A Proper Mistress

by Shannon Donnelly

  Why must he be so handsome, she thought, her pulse hammering faster now? The faintest shading of beard darkened his jaw. She noted the twin furrows that lined his forehead. He worries too much over something, she thought. And she wanted to smooth those grooves with her fingers.

  But she held still. Afraid to move. Afraid to betray herself. Afraid that he would soon know she wasn't the loose woman he thought her.

  And since she did not know what else to do, she fastened her stare on his mouth—a beautiful mouth, lower lip full, top lips curving at the center and thinning at the ends. His lips parted, and hers copied them. She pulling in a deep, ragged breath and held it.

  I can't do this!

  Only she would.

  His mouth hovered over hers, nearly touching, his breath mixing with hers in a hot caress.

  A shout and the beat of hooves startled them both. Theo jerked upright and away from her.

  She turned as well, letting out the breath she had been holding with a giddy sense of relief edged by irritated disappointment. Perhaps God looked after her better than even she knew. But it would have been nice if that shout had come just a few moments later.

  A wicked thought, indeed. She really would have to mind these wayward inclinations that this fellow stirred in her or she might well end up one of Sallie's girls. Remember your fifty pounds and your inn, she told herself sternly.

  Taking up her bonnet, she rose, saying brightly, "Burke is back."

  "So he is," Theo grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

  The groom rode in a gig, next to what looked a gentleman farmer with his loose fitting brown coat, his black top-boots, buff breeches, and black slouch hat. Two horses trotted behind the two-wheeled carriage, led by long lines that Burke held.

  Theo reached down to retrieve his coat, hat and gloves, and he let out a frustrated breath as he glanced at his sweet Molly Sweet. Such a near thing, that kiss. Temptingly near. Well, at least she hadn't pushed him away with a reminder of her price. He would take that as a good sign.

  She had tied that ridiculous bonnet of hers back onto her head, leaving the feathers to tickle her cheek. Lord, she was a saucy piece—slipping into that polished accent of hers as if she were out to impress him. Or perhaps it was habit with her, to act the lady for a better price.

  Well, no matter. As long as she sounded appallingly low in front of his father that would do nicely. In the meantime, he had a night on the road with her to look forward to, and another day's travel before they reached Somerset.

  And if he couldn't get at least a kiss from her in that time, he wasn't Terrance Winslow's brother.

  With his mood properly cheered by that thought, he went forward to greet the gentleman farmer whose horses he seemed to be hiring.

  Burke had the horses—not a bad pair, Theo though, running a critical eye over them, mismatched in color as they were—in harness long before the gentleman farmer had finished a long-winded introduction of himself. He kept grinning at Molly and hinting of her happiness, and Theo realized that Burke must have said something about her being a bride.

  Offering a grin, Theo used the excuse to slip an arm around her waist. The gentleman farmer gave an indulgent smile, wished them happy again, and soon enough they were on the road again.

  The hired pair went well, though the gray gelding tended to fall back, as if lazy and trying to leave the work to the brown mare next to him. They reached Reading easily enough that day and stopped for refreshments, which they took outside The Crown, under an apple tree.

  "Best eat your fill," Theo advised Molly, settling himself on the bench next to her, a mug of ale in hand. "We won't stop for dinner until after the light is gone."

  Molly glanced down at the cold meat pie that a maid from the tavern had brought her. She picked at the heavy, sodden crust and wrinkled her nose. It took a light hand to make a light pastry—and that set her to wondering if Edna had gotten the tarts in? And had she burnt the edges again with too hot a fire? Edna still tended to get frazzled when trying to juggle the preparation of more than half a dozen dishes at the same time, and now Molly found time to worry about her kitchen.

  Only it wasn't hers really. It was Sallie's. And she was here working for a kitchen that really would be her own.

  After pushing away the pie, she picked up her cup of tea from the plank table that had been set under the tree for guest of the inn. "Thank you...I mean, thanks, ducks, but I'm not at all hungry."

