The Accidental Mistress (3 page)

"But I
what
?" the big man repeated with menacing intent.

"Was not at fault," Ethan answered in a firm tone as he stepped forward and inserted himself into the fray. "Or at least that's what I assume the young man planned to say. If he wasn't, he should have done."

Her back still pressed against the rough plastered wall, Lily looked up and into the face of an avenging angel. Breath flowed from her lungs at the sight of him—indisputably the most dynamic male she had ever glimpsed in her life.

With hair the color of sun-ripened wheat and eyes as luminous as polished amber, he exuded masculinity and an undeniable aura of easy, confident power. She allowed herself a second longer to explore, letting her gaze roam over his strong, square jaw and refined nose, across the sculpted contours of his high forehead and angular cheeks. Last, she traced the shape of his sensuous mouth, lips that promised the kind of exquisite pleasure even a girl as innocent as she could sense.

Her heart thudded faster, though not from fear this time.

Doing her utmost to shake off her instant and completely uncharacteristic attraction to the man, she shifted her gaze and tugged her hat lower on her head.

So much for traveling to London without incident!
she mused.
Yet thank heavens this man has come to my aid.

Her savior gave the brute a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You were in the process of leaving, were you not?"

Silence descended, the burly laborer staring as if he didn't fully understand.

"Move along, then," the tall stranger said. In the next instant, his gaze lowered, glancing over the rather large wet patch on the other man's trousers. "I suspect a few minutes in the sunshine will set that to rights, though you may have to field some rather uncomfortable questions in the interim."

Ruddy color flashed in the brute's cheeks, his embarrassment and frustration clear. Giving them both a fearsome glare, he shoved the table and sent the teacup and what remained of her biscuit toppling to the floor. On a growl, the man strode from the room.

Lily looked at her ruined meal and the broken crockery, wondering how she was going to pay for the damage if they insisted she do so. Despite starting the journey with what had seemed an adequate sum of money, she'd soon discovered her error. Due to inflation from the war, everything cost more—coach fare, food, and especially lodgings. Of course, once she reached London and claimed her grandfather's bequest, her financial worries would cease, but until then, every shilling counted.

Her stomach grumbled with hunger, making her wish she'd been a lot faster when it came to finishing her repast.

Noticing the commotion, the innkeeper hurried toward them. "My lord, what has happened? Is this boy bothering you?"

The golden-haired gentleman shook his head. "Not at all. It was the other fellow, the one who just departed, who caused all the difficulty."

Peering downward, the stranger met her gaze, a curious twinkle in his amber eyes, as if he held some secret. "Are you all right, lad?"

Lily started to answer, remembering only at the last second to lower her voice to its deepest baritone. As a result, her words cracked, high to low, as if she were indeed a boy going through puberty. "Fine. I'm fine. Thank you, my lord. It was most kind of you to intercede."

An amused expression crossed his face before he waved off her gratitude with a hand. "It was my pleasure, lad. And where are you headed, if I might inquire? I could not help but notice that you are here alone."

She opened her mouth to say
London,
then realized that perhaps she oughtn't. True, she would never see this man again, but she would be wise not to underestimate the resourcefulness of her stepfather. Chances were slim, but if someone did come snooping, she wanted no potential trail left to follow.

"Bristol," she improvised. "I … um … have cousins there who are expecting me."

"I am relieved to hear you will soon be in the care of family." The nobleman cast his gaze over the ruined remnants of her snack. "Your meal has met a sad fate. Shall we see it replaced?"

She shook her head, thinking again of the meager contents of her coin purse. "Oh no, I've had all I want."

He arched a brow. "Half a biscuit hardly seems sufficient fare."

Her stomach chose that moment to prove him right by emitting a mortifying rumble that left no one in doubt as to the emptiness of her belly.

The man smiled again and turned to the innkeeper. "Is the private parlor still occupied?"

"No, my lord, the gentlemen departed only a few minutes ago."

"Good. Then I shall take it for the young man so he might enjoy a hearty repast—at my expense, of course."

