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

by Sahara Kelly

  Her prayers were answered.

  “Kitty?” He spoke her name as he walked in to the library. “Here you are. Good.” He crossed the room, grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up, giving her a hard smacking kiss on the mouth.

  “And good morning to you as well,” she said in surprise as he released her.

  “Right then. We have a lot to do this morning. So you should go and dress. Or change your hat. Or whatever women do before going into town.”

  “We’re going into London?”

  “Yes we are.” He was grinning at her, a look of restrained exuberance on his face.

  “You have a plan.”

  “I do indeed.” He fidgeted, and glanced at the clock. “Do hurry, sweetheart. Time and tide waits for none, as somebody once said.”

  “It’s a proverb, I think,” she muttered as she picked up her shawl.

  “I have ordered the coach, since it’s bloody cold. Riding was out of the question.”

  She was walking to the door. “That’s a sensible notion.”

  “Yes. All right. I’ll meet you at the front door. No shilly-shallying, now…” He almost tripped over the carpet in his haste to open the door for her.

  “Max, you’re acting rather unlike yourself this morning. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  He huffed out a large breath. “Of course I’m all right. I’m just impatient. There are things we must do today and I am anxious to get them done as soon as possible.”

  “Very well,” she frowned. “I’ll be but a moment.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he called after her as she hurried up the stairs.

  Good God, he’s got a bee in his bonnet about something!

  *~~*~~*

  To say he was impatient was an understatement. Max felt as if he glowed around the edges.

  All his plans, every single stratagem, had worked so far. Yes, he’d had to rise well before dawn, write his notes, dress and ride to London, and then rouse his quarries from their own sound slumber.

  However, when he had explained his plans, everyone had seemed to be encouraging and compliant; thus he could fetch Kitty and get them on their way with every reason to believe success was within reach.

  The only stumbling block might be the woman herself. He prayed otherwise, but was prepared to do whatever it took, should that be necessary.

  She was prompt, bless her. And correctly clad for morning calls in a pretty blue dress and dark blue spencer. Her bonnet matched and once again he patted himself silently on the back for his foresight. Although this particular part of the plan had been simple guesswork.

  The coach made excellent time from Mowbray House to London and their first destination, and Max had no problem allowing Kitty to chat, or comment on general topics. All that was required of him was a brief response, something along the lines of “hmm” Or “indeed” and the silences were comfortable and companionable.

  He did refuse her entreaties to tell her about his plan, simply telling her all would be revealed in good time and she must humour him and be patient.

  It obviously irked her, but she obeyed, and he had to acknowledge that she was a woman of her word. However, when they reached the first destination, she leaned forward, looking out the window of the coach. “I don’t recognize this street, Max. Where are we?”

  “Just a moment, Kitty…” He jumped down to the pavement as a servant in elegantly formal livery approached the door with papers in his hand.

  “Mr. Seton-Mowbray?”

  “Yes.”

  “His Grace asked me to give you these, sir. He says they’re everything you need and as promised, Mr. George Granmont will be awaiting your arrival.”

  “Very good. Thank his Grace for me, would you? I must make haste.”

  “Of course, sir.” The servant touched his forelock and closed the coach door behind Max as he re-entered, clutching his papers, and sat beside Kitty once more. A tap on the roof and they were off again.

  “I do not understand all this, Max. What have you there? That seal on one of those papers looks very formal…”

  “Not much longer, Kitty, I promise.” He reached beneath his seat. “Here. I found these when I was out earlier this morning. I thought you might enjoy them.” He pulled out a small bunch of bluebells wrapped in pretty paper with a blue ribbon and offered them to her.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “I do love bluebells. The scent…” she breathed in and closed her eyes. “Reminds me of the woods around Ridlington. I remember picking great armloads when I was little. Hecate and I…” She stopped on the words, and buried her nose in the flowers.

  “She is well, Kitty. It will take her time, but she will fully recover. I truly believe that.” He touched her shoulder.

