The Mistress Wager: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  The Mistress Wager

  The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington - Book 4

  Sahara Kelly

  Content © 2018 Sahara Kelly

  Cover © 2018 Sahara Kelly for

  P&N Graphics

  Acknowledgement

  Friends come and go throughout our lives. If we’re really lucky, one or two stick around to share most of their lives with us. I have been blessed in that way, with a friend who began a journey with me many decades ago. We survived boyfriends, blizzards, weddings and babies, always keeping in touch and laughing over so many little things—like waists and high heels—things we had set aside along the way. Six years ago she began a battle, and two days after Christmas, as I was in the middle of writing this story, her fight ended. My Warrior Woman fought long and hard against an invincible foe, keeping that special smile on her face right up until the end. She touched so many lives and brought joy with her everywhere she went. I am so proud to have known her and even prouder to have called her friend.

  Sunshine, this one’s for you.

  Prologue

  “They’re twins, you know. Miss Kitty Ridlington and Mr. Richard Ridlington.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  The two gentlemen exchanging these comments were sprawled in large leather chairs, enjoying the heat from a blazing fire. Brandy glasses sat at each man’s side, and the scent of cigar smoke added a rich layer of fragrance in the room, complementing wood smoke and the aroma of money.

  For these gentlemen were rich—rich to the point of absurdity. They could buy whatever they wanted on a whim, take what they could not purchase with little or no repercussion, and generally live the kind of life to which ninety-nine percent of the world aspired.

  They were, however, very different in many ways. Their acquaintance had begun several years before, but mostly they travelled in different circles; certainly neither would call the other a close friend.

  “I shall have her, you know.”

  “Kitty?”

  “Oh no. Too town bronzed for my tastes.”

  In other words, she’d see through your pretenses. Max Seton-Mowbray kept his face expressionless as his companion took a lazy sip of his brandy and grinned into the flames.

  “I want the other one. Hecate. She likes to pretend such calm sophistication, but her eyes give her away.”

  “Really?” The drawled question was part boredom and part curiosity. “I’ve often wondered about that turn of phrase. Do they have some warning written across them? Some declaration of prevarication on the part of their owner?”

  “Don’t be an arse, Max. Of course not.”

  “Then how, pray tell, do they give her away?”

  “I have yet to grasp the details,” he replied vaguely. “But I can assure you they do.”

  Max contemplated the light shining through the brandy in his glass. “There’s no money there, Dancey. As I understand it, the Ridlington estate was rolled up, foot and guns, by the time the present Baron inherited.”

  Dancey Miller-James snorted. “Ain’t going to marry the gel.”

  “Ah.”

  “M’mother has someone in mind. Got to increase the family coffers with marriage. And get an heir with excellent breeding.” He shrugged. “I have no idea who, nor do I care, particularly. Men like us must marry for the right reasons. Lust…” he grinned, “ain’t one of ‘em.”

  “But you lust for Hecate Ridlington?”

  “I do indeed. That white skin—that gold hair. Imagine what her pussy looks like. Pink, gold, ivory…” he fidgeted. “Demme, m’prick’s hard just thinking about it.”

  “I must confess,” said Max, choosing his words carefully, “I cannot see Hecate readily falling into your bed as your mistress. Which is the path I presume you have chosen to follow?”

  Dancey’s handsome face creased into a smile, tinged with something else that made the back of Max’s neck itch a little. “Oh she won’t know a damned thing about it, Max old boy. She’s stupidly naive and she’ll believe I intend marriage.”

  “That’s hardly the thing, Dancey. You could face a lot of repercussions from such a stratagem.”

  Dancey laughed aloud, then finished his brandy. “Not me. I’ll be free and clear, once I’ve made sure everyone knows she willingly went with me. Spent the night with me.” He rose from his chair. “Not even sure I’ll take her as a mistress. Once I’ve stripped her naked, had that precious virginity of hers…well, do I want to spend the next few months instructing an innocent in how to best pleasure me?” He considered the matter as he attempted to straighten his shirt and cravat. “Probably not. Easier to stay with an experienced cunt who already knows. I have one of them already.”

  Max swallowed down the distaste that had formed a lump in his throat. “I see.”

  And indeed he did. The true nature of Dancey Miller-James had just revealed itself; it was dark, unpleasant and not something Max approved of in any way, shape or form. At that moment, he determined this would be the last time they met.

  “I’ll be off then.” Dancey managed his cravat as best he could. “There are women waiting out there for me.”

  “Would Hecate Ridlington amongst them?” He glanced at the clock. “At this hour?”

  “God no. Good little virgins are sound asleep.” He snickered as he shrugged into his jacket. “I’m talking about other kinds of women. Ones who know what I like.”

  Max refused to rise to the bait and ask what that was. He didn’t want to hear the answer. “I shall say goodnight then.”

  “Going down to Mortimer’s tomorrow?”

  “No.” Max shook his head.

  “Too bad. You’ll miss an interesting evening.”

  “Other plans.”

  “So be it.”

  And with that, Dancey Miller-James walked from the warm room, leaving Max staring at the fire and wondering why he felt so cold.

