The Mistress Diaries
Copyright © 2020 Julianne MacLean Publishing Inc.
Print edition ISBN: 978-1-927675-74-8
Ebook edition ISBN: 978-1-927675-73-1
First edition published by Avon/Harper Collins
© 2008 Julianne MacLean
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this book, or a portion thereof, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover and Interior Design: The Killion Group, Inc.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Excerpt from When a Stranger Loves Me
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Books by Julianne MacLean
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Deborah Hale for all her help in the plotting stages, and Michelle Killen, my cousin and friend, for reading the early draft. I especially want to thank my editor from Avon, Erika Tsang, for her insightful comments about Vincent, which inspired me greatly during revisions. Thank you to my husband, Stephen, for being my knight in shining armor. Finally, a huge thank you to my young daughter, Laura, for her creative contribution to this book—Letitia’s birthmark. Thank you for brainstorming with me.
Prologue
I have always considered myself a woman of high moral fiber. How then could I have done such a thing? Where were my values and principles? But of course, I know the answer to those questions. It was without a doubt the blinding intensity of his charm, which made me forget everything I believed in.
—from the journal of
Cassandra Montrose,
Lady Colchester,
May 14,1873
Lord Vincent Sinclair kicked open the door of the sumptuous London hotel room with staggering brute force and carried Cassandra Montrose, Lady Colchester, across the threshold.
Already delightfully tousled and flushed, for he had kissed her senseless in the coach the entire way there, Cassandra laughed and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck.
“I cannot believe we are doing this,” she said. “How shall I live with myself in the morning? You are a very bad influence, Lord Vincent—a rake of the highest order.”
He grinned and kicked the door shut behind him, then carried her across the rose-scented room in a glorious fluttering of silks and lace. He set her down by the enormous mahogany bed draped in crimson and gold velvet.
“How wonderful that you are aware of my most distinguished reputation, darling. Now I can be sure there will be no unrealistic expectations in the morning, no tears or broken hearts.” He grinned flirtatiously, his eyes smoldering with wickedness. “In that regard, I suppose I should warn you now. I am not the kind of man a woman should pin her hopes on.”
She raised a mischievous eyebrow. “As I said, a very bad influence indeed.”
Pulling at his white cambric bow tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, he smiled with devilish intent. “I assure you, Lady Colchester, I have not yet even begun to be a bad influence. My best is yet to come.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
He paused a moment just to look at her, then slowly removed the mother-of-pearl combs in her hair and slid the pins from her upswept locks, tucking them into his breast pocket with a confident glimmer in his eye.
Cassandra’s heart drummed with anticipation as her hair came loose and fell onto her shoulders. She had never imagined she would ever be so bold, so brazen, as to leave a ball and dash off into the night with a darkly handsome stranger she had only just met, a reputed rake and heartbreaker. But she supposed life was full of surprises—and not all of them as exciting as this one was turning out to be.
For that reason alone, she deserved this night of pleasure, didn’t she?
Yes. One night of passion before she went forward with her life. It was more than she ever would have imagined for herself earlier that evening when she had almost resigned herself to a loveless marriage for the second time in her life.
Almost.
Vincent took her face in his hands, ran his thumbs lightly over her cheeks and gazed into her eyes with urgency. “I couldn’t help myself,” he said. “You put a spell on me, and when the night was coming to an end, I knew I couldn’t part from you. I had to steal you away.”
He took her into his arms and held her for a brief, breathtaking moment before he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was deep, damp, and tasted of champagne, and the intimate stroke of his tongue was so gratifying, so stimulating to her senses, she wondered how she was ever going to survive the multitude of pleasures to come.
He slowly turned her to face the bed, then began to unfasten the tiny pearl buttons at the back of her gown. Cassandra shivered at the sensation of his skillful fingers working down her back, and when he slid the lace neckline off her shoulder, she melted, for his hand was warm as it brushed lightly over her skin. He touched his lips to her nape, and her entire being trembled within.
With measured proficiency, he turned her to face him again and began to undress her, keeping his eyes fixed on hers the entire time.
As she met his penetrating gaze, she recognized something dark and cynical in his eyes—something almost dangerous. It was as if he wanted her to see it and to know that he was not to be romanticized. This is not love, he seemed to be telling her. Nothing will come of it. This is just one night.
Strangely, however, she was not deterred. She had no reservations about what they were about to do. She wanted only to experience the sexual act as it was meant to be experienced—with a man who knew exactly how to awaken a woman to real pleasure.
