A Proper Mistress (3 page)

But now a tremor of apprehension fluttered into Molly at the thought of having to meet up with any gentleman in Sallie's house.

She thought of everything else she had been through in her life—the barely remembered early years in India, the long voyage home with her heart still grieving, that time alone in London when she'd not known a single soul, and that desperate time in the workhouse. She squared her shoulders. She had been through worse than this.

And hadn't her late uncle always told her: "A soldier stands fast, Molly-may."

She could still hear his gruff voice. He had certainly faced his own death brave enough, so to honor his memory she would face this gentleman.

After all, she had made no promises that she would agree to this preposterous bargain.

Still, she had to take a breath as Sallie pulled open the gilt-edged door to the drawing room. She found her apron and cap plucked from her cold hands, and a hand pushing on the small of her back as Sallie whispered to her, "And if you don't think those are the loveliest blue eyes you've ever seen, you're blind, ducks."

With a firm shove, Sallie sent Molly into the room.

The gentleman turned from where he had been standing near the window and Molly blinked.

Gracious, those were indeed the loveliest eyes. Quite the most startling shade of deep blue, like the sky at twilight. They stared at her with a startling intensity from a face that she had not expected either, and which had her blurting out the first words that came into her head.

"Why, you're hardly more than a boy yourself! Why ever do you want to go hiring a woman from this house to act as your bride?"

At the sight of a short, curvaceous redhead being thrust into the room, Theo started to smile. But those tempting, full lips parted and her words cut into him like a butcher's knife.
Hardly more than a boy!

Eyes narrowing, he glared at her, his mood souring into a return of her critical judgment. Young, was he? Well, she was not what he'd call aged. Not the least. And she was a bit on the small side. And plump. Yes, decidedly plump, with an oddly fresh look to her for a girl from this house. Faint freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, as if she were a country lass, not a London harlot. But, like many a redhead, she had skin smooth as cream under the freckles.

However, he was being critical of her, he reminded himself. This whole business rode on her, after all.

Only as he tried to find fault, he found himself thinking that that pert nose of hers and that nicely rounded chin and that oval face were all attractive enough. And she might not be too plump, for those curves kept distracting him in a way he rather liked.

But he at once realized the truth.

Sallie must have coached her. Yes, that must be it. She had come in, determined to show him that she could be a shrew.

His shoulders eased and he offered a smile. "Lord, you could shave the hair off an ox with that sharp a tongue. But you don't have to put on any airs for this—I've no need for you to try and sound a lady."

"Airs?" she said, sounding rather affronted.

"Oh, don't you worry, Mr. Winslow," Sallie said, stepping into the room and pausing only to kick back with her foot at some bit of white cloth that now lay in the doorway. Theo could not quite see what it was, but it almost appeared to be the ties to an apron. An absurd notion that.

"Molly here can speak a proper Cockney, she can," Sallie said as she turned to the girl, and Theo could almost swear that Sallie winked at her.

Understanding appeared in the girl's eyes—wide-set, green eyes, Theo noticed, quite fetching, with a sparkle that glimmered like dew on new grass.

Turning to him, the girl said, her words only a little hesitant, "Yes, I suppose I...I mean, 'course I can...ducks."

Theo frowned at that awkward speech. Was the girl shy? Is that why she had to be pushed into the room? That wouldn't do. It'd take a girl with brass to face his father and not crumble, spilling the whole tale out as well, no doubt. That was one of the reasons he had decided he needed either an actress or the sort of woman who was hard as February ice.

Tucking his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, he frowned and tried to put on what he hoped appeared an all-business attitude. No need to let Sallie see that his pulse—and his hopes for carrying this off—had both lifted. She'd only try to raise the rates along with it.

"Come here, then, and let's have a look at you," he said.

The girl stiffened, color pinking her cheeks as if she was embarrassed that he wanted to inspect her. Didn't she get this every night when she paraded herself to be sold?

Sallie put a hand on the girl's back and pushed her forward. "Go on, ducks. No need to hold back as if you was waiting to hear how much he'd pay. We all know the terms, so we can all be nice and friendly."

The girl shot a rather odd look at Sallie—a look Theo could almost swear held a good deal of resistance. Had she not yet agreed to this?

"What's the problem here?" he asked, glancing at Sallie. "Is she shy?"

Sallie's smile widened, but before she could speak the girl answered. "I am not the least shy. And you do not—I mean, no need to talk about me as if I weren't here...ducks."

The endearment came out in a rather hostile tone and Theo glanced at her, misgivings tightening his shoulders. He rubbed the back of his neck. Perhaps he had been wrong to state his attraction to redheads—they could have the devil's temper. But she did have quite the most glorious tumble of curls. Copper highlights glinted in the red, along with golden threads and darker mahogany tones. She also had the sort of figure to draw any man's notice—round, high breasts and hips that just begged for a fellow to take hold. Not too plump in the least, really.

"I beg your pardon," he said.
And an awkward thing it is to be apologizing to a prostitute as if she were a lady.

It dawned on him that her high-and-mighty attitude struck the perfect note. Yes, he needed a female who seemed to have long claws well into him, and wasn't about to let go. She had brass, right enough, and not just in the color of her hair.

