By Love Unveiled (25 page)

But she’d surprised him. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that the same trick worked on him, as he’d discovered the first time he’d tried to go to sleep. Never had he seen a woman find such enjoyment in lovemaking. Never had he been given such a gift.

He stared at her wistfully. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t lie abed all day watching her sleep. He needed to see how William and Tamara fared.

Carefully he slid from underneath her sleeping form. Unfortunately, he wasn’t careful enough. She mumbled
some unintelligible phrase, then turned toward where he lay poised and ready to leave the bed as soon as she settled. But her eyes opened and she caught sight of him.

“Garett! What are you . . .”

She trailed off as her gaze slid down his bare chest and belly to where his desire was making itself known yet again. It was all he could do to keep from grinning at her expression of complete mortification. Her eyes widened further, her mouth formed a small O, and then she turned several shades of crimson.

“Oh, heavens,” she whispered. “I don’t suppose I dreamed it.”

He laughed. “Not unless we had the same dream.”

“I can’t believe I . . . Aunt Tamara is going to murder me!” She hid her blushing face in the covers.

“Nay. I’ll wager it won’t be you she’ll murder.”

Her head snapped up at his dry remark. She gave him a look of earnest appeal. “Then we shan’t tell her.”

A twinge of uneasiness went through Garett. “Keeping it from her will be difficult once you’re established at Falkham House as my mistress.”

The color drained from her cheeks as she sat up to drag the bed clothing about her naked form. “I cannot be your mistress.”

“You already are,” he replied evenly, his unease growing at her response.

She clutched the linens to her like a shield. “Last night . . . Garett, it should never have happened. It mustn’t happen again.”

When she rose from the bed, he caught her and
pulled her back down, not just to keep her from fleeing him once more but also to have a reason to touch her.

“Listen, sweetling, we can’t undo it even if we wished to. Why fight this tie between us? There’s nothing left to keep us apart now, no reason not to find our pleasure where we may.”

Her eyes flashed. “No reason except my future. I plan to marry one day. If I stay with you as your mistress, no man will ever have me.”

He didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. “Your loss of innocence wouldn’t stop any man who had eyes from marrying you. But this talk of husbands is fruitless. As my mistress, you don’t require a husband.”

“I don’t require a lover, either. Nor do I want one.”

His grim smile masked the hurt her words gave him. “Then you deny you found enjoyment in our lovemaking.”

With a blush, she stared down at her hands.

Her silence encouraged him. “You see? You cannot deny that you want me. And God knows I want you. Can’t you accept that for what it is?”

When she lifted her eyes to him, they shimmered with unshed tears. “ ’Tis not enough.”

“It’s more than what you had before.”

“You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.”

He leaned forward to brush a kiss over her hair. “I want you with me. That’s all I care about.”

“That’s not true. Have you forgotten you don’t trust me? That you think I’m in some terrible conspiracy with your uncle?”

He hadn’t forgotten. He’d hoped—nay, believed—she would tell him the truth now that they’d made love. “It’s you who doesn’t trust me. I’ve already told you that your secrets are safe with me. No matter what you tell me, I’ll protect you. Now that I’ve bound you to me as a man binds himself to his mistress, you can surely tell me about your past.”

For a long time she stared at him, as if debating something. Then she wrenched her gaze from his. Staring down at the stained bed linens, she asked, “What is the worth of a man’s bond to his mistress?”

When a low curse erupted from his lips, she met his angry gaze. “I didn’t say that quite right. But when you speak of such a bond, what do you mean?”

He dropped his hands from her. “That I’ll be your protector.”

“You’ll protect my life with yours?”

He struggled to control his growing anger. “Didn’t I do so last night?”

A haunted look briefly crossed her face. “Yes, but I require more than that.”

“Money,” he said, a bit surprised that she would be so mercenary. “That I’m more than willing to give. You’ll never want for anything.”

“Until you tire of me.”

He tried to draw her into his arms, but she wouldn’t allow it. A coldness crept through his veins. “I assure you, sweetling, I shan’t tire of you for a long time.”

She twisted the linens in her hands. “Men tire of women, my lord. ’Tis not unusual.”

