Mistress of Melody

by Anthea Lawson

  His stern look did not change. “Did your guardian put you out on the street?”

  “Ah… no. We left of our own accord.”

  “Then perhaps you ought to return of your own accord. Unless there is a compelling reason to keep away.” In two strides he was before her. He set his fingers to her chin and tilted her face to the light. “Did he hit you again?”

  “No. Not yet. Although he has beaten Louisa, in order to ensure my compliance.”

  “Then what brought you here?” He released her chin, but did not step away.

  She could feel the heat of him, smell the echo of perfumes and perspiration from whatever event he had been attending.

  “He means to marry my sister off.”

  The earl’s mouth twisted. “Marriage is not so horrible a fate.”

  “You don’t understand.” She shot another glance at Louisa’s sleeping form. “My sister is a simple girl, and very innocent. She does not have a great deal of comprehension about the workings of the world, though she is blessed with a merry spirit. I fear…” She swallowed back the dryness in her throat. “I fear the man our guardian will marry her to would like to break her innocence, and her spirit. In fact, I believe it is his chief aim.”

  She saw her own distaste mirrored in the earl’s eyes, and was grateful for it.

  “You cannot protect her from him,” he said. “And so, you come to me.”

  “Yes.” She smiled up at him, relief washing over her.

  “I cannot take you in,” he said, stepping back. “Surely there is somewhere else you might go.”

  “But…” Her relief curdled to panic, her heartbeat leaping into her throat. “There is nowhere else.”

  “There must be.” He rubbed at his forehead. “Blast it. The hour is too late. You’ll have to stay the night. I’ll tell the butler to wake a maid to fix a room for you—but in the morning we must find a different solution.”

  At least he was not throwing them back out into the night.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, fighting back the tears that stung the corners of her eyes.

  Perhaps once he met Louisa, he would see how charming she was, and how in need of protection. She clung to that hope, as she roused her sister and followed the sleepy maid up the stairs.

  The girl showed them to a spacious suite, and turned down the bedcovers as if Jessa and her sister were true gentility.

  “Wait.” Jessa caught her arm as the maid turned to go. “Which room is the earl’s?”

  The girl gave her a saucy look. “Ah, so that’s the way of it. Good luck in that direction, miss—his lordship’s not one for taking up with light women.”

  “I know.” But she must try.

  Things were at a desperate pass. She did not bother to argue with the girl that she was not a “light woman.” Not when she intended to behave like one that very night.

  “His rooms are in the far corner, on the left. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when he turns you away.”

  “Thank you,” Jessa said.

  The maid left, and Jessa helped her sister get ready for bed. Once Louisa was tucked beneath the sheets, murmuring about the delightful size of the bed, Jessa removed her corset and donned her own nightdress.

  “Rest, love,” she said to her sister. “I must think on things a bit.”

  “Don’t worry,” Louisa said, her words softening into sleep. “The Silver Lord will take care of us.”

  If only Jessa could have such utter faith in the world.

  Sleep beckoned as the coals on the hearth dimmed down to embers, but it was easy enough to keep the drowsiness at bay. Jessa pulled a thin shawl around her shoulders and perched on one of the chairs near the fire. She tried not to think of what failure would mean.

  Or even worse, success.

  This was no light endeavor she was embarking upon. After tonight, she would be used goods, a soiled dove. Far less valuable as a wife. But she was destined to be used by a man, in any case.

  Instead of fleeing to the Rom and having to accept whoever would take her, or staying with Mr. Burke and being given to a man not of her choosing, she could control this outcome. If she must lose her innocence, at least she could do so in a manner that was the most benefit to her and Louisa. And with a man who turned her blood to fire.

  Yet the prospect still frightened her. To fortify her nerves, she let melody fill her mind—the sweet, dark tune of a love song distracting her fearful thoughts.