Lily moved to object. "It is most kind of you to offer, my lord, but I cannot allow you to buy nuncheon for me." She straightened her shoulders with pride. "I do quite well on my own."

"Oh, I'm sure you do, but a good meal never comes amiss." The nobleman met her gaze, his expression reassuringly honest as he bent closer to her. "You have naught to fear, you know," he promised in a hushed tone meant only for her. "I expect nothing in return save your company and a bit of conversation."

So he means to join me?
she thought. Allowing him to purchase a meal for her was unseemly enough, but to actually dine with him … well, no proper young lady would dare. Then again, what proper young lady would fake her own death, run away from home, and journey to London disguised as a boy? When she considered the situation from that perspective, sharing a meal with a stranger didn't seem so dreadful.

And what a gorgeous stranger he is!
She sighed inwardly, peering up at him from beneath her lashes.
A veritable blond Adonis.
What harm could come from spending an hour in his company while she waited for the coach to resume its journey? After all, it was
only
nuncheon and a bit of talk, as he suggested. Once she'd eaten, she would thank him and be on her way, the two of them destined to never meet again.

Hunger pangs jabbed like a sharpened pick inside her belly, urging her to accept. Since her mad flight from home three days ago, she hadn't eaten a single satisfying meal. Between the less-than-stellar fare to be found at some of the coaching inns and her need for frugality, she'd mostly made due with biscuits, tea, and soup, grateful if the broth contained a few small chunks of meat or vegetables. How wonderful it would be to eat a decent meal. And all she had to do was agree to converse for a brief time with an attractive lord, who didn't even know she was a young lady.

"Very well, you have convinced me," she said, ignoring the little voice that reminded her that she had just agreed to be alone in a private parlor with a man. "Thank you, my lord."

My lord what?
she wondered, suddenly realizing she didn't even know his name.

"I am Vessey, by the way," he stated in answer to her unspoken question. "The Marquis of Vessey. And you are?"

A marquis! Good gracious! But more to the point, he has asked who I am. Well, I can't very well tell him Lily Bainbridge, now can I?

She cudgeled her brain. "Uh … I'm Jack. Jack Bain."

Another slow, half-amused smile crossed his face as if he were enjoying a private joke. "Well, Jack, Jack Bain, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, if you are ready, shall we adjourn upstairs?"

She gulped down a breath, nerves crashing like cymbals inside her chest. Meeting the marquis's leonine gaze, she paused for one long, last moment, then sealed her fate with a nod.

"Are you not having anything?" asked the young woman known to Ethan only as "Jack Bain," her knife and fork poised over a plate of roast chicken and vegetables.

Seated across from her at the private parlor's round oak table, he shook his head. "I find I am not terribly hungry. This brandy will do quite well." Raising the snifter, he took a swallow. "Go ahead, eat. No need to stand on ceremony."

After a momentary pause she dug in, not at all missish about enjoying her food. Despite her enthusiasm, and obvious hunger, there was nothing lacking in her table manners. They were excellent, as were her manners in general—all testament to her having been raised a member of the Quality. Her diction was exceptional as well, in spite of the amusing baritone voice she struggled to maintain. He'd forced down a laugh on more than one occasion during the past twenty minutes, enjoying her act far more than he knew he ought.

Who is she?
he wondered, not for the first time.
And why is she perpetrating this charade?

Rather than simply demand the truth from her, he'd decided it would be more fun to play along for a while and see just how far she was willing to take her deception.

He poured another inch of brandy into his snifter, sunlight from the room's trio of windows refracting through the glass to turn the alcohol a shade reminiscent of warm honey. Swirling the liquor, he watched the rivulets pool at the bottom before taking another drink.

When she'd eaten nearly every bite on her plate and was about to lay down her utensils, he gave in to the impulse to tease her a bit.

"More chicken?" he asked, reaching for the knife to cut a large slice of breast meat. Considering the substantial helping she had already consumed, it was doubtful she would be in want of seconds. "When I was your age," he continued, "I could never seem to eat enough. I am sure it must be the same for you, a growing young man and all."

