More Than a Mistress (7 page)

Caro was right. Of course she was. What on earth had she been thinking? She’d never needed anyone’s help since Grandfather’s death, despite her mother’s family trying to insert themselves into her business. She would tell him not to bother with the councillors or the magistrate, that she was giving up her plan. She’d wait until he left before she tackled the problem.

She and Caro would manage.

All through the dinner Caro kept looking from Merry to Charlie, acting the chaperon. Looking for signs of misconduct on Tonbridge’s part, no doubt. Merry sighed. With no opportunity to tell Lord Tonbridge her decision since returning from the drive, Merry kept her discourse so carefully light that her head ached.

‘Shall we take tea in the drawing room?’ she said brightly, after Gribble cleared the table of all but a decanter of port. ‘You could bring your port there, Lord Tonbridge, unless you prefer drinking in solitary state. I am sorry we have no other gentlemen visiting to keep you amused.’

‘You do yourself a disservice, Miss Draycott. Your conversation keeps me well entertained.’

‘I am a chatterbox, in other words.’ She almost poked out her tongue at him, but remembered not to just in time. ‘Will you join us, too, my dear Mrs Falkner?’

Caroline looked torn. ‘I really should see Thomas to bed. He likes me to read a story,’ she explained to Lord Tonbridge, ‘before I tuck him in for the night.’

‘You are truly a devoted mother,’ Tonbridge said. ‘Don’t worry about us. I will take Miss Draycott up on her offer of conversation in the drawing room.’

A look of relief crossed Caro’s face. She turned her gaze on Merry, an intent gaze, reminding Merry of her promise. She rose and curtsied. ‘Then I will bid you both goodnight.’

Tonbridge’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as she left the room.

Merry popped to her feet. ‘No time like the present,’ she said, heading for the door.

She hoped they could have their discussion without the tingle of attraction, the incendiary sparks that filled the air.

She strode into the drawing room. The tea tray awaited them, just as she’d arranged with Gribble. She had no wish to end up playing billiards again.

She sat in front of the tray ‘Tea for you, my lord, or will you stick to port?’

He looked down into his almost-empty glass. ‘A cup of tea will do very well, Merry.’

He sat on the sofa opposite her. She poured the tea. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Yes, please,’ he said. He crossed one ankle over the other.

He looked every inch the dandy tonight. The deep blue coat hugged his form. The high cravat was tied in a complex knot, its creases perfect. How Brian had managed it she didn’t know. And his cream waistcoat embroidered with lily of the valley was a work of art.

She handed him a cup.

‘So, have you thought further about my offer?’ he asked. ‘I feel strongly that the person or persons responsible for this crime should not go unpunished. Who leads these mill owners? I will speak to him.’

She smiled politely. ‘By gum, I’ve been doing some thinking since last we talked.’

A frown furrowed his brow. ‘Why do you speak like a common labourer when I try to offer a suggestion?’

‘Common is what I am. Listen, Charlie, I’ve been talking things over with Mrs Falkner. We do not need your help.’

His expression darkened. ‘Now you really surprise me.’

‘Full of surprises,’ she said lightly. ‘There is no need for you to speak to anyone. We are giving up on the idea.’

A hard intent gaze searched her face. She tried to look calm, unaffected. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said finally. ‘You are not one to give up, Merry.’

The way he made her name sound like a caress caused her breath to catch in her throat. But worse yet was his correct assessment of her nature. It wasn’t like her to give up. She made a desperate bid to unscramble her thoughts. ‘What I do is nowt of your business, my lord.’

His lips tightened. ‘Because I won’t engage in trickery.’ He curled his lip. ‘I am shocked, Merry. Draycott’s is known for honest dealing, in word and deed. Would you compromise your good name?’

His accusation struck her on the raw. She held on to her rising temper, a hot fizz in her chest. ‘It is precisely because I treasure my good name that I am refusing your offer.’