  Finally, when a full hour had passed, she rose and slipped out of the room. Though the hallway was dark, a beam of moonlight shone from the window at the far end. Where Morgan’s rooms were.

  Jessa walked, bare feet silent on the carpet, toward that cool silver light. Her heart beat like a drum, pounding inside her chest. Outside his door, she hesitated, then carefully opened it. It swung open soundlessly. Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, she stepped inside. She stood in his sitting room, a few chairs and a writing desk illuminated by the moonlight sifting in between the half-closed draperies.

  On the other side of the room, the door to his bedroom stood ajar. No light shone within.

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Now was not the time for the fear and anxiety curling about her. She would not be able to succeed if she crept into his room as a frightened young woman. And she must succeed.

  She must be all temptation and heat. She must be irresistible.

  Jessa paused with her hand on the doorframe and summoned up the memory of Morgan’s kisses. That first one, so unexpected and searing, leaving her breathless at the feel of his hard body pressed against hers. And the second, after their night ride. The heat of his mouth, the flames he ignited low in her belly.

  How would it feel, to have him make love to her?

  She would know soon enough.

  Softly she stepped to his bedside. The fitful moonlight revealed his sleeping form, and the deep breaths of his dreaming filled the air. He slept on his back, the rumpled bedclothes pushed aside to expose his bare chest and muscled arms.

  She shoved down the panic skittering through her nerves, and made herself focus on him. Morgan. The passionate man she had sensed lurking beneath the cool façade of the earl. Reaching him was her only hope.

  Moving carefully, so as not to wake him, she slid onto the bed. Her breath trembled in her lungs with fear, with desire. She lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, then lowered her face to his. Her lips brushed across his mouth, and a thrill ran through her.

  Here she was, in the dark hours, slipping into Morgan’s bed and risking everything on a kiss. It was foolhardy and exciting in equal measure.

  He stirred, and she bent lower, tasting his lips, then letting her tongue slip out to trace the seam of his mouth. The heat of his body flared through her, as though she lay next to the banked coals of a hearth.

  As she deepened the kiss, he let out a half-startled breath. Then his arms came around her and, before she could utter a word, he pulled her on top of him. Their mouths still fastened together, she lay upon his chest, nothing but the thin material of her nightdress between them. His hands pulled at the fabric, and she did not, could not, protest as he bared her legs.

  His hands burned on the naked skin of her thighs as he caressed her, pushing her nightdress ever higher—past her hips and the curve of her waist, until the thin cotton was bunched beneath her breasts.

  Sparks tingled in the wake of his touch, while his tongue slipped into her mouth and twined with hers. Her mind hazed with pleasure, with triumph. Despite her lack of experience in such matters, she was going to seduce the earl.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Morgan dreamed of his misspent youth—of soft, warm lips and heated skin, of the pressure of a woman’s body next to his. Half awake, his groin throbbing, he pulled her atop him, his hands restlessly uncovering her nakedness.

  The soft skin of her thighs, the sweet curve of her bottom, the swell of her hips. Lust scorched through
him at the memory of his former lovers. It had been so long. Too long.

  Wait.

  His hands stilled, and the woman—the unmistakably real woman—lying over him murmured and wriggled gently. Almost, he let himself slip back into the pretense of dreaming, so that he could continue to stroke her body, continue to plunder her mouth with kisses. But no.

  Heaving a frustrated breath, he tumbled her off him and propped himself on his side.

  His pulse beat through him, insisting he pull her back into his embrace and spread her legs, plunge his aching cock inside her and take the release and pleasure he’d too long denied himself. Rigidly, he clamped down on that reckless desire, forced himself not to reach for her—whoever the girl might be.

  “While it’s a novel sensation, being woken thus in the middle of the night, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said.

  She drew in a breath to speak.

  “Don’t say anything.” He lifted his hand to the shadowy shape of her face, and set his fingers over her lips.

  Her full, moist lips.