  She nodded and raised her chin. “I believe it too. Just for a moment there…” She drifted a finger over the tiny blue flowers. “Thank you, Max. This is very kind of you.”

  “Not at all,” he smiled, knowing they were getting closer and closer to the moment of decision.

  “Isn’t it strange how the scent of something can bring back such vivid memories?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. “For me, if I smell oranges I think of Christmas. They were a beloved treat on that day. I can remember the tang of the juice and how my Mama’s hands would have that rich fragrance after she had handled the peel.”

  There was a clatter and a bump, and they both reached for the straps.

  Once again Kitty leaned forward to look out of the window. The clouds had lifted and a weak sunbeam or two glistened from clean windows and shining gates. They were on the very outskirts of London.

  “We’re not on the road back to Mowbray House, are we,” she stated. “This looks quite different.”

  “You’re correct. We have come a little more south…” He also leaned forward, looking out his side of the coach. “And I believe we have arrived at our destination. There will be people awaiting us, Kitty.”

  He saw her frown as she stared across him to the beautiful little church, nestled amongst oaks that had probably waved their limbs at William the Conqueror.

  “Max?”

  He held out his hand. “Trust me?”

  Uncertain for a few moments, during which he held his breath, she finally took it. “Of course.”

  He tried to conceal his sigh of relief, turning to leave the coach and put down the steps so that Kitty could alight with ease. He held her hand until she was on the ground, then tucked it into his arm, noting she still held the bluebells.

  Perfect.

  The door was open, and Max drew Kitty into the shadows of the church, inhaling the mixture of old wood, incense and reverence that seemed to characterize almost all churches he could recall. Not that he’d been in a lot, but there again…a scent brought back memories of hard pews, trying not to fidget and dozing through many endless sermons.

  Today, however, was different. Several local citizens had seated themselves at the back of the church, no doubt drawn by curiosity at the one or two coaches that had stopped in front of their church this morning.

  And in the front pew, Max saw his guests had arrived.

  Grace and Perry sat together, Grace swathed in her usual veils, Perry looking quite smart in a new beaver hat, styled after the distinct Paris Beau with its slightly conical top and accentuated curvy brim. He made a mental note to remind himself to ask Perry where he’d obtained it.

  Then he heard Grace gasp and she came to a standstill beside him. “Max. What’s happening here?” Her eyes were wide.

  “There is something we must do, Kitty, in order to pursue our investigations. We cannot continue the way we are.” He urged her forward down the aisle as he spoke. “I wouldn’t ask it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

  “But here? In a church?” She looked around. “And why are Grace and Perry here?”

  A door opened to one side of the altar and a small gentleman stepped through. A cleric, obviously, by virtue of his ceremonial gar
b. He walked to his assigned position and smiled at them as they stood in the middle of the church.

  “Mr. Seton-Mowbray and Miss Ridlington? Please do come forward.” He beckoned. “You have something for me, I believe.”

  Max urged a reluctant Kitty to the head of the aisle, and passed the papers to the reverend. “Vicar Granmont?”

  “Indeed yes, sir. Give me a moment if you would?” He turned to one side, broke the seal on the largest paper and began to read.

  “Max,” hissed Kitty. “What is going on? I insist you tell me.”

  Turning to her, he took her hands in his, careful not to crush the bluebells. “All right. The clues we’re following are about to lead us into Society, Kitty. All the way. We need to find a certain woman, Dancey’s current mistress, and she will be attending a ball this evening. The thing is, so will a lot of other people from the highest levels of the Ton, including the Prince Regent.”

  “So?” She frowned in puzzlement.

  “We need to be there. But I cannot take you as my mistress. You know that.”

  “Yes, but…”

  He put a finger on her lips. “I can, of course, take you…as my wife.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kitty’s ears buzzed, and she barely managed to restrain the urge to slap her hand against her head and clear that odd ringing sound. She blinked and took a breath. “I could have sworn you said wife.”

