His Mistress By Christmas (14 page)

But, oh, she did so want to be with the man. Wanted to be in his bed and in his life.

Portia was right on one other point, too. Veronica hadn’t given this mistress idea due consideration. She hadn’t really thought about scandal or gossip, although she’d never particularly cared about such things. It was her observation that when one had a great deal of money, society forgave almost anything. Not that it wasn’t a moot point at the moment, since she had yet to do anything that needed forgiveness. Thus far, she couldn’t even manage to seduce the man. She was obviously as inept a mistress as she was improper a wife. But it had sounded like such a good idea in the beginning. And still had a great deal of merit.

What if she never saw him again? Her heart ached at the thought, treacherous organ that it was. She couldn’t let him walk out of her life. Or stalk, as the case may be, slamming the door behind him. No. She propped herself up on her elbows. She
wouldn’t
let him walk out of her life. She’d never given up on something she’d wanted. She had to do something. Something short of marriage, that is. A new plan was definitely needed. She snorted in disdain. After all, the plan to seduce him had worked out
so
well.

She wanted him and she would have him. There was no question of that. The only question was how to go about it. She absolutely refused to consider that she might well have lost him completely. The thought occurred to her that perhaps he was thinking the same thing. Surely one didn’t propose marriage and then go on with one’s life without a second thought. It was entirely possible that his night would be as sleepless as hers. Her spirits lifted. Good. Even better, several sleepless nights should convince him of the need to keep her in his life. Under her conditions. One way or another, she would be in his bed—she would be his mistress—by Christmas.

And this would be a Christmas to remember.

“Are you mad?” Sinclair stared at him as if he were indeed quite insane.

“I don’t think
my
sanity is in question here.” Sebastian huffed.

“Let me make certain I haven’t overlooked something.” Sinclair lounged on the sofa in the parlor and gestured with the cigar in his hand. “You proposed marriage?”

“I did.” Sebastian sat on a nearby wing chair, his feet propped up on a table beside their glasses of whisky. There was much to be said for living in a household without women. A wife would never permit such behavior. He ignored the thought.

“And she said no?”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “She did.”

The American chuckled. “The nerve of the woman.”

“I thought so.”

“But she is willing to be your mistress?”

Sebastian blew a long plume of blue smoke. “She is.”

“And you turned her down?”

“Well, yes.”

Stunned disbelief colored his friend’s face. “What a complete idiot you are.”

“I have no desire to have a mistress. I want a wife.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sinclair said slowly. “You were not interested in marriage until you met Lady Smithson.”

“The idea had occurred to me, but admittedly, I was not especially looking for a wife.”

Sinclair studied him closely. “Then it isn’t a wife you want as much as it is her.”

“Possibly.”

“There’s no possibly about it.” Sinclair shook his head.

“Very well, then, I admit it. I want her.” He aimed his cigar at his friend. “But I want her as my wife.”

Sinclair’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I have no idea.” He sighed. “I love her?”

“You needn’t sound so convincing.”

“I know I love her. I don’t have any doubts about that.” He thought for a moment. “It seems to me when you find the right woman, the woman you love, you wish to be with her for the rest of your days. Which inevitably means marriage.”

“I have loved many women.” Sinclair puffed his cigar. “And it’s never made me want marriage.”

“I don’t think we’re using the same definition of
love.
”

“Let me ask you this.” Sinclair thought for a moment. “Would you love her any more if she were your wife?”

“I expect to love her more tomorrow than I do today,” Sebastian said firmly.

“That’s very good, but don’t waste it on me.” Sinclair laughed.

“My apologies,” Sebastian muttered. “I was carried away.”

“Once again, would you love her more if she were your wife?”

“My love is not contingent on her position,” he said loftily.

Sinclair groaned. “Good Lord.”

“The answer is no, of course not. I wouldn’t love her more if she was my wife. I already love her to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.”

“Poetry now?” Sinclair snorted. “Or rehearsal?”

“Admittedly, I have been thinking of what I should have said.” Sebastian puffed his cigar. There were all sorts of things he should have said. He should have mentioned love. He should have told her that he couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life without her. And he shouldn’t have lost his temper.