Her brows knitted into a V on her forehead, her gaze focused in obvious consternation on the thick slice of chicken he was cutting.

After a long hesitation, she showed her mettle by extending her plate.

"How about potatoes?" he dared, scooping a pair of tender, golden halves onto a pewter serving spoon. "I hate to see good food go to waste, don't you?"

With determination, she accepted the offering.

"Creamed onions?" he suggested next. "You commented you thought them particularly delicious."

Her nostrils flared around the edges.

He waited for her to refuse. Instead she held steady despite a faint quiver of her hand.

Disguising a smile, he relented, setting down the serving utensil, then leaning back in his chair.

With a deep breath, she began eating what he'd heaped onto her plate.

She has pluck,
he mused as he observed her effort to maintain her guise as a boy and do justice to the food.

"So Bristol, is it?" he commented, drinking another mouthful of spirits.

She paused in her eating. "What?"

"Bristol. That is where you are headed, are you not? To your cousins?"

Her jewel-toned eyes grew round for a faint instant before relaxing again. "Yes, that's right."

He wondered if she'd ever even been to Bristol
.

"Tell me of these cousins, then."

He watched as she lay down her knife and fork and used the delay to concoct an answer, leaving several uneaten bites of food on her plate—much to her relief, he was sure.

"There is little to tell," she replied. "They own a house and some land."

"They've tenants, do they?"

She lifted her fork again to slide an onion to a new location on her plate. "Yes."

"And will you be staying with them long?"

She paused, then shook her head. "No, not long."

Not at all,
he thought.

A minute later, a knock sounded at the door, a different serving girl from the one who'd waited on him downstairs coming in to clear. Once the dishes had been removed, the innkeeper returned with a round pewter plate containing a selection of apples, dried figs, and a wedge of blue-veined cheese.

"Help yourself," Ethan suggested once the others had departed.

"Thank you, but I am well satisfied."

Taking up a knife, Ethan sliced a fig in half, then added a sliver of cheese on top. He washed the combination down with a swallow of brandy. "Delicious."

She said nothing.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" He drew a fresh cheroot from his coat pocket.

"No, not at all," she replied in her mock baritone, the husky quality beginning to make his blood hum.

After lighting the cigar, he enjoyed a drawing puff, exhaling an elegant stream of smoke at a sideways angle, away from her.

He couldn't help but notice her interest in the process. Likely she was used to withdrawing from the room with the ladies in order to allow the gentlemen to partake of a pipe or cheroot. But as he reminded himself, she was currently in the guise of a young man, an adolescent male who would be inclined to enjoy the camaraderie of such an exclusively masculine act.

Which gives me a rather naughty idea,
he mused.

Sending another plume of smoke toward the ceiling, he met her gaze. "Care for a try?"

The V formed again on her brow. "Oh, I don't know—"

"I can see your curiosity; nothing wrong with that. Most young men your age sneak the occasional puff when they know they won't be caught." He extended the cigar lengthwise for her to take. "Don't worry. I won't say a word."

Clearly she was tempted, this woman who played at being a boy. What else might she be tempted to try if given the proper incentive? Just the right sensual provocation?

A long moment later, Ethan was wondering if he might have overestimated the extent of her daring after all when she reached out and took the cheroot from his hand. Balancing the rolled tobacco between her fingertips the way one might hold an extremely delicate, rather volatile weapon, she slowly raised it to her lips.

"A shallow puff only," he warned. But his admonition came too late, "Jack" drawing in a robust inhale that made the tip glow red.

For an instant, the world hung motionless on its axis as each of them took in the magnitude of her act. Expelling a cloud of smoke from her mouth and nostrils in a rapid gust, she fell into a violent paroxysm of coughing, gagging and gasping for air, a faintly green cast tingeing her skin.

Good God, she isn't going to cast up her accounts, is she?
he thought, suddenly worried he oughtn't to have prodded her into eating such a large nuncheon.