then crossed to hand one to the other man. After doing so, he sank into the seat opposite. “Congratulations, Papa.”

  As he and Ethan drank to the toast, Tony let his thoughts drift back over the days just passed. The holiday had proven not only interesting, as he’d predicted, but enjoyable. To make the house festive, a Yule log had been felled and carried inside to burn in Rosemeade’s largest fireplace, while ribbons and bells and greenery had been strung in charming displays throughout the house. During the day, Tony had taken the men out riding and hunting, while the women stayed indoors to talk, sew, read, and paint—Gabriella complaining that her watercolors were as shamefully dismal as ever. In the evenings after dinner, everyone gathered for fun and games—singing and playing music some nights, while on others they indulged in cards or guessing games like crambo and charades.

  Two days before Christmas, the rain that had fallen earlier in the week turned to snow, coating the ground in a glittery blanket of white. Tony had ordered sleighs prepared, the whole party traipsing out into the cold so they could enjoy the thrill of racing out over the frozen fields. He could still picture the delight in Gabriella’s pert violet eyes as he drove the two of them, her cheeks rosy as she huddled warm and secure beneath a thick layer of woolen coaching blankets and her own fur-lined cloak.

  Afterward, they’d all trundled inside to warm up over dishes of hot tea, mulled cider, and fragrant spice cakes. And before long, he and Gabriella had found themselves standing beneath a strand of mistletoe. Never one to let an opportunity pass, he’d pulled her into his arms and given her a thorough kissing, one that had elicited hoots and a round of good-natured teasing.

  Much later that night, after everyone had retired for the evening, he’d come to her room to continue what he’d started downstairs, taking her mouth in a series of long, drugging kisses that had driven both of them nearly mad with want. Using his hands and lips, he’d brought her to peak time and time again until she was half-delirious from an excess of pleasure. Only then had he sheathed himself inside her warm, willing flesh, joining them in a way that never failed to leave him satisfied.

  Later, when he’d recovered enough to think coherently, he’d found himself puzzling over his contentment. After nearly six months of marriage, he’d expected his fascination with her to have begun to wane, having assumed from past experience that his desire for her would have cooled to little more than a barely warm simmer. Instead, he hungered for her as much now as ever—if not more. Enough so that it concerned him at times.

  Which is why he had kept his needs under strict regulation since returning to Rosemeade, often using his duties as a way to put what he considered a reasonable amount of distance between them. She was his wife, not his mistress, he reminded himself, and it wouldn’t do to be constantly hovering around her skirts, nor delving beneath them.

  Yet at night he always went to her, loving her long and well. And even on the occasional night when they didn’t make love, he stayed, savoring the sensation of her curled against him, her body a sweet warmth against him as they slept.

  Were it not for their household full of guests, he might have been tempted to break his self-imposed rule and keep her with him in bed the whole of Christmas day. Instead, he’d contented himself by watching her eat sweetmeats and sip wassail while she opened a huge mound of presents. Among them had been a diamond and amethyst choker and ear bobs he’d had specially commissioned from London. The jewels had drawn an audible cry of delighted surprise from her lips, followed by murmurs of appreciation from the other women, who’d immediately come forward to see.

  For her part, Gabriella had given him a fine pair of leather gloves and a Stubbs painting of a horse, together with three dozen monogrammed silk handkerchiefs she’d taken the time to embroider herself. He’d immediately tucked one into his pocket.

  While the dogs had barked, the children laughed, and the kittens—who’d wrapped everyone around their tiny paws just as Gabriella had once predicted—played in the paper and ribbons, Gabriella had sought him out to show her pleasure with a pair of quick but enthusiastic kisses. She had given him kisses and much more in private later that night.

  All in all, the holiday had been one of the best he’d ever known—likely the best, if he was being strictly honest. But now it was over, as all things, no matter how pleasurable, must eventually be.

  Returning to the present, he met Ethan’s inquiring gaze. “Never mind me,” Tony said. “Just taking a moment to gather my thoughts. Once again, my heartfelt congratulations on your happy news. To your future son and heir.”

  “To my son,” Ethan cheered. “Or daughter. I know I’m supposed to want a boy, but I’d actually like a girl this first time around—a little beauty with red hair and green eyes, just like her mother.”

  “To your daughter, then.”

  Raising their glasses, he and Ethan drank.

  “I’ll be toasting you one of these times soon, I expect,” Ethan said, setting down his glass on a side table.

  Tony considered the comment. “You’re likely right, though I wouldn’t mind having Gabriella strictly to myself for a while longer.”

