The Accidental Mistress (11 page)

So, he has found me,
she sighed, unable to decide whether to be vexed or glad.

"My lord," she replied with a curtsey. "How do you do this evening?"

"Very well, thank you." He paused, then tossed the other man a nod as if he had only just noticed him. "Ottwell."

"Vessey."

"What is this about horses, then?" the marquis asked, obviously having overheard the thread of their earlier conversation.

Lily straightened her shoulders. "I was just telling Lord Ottwell that I wish to learn to drive, and he was about to tell me whether or not he would consent to give me lessons."

Beside her, Ottwell made an odd humming noise in the base of his throat as though he were preparing to issue a refusal, but a moment later he surprised her. "Why, it would be my great honor to instruct you on how to manage the ribbons, ma'am. We must be sure to set a date."

"Splendid, my lord," she said, bestowing a smile upon him that left the man blinking as if he'd stared directly into a noonday sun.

Vessey arched a brow, one corner of his mouth turning upward in a knowing way.

Lily ignored the look. "Lord Ottwell has also agreed to teach me to waltz this evening. I am quite looking forward to our dance."

She didn't know what prompted her to make such a bold declaration, other than the fact that Lord Vessey seemed to bring out the imp in her. Instead, she knew she ought to be looking for ways to extract herself from his presence. Yet like all forbidden fruit, he was a temptation not easily denied.

"In that case, you must allow me the pleasure of claiming the second waltz of the night," he said.

Knowing herself caught in a trap of her own design, she inclined her head. "As you will, my lord. The second waltz is yours."

"We shall wait until later to see what else may yet become mine."

She quivered, readily sensing the underlying sensual implications of his remark. She only hoped Lord Ottwell didn't realize them as well.

Moments later, a quartet of musicians assembled on one side of the room and played a few notes to signal to the guests that they should take their places for the opening dance. To Lily's relief, she realized it was the waltz.

"Ma'am," Lord Ottwell said, extending his arm.

"If you will excuse us, Lord Vessey," she said, "the dancing is about to begin."

The marquis bowed and stepped aside to let them pass.

Strolling onto the dance floor, Lily restrained the urge to glance back to see if Vessey was still watching. But a full minute later as she waited for the first strains of music to begin, she gave in and turned her head to check—and discovered he was no longer there.

Her shoulders drooped.

He's probably gone in search of a dance partner of his own,
she mused.
Just as he should. Well, no matter,
she told herself.
I am far better off without the constant attentions of Lord Vessey.

So why am I disappointed?

Calling herself ridiculous to the utmost degree, she pasted a cheerful smile on her face and let her partner lead her into the dance.

* * * * *

From a shadowed corner of the ballroom, Ethan quaffed a mouthful of Malaga and watched Lily glide around the ballroom in Lord Ottwell's arms. The excellent flavor and body of the wine barely registered on his tongue, however, his thoughts focused almost completely upon her.

If he suspected even for an instant that she might seriously be interested in Ottwell, he would have separated him from her the way a lion drove a rival from his pride. But Ethan could tell she was merely here to enjoy herself, Ottwell being nothing more than a convenient male escort and dancing partner. Still, he was sure Ottwell did not feel the same; his usually calm expression all but enraptured as he gazed upon Lily.

And why should it not be?
Ethan thought, considering just how lovely she was—radiant as a perfect summer day, her deep blue skirts billowing around her trim ankles, her upswept Titian locks as vibrantly, vividly alive as she herself. Simply being in the same room with her set his senses afire, reconfirming the instinctive depth of his attraction for her.

But his desire could wait for now. First he needed to exercise patience and bide his time as the two of them played their mating game to its inevitable conclusion. In his mind he thought again of their brief but invigorating verbal sparring from moments ago, cognizant of the fact that he was eagerly anticipating the next round.

Until their waltz, he supposed he ought to dance with a few other ladies instead of skulking in corners. Julianna would be demanding answers if he wasn't careful. Her interest in Lily was piqued enough already without him drawing more attention Lily's way. Neither did he wish to earn the notice of the Ton itself.