Carefully, he dealt with the clasp on her priceless jeweled necklace. He peeled her gloves from her hands, laying soft kisses on her wrists, then knelt before her and removed her satin slippers and silk stockings, one leg at time.
Whenever he bared more of her hungry, yearning flesh, he laid a kiss in that place and touched her with teasing, featherlike fingers that made her ache and burn for more. It was the most exquisite undressing of her life.
At last she was standing naked before him, openly, without shyness or modesty, aroused by the cool air on her feverish body. She had never felt so beautiful, so feminine.
Nor had she ever felt so reckless. It was outside anyt
hing she had ever done, and she prayed she would not burn in Hell for it—for giving in to her sexual desires so heedlessly with a man she barely knew, without a care for the consequences. But the fact of the matter was, she cared for nothing at this moment but her own pleasures.
What was it about this man? No wonder he was famous for his seductions.
Sliding a hand down the plush line of her hip, she reveled in her arousal while he swept his gaze appreciatively from her eager eyes to her full breasts, then down her long, slender legs. There was a dark hunger in his expression as he began to remove his own black and white formalwear—his jacket, his white tie and white waistcoat, his trousers and underclothes. He tossed everything to the floor, even his heavy pocket watch and cuff links, then stood nude by the bed, his strong, muscular body gleaming in the golden lamplight.
Cassandra was mesmerized. All she could do was stand and wait, breath held, for him to touch her.
Gazing into the blue depths of her eyes, he stepped forward, and her heart quickened with need. Were they really going to do this? She was trembling with anticipation.
He took her upper arms in his hands, then covered her mouth with his. The kiss was fierce, deep and insistent. A moment later he was easing her onto the bed, their bodies entwined intimately on the soft crimson covers.
“You have bewitched me,” he whispered as he dropped hot kisses down her quivering belly. “I knew from the first moment I saw you that I had to have you.”
“I felt it, too,” she replied, “just as I feel it now. I can barely comprehend it. All I want is to give myself to you completely. I want nothing else. It makes no sense when we have only just met.”
Bold words, all of them, and foolish, when she considered what she knew of this man—that he was the wildly disreputable son of a duke and could send the blood rushing to her head with mere kisses alone. But she couldn’t think straight when he touched her, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fathom anything outside of this blissful need to be close to him, even if it was only for one night.
“How is it possible I have never met you before now?” he asked, poised above her, still looking into her eyes. “Where have you been hiding?”
Her tone grew serious. “I told you when we danced. I only just came out of mourning.”
Her husband had been dead for exactly one year.
Vincent brushed a finger lightly across her cheek and over her moist lips, swollen from his kisses. “You have been lonely, then?”
“Very.” It was God’s own truth. She had been lonely since the day she realized her husband had never loved her, for there had always been another —his mistress, the great love of his life.
“Did you love your husband very deeply?” Vincent asked.
No one had ever asked her anything like that before, and she blinked up at him, not quite sure how to answer. There had been moments, terrible moments, when she had known nothing but misery.
Vincent closed his eyes, and she sensed he had some experience with the loss of a loved one. “No, do not answer that,” he said. “I don’t want to spoil the mood, and it was wrong of me to ask, and I shall only be jealous of the man who was first to have your heart.”
“There is no need for jealousy,” Cassandra told him, understanding more with every passing moment why he was such a renowned master of seduction. He knew exactly what to say, how to feed a woman’s desire for intimacy. “My heart is yours tonight. As is my body.”
He opened his eyes again and laid butterfly kisses on the tip of her nose, her eyelids, her forehead, and down her cheek.
“Then I shall treat your heart and body with great care.”
Soon he was kissing her again, touching her and pushing her to the edge of heaven, into an overwhelming sensual madness until she heard herself gasp with shock and delight, for she had never known such exquisite indulgence. Her husband had certainly never taken the time.
Shameless, her hands came up to stroke the hard muscles of his chest. He paused to look down at her, his dark, passionate gaze roving down her nude body. She could not wait another moment and felt euphoric when he finally began to make love to her.
He went still, deep inside. His voice was low and controlled. “Tell me, Cassandra, is this a safe time?”
She gazed up at him, distracted. All she knew was her desire. “What do you mean?”
“If it is not, I will take care not to cause any unwanted accidents, but you must tell me now.”