  He gave a shrug, told her to suit herself. When she finished her tea and the horses had rested an hour, they set out again.

  Daylight held until well past nine, when the sky began to darken into purple. Molly had been swaying in her seat for the past half hour. Her eyes kept sliding shut and twice she had had to jerk herself upright to keep from either falling out of the open curricle or leaning against Theo. She felt hollowed out, though it wasn't food she wanted but a bed—a nice, unmoving, soft bed.

  When the lights of a town glimmered ahead of them, showing through the trees, she straightened, hope trickling into her that they would stop at last. The last time she had traveled so far had been that endless ship voyage home from India.

  "Hungerford," Theo said, his teeth flashing white against the gathering twilight. How he saw to guide the horses, she didn't know. To her, the road looked as dark as the fields to either side. "Not quite the hour I expected to reach it, but The Three Swans should do for us. It's a good sight better than stopping at The Pelican back in Speenhamland—there's a reason its sign holds a bird with a long bill."

  Molly offered up a weak smile at this play on words for the inn's name and supposed cost. She smothered a yawn with her hand, and her eyelids drifted lower.

  Suddenly, the curricle stopped moving.

  Blinking, she sat up. She must have nodded off for as she looked around now she could not remember seeing the any of the town, nor did she recall Theo's turning into the inn's yard. Yet the carriage stood still—blessedly so—with Burke already at the horses' heads. She glanced around, relieved, and every muscle aching, and already picturing the welcoming softness of a bed. Any bed.

  Two stable boys emerged with lanterns carried high and she could just make out the two-storey structure of the inn. Brick, she thought, with a gabled roof, though her eyes did not seem to want to focus on more than that.

  "Come along," Theo said, his voice brisk as ever. Where ever did he come by so much energy? She glanced down to see him waiting, his hand stretched up to help her down. Once on the ground, she leaned against him, grateful for the support of hard muscle and his tall frame.

  His voice softened. "You look done in."

  Looking up at him, she offered a smile. "Who'd have thought that sitting all day could be so wearing?"

  "Yes, well, a wash and a meal and you'll be right as ninepins," he said, leading her inside the inn.

  They paused in the hallway and Molly squinted against the brightness of oil lamps and candlelight. The rumble of male voices carried from the public room that lay to the right of them, mixing with a fiddle's bright melody. Aromas of roast meat and baking bread drifted from the kitchen, which seemed to be tucked behind the stairs, and Molly's stomach rumbled. Well, perhaps she did want just a little to eat before she slept.

  As they waited, a lady in a brown traveling dress started down the stairs. Molly glanced up at her, offering a slight smile. The lady at once stopped her descent. Her glance swept over Molly, far more chill than the summer night air. Turning around, the lady hurried up the stairs again.

  Molly frowned at such poor manners. Had the lady forgotten something? Before her tired mind could weave an answer to such a rude about-face, a stout fellow came forward from the back of the inn. He wore an apron over his breeches—the innkeeper, Molly decided, and her hopes for a bed began to fade as he looked them over, his mouth pulling down and even more disdain in his eyes than had been in the glance of the lady on the stair.

  His tone wary and rough, he asked, "And what might I do for
you?"

  Theo had already taken off his hat and now he pulled off his driving gloves as he said, his tone indifferent, as if he had not even noticed the disapproval being directed at them, "We need a meal and a set of rooms for the night."

  The innkeeper's stare raked her over again and Molly saw herself for the first time as others must. Gracious, she ought to have expected this. But she had been so long at Sallie's house she had not realized that she now looked exactly what she was pretending to be, what she was, in fact—a bought woman.

  Now she compared the lady's brown traveling dress, with its high neck and elegant lines, to her own gown, with its tight jacket, too-bright colors, and clinging skirts. So that was what Theo had actually meant when he said she looked more than attractive. Of course he would think so.

  The innkeeper's nose went up and he fixed a cold stare on Theo. "This is a respectable inn. You can take a meal in the tap room, but then you take your fancy piece elsewhere!"