“One generally rehearses before the play.”

“I am unique.”

“I repeat, you are an idiot. As most men in love are.” Sinclair shook his head. “And you used to be so clever.”

“I am still clever.” Sebastian blew a perfect smoke ring, then grinned. “As will be evidenced by my plan.”

Interest gleamed in Sinclair’s eyes. “You have a plan?”

“Not yet.” Sebastian nodded in a sage manner. “But I will.”

“You went into this without a plan?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t see the necessity for one.”

“Ah, because no woman in her right mind would turn down Sir Sebastian Hadley-Attwater?”

“No. Not entirely.” He winced. “Something like that.”
And because I know she loves me.
He knew it the same way he knew his compass always pointed north. He couldn’t possibly be wrong about that even if she hadn’t said it. Or was too stubborn to admit it. Or hadn’t yet realized it herself.

“It seems to me you have played this game by someone else’s rules thus far.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Whose rules?”

“Society’s or perhaps your family’s. You’ve been trying to be a proper gentleman.”

“One does not seduce the woman one intends to marry.” Sinclair scoffed. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian glared. “It just seems wrong.”

“I see.” Sinclair placed his cigar in the saucer and picked up his glass. “Well, it’s all clear to me, if not to you.”

“Then perhaps you would be so good as to explain it to me.”

“You want your brothers’ respect. You want them to see that you’ve become a responsible, proper sort exactly like them.”

“This has nothing to do with my inheritance,” Sebastian said sharply.

“No, it’s far beyond that.” Sinclair took a sip of his whisky and studied his friend. “In spite of her unusual views, Lady Smithson is a suitable, respectable match for you. And you want to be accepted. To take your place, I think, among your family.”

Sebastian puffed his cigar. “That makes a certain amount of sense, I suppose.”

“So tell me this.” Sinclair leaned close and met his friend’s gaze. “You’re living every man’s dream. To have a woman you adore who doesn’t wish to marry but is still willing to provide all the benefits of marriage. If not for your family, would you still want to marry her?”

“It’s an interesting question.” Sebastian stared at the other man, a dozen thoughts running through his mind. “My marriage would please my family. The prospect of my marrying Veronica certainly excited my sisters.”

Sinclair snorted.

“However . . .” He drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to continue the life I’ve led so far. I have no regrets on that score, mind you,” he added quickly. “It’s been great fun.”

Sinclair raised his glass. “For us all.”

“But even before my return home, I had begun to think what I want in life now isn’t the adventure of new places and foreign lands but the gentler adventure, for lack of a better term, of home and hearth and family. And, yes, eventually, marriage.” He met his friend’s gaze firmly. “Veronica is that adventure, my adventure.”

“So she is why you are no longer opposed to marrying?”

“I was not really interested in marriage, at least, not yet. I was not looking for a wife. Until I met her. She makes all the difference.” He paused. “If I had met her a decade ago, in the middle of the Sahara, when all I wanted was to wander the world, she would have been my adventure. I would have married her then.” He smiled. “And now I would still want to marry her if she were completely unsuitable. If I had to choose between my family and Veronica, I would choose her.”

The American stared.

“I want her as my wife because I want her in my life forever. I will settle for nothing less.” He shook his head. “I am under no illusions that it will be easy, but I look forward as much to debate and disagreement with her as I do joy and laughter.” He shrugged. “I want her hand in mine on the day I die.”

“Good God.” Sinclair shook his head. “You are in love.”

He chuckled. “I’m as shocked as you are.”

“All right, then.” Sinclair uncurled his lanky frame and got to his feet.

Sebastian’s brow rose. “What are you doing?”

“I always think better on my feet.” He picked up his cigar and took a puff. “I am your closest friend, am I not?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you would do whatever necessary to help me, should I need your help, correct?”

“Without question.”

“Then the least I can do is help you win the hand of the woman you love.”

“Should I pace, too?”