  “Hmm, I can understand that. Still on your honeymoon even now. That’s the way it was with Lily and me, but with a year of marriage behind us, we’re ready to increase our family. You will be soon enough, too. I have to admit I was a bit skeptical at first about your nuptials, but I can see the affection between the two of you. I’m glad you found her, Tony. I’m glad you actually fell in love.”

  Love! Good God! he thought, his heart giving a quick double beat. As he contemplated the idea, an uncomfortable sensation rose inside his chest, one he decided must be an unlikely bit of dyspepsia from the brandy he’d just consumed.

  He scowled. “Love? Well, that’s going a bit too far. Gabriella and I…we suit each other and it’s lucky that we do. But beyond that, it’s mostly physical and nothing more.”

  “So you are telling me that you don’t love her?” Ethan said, disbeli
ef clear in his voice. “To observe the two of you together, one would imagine otherwise.”

  “All it proves is that looks can be deceiving. Because of your own love match, that’s what you think you see in everyone. But you’re mistaken.” Or is he? whispered a niggling little voice. Despite any further potential disturbance to his digestion, Tony tossed back the last of his brandy, suddenly more in need than ever of its fortifying influence. Ruthlessly shoving aside any doubt, he plunged ahead, his words deliberately calm and assured. “So, in answer to your question—no, I do not love Gabriella.”

  On the other side of the door, Gabriella stood with her hand frozen against the wooden frame, her breath shallow and nearly stilled inside her lungs. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—God knows she hadn’t—and now wished she could somehow rewind time and not have heard Tony’s words.

  She’d come to tell Ethan that Lily was feeling greatly recovered—her morning sickness now gone—and to invite him and Tony to join the two of them for a game of whist. As she’d drawn close to the study, the deep rumblings of their male voices had come to her ears. But it wasn’t until she’d stood directly on the other side that their words had become clear.

  “I wouldn’t mind having Gabriella strictly to myself for a while longer,” Tony had said.

  She remembered smiling at the sentiment, warmth rising inside her as she’d paused with one hand on the door. But then, they’d kept talking, the conversation taking a sudden, horrible turn.

  “Love? Well, that’s going a bit too far…”

  Blood had buzzed like angry insects inside her head, a lump of bile rising in a sickening wave within her gut. And then she’d heard the worst. “No,” Tony had said in an almost matter-of-fact tone. “I do not love Gabriella.”

  The world had narrowed down in that moment, taking on a strange, unreal quality that made her feel as if she were swimming in a great, frigid river of ice. Her own sense of self-preservation called for her to move away, to cover her ears and run. But she couldn’t move; something was holding her in place, forcing her to listen and endure the rest.

  “Then why did you marry her if not for love?” Ethan asked.

  A small silence hung for a moment inside the room. “You may not know this, but the night of the fireworks celebration, Gabriella and I ended up stranded alone.”

  “I surmised that might have been the case, but you got her back to Rafe and Julianna’s without difficulty, did you not?”

  “We made it home by way of Erika Hewitt’s coach.”

  Ethan let out a muffled curse.

  “Without belaboring the point,” Tony went on, “Erika decided to blackmail me. Either I come back to her bed, or she would tell Society what she had seen, with a great deal of added embellishment, I’m sure. What else was I to do, Ethan? I couldn’t let Gabriella be ruined. Had I not married her, no man but a scoundrel would ever have touched her again. She certainly would never have been able to make a suitable marriage.”

  “So you married her in order to save her from the clutches of your vindictive ex-mistress?”

  Another short pause followed. “And also because I wanted her—quite badly, as it would happen. I figured in exchange for my bachelorhood, I got to take her to my bed. Not a bad trade, all in all.”

  “For you, perhaps. Are you aware that Gabriella loves you?”

  Silence.

  “Does she?” Tony mused aloud. “She’s young yet, so the emotion will likely fade, as will our passion in time. Hopefully, any affection she feels will make the next few years easier on us both. Since we are married, I have to admit I would like a child or two—a son to carry on the title, despite my willingness once to see the dukedom pass into my cousin’s hands. Beyond that, I am hoping Gabriella and I might end up comfortably together, perhaps even find a way to remain friends. At the proper time, I expect each of us will go our own way—discreetly, of course, and without the tiresome need for arguments and recriminations.”

  Go our own way discreetly! she thought. So, he was already contemplating the day when he would have grown tired of her and want to seek out his pleasures in some other woman’s bed? When he would no longer feel compelled to pretend an affection for her—at least nothing stronger than a comfortable friendship? Although apparently he was not the selfish sort, she thought derisively, since he was willing to let her find solace and satisfaction in the arms of another man. Her stomach churned at the idea, and for a moment she feared she might be sick right there in the corridor.