Starting to smile, he came forward. "Perhaps, Sallie, you should start us off with a proper introduction?"

Sallie agreed at once. And Molly found herself unable to say much of anything as Mr. Winslow—Theodore Winslow, she learned—kept smiling at her. He had a dimple near the left corner of his mouth and the most disarming smile. It put a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and made her want to smile back in a ridiculous, empty-headed fashion.

He took her hand with his ungloved one. She glanced down at his touch. Strong fingers closed over hers. Her mouth dried. Lifting her hand, he touched soft, warm lips to her skin, before he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss into her palm. Hot pleasure washed through her.

A week with him would be no hardship. Oh, gracious, what was she thinking? Was she thinking? Why, she hardly knew him!

She wet dry lips with the tip of her tongue and said, the words tripping out without any grace, "You still have...haven't answered my question. Why do you need to hire a bride?"

His smile disappeared, blue eyes darkened and she found herself facing a rather daunting gentleman. He dropped her hand. Cool air brushed her skin where a moment ago his fingers had held hers.

"Molly Sweet, eh? Well, that, my sweet Sweet, is my business. Just play your part as a vulgar sort of grasping female before my family—or at least enough so to get me disinherited—and we shall all be happy."

She blinked up at him.
Disinherited?
She had heard of odd situations that required a gentleman to marry to gain an inheritance, but she had never heard of one where a pretend bride would lose a legacy. Perhaps he was just a bit touched upstairs?

But while she did not know as much about men as did Sallie, she had spent years enough dealing with London fishmongers, grocers, and merchants that she could judge a man. And this gentleman had an honest look to him. He also had an obstinate set to his mouth, and the pulse beat rapid in a jaw clenched tight.

Stubborn as a street dog with a bone to chew,
she decided.

"Very well, if that's your business, then what part is mine?" she asked.

Black eyebrows lifted with arrogant affront. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, what am I to know about you? How did we meet? How did you come to fall in love with me—at least I presume you did since you proposed marriage? And why are you taking me to meet your family? Why not just run off with me? And how can I act anything if all you tell me is just to be vulgar? Oh, and grasping—just what am I to be grasping at?"

His frown tightened into a scowl. "Devil a bit, but you like questions! She always so impudent?" he asked with a glance at Sallie.

Before Sallie could say, the girl answered back. "Will you stop talking around me, as if I were not here! I am not some horse for hire. And I require at least some information before I say yes to this...this bargain."

"Not much of a bargain for my purse," Theo muttered. Folding his arms, he glared at the girl. Perhaps he should walk out now. Only, blazes, but she exactly suited his requirements, freckles and all. No proper lady would ever have such a common complexion. And if she could raise his hackles with just a few words, she should be able to provoke his father into one of his rages. Which is what he wanted.

The satisfaction of finally serving his back father some of his own trickled through him. Dropping his arms to his sides, he decided to humor her curiosity. He had few enough options just now, after all.

"If you must have a story, you may make up whatever you wish. Just make it believable, and I should think it obvious that what you're grasping for is a ring on your left hand. As for why I'm taking you home—oh, make something up there, too. You want to inspect your future manor, or some such thing. And for the rest, you can say the utter truth—that we met in a brothel and that I bought your time." He grinned. "My father will have an apoplexy if you do, in fact."

She stared at him, eyes widening and face paling. "What! Do you want to kill him."

"Of course not. Must you be so literal? I already told you I just want him to cast me off. That shouldn't be so difficult to understand? And now you can tell me if you're my girl, sweet Molly Sweet—and was there ever such a badly named female as you, for you're as tart as lemons!"

"Some consider that a fine taste. Besides, it sounds as if you want a female who'll make you trouble," Molly shot back to him. Remembering she really was supposed to be talking more like Sallie and not herself, she pressed her lips tight. What answer should she give him on his proposition, either in her own words, or with Sallie's odd mixture of London Cockney and artificially polished tones?

If he had seemed a libertine, if his face had shown signs of hard dissipation, or if he were not so sinfully handsome, she would have said no at once. Even for fifty pounds. But she had no sense of danger from him—and her perception for that had been well honed by the past dozen years of her life.

He could be no more than in his mid-twenties, she guessed, and he sounded honestly desperate to be rid of this inheritance. She could not imagine why. She had never been willed more than her mother's locket and her father's sword—both now long gone, taken from her when she'd been found on her own at the London docks and sent to St. Marylebone. But how lovely to have someone care enough to bequeath something to one—only he seemed not to think so.

So did she help him or not?

And did she help herself to fifty pounds?

But when she took a breath and looked at the situation, the blunt truth was that she wanted to go with him. The money just made it all the more tempting.

It surprised her, this sudden fierce ache. This longing. Shocked her to her core. But she could not deny that he had a face and form made to put ideas in any female mind—and it made her look to her future and wonder if she would ever have such a chance as this again. A fine gentleman of her own. Even if only pretend. Even if only for a week.

Well, she had to be honest about it. She wanted to pretend with him.

Even if it did not last.

What, after all, did last—good or bad?

Brushing her fingers along her hand where his lips had touched her skin, her face warm, she glanced from him to Sallie.

Why not agree? Sallie thought it easy money. And he might kiss her hand again. Course he might try to kiss a few other parts of her, as well.