  It wasn’t that he harbored any particular emotions for Hecate Ridlington. He’d met her, of course, and found her as passable as most of the debutantes. Which, for him, meant that she’d received his bow, a polite word or two and nothing more. She did have unusually beautiful eyes, but not sufficiently unusual to attract more than a cursory glance, and her fairness set her apart from the rest of the Ridlington family. He’d not spared her a moment’s consideration after their brief introduction.

  He had barely enough room in his life for his sister. He wasn’t about to squeeze in a simple country girl with nothing more than a pair of fine eyes to recommend her.

  He wondered how someone like Miller-James had wormed his way into such high social favor. His uncle, Bishop Augustus Miller-James, might have had something to do with it, of course. Not to mention the Miller-James fortune, which would have made the Prince Regent solvent had the family decided to gift it to the crown.

  Money, to the Ton, was God. If you possessed enough of it, you were fêted, fawned upon and favored by all who managed to work their sycophantic way to your side. Your sins were pardoned or excused as forgivable excesses, and your conversation treasured as the most delightful collection of bon mots.

  He’d endured it for a few months after his arrival in London. It had grown increasingly irritating, and finally he had decided it was time for him to assume the persona of a distant and elusive gentleman; one who spoke little, and offered even less in the way of social interactions. He’d become known as Max Secret-Mowbray for a time, which was quite all right with him. Given his distinct private preferences, he was happy t
o keep whatever secrets he had to himself.

  However, he couldn’t, in all conscience, listen to Dancey’s plans to seduce and likely abandon Miss Hecate Ridlington, thus ruining her for life. It was deplorable, and all too common amongst the men who imagined themselves to be above recrimination.

  Max knew the rules he had set for himself precluded his ignoring this conversation, and he spared a brief moment to wish he’d stayed at home instead of coming to his club. But there it was. The words had been spoken. And the question of what to do about it settled on his mind.

  An hour later, empty brandy glass beside him, he had arrived at a decision.

  The best way to try and prevent a disaster for Hecate Ridlington was to go through her sister, Kitty. The two seemed close, and if he could casually mention that Dancey was not an acceptable companion for someone like Hecate, Kitty might be able to scotch the affair before it went too far.

  It was a solid idea, and with luck would save the day. Plus, it put him in a position to do something he’d been considering for more than a few months.

  It put him squarely in the path of Miss Kitty Ridlington.

  And that, he confessed, was a position he wanted to explore to its fullest, because he found her raised chin and strong will a challenge. He wondered if he could match it—dominate it—and make her submit to him.

  The idea of such a proud and willful woman restrained for his pleasure sent a different kind of sensation from the back of his neck down to his groin. And this one was sharp, darting shivers of impatience over his skin like miniature bolts of lightning designed to arouse.

  Oh yes. It was a task he believed he could achieve. Kitty Ridlington would submit. And when she did, he would punish her to the point of ecstasy.

  On that thought, he too quit the room. It was time to go home and set some plans in motion.

  Chapter One

  “Is Hecate ready, Aunt?”

  An older woman sat in a delicately ornate chair beside Kitty’s vanity, and watched her as she put the finishing touches to her toilette for the evening. “I think so. She shooed me out of her room and told me to come and visit you, since she couldn’t dress with me observing her.”

  Kitty chuckled. “Yes, that’s her. Always preferring her privacy.” She dipped her finger into a tiny pot of rouge and delicately applied the rosy hue to her cheeks. “Although I’m very happy she’s come out of her shell so much here in London.”

  Finishing with a light touch of powder, and then pausing to whisk away any stray particles, Kitty turned away from the mirror for a moment. “None of this would have been possible without you, Aunt Venetia. I know you don’t like to be thanked, but I do hope you know how very grateful both Hecate and I are that you’ve been so generous with your time…” she glanced down at her gown, “…and your money.”

  “Darling, no mention of that. Too crass.”

  “And I would never dream of doing so were anyone else present, Aunt. But you must allow me to assure you of our awareness, our profound gratitude and our undying affection for you. I doubt either Hecate or myself ever dreamed of being able to participate in a London season. And I know Edmund and Rosaline also consider themselves in your debt for your many kindnesses.”

  “Oh pooh.” Blushing, Lady Venetia raised her fan to her face. “Having you girls here has brightened my life. I’d forgotten what fun it was to chaperone two beautiful young ladies through London’s ballrooms, especially since neither of you are insipid debutantes.” She straightened her skirt. “I will also be honest—having auspicious relatives isn’t something to be sneezed at. Thanks to you, I can count on a Baron, a vicar, a FitzArden, and now Viscount Hayward, among my family members. Quite a coup, you know.”

  “Goodness. I never thought of that,” blinked Kitty.

  “And of course I’ve enjoyed every minute of watching so many gentlemen’s heads turning as you both pass by.” She wrinkled her nose in amusement.

  Kitty smiled. “And we have enjoyed causing such a reaction, I can assure you.” She blinked. “Well, at least I have. I can’t speak for Hecate.”

  Aunt Venetia’s brows lowered a little. “I do worry about that girl. She spends far too much time with unsavory people.”

  “You’re speaking of the Indian family she’s befriended?”