  Somehow she managed to control her emotions and finally force her limbs to move. Easing silently away from the door, she retreated the way she had come. Traversing the house, she reached her room, realizing afterward that she had no clear memory of the journey. Inside her sitting room, she stared vacantly at the trailing roses on the wallpaper—roses Tony had chosen for her. Flowers she had loved until that moment.

  Her maid touched her on the shoulder, awakening her from her reverie. “Your Grace, my pardon, but you look quite pale. Are you well?”

  Well? Gabriella thought. I don’t think I will ever be well again. She shook her head. “No, I…I have a headache. I…would you please send my apologies to Lady Vessey, and tell her I will see her at dinner.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. May I bring you anything to relieve your discomfort?”

  Yes, she thought wildly. Bring me something that will make it all go away. Something that will change things back to the way they were only this morning when I awakened happy and content in Tony’s arms. And yet, to do so would mean she would still be living a lie. Would still believe her marriage had been based on honest devotion, instead of sacrifice and necessity. Would still believe that Tony loved her, when the most he really felt was lust, a kind of tolerant, lukewarm affection, and pity.

  Oh, God, what am I going to do? A single tear trailed down her cheek, pain spreading like an open wound inside her. “Leave me,” she murmured. “Leave me and let me be alone.”

  “Another lemon tart, Lily?” Gabriella inquired several hours later at the dinner table. “You’re eating for two now, you know, so I’m sure you can afford the indulgence.”

  “I’m not sure!” Lily laughed, laying a hand over her still flat stomach. “Although they are exceptionally delicious.” She wavered, her gaze studying the contents of the dessert platter. “Well, perhaps half. You can give the rest to Ethan, since he’s one of those obnoxious people who can eat as much as they like and never put on an ounce.”

  “I do have a sound constitution,” he agreed with a grin. “Though perhaps you should eat the entire sweetmeat yourself, considering how little food you’ve been holding down lately.”

  “If that were my objective, I ought to have eaten more roast duck, but you’ve talked me into it anyway.” With a grin, she helped herself to the treat.

  While Lily ate her second tart of the evening, Gabriella sipped her tea and did her best to keep the smile on her face. Even now, she didn’t know how she’d managed to force herself out of her room and downstairs for the evening meal.

  Earlier, after her maid had left, she’d taken to her bed, lying on her side under a blanket with the curtains pulled tight to block out the afternoon sun. Tony had come to check on her, but she’d squeezed her eyes closed and pretended to sleep, waiting until she heard the door shut behind him before letting loose with a fresh round of tears.

  Until tonight, she’d never considered herself much of an actress, but she realized that she could indeed have followed in her mother’s footsteps and taken to the stage. The great Mrs. Siddons herself could not have given a better performance.

  Assuring everyone that her headache had passed, she’d talked and laughed and done her best to behave as she always did. She’d even endured Tony’s kiss, closing her eyes as he brushed his lips over hers, his hand moving over her hair, his fingers across her cheek in a comforting caress, as if he truly did care that she was unwell.

  In that moment, she’d wanted to push him away and scream, te
ll him what a liar he was and ask him how he could have manipulated her into marriage, and worse, into believing that he loved her. But then that particular assumption had been her own doing, she supposed, since she now knew his silence for what it was—the truth.

  Frequently over the past few months he’d said he wanted her, praising her body, telling her how much she pleased him in bed. But when it came to love…that was one word he had never spoken. Perhaps such an emotion wasn’t in him. She thought of his mother and the way she’d abused his young heart. Maybe by doing so, she’d killed off his ability to love and ever let himself trust a woman. Then again, maybe he could love; he just did not love her.

  The strain of putting on her act must finally have started to show as dinner concluded a few minutes later, the four of them rising to make their way to the drawing room.

  As they walked, Lily slipped an arm through her own. “Are you sure you are well?” she questioned in a soft voice. “You look a bit peaked again.”

  “I’m fine. A little tired, that’s all.”

  “You’re not in the same condition as me, are you? Lord, I get so exhausted some days it’s all I can do not to drop down where I am and go to sleep.”

  “No,” she replied. “No, it’s nothing like that.” At least she didn’t believe it was, since she’d finished her menses just last week. And God knows, she didn’t need such a complication right now. Then again, perhaps a baby would actually be a blessing—someone to love, who would surely love her back. Still, she didn’t honestly think she had conceived.

  For a moment, she almost told Lily, desperately needing to unburden the misery that gripped her heart like a vise. But she stopped herself, knowing that once she began, she wouldn’t be able to hold anything back, every detail rushing out of her with the force of a flood. And once that happened, Tony would know. Know that she’d listened at his door, however inadvertently. Know, too, how devastated she was by his self-expressed lack of love for her. And she was not ready for a confrontation, at least not yet.