Besides, if he took to the dance floor, he would have little trouble keeping her in his sights.
Who knows, perhaps we might accidentally brush up against each other as we pass,
he thought with anticipation. Tossing back the last of his wine, he set down his glass and strode forward.

* * * * *

Lily discovered she had been right about Ethan seeking out other dance partners. With the exception of her first dance with Lord Ottwell, the marquis hadn't taken a pause, standing up for every set with one beautiful woman after another.

If she had cared about such matters—which of course she did not—she might have found her nose quite out of joint by the time the second waltz arrived. Not that she had lacked for partners in the interim, barely having had time to catch her breath from one set before being led out by a new man to enjoy the next. All the while, she had been aware of Lord Vessey, catching a glimpse of his tall form moving in graceful accompaniment to the music, or else hearing his deep-throated laughter ring out over some apparently amusing remark made by his latest partner.

Now her turn had arrived—or
his,
depending upon how one wished to view the matter. Sipping a glass of cool lemonade to relieve the dryness in her throat, she waited for him to appear.

And appear he did, slipping up behind her just as she was swallowing a last mouthful.

"Lemonade, hmm?" he observed. "I would have assumed a more daring beverage would be to your liking."

Startled, she swallowed wrong, a cough erupting from her throat. As she continued coughing, his broad palm settled against her back and began to rub in wide, comforting circles.

A quiver trailed down her spine.

"Are you all right?" he queried in a low, almost intimate tone.

She nodded her head and coughed again. "You really must stop sneaking up on me," she said the moment she could draw enough breath to form the words. "Can you not find a way to approach from the front?"

Apparently reassured she was in no real danger, his lips turned upward into an easy smile. "I could, but I find I rather enjoy a back view, at least
your
back view."

She nearly choked again at the naughty remark, a fresh tingle plunging low as he moved his hand again, stroking his palm along her spine all the way to its base. He toyed there for a brief instant as if he longed to travel onward, then dropped his arm casually to his side.

Her nipples tightened, uncontrolled warmth seeping into her cheeks. She restrained the urge to cross her arms over her chest, grateful for the shift and stays that kept her reaction from being visible. Flashing him a look, she noticed he appeared utterly unrepentant.

Lord above, what if someone has seen?
But a quick check around the room showed that no one was looking at them, the majority of people far too busy talking or making their way onto the dance floor.

With a clearly wicked light gleaming in his gorgeous eyes, he extended an arm. "Shall we?"

For an instant, she nearly refused, then decided better of the impulse. Seemingly quiescent, she laid her hand atop the luxurious black fabric of his sleeve.

She touched more of the elegant cloth a minute later as she set one gloved hand onto the firm expanse of his shoulder, her other palm clasped securely inside his own.

Once again, his other hand was at her back, positioned in a spot just south of where it ought to be. The same was true for the distance between them, their bodies a good two inches closer than those of any other couple on the dance floor.

When she tried to step back, he refused to let her, holding her in place with nothing more than a gentle tensing of his muscles.

"
Shh,
be still," he murmured. "You are exactly where you ought to be."

She was opening her mouth to contradict him when the music began. Suddenly they were gliding, her slippered feet floating across the polished wooden floor to the dulcet strains of flute, violin, and cello.

If her first waltz had been exhilarating, this second dance was sublime, as close to soaring on clouds, she suspected, as a human being could come. Her pulse fluttered as he took her sailing, his every move one of confident control and finesse.

He took advantage of a turn to draw her another inch nearer, his eyes for her alone. "So tell me, madam, why is it you have been avoiding me this past fortnight?"

Her lips parted and she felt her eyes widen faintly before she had a chance to rein in her surprise. "Pardon me, my lord, but I am afraid I do not know what you mean," she dissembled.

His eyes gleamed. "Of course you do, but we'll let the matter drop for now."