  Theo stiffened and Molly glanced at him, apprehensive. The easy-going young gentleman of a moment ago had disappeared into blazing blue eyes that narrowed dangerously and a face that had unexpectedly hardened. "My fancy...what the blazes do you mean insulting me? And my wife!"

  Molly's face chilled. She tugged on Theo's arm. "Please do not make a scene on my behalf."

  The pulse beat hard and strong in his jaw and his eyes glittered. "I'll raise the blasted roof if I must to get decent service."

  Hesitating, the landlord glanced again at Molly, and she felt her appearance being weighed against how she must have sounded, for she had forgotten to use what she was now thinking of as her vulgar Sallie-voice.

  Wiping his hands on his apron, the innkeeper asked, "Wife is it?"

  "Bride to be, actually. I'm taking her home to meet my family," Theo said. He lifted his chin and stared at the man, and Molly hoped she never earned such a cold gaze. Though it wasn't directed at her, she still shivered. "You may wish us happy, and then you may get us food and rooms. And a maid to take care of my lady-wife."

  The innkeeper rubbed his jaw, but still he did not give in, and Molly began to resign herself to a night in some hayfield.

  Theo seemed to have other ideas. Pulling a silver card case from his waistcoat, he took out a thick, printed card and held it out, his expression now one of bored contempt. She caught sight of the elegant black script—Theodore Basil Kendall Winslow, Winslow Park, Somerset. Seven brief words, as if they were all needed for him to claim his place in the world. And they probably were.

  Stepping forward, the innkeeper took the card with a grimy, work-hardened hand and he held it between two fingers. He looked impressed, and as if he did not want to be, and he now eyed her, Molly noticed, as if he no longer knew what to think of her.

  "Well, do you keep all your guests waiting in the hall?" Theo demanded.

  Whether it was the card—a costly bit of extravagance well beyond the means of most folks, who put their money toward sensible food and clothing—or Theo's arrogance, the innkeeper at last offered a curt bow. With one more suspicious glance at Molly, he offered to show them to their rooms himself. Taking up a candle from a side table, he started up the stairs.

  As soon as the innkeeper turned his back, Theo shot Molly a grin and a wink.

  "I wish we could stop elsewhere," she whispered to him, as they started up the shallow wooden stairs.

  "Not a bit of it. Besides, if he insults you again I shall just pull out my pistols."

  The innkeeper shot them a startled glance, and when he turned away, Molly whispered to Theo, "You don't travel with pistols."

  "Don't I just," he said, his eyes glittering wicked in the flickering light.

  She shook her head, but the innkeeper had opened two doors and was bowing them into the rooms at the top of the stairs with a cautious respect. "It's the best I've got left. Two pound eleven a night for both, paid in advance, and that'll include your dinner and breakfast tomorrow," he said, almost as if he begrudged every word.

  Theo pulled out a coin, let the gold glitter in his fingers a moment. He pressed the coin into the innkeeper's hand. "That's five guineas, so you may see to my horses and groom as well. And send up some warm water for the lady."

  Bowing deeper now, the innkeeper gave over the candle to Theo and hurried down the stairs.

  "Money shouldn't make such a difference in manners," Molly said, frowning as she watched their host hurry away.

  Theo glanced at her. "Doesn't it make a difference in everything?"

  She turned to him, ready to deny that it did, but she realized how absurd it would be for her to argue such a thing when fifty pounds had enticed her to go with him. And yet, it still did not feel as if money ought to make a difference in all matters.

  However, Theo had a knowing look in his eyes, a gleam of awareness that he had backed her into a corner. He leaned closer. "Now, what is your preference?"

  Her pulse skittered and she almost stepped back. "Preference?"

  He grinned. "In rooms? So you might tidy up before we dine."

  She glanced up at him, which set the feather on her bonnet to bobbing. She took the candle from him, careful not to touch her hand to his, and went into the nearest room.