He blinked. ‘I do not see the connection.’

‘I am sure you do not.’ And she wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Let us be quite clear on your position: while the Draycott name may be known for honest dealing, I certainly understand why it is not good enough to be linked with that of Mountford.’

‘Blast it, Merry, I didn’t mean that.’

But he did. She could see it in his eyes. Rich Merry Draycott. Low class and unacceptable, unless someone wanted her money. She folded her hands together in her lap and tried not to show the ache in her heart. ‘You are leaving tomorrow. None of this is your concern.’

He got up and threw a log on the fire. The scent of burning apple-wood filled the room. ‘So you are refusing my aid?’

‘Yes.’ She put up her hand, when he opened his mouth to speak. ‘The matter is closed.’

He turned to face her, his eyes hard. ‘You expect me to walk away when your life is in danger.’

‘Do you think that words falling from your lips will change that? You faffing in my business will only make things worse. I will speak to the constable and the magistrate myself.’

She didn’t see fit to add that the local magistrate was also a mill owner or that his wife had been among the most vociferous in her objections to the house in town.

He clearly wanted to distance himself from her and she’d offered him the perfect way out. She certainly had no reason to feel hurt by his rejection. He owed her nothing.

Nor did she need his approval. She didn’t need anyone’s approval.

‘Let us not talk about this any more. It is a storm in a teacup. Would you like me to play for you?’

Without waiting for an answer she went to the pianoforte and lifted the lid. She arranged her skirts around her on the seat and began to play.

A look of frustration passed over his face.

Well, it would. He could scarcely interrupt her. It would be very rude indeed. The one benefit of attending a select academy for young women was that she knew all the rules of polite society. Grandfather had been so proud of her accomplishments. If he’d any idea how she had suffered in that place, it would have broken his heart.

As well as teaching her social niceties, to paint and play the pianoforte and the harp, her time there had taught her to survive all the meanness the world could toss her way. She’d also learned something about men.

Charlie wanted to strangle her as she played one piece after another. The moment he began to applaud a piece, she started another. Her playing was excellent. Not a single note did she miss, and she played without music. The pieces were all about lost love. Positively heart-wrenching, if one had a heart to wrench.

An hour had passed and the punishment continued. Though what he had done, he couldn’t imagine. Unless it was his sensible alternative to her madcap plan.

Clearly the headstrong wench was too used to getting her own way. And while he could see a kind of logic in her devious plan, it put him in a hell of an awkward position, when he was on his way to make overtures to Lady Allison.

Not to mention that the men she planned on duping, if they didn’t want her blood now, would once they realised her trick. If she refused to accept his offer of help, there was little he could do. He’d have to accept her decision, much as it went against the grain.

He leaned back in his chair and let his mind drift. She looked beautiful tonight and completely different from the previous evening. Her modestly cut gown only hinted at the lush figure beneath. Her black hair, pulled back severely from her face, showed off her high cheekbones, vivid blue eyes and unblemished milky skin. It also revealed the faint blue lines at her temple and tracing down her long elegant throat. If anything, she looked more alluring than she had in her seductive attire. Unattainable and therefore utterly desirable.

Beautiful. Cool and closed off. And brittle. The tension from their earlier kisses vibrated in the air. Whatever was happening, he feared if it went on any longer, she might shatter.

The closing notes of the piece she was playing brought him to his feet. He clapped loudly at the same time as he strode to the piano. He took her hand and kissed the back before she could start again.

‘That was lovely, Miss Draycott; however, I think it is time I retired.’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Eleven already? I had no idea. Still, I am sure that is not all that late for a man such as you.’

Ah, still angry then. He smiled wolfishly. ‘And what sort of man would that be?’

Her lips parted. Her face flushed. ‘A man who spends his time in London, I suppose.’

‘Have you ever been to London?’

The blush deepened. ‘I visited once. As a child.’