"There is no
matter,
" she insisted, refusing to admit he was right. "If our paths have failed to cross lately, I am sure it is merely a case of circumstance."

"Ah. Well, that is good news indeed. I had wondered if you might have taken me in dislike for some unknown reason. I am greatly relieved to know I may be at ease on that score."

He swung her in another gliding arc. "In honor of our friendship, I must ask that you allow me to teach you to drive a carriage, if you are truly set upon such a course."

"I am. But I must decline your offer, since I have already promised Lord Ottwell that he may teach me, as you well know."

"Yes, but Ottwell only agreed in order to spare your feelings. I am sure he would not complain too loudly should you wish to withdraw."

"But I do not," she returned, giving him a polite little smile.

"I feel it my duty, then, to warn you that he's not much of a hand with the ribbons."

"I am sure he does well enough."

Vessey shrugged. "I don't generally care to tell tales, but the man is ham-fisted. You would do better to hire your local butcher for the task."

A burst of laughter escaped her lips. "Surely you exaggerate."

"I assure you, I do not," he said, his expression serious.

An inkling of real doubt crept in, but she held firm. Of all the foolish ideas she might entertain, agreeing to let Lord Vessey teach her to drive was one of the worst. Besides, after this evening, she planned to start letting circumstances keep them apart again. For her own safety, she had no other choice.

"I thank you for the warning," she said, "but Lord Ottwell and I will do fine together."

His arms tightened around her waist. "Will you? And what of Ottwell? You know you're leading the poor man around by the nose already."

She gasped. "I am doing nothing of the sort!"

Vessey rolled his eyes. "You most certainly are. The fellow is half moony over you now, and he's only known you a few hours. Just think of the damage you might cause with prolonged exposure."

"Good heavens. You make me sound like a … a Jezebel!"

"No, no, nothing of the kind. But you are a captivating woman, one who is perhaps unaware of the power of her own allure."

Her pulse thudded. "You astonish me, my lord, since I have no particular allure of which to speak. I do not know where you come up with such ideas."

"Why, from being around you, of course." He spun her in an intimate series of steps, locking his gaze with her own. "Have supper with me tonight."

She shivered and fought off the wish to agree. A few loose curls whispered against the nape of her neck as she shook her head. "I cannot. I have promised the supper dance to another."

"Then meet me afterward. We'll share a dish of ice cream. Lady Pendragon told me she is serving strawberry as a special treat. You like strawberries, do you not?"

His voice coiled around her, seductive as a caress. "Yes, very much."

"And Champagne. There is nothing better than ice cream and Champagne. The first, sweet on the tongue; the next, a series of little bubbles that tease your senses as they pop. Come to the garden balcony at one o'clock. I shall be waiting."

She shook her head. "I shall not."

Without her awareness, the music ceased, the dance done. He drew her to a halt but kept her cradled inside his arms.

"One o'clock," he whispered. "Do not be late."

And then, before she could refuse again, he released her and blended away into the crowd.

Ethan leaned back against the balustrade, the carved granite smooth and cool beneath his hands. Behind him, the darkened garden hummed with life; newly blossomed lilacs turning the air to honey while night insects sang a gentle tune. A warm evening breeze moved in a lazy rhythm, occasionally rustling tree branches filled with young green leaves. Inside the house, light shone from the windows, music drifting quietly outward now that supper was over and the dancing had resumed in the ballroom upstairs.

Near his hip, balanced atop the flat surface of the balustrade, sat two crystal flutes of Champagne and a china bowl filled with fresh strawberry ice cream. He wasn't concerned about the confection melting since he'd talked one of the kitchen maids into placing the bowl inside an open, straw-lined basket filled with ice chips.

The scene required only one more element in order to be perfect—the lady for whom all this had been arranged.

Lily.

Will she appear or won't she?

Earlier out on the dance floor she had rejected his offer, but he'd refused to take no for an answer, confident that she would change her mind and meet him regardless of her initial rebuff.