  “Yes.” Her aunt’s expression was not one of warmth. “It’s not the thing, Kitty. I wish you’d talk her out of it.”

  Kitty shrugged. “You should know by now, Aunt, that there’s no talking Hecate out of anything. And besides, they do seem quite nice. Hard working, and all that sort of thing. I made sure there was nothing to do with money involved, of course. But I think Hecate is a little too intelligent to fall for any underhanded schemes. I can’t say I’m thrilled with their location, but since you encouraged Tandy to accompany Hecate when she visits, I feel much safer.”

  “A footman is an absolute necessity, of course. But even so, I can’t help worrying. Suppose she should catch some awful foreign illness…”

  “Dear Aunt,” Kitty stretched out a hand and touched the older woman’s knee. “Hecate is a grown woman. She is also very intelligent, although in an abstract sort of way. I believe she’s keeping an eye on the family until their father returns from soldiering in Europe.”

  “Oh dear.” That information failed to soothe Aunt Venetia. “So many losses over there. And rumors of more big battles to come against the Monster.”

  “Yes,” agreed Kitty. “We must pray for our dear Wellington’s success, of course.”

  “Indeed. I hate to see the number of eligible gentlemen reduced by this stupid business.”

  Kitty couldn’t really come up with an appropriate response to such a comment. It wasn’t that her aunt was flighty, because she was well-aware of her situation and made all her plans with great care. It could best be described as a view of the world from her perspective, rather than one of political and military necessity.

  Lady Venetia Allington looked at world events and translated them into how will this affect me?

  “Well put your worries to rest for tonight, Aunt,” said Kitty. “It will be a charming evening, I’m sure. After all, how much trouble can we get into at a musicale?”

  She stood, a final glance into her mirror reassuring her that everything was in place.

  “Don’t even think that sort of thing,” said Aunt Venetia. “Trouble will find all of us if we’re not careful.” She stood as well. “Speaking of trouble, will Mr. Seton-Mowbray be in attendance, I wonder?”

  Kitty controlled a slight shiver of excitement at that particular name. “I have no idea, Aunt. Why do you ask?” She bent to pick up her gloves and reticule, happy her hands were steady.

  “Oh, no reason in particular. Just that I noticed his attentions to you seemed…a little more than polite, shall we say, when we encountered him at the Inglesby rout.”

  Kitty chuckled. “Mr. Seton-Mowbray’s attentions have never been polite, Aunt. He’s blunt to the point of rudeness, looks down on us mere mortals as annoyances, and has no sense of humor as far as I can discern. Other than his money, he really has very little to recommend him.”

  Aunt Venetia nodded. “I suppose you’re right, dear.” She picked up her shawl and handed another to Kitty. “He’s an excellent match, though.”

  “He might well be, but I see nothing appealing, and I doubt he’d even consider the possibility of an alliance with the lowly Ridlington family. He need look no further than the Cumberlands, the Clarences or the Spencers.” Kitty shrugged as they walked downstairs.

  “Yes. And as you say, other than money, he doesn’t seem to have much to offer,” agreed her aunt.

  Only those penetrating eyes, broad shoulders, a chin that looks stubborn, and a mouth that makes me think of things I shouldn’t…

  *~~*~~*

  The evening was shaping up to be one of unalloyed boredom for one or two of the guests, Mr. Max Seton-Mowbray among them. The star pianist, a Señor Marcovicci Bonatello, was…unins
pired. Max decided that was the word that best described his performance.

  Technically brilliant, every note perfect, but lacking anything lifting it beyond the ordinary. His sister’s abilities with this particular movement from one of Beethoven’s early sonatas left Señor Bonatello’s far behind. He sighed silently as his mind drifted to Grace.

  She possessed a rare gift for music, seeming to be able to anticipate the next measure and play the current one accordingly. She painted images with notes as far as he was concerned; her performances always conjured up visions of one kind or another.

  And yet few had ever heard her play.

  It was becoming clear Grace needed to liberate herself from her self-imposed confinement, but damned if Max knew the right words or the right circumstances to provide her with the key.

  A slight clearing of the throat to his right attracted his thoughts away from family matters and he turned his head slightly to see Miss Kitty Ridlington suppress a wince as she stretched her spine a little in a movement just short of a fidget.

  He sympathized. These chairs were bloody uncomfortable for a lengthy piece of music. He doubted that situation would change even if the great Johann Cramer himself were sitting at the piano playing the same piece.

  Finally, his patience was rewarded by the final bars of the sonata, and Max found himself rising and applauding along with the other fifty or so people in the room. Most of whom, like him, were probably welcoming the chance to stand and stretch, rather than expressing enthusiasm for the performance.

  The murmur of conversation grew as the audience began the tedious process of filing out of the ballroom and into the reception hall where food and beverages would be served. With his customary adroitness, Max easily found himself beside his prey.

  “Good evening, Miss Ridlington.” He glanced around. “And Miss Hecate? I believe I saw her earlier…”

  Kitty dropped a slight curtsey. “Good evening, Mr. Seton-Mowbray. Yes, my sister is speaking with friends, I believe.” She looked off to her right. “Just over there.”