‘Perhaps it is time you visited again. And when you do, let me know, and I will be delighted to show you the sights.’ He took her hand again, held it in his and had the urge to bring her to her feet and kiss her again, recapture that moment of blissful mindlessness in the sleigh. The moment before she made her outrageous proposal, which now hung over them like a storm cloud. Kissing her would be a mistake. She would think his resolve was weakening.

He would not be twisted around any woman’s finger.

He raised her hand to his lips one more time and dropped the tiniest of kisses on the back of it, felt the tremor in her fingers in response and his body clenched.

He released her hand. ‘I bid you goodnight.’ He bowed and strode for the door before he changed his mind.

Why did doing the right thing feel so completely wrong?

Merry paced her chamber; her nightdress swirled around her ankles each time she turned and the rug was rough beneath her bare feet. Two hours has passed and she still couldn’t settle. She just wished she could clearly see a path.

Caro
was
right. She was. They must find a way to accomplish their goals and vanquish their opponents. She certainly didn’t need the help of a husband. Not even a pretend one. A woman with a husband wasn’t a person. She had no rights. No freedom of choice or of decision. Until Caro came, she had never thought of it that way. She’d always thought that one day she would have a husband and children. Men married for money and power. A man would absorb her money, wield her power, without consultation. Grandfather had trusted her enough to leave her his hard-earned business; she would never hand it over in exchange for a ring. Or companionship in bed.

She kicked her gown out of the way and turned. Tonbridge had no place in her life.

The thought left her with a deep sense of loss. Because her body was yearning for the pleasure it knew could be hers? Was that the reason she felt restless? On edge. She kept remembering his beauty as he left the drawing room. Virile, powerful and unbelievably handsome.

And that was the problem. She glared at her empty rumpled bed. The flare of heat in his gaze and the intensity of his kiss this afternoon had called to long-repressed desires and longings.

It had been years since she felt the warmth of a man. And this one knew how to seduce a woman’s senses. When his mouth had plied her lips, her body had been overjoyed.

She missed it.

She clenched her fists until they stung from lack of blood and lifted her gaze to the portrait above the mantel. Her mother. Daughter of an earl, beloved wife of her father—what would she think of the wicked thoughts going through her daughter’s mind, the hot fires of lust burning in her loins?

They burned within him, too.

Merry turned away from the gentle face looking down. No doubt her mother would be ashamed of her along with the rest of the fashionable world.

Tonbridge lay nearby alone in his bed and she would lie alone in hers. This was her future. She and Caro would live together, helping each other while she remained a spinster in name, if not in truth, forever.

Why not take advantage of the chance that brought him into her house?
a voice whispered in her mind.
Why not?
A night of pleasure they would both enjoy. It would only be one night. No ties. No obligations. No tit for tat.

She’d kept him at a distance this evening, despite the way her body hummed each time he came close. Was still humming with the after-effects of his kiss this afternoon. Oh Lord, and the pleasure of his touch last night.

In spite of her coldness toward him tonight, there was no doubt of his desire when he kissed her hand. She rubbed the back of her hand as if she could erase the feel of his lips against her skin.

Lust.

Unrequited passion.

What if he rejected her? But if she didn’t ask, how would she know?

Chapter Eight

T
ired! Hah! Charlie hadn’t felt less tired in his life.

Used to awakening in the smallest hours of the night, he always kept the candles alight to ward off the hated sensation of suffocation brought on by total darkness.

At home, when it got really bad, he’d go for a ride. His servants were used to his odd ways. But here, there would be questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

He rarely had trouble falling asleep. Only when the dreams started did he feel the need for escape. Tonight was different. He tossed off the brandy he had poured. It added to the heat in his blood, increased the thud of his heart.

Desire for Merry.

An urgent pressing lust.

Never had he felt like this about a woman. Naked, with the fire almost dead, he didn’t feel the least bit cold. The vaguest thought of the woman had his blood running hot, had him rousing.