  “It’s better I don’t discover who you are,” he said. “That way, I don’t have to put you out on the street without employment or references. Now, go. I trust there will not be a repeat of this night.”

  She pulled his hand away from her mouth. “You think I’m one of your housemaids? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

  Damnation. She’d said too much, and he recognized her voice.

  “Jessamyn Lovell, what the devil are you doing in my bed?”

  Keep her here, a reckless part of him whispered. Taste her again. Take her beneath you.

  With a groan, he sat up and lit the candle on his bedside table. The warm light showed her wide, dark eyes, her hair bound into a braid, her lips, parted and still reddened from his mouth. Her bared legs and the curve of her hip.

  “I know you desire me,” she said.

  “That’s beside the point.” No matter what his body insisted. “Go back to your room.”

  She shook her head, sat up, and began undoing the ties at the front of her nightdress. For a moment, all he could do was watch as the lush hollow of her cleavage was revealed. Her nipples peaked against the thin fabric, and his mouth went dry at the thought of her breasts.

  With a sharp movement, he caught her hands. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”

  “You don’t?” There was laughter in her voice. “I thought you were the experienced one.”

  “You need to leave. Now. You’re my guest, and I do not abuse my hospitality in this manner.”

  “Even if your guest might wish it?”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “I did not take you for a loose woman, Miss Lovell. Indeed, I thought you a virgin.”

  She flushed at that, and dropped her gaze. He released her hands, and she set them in her lap. After a moment, she spoke.

  “I wish to become your mistress.”

  “I’ve no need of a mistress.” The tightening between his legs argued otherwise, but he ignored it. “Now, out of my room, Miss Lovell.”

  She sighed and slipped off the bed. Then, before he could stop her, she shrugged off her nightdress. The flickering light played over her full breasts, her wide hips, and the dark triangle of hair between her legs.

  “Put your clothing back on.” He gripped the sheets, hard, to keep from reaching for her.

  “I can’t.”

  “For God’s sake. You mean you won’t.”

  He slid out of bed, on the opposite side of where she stood, aware that his drawers were tented with arousal. When he rounded the bed, her gaze fell on his erection. Her eyes widened, and then a small smile came to rest on her lips.

  “Here.” He bent and scooped up the nightdress, trying to ignore how close he was to her naked body, the scent of rose-water and the sea.

  She did not take it, but instead began unbraiding her hair. Her fingers wove in and out of those long, dark tresses.

  “Miss Lovell. I demand you get dressed and leave immediately. Or I will force you to.”

  He took a step forward, even as the thought of tussling with her made his desire flare. He could pull the nightdress over her head and pinion her arms, holding her firmly against him. Pick her up and carry her down the hall. His body went taut.

  “I shall scream,” she said calmly. “Your aunt, my sister, the servants—everyone will rush in. That would be a bit of a scandal, don’t you think?”

  He grasped her by the shoulders, seeing the determination in her eyes. Her skin was deliciously smooth beneath his palms.

  “Do you honestly believe your reputation could challenge mine?” he asked. “A Gypsy violinist against the Earl of Silverton?”

  She stepped forward, her breasts brushing his bare chest, and he stifled a groan.

  “Still, it would cause gossip,” she said.

  “And be your ruin,” he said through gritted teeth. “You came to my bedroom, Miss Lovell. You will be the one found guilty—especially given my standing in Society. Is that truly what you want?”

  Despite his strong worlds, he could not manage to release her. She stared up at him, and he saw the moment resolution turned to defeat, the spark fading from her eyes.

  “Very well.” Her voice was subdued. “I will leave. But first, you must kiss me once more. It’s all I ask.”

  It was a devil’s bargain, but he could not refuse it. Could not refuse her.

  He slipped his hands up into the heavy silk of her unbound hair, and bent, fastening his mouth over hers. She let out a little sigh and parted her lips, and he drank, tasting her like the finest wine. Fire burned through him, intoxicating.