She could barely think. A mighty hunger was escalating inside her. “There is no need to worry,” she replied. “I cannot...”
All at once the words became scrambled in her brain. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, tried to remember her life outside this room, then somehow summoned the courage to speak the truth—to bury the feelings of failure and inadequacy she had known in her marriage.
“I cannot have children,” she explained. “I am barren.”
He lay motionless, staring into her eyes. “You are a beautiful woman, Cassandra. Do not ever forget that.”
She understood that the sentiment was meant to comfort her, to offer her some solace from her self-recriminations. He was indeed a master at this. She softened warmly inside.
He began to move again. She lay her head back upon the bed, gazing up at the strong lines of his jaw and his powerful dark eyes, heavy with desire.
It was magnificent, all of it, and she wondered if this was the kind of love the poets wrote about.
But no, it could not be. He was a man with a reputation, a seducer of women. This was only one night. She could not allow herself to become carried away by romantic notions.
Soon the pleasures mounted, and she watched, listened, and gloried in the sensation of Vincent’s strong, muscular body in bed with her. Something had sparked inside her from the beginning, the first instant she locked eyes with him in the ballroom. It was pure magic, like nothing she had ever experienced, vital and intoxicating, and it could have gone no other way. She simply had to have this night with him.
He groaned with the savage force of his completion, then relaxed and lay heavy upon her. Cassandra closed her eyes and held him tight, blissfully aware of his heart beating against hers while she hugged him to her.
Heaven help her, she did not want to let go. Despite her determination not to be swept away by romantic notions, she wanted to hold onto him forever, to feel this incredible, astonishing intimacy, this crushing closeness she had never known before this moment. A single tear squeezed from her eye and dropped across her temple, seeping into her hair.
She had not expected to feel like this, not with a rake like him. She was overcome. There was a strange, aching pain inside her heart that was both beautiful and terrifying. She felt very foolish.
Gently, Vincent withdrew and rolled onto his back beside her. They both stared up at the ceiling in silence.
“I was not expecting anything like this tonight,” he said in a low voice, as if having read her thoughts. “I was not even going to attend the ball. I had been invited elsewhere.”
He sounded surprised and bewildered. His dark brows pulled together in a frown.
“I did not expect it either,” she said, her voice faint and shaky. “I’ve never done anything like this in my life. It might be common for you, but...I don’t know what came over me.”
He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. “There was nothing common about it. You’re very...” His eyes dwelled curiously upon hers, as if he didn’t quite know how to finish what he’d started. “You’re very unique.”
She faced him and rested a cheek on a hand. “Are you saying that what we did tonight was special? Because I confess that when we left the ballroom together, I was under the impression you did this sort of thing all the time.” Something made her lighten her tone and touch him playfully on the shoulder with the tip of her finger. “Meet ladies at balls and whi
sk them away to your carriage, kiss them until they’re dizzy with pleasure, then carry them off to your bed.”
“Your impression was correct,” he replied, his darkly flirtatious countenance returning. “I do this sort of thing all the time, at every possible opportunity. Do not forget it, darling.”
She certainly would not.
“But truly,” he said, rolling onto his side and pulling her close, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had a night such as this.” It was music to her ears. “I hadn’t thought myself capable of it.”
“Why not?”
His eyes narrowed with scrutiny. “I am afraid it’s a long and depressing story and I couldn’t possibly bore you with it. Besides, I don’t want anything to spoil this perfect night.”
She inched closer. “It has been perfect, hasn’t it?”
He sat up and rolled onto her again. She wrapped her legs around him.
“Promise me,” he said, “that you won’t rise from this bed in the morning and feel guilty for what we did, then leave London in shame to hide away in the country and punish yourself. I want to see you again.”
Did he mean it? Surely not.
“I want to see you again, too,” she cautiously replied, “but I...”
His head drew back. “You what?”
She hesitated, for she was not even sure she knew what tomorrow would bring. She had come to London to meet a man who had expressed interest in her as a wife, but in the first moments of their meeting, she knew she could never love him. So, without the joys of motherhood to make such a union worthwhile, what would be the point, except to be provided for? Surely, she could find another way to do that. She would not be averse to becoming a governess or a lady’s companion...
“It’s rather complicated,” she explained. “You see I came to London because my late husband’s cousin and heir, the new Lord Colchester, has been making arrangements to see me married again.”
The Mistress Diaries (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 2) Page 1