She’d certainly taken him by surprise this afternoon, asking him to pretend to be her betrothed. God, he’d like to pretend to be her husband.

His shaft jerked with pleasure at the thought. He could bring himself to release. A youth’s trick, something he’d given up long ago in favour of control. If a man couldn’t control his own base urges, what hope did he have of controlling his life? Or his bloody dreams?

He got up and strode to the window, thrusting back heavy brocade curtains glinting with gold bullion knots and twists. The cold permeating through the casement seared his over-heated skin. He breathed in the smell of old wood and frost on the windowpane.

He placed his palm on the glass and thawed the ice.

The world outside looked ghostly. Snow glittered where the moon cast its path. Here and there, dark patches ruined the purity. A thaw well under way. Tomorrow he would leave.

Drive away from temptation.

Slowly, painfully slowly, his erection subsided, chilled by the cold air, or the thought of departure.

It didn’t matter which.

Sure he would now sleep, he let the curtain fall and returned to the bed. The candles had hours of life left. They would last until dawn.

Stretched out on top of the covers, he closed his eyes, kept his mind deliberately blank and breathed deeply.

A sound by the door.

A mere whisper of noise. His gut clenched.

Nothing. It was his mind playing tricks. He forced himself to ignore it, the way he had ignored far worse indignities after Waterloo. He would sleep. He must.

He resisted the urge to toss and turn. Forced his limbs to remain quiet and once more emptied his mind.

More rustling.

The bed sank in one corner.

Heart drumming, he shot upright, staring wide-eyed at the foot of his bed.

Merry? ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘I beg your pardon.’ God damn it, he was naked. He flipped the edge of the counterpane over his hips.

Her gaze remained on his face, but she must have seen, when she walked in, that he was stark naked. Once more, blood headed for his groin. Damn the woman. ‘What did you want?’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

That made two of them. ‘So you thought you’d wake me to share in your lack of rest. Hand me my robe.’ It lay beside her across the foot of the bed.

She bit her lip and handed it to him. ‘I’m sorry.’ She slid off the bed and walked to the hearth, looking down at the fire, while he pulled the banyan around him.

She spun around as he finished tying the knot. ‘I did not intend to disturb you.’

Disturb. Hah! He couldn’t be more pleased. Or at least one part of him couldn’t. The rest of him wasn’t so sure. He waved off her apology. ‘How can I be of service?’ A bad choice of words. The low thrum in his blood had become a steady pounding beat. He could smell her, the scent of lavender and soap, and a woman fresh from her bed. He wanted to carry her to his. He wanted to lay her down amid his sheets. He wanted all she would give. But only if she gave it freely.

She looked at him, her head tilted on one side, her full lips parted. Lips he longed to take with his own. He clenched his jaw.

‘I came to apologise,’ she said and pressed those full lips together as if trying to decide what to say next. She clasped her hands at her waist. The firelight behind her shone through the flimsy nightgown and wrap. Outlined in the faint glow, her legs were long and slender, the dark triangle at their apex more imagined than seen. Black as night to match her hair, no doubt, and a delightful contrast to her pale skin.

His teeth ground together. He picked up a candle. ‘Let me escort you back to your room.’

She backed away, thankfully into the shadows beside the hearth. She looked nervous. ‘You cannot deny the attraction between us.’

The clenching of his groin anticipated what might come next, but at what price? ‘I won’t change my mind, Merry, whatever coin you use.’

She flinched. A mere flicker of an eyelash, a minute tightening of her jaw. He’d hurt her. He wanted to apologise and grant her wish. He couldn’t. It had taken all of his powers of persuasion to convince Father to let Robert return. One misstep and all would be ruined.

Yet she did not retire in defeat. It wasn’t in her to give up. Her gaze did not shift away. Instead her bright blue eyes held his gaze boldly. She licked her top lip, leaving it moist and pink. It held his attention as she spoke again.