“Men tire of common women. You are anything but common.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “In any case, it’s not money that concerns me. I get along quite well with my skills as a healer. But this ‘bond’ you speak of must require other promises on your part. Would this bond force you to side with me against . . . against those I see as my enemies?”

“Of course,” he clipped out, tiring of what began to sound like an odd rendition of marital vows.

“Even if they were your own friends? Would you take my part against your friends?”

That stopped him briefly. If for some unforeseen reason he had to choose between Hampden and Mina, whom would he choose?

The choice would be hard, but in the end he knew he wouldn’t choose Hampden. “Yes. Against my own friends, though I don’t see why that would be necessary.”

“You’d stand for me against your blood kin? Against your country?” She paused, her eyes lit with a strange light. “Against your king?”

A part of him recognized that somewhere in her questions lay the key to the riddle of who she was. But another part was angered by what was tantamount to her conditions for being his mistress. The insult to his pride prevailed.

“If you wish me to swear complete loyalty to you for all eternity, Mina,” he replied coldly, “you’ll have to place some faith in me first. You ask a great deal and offer very
little. I still don’t know why you’ve hidden your identity from me when every bloody man, woman, and child in Lydgate seems to know your past. Nor do I know how you and my uncle are acquainted with each other. I’ll make no promises until you tell me something. Anything.”

She stared away from him into the fire that was now only ashes. He could feel her arms stiffen under his hands. “I’m afraid, Garett,” she said softly.

He caught her hands in his. “Afraid of me?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

“Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know.”

Her confusion twisted something within him. He drew her to him, and this time she didn’t resist. She laid her head against his chest as if seeking reassurance in the beat of his heart. Then her arms stole about his waist, and she clasped him to her.

At least she could cling to him for comfort. He brushed a kiss across the tangled waves of her hair. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, sweetling. Surely last night proved that. I couldn’t harm you if my life depended on it.”

She was silent a long time. Then she lifted her face to his. “Last night only proved you want me. But sometimes wanting isn’t enough.”

“Then let my word, my honor, be enough. I’ll protect you, Mina, no matter what you tell me. I swear it on whatever god or holy book you find sacred.”

For a moment, she looked as if she might say something. Then she lowered her head once more to press it against his chest. “Give me time to think.”

He sighed. Yet he had to grant her request. She was like a wild deer that had to be coaxed into trusting before it would finally allow a human near.

“As you wish,” he murmured soothingly against her hair.

She relaxed in his embrace. For a long time they stayed with arms entwined as he stroked her hair. Then he began to be aware of the softness of her body, the press of her breasts against his chest, the woman scent of her filling his senses. Suddenly he needed to know that her giving of herself the night before had been more than a moment’s whim.

Cupping her chin, he raised her head until her lips were inches from his. “I’ll give you whatever time you need, but I’ll be damned if I let you spend it just thinking.”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth and her lips parted, giving him the invitation he sought. So when he bent his head toward her, she didn’t argue the point.

*  *  *

Pitney glared at the thick ledgers stacked atop his fashionable walnut desk, then toppled them over, wishing he could make them disappear. His expenditures mounted daily. Unfortunately, his income did not. His friends wanted repayment for his loans, his enemies were taking away his power, and his bankers refused to lend him any more money.

He still had some lands and his small estate. But what good was it when the tenants seemed to feel no inclination to toil in their fields? They openly defied him, and
when he tried to exert his power over them, they sullenly worked for a few days, then disappeared to a local alehouse to drink their troubles away.

Pitney thought of Garett’s well-tended lands and gritted his teeth. All this was that bastard’s doing. Damn those soldiers who’d mistaken a footboy for Garett and had killed the wrong person along with Garett’s parents.

With head pounding, Pitney called for a servant. The stooped woman who answered his summons came in hesitantly with head bowed. Pitney sneered at the trembling woman. At least he was still master of his own house.

“Fetch my wife! And try to move faster than the slug that you are.” He took a perverse pleasure at the way the woman’s face reddened. He almost hoped she would respond to the insult, for Pitney badly wished to tear into someone.

