His Secret Mistress

by Cathy Maxwell

  So, he tempered his voice and said, “Your fears about Miss Addison are groundless. Beyond that, there is little more that I can do.” He took a step toward the door.

  Lucy rose. “She has bewitched you as well, hasn’t she?”

  Bran didn’t flinch from the accusation in her tone. “I admire Miss Addison.”

  “That is not how you spoke about her in the beginning.”

  It hadn’t been. “You are working yourself up over nothing.”

  “One would think that people with good common sense could see what she is doing to Maidenshop. Everyone is lowering their standards.”

  “We lack your gift, Lucy,” Bran said placatingly. “However, buck up. All will be well. And I must go. My horse is waiting for me.”

  “Oh, we can’t let your horse wait . . . not when my son’s immortal soul is at stake.”

  “When did you take on religion, Your Grace?”

  That question caught her off guard. “I—I’ve always been of a serious state of mind.”

  “No, you are using everything you can to worry about your son. He will be fine. Furthermore, I am his guardian, and I am not worried. You have very little say here.” On those words, Bran made his escape.

  It was already late morning. An anxious Orion was being walked by a groomsman in front of the house. Bran mounted and set off for Kate.

  He couldn’t wait to see her. They needed to talk. He was curious as to why she left. He was also going to discuss with her the danger of walking around alone in the middle of the night. Maidenshop was one of the safest places in England but every woman should be careful, especially one as lovely as his Kate.

  His Kate.

  The title sang through him.

  Given his head, Orion’s hooves gobbled up the distance to the actors’ encampment. Breaking the horse down to a trot, Bran scanned the gathering who were apparently rehearsing. He looked for signs of Kate.

  He spied her talking to Christopher. His nephew stood on the stage, his hand resting on one cocked hip as if in deep consideration over whatever they were discussing.

  Bran prayed she was telling his titled nephew that she didn’t want to see him any longer. That would make Bran happy.

  Then, at that moment, the couple laughed as if highly amused over something that had been said. The jealousy that shot through Bran was an evil thing.

  He dismounted and tied Orion next to Winderton’s horse. They nickered at each other and pressed noses.

  Bran made his way to the stage. Kate must not have seen him approach because she gave no sign in his direction.

  “The next playlet,” she announced, “will be the fox and the lion. Nestor, you play the fox this time since you are already in the costume.”

  Christopher noticed Bran first. “It’s Balfour,” he called in greeting. He was in boyishly good humor. No wonder Lucy was suspicious. Bran would be himself if he hadn’t known where Kate had been.

  Kate glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, hello, Mr. Balfour.” Her attention returned immediately to her actors. “John, Robbie, stand here. Yes, right there. Otherwise no one will see you.”

  And that was it. Hello, Mr. Balfour. No other greeting? No running into his arms? Not even a flirtatious wink?

  Bran found himself watching the rehearsal with his nephew. Winderton was full of tidbits on acting. “We were talking about the staging of the play when they reach London,” the duke said with great self-importance. “Certainly what they have now for set pieces won’t make any impression.”

  That was true.

  “I told her about the last play I saw. They actually had what looked like a full-size military frigate on the stage. Miss Addison is concerned about how she will afford set pieces that won’t make them look provincial.”

  “For the play she is doing now?”

  “Actually, the play to be performed in London will be The Tempest. She believes she needs the Bard to establish herself.”

  So, there would be a storm and a magic forest.

  During the afternoon performance, Bran found ideas floating in his head for ways he could use his understanding of mechanics and architecture to create those scenes. The set pieces needed to be both economical and yet able to engage an audience on a grand scale.

  At last his patience in waiting for Kate paid off when he managed a moment alone with her. He caught her as she was leaving the women’s tent. She reached for his hand, clasping it tight. He leaned his head toward hers. “We should tell Winderton about us.”

  Her troubled gaze met his. “And then what will happen?”

  “He will be upset but he is young. He will recover.”

  “Or we shall be run out of the country and, I have no doubt, there will be a disastrous scene between the two of you.”

  She was right.

  Kate faced him. “I would not have you thrown out of your living quarters because of me. What is between us is too new, too fresh. Perhaps it would be wiser for us to keep ourselves secret until we understand exactly what we are about.”

  He knew what he was about—he wanted Kate. It was that simple . . . or was it?

  At that moment, Reverend Summerall came driving up with a vicar from a neighboring church and their wives. Kate had to greet them. The reverend wished to expound upon the religious principles of Aesop’s Fables. She smiled at the clergymen. “One moment please,” she said before glancing back to Bran. “We shall discuss your offer later, Mr. Balfour.” She acted as if they had the barest of acquaintances, and yet, there was a warmth in her eyes that held a promise.

  “Yes, later,” he agreed, blandly. She wasn’t the only one of them who could pretend.

  Reverend Summerall began telling all what a remarkably talented actress Kate was as if he had forgotten her performance at the Cotillion Dance. Bran bowed out, moving toward his horse. Winderton fell into step beside him.