  He gave her a stern look. “I did. I used the word wife in connection with you. With us. As in you will be my wife.”

  The scent of the bluebells hit her nose and for a moment it made her dizzy. “Ah.” She swallowed. “So this is where we get married? To each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “With Grace and Sir Peregrine as witnesses, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this is all because you can’t take a mistress to a ball where the Prince Regent is present.”

  “Not this ball, no.”

  “I see.” She shot a glance at Grace, who was smiling and nodding at her. Sir Peregrine raised his rather natty hat.

  “Good. So shall we?” Max gestured toward the Vicar, who was patiently waiting for them to conclude their discussion. “Is everything in order, sir?”

  “Indeed, Mr. Seton-Mowbray. The Bishop has authorized a special license, and since both you and Miss Ridlington are of age, I see no barriers to your happy union this morning.”

  Kitty wondered if there was somewhere she could quietly vomit and then return to where she was standing. She was experiencing a sensation that was probably similar to seasickness, a feeling of lightheaded nausea.

  She gulped down the worst of it. “I’m not quite sure what to say…”

  Max took her hand in his. “Say yes. Let’s carry on with our investigations as husband and wife. It will make things so much easier. For both of us.”

  “Are you asking, or telling?” Kitty knew her hand was cold and clammy, rather like the rest of her.

  “I’m asking, of course,” smiled Max. “But I’m encouraging you to say yes. Right now. This minute. Everything else can be worked out later.”

  She looked over at Grace once more, and got an approving nod in return. For some reason it calmed her nerves. She hadn’t regarded Max’s sister as a mindless nincompoop, although this whole morning might well have been conceived by one. So if Grace was in favor of this marriage, it couldn’t be too terrible a thing.

  “Mistress to wife, Kitty. That would be a huge slap in the faces of every old biddy who has condemned the outrageous Miss Ridlington.” Max murmured the words.

  “Yes, but I haven’t really had chance to be outrageous yet, have I? And as your wife…”

  “You may be as outrageous as you please.” He grinned and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “And especially with me. I like outrageous, as you know.”

  She blushed. “Well…”

  “Good. It’s settled.” Max dragged her up the last step to face Vicar Granmont. “We may begin, now, sir, if you please.”

  And so, with minimum fuss and bother, and an abbreviated service lacking such things as hymns and sermons, Kitty Ridlington became Kitty Seton-Mowbray, right down to a small gold ring on the third finger of her left hand. There was even a brief meeting of lips at the conclusion of the service, but it all seemed more like a dream to the woman pledging to love, honor and obey a man she suddenly felt she barely knew.

  It wasn’t until they were joined in the vestry by Grace and Sir Peregrine, that reality caught up with the new bride.

  “Oh God.” Her hand shook as she was given the quill to sign the marriage lines. “What have I done? Oh God…”

  “Hush, sweetheart.” Max was there, sliding his arm around his waist. “I should not like my wife to faint within minutes of becoming mine.” He added a squeeze on the last word.

  Mine.

  In spite of her apprehension and the shocks of the morning, Kitty couldn’t miss the implications. She sighed and allowed herself to lean against her new husband. It comforted her and she found the earth no longer swayed beneath her feet.

  Then Grace hurried up to her side. “Kitty, my love. I couldn’t be happier to have you for a sister.”

  “You barely know me, Grace,” protested Kitty. “I might be an awful person who can’t even read. I might have false teeth, or some unspeakably awful habits. How do you know?”

  “Because I know my brother. Max would not have married an illiterate toothless horror, no matter how dire the need.”

  Kitty’s lips twitched. “I’m being silly.”

  “Yes you are, but it’s your wedding day, and I forgive you.” Grace hugged her, hard, a squeeze that warmed away any chill lingering within her spine. “Here are your flowers. You left them on a pew.” Bluebells appeared in Kitty’s hand once more, and she breathed in the fragrance as if it was her first breath of air in a week.