But the woman controlled herself, backing carefully from the room. Pitney frowned. He’d take his fury out on his wife instead.

Lately, however, that had been more difficult to do. He couldn’t beat her—he didn’t want to risk the life of his unborn child. All he could do was threaten. And his threats seemed to fall on deaf ears. It was as if she’d found another hope to sustain her, one that gave her immunity to his venom.

Garett.
She still hoped her nephew would “rescue” her. Well, Pitney would make sure that never happened. It gave him one more reason to kill Garett.

A knock at his study door made him smile. The servant had been quick indeed. But it wasn’t his wife who burst through the door. It was Ashton, his eyes bright and eager.

Ashton made a sketchy bow before announcing breathlessly, “I have important news, sir.”

“Of Falkham?”

“Of Falkham. And another who interests you.” Ashton smiled conspiratorially as he knocked the dust from his clothes. “Your nephew has a companion now—Winchilsea’s daughter.”

Pitney gaped at Ashton. “Miss Winchilsea?” When the man nodded, he growled, “It can’t be. You were mistaken. That chit is dead.”

“Nay. The soldiers who were sent to the gypsy camp for her must have lied. She’s alive. I saw her myself, and I promise you I’d never mistake that pretty face. She’s in Lydgate, living at Falkham House.”

Pitney sat back in his chair. So the beautiful Miss Winchilsea was still alive, was she? His cock hardened as he remembered her sweetness and youth. She had her mother’s bewitching, wild look about her. Just the kind of woman he enjoyed.

Except she’d been insolent, far too insolent for a girl. He’d wanted badly to press her down into submission. He’d even contemplated offering to make her his mistress once her father was safely locked away.

That, too, Garett had taken from him. Worse yet, Garett had her now. Miss Winchilsea and his nephew. A potentially dangerous combination. If she guessed
who was really behind her father’s arrest and told Garett . . .

“Did Falkham know who she was?” Pitney asked.

“I don’t think so. The villagers talked of her as Mina, although you know they all knew her. When I saw her last, his man was taking her before the town council. I overheard someone say Falkham was suspicious of her and wanted to know who she was.”

Pitney leaned forward, ideas taking shape in his brain. “Who does he think she is?”

“A gypsy healer. Before Falkham kept her at Falkham House, she stayed in a wagon with a gypsy woman.”

Pitney laughed. “I suppose she won’t tell him who she is for fear he’ll turn her over to the king’s men. Excellent! Quite a comeuppance for the aloof little bitch, don’t you think? To be forced to live as her mother ought to have—a Romany slut servicing a nobleman. Her mother had no right to wed a pure-blood Englishman. And now Miss Winchilsea is paying for it. Ah . . . there is some justice in this world.”

Ashton shifted on his feet. “But sir, what if he finds out who she is? What if she protests her father’s innocence? If she knows that you—”

“Quiet!” Pitney ordered, nodding toward the open door. Anyone might come along to hear them. He lowered his voice. “We’ll have to act before he does. But I need time to think of a way to have her discovered with Falkham. Even the king’s favorite subject will have difficulty explaining why he’s harboring a traitor.”

Ashton’s face brightened. “Aye. ’Tis brilliant. You could discredit him before the king.”

Pitney frowned. “Perhaps. Trouble is, she hasn’t been found guilty of anything yet. But if perchance I brought soldiers to capture him and if perchance he resisted . . .” He grinned broadly. “Well, there are all sorts of possibilities, aren’t there?”

Ashton patted his rapier. “Aye, sir, that there are.”

“I might even find a way to dispose of Miss Winchilsea before she stumbles onto something that might prove that her father was wrongfully accused and murdered.”

Ashton flashed him a knowing leer. “Before you do, you ought to sample what Falkham’s been sampling. Lord, but she’s a fine piece of work.”

“And a dangerous one,” Pitney retorted. “Don’t forget that.”

“What could she tell? She has no idea of my involvement. I was nowhere in sight when the medications were knocked over and the king’s dogs swallowed the poison. What—”

A sound from the doorway made both Pitney and Ashton turn. There stood Bess, terror shining in her face. She whirled to run, but her pregnant state made it difficult for her to move quickly.