  “You and Miss Addison are acting more charitably toward each other than in the beginning,” Christopher said.

  Bran studied his nephew. The duke didn’t seem angry or offended. If he suspected a closeness between Bran and Kate, he would not be so pleasant. “Is that not good?”

  “It is excellent. I wish Mother would come around. She fears I will run away with an actress. As if I would be so foolish or treat Miss Addison so shabbily.”

  “That is comforting.” For a second, Bran was tempted to tell Christopher that Kate was his, that he had claimed her.

  Then, he realized, Kate was right. His nephew would consider it a betrayal. There would be an uproar. Some things might come out that needed to be dealt with sensitively.

  Not for the first time, he questioned his sister’s wisdom about keeping the news of the title’s past perilous finances from Winderton. To be honest, in those early days after his return from India, Bran had been more interested in building his engineering firm than in thinking her edicts through.

  His goal had been to repair the Winderton fortunes and he was doing a nice job. A tidy sum was starting to grow under Winderton’s name. If the duke was prudent and wise, which actually meant if the duke continued to take Bran’s advice, then he could have a substantial fortune to pass on to his heirs.

  Bran had not regretted supporting the Winderton estate. He had more money than he needed.

  However, now, he realized that he may have gone too long without telling his ward the truth. Especially since even Kate thought he lived on the generosity of the duke instead of vice versa.

  But Kate was right when she warned against telling him about their love—this was not the right time. Young men had hot heads. Who knew how the duke would react when he learned that not only was his uncle sleeping with the woman he adored—but that he was also financially dependent on that uncle as well?

  Then again, it was past time for Winderton to start to understand that his mother was wrong—the sun didn’t circle around him.

  Still, that was not a conversation Bran looked forward to.

  He did look forward to seeing
Kate again.

  That night, he waited in the woods surrounding her tents for her. It was late when she finally came out. She was surprised to see him step in her path.

  “Is something wrong? Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want you to walk through the woods by yourself,” he said taking her into his arms. Their kiss was full of promise . . . and their lovemaking that night in his bed was better than the evening before.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The nights that followed were magical to Kate.

  Brandon was always thinking of ways to please her. He’d have special suppers prepared in the main house and set up in his own dining room, just for the two of them.

  There were stuffed figs and perfectly cooked cold beef served with a mustard sauce and warm, fragrant bread. Nuts, cheese, and apples were the dessert and it was all washed down with a fine red wine.

  “Do the servants mind working for you?” Kate asked.

  “They never complain,” Brandon answered. “And I always see to the gratuities.”

  Those words made her happy. They showed that even though Brandon lived on his nephew’s estate, he seemed willing to care for himself.

  One night after they’d finished their meal, he’d prepared a bath with soaps that smelled of lemon and lavender. The tub was the largest that Kate had ever seen and easily accommodated both of them—well, until they started making love in it.

  They created a terrible mess of his bedroom that night. Water was sloshed everywhere. “You will have to tip the servants even more.”

  “Aye, I will,” Brandon said, drying her off before lifting her up and carrying her to the bed where he made love to her again . . . and again.

  They could not have enough of each other.

  And when they weren’t making love, they were talking about everything. Brandon shared his frustrations with the bridge commission and how difficult it was to start over.

  “You were respected in India?” Kate’s head rested on his chest.

  “Well respected, yes. Of course, I had to work for it.”

  “You will have to work for it here.”

  He reacted as if her answer surprised him and then he smiled ruefully. “You are right. I just don’t like the struggle. Not at this point of my life. Marsden assures me that the committee hasn’t ruled me out completely.”

  “What does the earl have to do with the committee?”

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. “He took up my cause when he learned that Lord Dervil had promoted his man in my place. Dervil and Marsden are sworn enemies.”

  “Because?”

  “Dervil shot his father—”

  “What?” Kate started to sit up but Brandon held her down.

  “It was a duel over a property line. The two families have been neighbors for centuries and have been at each other’s throats for that length of time. Then I did something to upset him.”

  “What?”

  “I convinced Lucy not to sell Smythson to Dervil. Mars believes Dervil campaigned against me as a way of striking back.”

  “Do you think that is true?”

  Brandon lay there a long moment, his hand moving down to her shoulder where he drew lazy circles with his finger. “I have no idea,” he said at last.

  Something in his tone sparked her curiosity. She raised her head. “Do you want to build bridges?”

  “I’ve built many of them.”

  “Yes, but do you want to build them?”

  “Say, over roads or buildings. I designed those as well.”

  “And are they what you want to build?”

  The movement of his hand stopped. “It is what I do.”

  “You also tell stories,” Kate reminded him. “You collect them.” Sometimes, after they had made love, he would tell some tale he’d tucked away. Her favorites were the ones he’d learned in India. They were like the mythic tales he had shared with her years ago.

  “I’m not a writer,” he told her. “I’d be bored. I like my stories already written.”

  Kate sat up. “And yet, when you tell them, there is a very visual strength to them.”