Sinclair shook his head. “Not enough room. Besides”—he nodded at Sebastian’s glass on the table—”you’ve always come up with your best plans with whisky in one hand and a cigar in the other.”

“True enough.” Sebastian picked up his glass.

“You know evenings like this will be at end once you’re married ?”

“I’m afraid so.” He cast his friend an apologetic look. “And I suspect Veronica will be my traveling companion in the future, even on my more adventurous treks.”

“From what you’ve said, I doubt she will allow otherwise,” Sinclair said wryly. “But first, you have to put a ring on her finger.” He blew a long breath. “You do understand that plotting marriage, as opposed to plotting the avoidance of marriage, goes against everything I believe in?”

“And you have my heartfelt gratitude.”

“For what it’s worth.”

Sebastian raised his glass to his friend. “Someday I shall do the same thing for you.”

“That day, old friend, will never come,” Sinclair said firmly.

“Now, back to the matter at hand.”

The American resumed pacing. Sebastian downed the rest of his whisky, then puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. He did need a plan or, at the very least, an idea, but nothing brilliant came to mind. Perhaps more whisky was needed.

At last Sinclair paused and cast him a triumphant look. “I have it.”

“Well?”

“You do realize it’s not unheard of for men to marry their mistresses.”

“Something like that had occurred to me.”

“It’s been my observation that the best way to get a woman to do what you want her to do is to let her think she’s getting exactly what she wants.”

Sebastian stared. “That’s brilliant.”

“I know.” Sinclair blew a victorious smoke ring. “She wants to be your mistress. I say, for now let her.”

“I am sorry, Veronica,” Julia said mildly, “but I really don’t understand your problem.”

“My problem is that he wants to marry me.” Veronica’s voice rose, and she got to her feet to pace Julia’s parlor. She was entirely too restless to sit and sip tea.

“So you said.” Julia, however, was more than content to sit there on her sofa with her teacup in hand. And why not? Her life was proceeding exactly as she wished. “I think it’s wonderful.”

“It’s not wonderful!” Veronica stopped and stared. “I don’t wish to marry.”

“So you say.” Julia’s words belied her tone.

Veronica widened her eyes. “You don’t believe me!”

“Of course I believe you, dear.” Julia chose her words with care. “I’m just not certain if you believe you.”

“I have said for some time that I’d rather be a mistress than a wife.”

“Yes, but that was, oh, academic, I would think.” Julia smiled pleasantly. “It’s one thing to say you would prefer to be a mistress when no one has asked to marry you. Now that someone has, it’s a different story entirely.”

Veronica drew her brows together. “I don’t see why.”

“You had no choice. It’s all very well to say you prefer apples to oranges when all you have is apples.”

“Nonsense.” Veronica sniffed.

“But if, without warning, someone offers you an orange . . .” A wicked light shone in Julia’s eyes. “Someone peels it for you and holds it out to you.”

“Julia.”

“And you get a whiff of that lovely scent, somewhere between sunshine and honey—”

“Stop that!”

“And it’s so ripe, it fairly begs to be peeled.”

“I am warning you.”

Julia leaned forward. “And the juice runs through your fingers and you have to lick them because you can’t not. And it would be a dreadful shame to waste that heavenly flavor.”

Veronica stared. A few weeks of marriage had certainly had an interesting effect on Julia.

“Now, Veronica,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner, “what do you want?”

“I want an orange,” Veronica said without thinking.

“I thought so.” Julia settled back on her sofa with a smug smile.

“It’s a metaphor, Julia, I know that.” Veronica huffed. “And I much prefer apples.”

“Then you should find yourself an apple.”

“I did! Indeed, I thought I had picked a rather impressive apple. He looked like an apple. He had a wicked sort of apple smile complete with dimples. He definitely had the reputation of an apple. In each and every respect, the man was an apple.” Veronica folded her arms over her chest. “Who would have imagined he’d turn out to be an orange?”

“Julia, I was wondering—” Harrison strolled into the room and pulled up short when he saw his late half brother’s wife. “Veronica.” A genuine smile curved his lips. “I didn’t know you were here. How delightful.”