‘It has nothing to do with…’ she gestured vaguely with one hand ‘…that. No one would believe you would offer for me anyway.’

Truth was a bitter brew. He wished she wasn’t right. But if she wasn’t here to convince him to follow her plan, then why had she come after her coolness this evening? A bubble of something light and airy restricted his breathing. Hope. Damn it. When he should really be turning her around and sending her out of the door, he nodded for her to go on.

‘I enjoyed our kiss today. I would like to repeat the experience.’

His groin gave a pulse of approval. Why not, indeed? The urge to say yes filled his throat.

He walked to the window, before the words left his mouth. Before he did something he’d regret. ‘You are a beautiful woman. I cannot deny I find you alluring, but I no longer believe the impression you gave me on my first night here. Or my conclusion this morning that you might be an abbess.’

She gasped.

He turned with a smile. ‘Finding two very bold females in my bedroom this morning led me astray.’

A small smile of acknowledgement touched her lips. ‘I see how it might happen.’

He forced himself to say the next words. ‘I certainly recognise the spark of attraction between us, it was there from the first, but you are unmarried and therefore out of bounds. I’m sorry.’

Hades. How utterly priggish he sounded. But it was the right thing to do.

Her fingers played with the tie at her waist.

Bloody hell, if she didn’t take him at his word and leave he’d have that small knot untied and the whisper of silk covering her form puddled at her feet. Randy bastard.

She glanced at him from beneath half-lowered lashes. ‘You are indeed a gentleman. But we are both adults, are we not? Both experienced in the ways of the world and capable of making our own decisions. Why should we not have one night of pleasure before you leave?’

He strode to face her toe to toe. She didn’t flinch. Her gaze didn’t drop from his as he held her chin between forefinger and thumb, tilting her face up, bringing her lovely mouth within reach of his own.

He wanted her.

More than he wanted to give her aid, he wanted her in his bed. Had wanted her since the moment she gazed at him on the road.

And here she was offering herself to him. Not a virgin, the kind of woman he must marry, but a bold sensual woman who knew what she wanted.

A groan rose in his throat. He forced it to silence. Closed his eyes briefly against the urges riding him hard and forced himself to speak. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her body swaying towards him, her lavender perfume rising like incense to his senses, sweet and heavy.

He bent his head and claimed her mouth.

Merry sank into his embrace, clutched at the front of his robe with desperate fingers in case she collapsed to the floor on legs weak with relief.

She let her senses drift on the pleasure of his kiss, the lovely feel of his body hard against hers, the intruding thigh between her legs, the large hands roaming her body at will.

Ever since he had caressed her feet in the billiard room, her body had been on fire, her mind a senseless mess of conflicting and confusing thoughts. She wanted this, even if she was beyond the pale to him except in this most basic of passions.

Tonight she would have her desires fulfilled and out of the way, so she could plan how next to proceed without regret for what might have been.

His tongue licked her lips and pressed against the seam of her mouth. She opened to him, tasted brandy smoky on her tongue.

Her breasts felt heavy and full, the place between her thighs moist and tingling; she tilted her hips, increasing the pressure of his thigh and was rewarded by his brief indrawn breath.

She uncurled her fingers from the fabric of his robe and slipped them beneath, to run her hands over his broad expanse of chest.

She’d seen much of him in the billiard room and again as he lay naked on his bed with his eyes closed.

She’d been surprised but grateful for the candles’ revealing light. His body was gorgeous, his male member thick and large; she could feel it now pressing against her lower abdomen as his hand brushed up from the indentation at her waist to cover her breast.

She let go a long sigh of pleasure and a satisfied sound of male approval rumbled in his chest.

It sent a shiver down her spine.

Her fingers splayed across the warm silken skin of his chest, felt the roughness of hair and the puckered skin of his scar.

She longed to touch it with her tongue, taste it with her lips, but right now his mouth was taking her senses to new heights of arousal. She slipped her hands up to his shoulders and thrust her tongue in his mouth.