  “I doubt if there is money in repeating other people’s stories.”

  There it was. The simple fact of his life—and hers. Money was important. “I hope the Earl of Marsden is correct and you still can build your bridge.”

  His response was to kiss her down to the mattress and for the next hour, they were very busy.

  Kate discovered that in spite of her nocturnal activities, she wasn’t tired during the days. Brandon would walk her back to her tent right before dawn. She would sneak into her cot and manage a few hours’ sleep until she needed to be up for work.

  Granted, she didn’t continue her normal pattern. In the past, she was usually the first up. Now, she often slept later than Jess, the laziest person in the troupe.

  Of course it was noticed. And all the actors, save Silas, teased her. Kate could sense his worry, even though they didn’t speak about what she was about. He may have thought her smart, but that did not mean he thought her wise.

  However, he was not living her life.

  And it was so easy to believe that all would be well, especially since she was falling in love with Brandon. He dominated her thoughts. At different times during the day, she caught herself yearning for his touch or anxious to see his tall presence approaching and having him close at hand.

  The dream of reclaiming her place on the London stage no longer held the same allure. Her overpowering resentment at the past was fading, as was her need to prove herself. London didn’t seem all that important . . .

  Her laughter rang through the room. Kate had tried to kick him out of bed because he’d complained about her stealing the covers and Bran’s response had been to grab her foot by the ankle and pull her toward him.

  “No,” she begged, holding on to the other side of the cotton mattress. They were both naked.

  “You do not throw me out of the bed. Or steal all the covers,” he announced, coming up on his knees and jumping on her like a rowdy boy.

  Kate warded him off with bent knees as he tried to tickle her. When he rolled onto his back, she was the one who tried to tickle him and gave a delighted shout when she realized he did have one very ticklish spot. She sat on top of him, tickling, laughing—

  And that was the moment he fell in love.

  Oh, he’d been in love with her, but he was quickly learning there were many types of love. There was the love of her body, of their union—and this was the love of her. He admired her mind, her drive, her determination, and the special sparkle that made her who she was. This was the sort of love that lasted an eternity.

  He caught her wrists, his sides hurting from laughing. He held her arms out, looking up into her face. In that moment, he knew he wanted nothing more in his life than to hear her laughter every day. He would let her rob the covers from him every night, if it meant keeping her with him forever.

  She had noticed how still he’d grown. Smiling down at him, her hair messy from their love play, she asked, “What? Why do you stare at me that way?”

  Because I love you. “Because I’ve seen nothing more beautiful.”

  Kate sat back as if his words had touched her. “Perhaps you feel that way because I am naked,” she suggested, wagging her eyebrows with a devilish grin as if teasing him.

  “It’s possible,” he answered. “Or it could be because your passion matches my own.”

  “And by the last you mean what?” Oh, she knew, but he wasn’t to let such an invitation pass with just words.

  “This.” He lifted her hips and slid her down over him.

  Kate’s eyes widened. She squeezed him and he thought he’d be undone before they’d started. Gently, he guided her on how to move, on what he liked. Her head fell back in pleasure. “I do so like this,” she whispered before catching her breath in a moan.

  And I love you, he wanted to say. The words never passed his lips.
He was not ready to be so vulnerable.

  Instead, he showed her.

  “What surprise do you have for me?” Kate asked.

  “You will find out,” Brandon answered. “Just follow me.”

  He led her down the stairs of the Dower House. She was wearing his shirt and nothing else. Even her feet were bare. For his part, Brandon wore just his breeches. He carried a candlestick.

  He led her into what should have been the front room of the house. There was no furniture in it save for a large table and a chair.

  There were two more candlesticks on the table. He lit them. Golden light filled the room and fell on the large sheets of paper spread out on the table.

  “This is what I want you to see,” he said, gently pushing her into the chair in front of the table. “These are my thoughts on set pieces for The Tempest.”

  “Your what?”

  “You were telling me what you envisioned for the play and I thought I would make a few drawings.”

  Kate looked at the scenes on the paper—and was charmed.

  He crossed around to the other side of the table. “I know it is set on an island, however, I picture a forest on the island. A magical forest.” He tapped one of the pages.

  She pulled it out and gasped in appreciation. The trees he’d designed were indeed magical. In their bark were the faces of mythical creatures. The same was true of the rocks.

  “This is clever. Very clever,” Kate said wonderingly. The mythic element would quickly bring the audience’s imaginations into the play.

  “You like?” He acted relieved.

  “I like very much.”

  “Here is the tempest scene,” he said, referring to the storm that was at the beginning of the play. The set was in the same shape as the forest except now there were waves with, again, sea sprites and sirens hidden in them. “Actually, what I’ve done is created four-sided pillars on wheels that turn. You can reposition them at different areas of the stage. Turn this piece around and it is the forest you just looked at. Here is another scene for another part of the island. Then, the fourth side of the two pillars will be painted stones.” He drew out another paper. “This is for Prospero’s prison or it can be the masque.”