  Only the thin cotton of his undergarment kept them from touching, skin on skin, the entire length of their bodies. He pressed her against him, one hand untangling from her hair to smooth down her back. His cock strained, eager to be free of its confines of cloth. The flimsy barrier of his drawers was the one thing keeping him from throwing her onto the bed and taking her.

  Another moment more, and he would stop. As soon as his roving hand cupped her breast, his thumb caressing back and forth against her nipple.

  She gasped and arched against him, and, drunk with the scent of her, he dipped his head and licked at the taut peak of her breast. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he closed his mouth over her nipple. He wanted to taste her everywhere, wanted to spread her legs and put his tongue there.

  Desire shuddered through him, and with the last of his shredded restraint, he forced himself to stop. She breathed heavily in his embrace, her eyes heavy-lidded, her hair spun about her like black silk.

  Morgan squeezed his eyes shut. It was the only way to keep himself from kissing her again, and again. He let his arms fall to his sides, his fingers curled into fists.

  “There. Your kiss. Now put your nightdress on.”

  He waited until he heard the rustle of cloth before opening his eyes. The garment covered her adequately, though the bodice was still half undone. His hands ached to caress her breasts again.

  “Please,” she said. “I beg your protection.”

  “And you thought seducing me would secure it?”

  She met his gaze frankly. “If you took me as your mistress, yes.”

  “I don’t keep a mistress.” He made his tone hard, despite a tantalizing vision of her lying naked between his sheets. Under him. “And I have no intention of doing so.”

  “I had thought…” She wet her lips and glanced at the candle. The flame reflected, a point of gold in each eye. “Thought you wanted me.”

  The proof of his craving was still making his drawers stand. “Miss Lovell. You are beautiful and desirable, there is no question of that. But I cannot take advantage of you.”

  She met his gaze and opened her mouth to speak, but he held up one hand.

  “No,” he said. “A woman in desperate circumstances is forced to actions she would not ordinarily take. I understand that. But I w
ill not be a party to it.”

  “Then you will not help us?” She swallowed, distress clear in her expression.

  “I took you in this evening, didn’t I?” Did she have to make him out to be so heartless?

  “But you are turning my sister and myself out again on the morrow.”

  “Perhaps.” That had been his intent, but now he was not so certain.

  Clearly things were more fraught for her than he had thought, if she was moved to such rashness as trying to seduce him in order to claim his protection.

  “My guardian is dangerous,” she said. “We are not safe from him—unless you agree to aid us.”

  “And do what? Ship you off to the Continent, out of his reach?”

  “I’d hoped to reach an agreement with you.” She sighed.

  “Catching a powerful man’s fancy is not a solution,” he said forcefully, trying to make her believe the words.

  What if she left Trevethwick House and set her sights on becoming someone else’s mistress? His gut tightened unpleasantly at the thought. The next man she approached might not be gentleman enough to turn her down. He himself had barely managed it. Thank God his desire for her was finally ebbing to bearable levels.

  Speaking of which… He snagged his dressing robe from a nearby chair and donned it, aware that she watched his every move.

  “Becoming your mistress may not serve as a permanent answer,” she said. “But it is better than nothing.”

  Better than nothing? His pride pricked at the thought, and he spoke without thinking.

  “So I am simply a means to an end? Any man will do, as long as he offers you a modicum of protection?”

  “No.” She twisted her hair back into a braid with agitated fingers. “You are the only one I would approach in such a manner.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it. But now that your gambit has failed, what next?”

  “I haven’t any notion.” Her words were soft. “I don’t suppose I might try again.”

  He clenched his jaw. “You may not.”

  No matter how much he might want her to. He took up the candle, then motioned her to precede him into his sitting room.

  “There is another coin you might use,” he said. He did not like to press her, and it did not seem particularly gentlemanly to do so, but this was the perfect opportunity. “If you tell me what your uncle has been doing during your performances, that information would be valuable enough to let you stay here for a time.”