  Small but tidy, she thought. The bed smelled of rosewater and fresh air, no trace of mold. And soon enough a maid knocked on her door with a china pitcher of warm water and a matching basin, patterned with pink cabbage roses, and a cloth over her arm. A moment later another knock came, this one bringing one of the stable lads and Molly's trunk, which he placed on the floor near the narrow cot.

  When he left, Molly took off her bonnet, undid her jacket, and pulled loose the lacing at the back of her gown and slipped it from her shoulders.

  The evening was warm enough that the air felt cool on her skin as she stood about in nothing more than the linen of her chemise. She lay the dress upon a straight-backed wooden hair, splashed water on her face, and as she dried her skin she looked with longing at the bed.

  She ought to comb the tangles from her curls. She ought to change into another dress for dinner. She ought not keep Theo waiting.

  Instead she sat down on the bed—ah, it felt so good. Leaning over, she unlaced her half-boots and when her stocking-clad feet were free she wiggled her toes.

  Would it hurt to just take five minutes for a lie down?

  After all, would she not be far better company after a rest? And was it not part of tidying herself to do the inside as well as the outside?

  With a guilty glance at the door, she stretched out on the narrow cot. Lumpy though the aged feather matters was, she had never felt anything so heavenly.

  She let go a sigh. And her eyes closed themselves.

  #

  Theo waited downstairs, but after two mugs of ale—a decent dark porter with a sharp tang to it—he decided to see what was keeping his sweet Molly Sweet. Lord, how that woman liked to keep a fellow waiting!

  He took the stairs two at a time and stopped before her door, uncertain. Did he just open the door and enter? Or knock and wait for permission? Or should he even go into her room? He had bought her time, but he had also presented her to the innkeeper as a respectable lady, and he was loath to do anything that might get them both tossed from the inn. He didn't fancy a night without a soft mattress under him.

  Of course, if he could have something else soft underneath him, it might be worth it.

  The image of Molly's lush figure pulled a smile from him and gave him encouragement enough. For the last five miles in the carriage, she had been brushing up against him—a touch of her shoulder against his, a rub of her cheek before she jerked upright, and even one sweet stroke of her breast against his arm. And he'd been unable to do anything since he had his hands full with four reins and two horses.

  Not what a fellow really wanted to hold, blast it.

  So why not see if he could now satisfy that ache she had stirred.

  He knocked softly and twisted the doorknob, had it yield,
so he stepped inside. He had not brought a candle with him, but one sputtered low in its holder on the dresser in Molly's room, giving a warm, yellow light to one corner of the room.

  For an instant he almost thought she was not there. But the candle flickered and he saw the white shape on the bed.

  She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under her chin, her chest rising and falling with the deep even breaths of sleep. Her curls tumbled loose and free, a glorious spill of red that cascaded over bare, white shoulders. She wore nothing but a thin bit of white, cut low and nearly transparent, riding high enough to show her legs up to the swell of her thigh.

  Entranced, he stood in the doorway, blood heating fast in his veins, tempted to shut the door behind them so he might join her in bed.

  Her mouth curved up slightly. And, as he watched, she made a small happy sound and shifted ever so slightly, turning onto her back. His mouth dried as he took in the sight of those lovely breasts pushing against the thin fabric.

  With a groan, he turned from the room and closed the door. He leaned there, eyes shut, still seeing her laid out and almost naked. He ached to turn around and go back to her.

  But—blast—she was supposed to be respectable here. And she looked so damnably comfortable. He had not the heart to wake her. Not for her dinner. And not for the hunger now stirring inside him.

  The humor of it struck him and he opened his eyes and grinned at himself. Blazes, he'd bought a woman he couldn't have! He damned well hoped Terrance would appreciate all he was going through.

  Pushing away from her room—and the too sweet temptation inside—he started downstairs to at least claim a meal for himself. Another pint or two wouldn't diminish that delectable image of Molly Sweet in nothing more than her under garments, but it would bloody well make it more bearable that he couldn't act on them tonight.

  He would content himself with the thought of there always being another night to follow this one. And that a fellow ought to enjoy the chase of the hunt as much as he did the moment of glory that came at the end.