  “Congratulations,” said Sir Peregrine, coming to her side after shaking Max’s hand and slapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve snabbled a fine husband.”

  She smiled ruefully. “There was no snabbling involved, Sir Peregrine. I will confess to a large amount of surprise at this entire morning, though…” She looked at him accusingly. “And you have been a part of it. I should be quite cross with you…”

  “Why don’t you call me Perry, instead, my dear. I hope to be a constant visitor at Mowbray House. I foresee some lively evenings.”

  “As do I.” Max’s arm circled Kitty’s waist once more, and brought quite dreadful things into her mind. And in church, of all places.

  She fought a blush. “I’m sure both Max and I would enjoy your presence—er—Perry…”

  “Just the sort of thing a perfect wife would say,” enthused Max. “I predict you will be a sensation at the ball tonight.”

  “Indeed,” said Grace.

  “But of course,” added Sir Peregrine. “Now, if you’ll forgive my forwardness, I took the liberty of reserving a room in Monsieur Phillipe’s restaurant. An impromptu celebration of this momentous day? Consider it my gift to the happy couple.”

  “Is it private?” asked Grace, her voice hesitant as her hand lifted to her veil.

  “Perfectly, my dear.” He took that hand away from her face and rested it on his arm. “Allow me the privilege of escorting you. My carriage is big enough for all of us, but I’m sure Max and Kitty would prefer to share these first few moments alone.”

  “You’re a hopeless romantic, Perry. I never knew.” Max snickered.

  “Sssh,” said the older man. “Breathe a word of it and I’ll have your guts for garters.”

  Max and Kitty followed Grace and Sir Peregrine out of the vestry, and the church, thanking Vicar Granmont as they departed.

  “You have completely stunned me,” said Kitty. “You could have explained it all first. Told me about the ball. Was this necessary, Max?”

  He helped her into the coach, and sat across from her, reaching for both her hands and looking at the little ring
. “I believe it was.” He sounded serious. “And I couldn’t risk you saying no.”

  She wondered at his words. Taken at face value, they indicated a desire on his part to really marry her. Did he? Or was this all part and parcel of some trifling entertainment he’d created to further their investigations, something that could be set aside once they were done.

  She couldn’t help the next words that came from her lips. “Do you really want me as your wife?”

  His gaze met hers. “I wouldn’t have given you my grandmother’s ring if I didn’t.”

  “Well then.” She was at a loss.

  “Do you mind having me as a husband, Kitty?”

  Her heart thudded, but her innate honesty answered for her. “No, I don’t mind at all.”

  “Good.” He gripped her hands and pulled her onto his lap. “I’m pleased, wife.” He grinned, and then kissed her, a long and deep kiss, rich with passion and calculated to send her head spinning.

  Which it did, most effectively.

  *~~*~~*

  Max blessed Perry for his inspired notion of taking them all to lunch.

  First, it allowed them to celebrate the occasion with laughter, some champagne—neither Kitty nor Grace had tried it before—and added a note of fun to the day, since everyone’s humour seemed to be as sparkling as the liquid in their glasses.

  Secondly, both Max and Perry noted the attention they received as they progressed to their reserved room. “I think a few pigeons just fluttered out,” murmured Perry as the gentlemen seated the ladies.

  “Meow,” answered Max. “I rather enjoy being one the cats.”

  “It’ll be all over town by tonight, of course,” Perry cautioned.

  “I heard that,” Kitty glanced over her shoulder at Max. “Is that correct?”

  Max sighed and nodded, taking the seat next to her. “Yes. There were several women in the restaurant I recognized as well-known busybodies. If you’d been looking, you’d have seen their eyes widen.” He grinned. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice the air being sucked out of the room. I think they all gasped at the same moment.”

  She grinned. “Now I really am the scandalous Miss Ridlington.” She blinked. “No wait. I’m not.” She turned to Max. “Can I be the scandalous Mrs. Seton-Mowbray?”