He groaned and swept her up in his arms, breaking the kiss. She looked up into his face.

‘My bed or yours?’ he asked.

‘Yours.’ She laughed. ‘It is closer.’

‘A sensible woman indeed,’ he murmured, his dark eyes hazy with passion and glinting with amusement.

He was so bloody handsome. It wasn’t fair.

But he was hers for now. And she would make the most of the one night he’d granted. He frowned.

Had he sensed her regrets?

She smiled and licked her lips. ‘What now, you great gormless statue?’

At that he threw back his head and laughed out loud. He strode for the bed, pressing her back against the mattress, and gazed into her face. ‘Did I tell you how much I adore that tongue of yours?’

‘For what it says?’ she asked, fluttering her lashes. ‘Or what it can do?’

‘Hades,’ he muttered under his breath and swooped down for a kiss. Their mouths melded, blissfully fitting together. Her thoughts scattered as he plundered her mouth and she clasped her hands around the back of his neck, holding him tight, as she devoured the slick silkiness of his tongue in her mouth. She sucked.

He stilled.

Had she been too bold? Gone too far? Would he think her completely wanton? Her heart beat hard against her chest as he broke the kiss. She let her hands fall away as he drew back, his low-lidded gaze sweeping her body, his lips curving in a sensual smile of approval. ‘You are a feast for the senses.’

The words struck a chord low in her belly. Flutters tormented her feminine core. What was he waiting for? Suddenly shy, she twisted her fingers in the curls falling over her shoulder, staring at the strong column of throat emerging from his robe, at the rise of his angular cheekbones. In daylight they made his face look hard and stern, but now they made him look like a fallen angel.

Her angel. For one night. A yearning she did not expect pulled at her heart. Such yearning had no place in her life. She pushed it away and opened her arms to him.

He untied the cord at his hips, and discarded his robe in one easy movement. The scar across his chest gleamed white in the candlelight. It crossed sculpted muscle and striated ribs, missed his navel by an inch where it sliced a path across a stomach ridged with tight muscle to come to rest at his hipbone.

And below, the evidence of his desire, the engorged member jutting from wiry black curls, a dark tip. Proud and very male.

She sucked in a breath and raised her gaze to his face. His expression was dark, harsh and full of seduction.

She reached up and traced a finger down the scar’s length, from just above his left nipple to his right hip, where the skin jumped beneath her touch.

‘Ticklish?’ she asked.

Mischief gleamed in his dark eyes. ‘If so, be prepared for repayment in kind.’

Her skin tingled as his hot gaze seared every inch of her body. In a moment of weakness, a slight edge of fear that this dark angel would steal more than she was prepared to give, she covered herself, her breasts, her groin.

His brows lowered. ‘Unlike you to be shy, sweet Merry.’

What could she say? She hid behind rough words, yet none came to her tongue. She felt weak with yearning.

‘Will you stand there all night looking, then?’ Perhaps not completely undone. She brought her arms up, stretched like a cat, feeling the peaks of her breasts against the soft muslin of her nightgown.

He grinned. ‘Ah, sweet tormenting witch.’ Leaning over her, a hand each side of her head, he brought one knee up on to the bed, a tall man, with no need for the step. He nudged his knee between hers, a gentle insistent pressure of warm skin and hard bone.

No going back. She opened her thighs. Gave him room. Gave him leave. Her breath left her in a rush of anticipation.

Half-on, half-off the bed, he hung over her, his dark eyes searching hers, seeking assurance? Permission? She raised her hands, cupped his cheeks, felt the roughness of beard and drew him down.

Blissful kisses rained from his lips, a touch on her mouth, her chin, her cheekbone, her eyelids, between her brows. Each kiss fired heat low between her legs, her body ached to feel him within her, her breasts longed for his touch and all the while featherlight kisses seared her face.