The Accidental Mistress (30 page)

"Am I indeed?" he said in a chill voice, tapping his index finger against the arm of his chair. "I hardly think my private affairs are anyone's business but my own."

"Ordinarily I would agree, and I dislike even bringing up the topic." Glancing down, she hesitated for a long moment. "I understand that men keep mistresses, and on that I will say nothing further. However, most gentlemen are scrupulously circumspect in their dealings with such women. They do not ignore convention by moving out of their family residence and spending all their time in some love nest."

"Mrs. Smythe's townhouse is quite respectable, hardly a love nest. And though I am not here as often as I used to be, I have not moved out of Andarton House."

For all intents and purposes, have I not, though?
he admitted to himself. He rarely stopped home anymore, and then only to oversee household and business matters. In fact, he could not recall the last time he'd slept in his own bed. Given his absence and the fact that his mother had spent the last two nights in the townhouse alone, he could see why she might assume he had moved out. He could also see how his defection might be viewed by Society at large. His fingers curled into a fist on his thigh.
Society be damned,
he thought.
I want to be with Lily, and with Lily I shall be.

Yet what of
her
reputation? Was he harming her standing, ruining her good name? She was a virtuous woman—
my God,
he thought,
she's been with no man but me
. Though, of course, no one except the two of them knew that. Still, he could not let his mother continue to think the worst.

"Lily Smythe is a fine woman, a true lady, and not as you obviously believe her to be," he said. "She is bright and beautiful, with an independent spirit that is nothing short of admirable. I believe you would like her if the two of you were to meet."

His mother gave him an arch look, then unbent enough to relax her rigidly erect posture. "Perhaps I would, but what do you know of her? Who is her family, Ethan? What of her lineage? From what I am given to understand, no one really seems to know much about her except that she is a wealthy widow who apparently hails from Cornwall. What more has she told you of herself?"

Not a great deal,
he realized. He knew her—the person, the woman, the lover—knew how she took her tea in the morning, that her favorite color was blue, and that she preferred comedic plays to any of the tragedies. But as for tangible details about her background … well, the specifics largely remained a mystery, even now. Even to him.

He saw his mother watching him with expectant eyes, waiting for his answer. "I know that she comes from good family," he asserted. "One can see that in each of her movements, in every word she speaks. She is educated and well-mannered, but more importantly, she is sweet and kind and generous to a fault. I also know that she is a very private person, who has suffered much grief in her short life. As for her lineage, we have not really discussed it, since such issues matter not."

"No, I would guess they don't, considering your circumstances. But that is the point—how your association with this woman appears to the world, no matter how sweet and good she may be. The two of you are living together, and that can hardly be seen in a beneficial light."

"Perhaps I do not care how it is seen."

"Does she feel the same? And what of Lord Sutleigh and Lady Amelia? I suspect they will be distressed should news of this reach their ears. After all, you have an engagement to consider, in case you had forgotten."

He had not forgotten, at least not completely. Then again, he had given his long-ago understanding with Sutleigh's daughter little thought, especially of late.

"I am
not
engaged, Mama," he stated, the edge returning to his tone. "I may have spoken to Sutleigh in regard to marrying his daughter, but nothing has been settled, nothing made public. There is no fixed arrangement between us at all, and what has been said hardly constitutes an engagement."

Her mouth dropped open, a faint gasp escaping her lips. "But Amelia Dodd is the perfect girl to be your marchioness. Surely you do not mean to renege on your decision to wed her?"

He paused. "I am no longer certain."

"This is because of
her,
because of this Lily Smythe. Dear heavens, you aren't going to marry her, are you?"

Marry Lily?

He had asked her once to be his wife and she had refused. At the time, he hadn't regretted her answer, since his proposal had originated from of a sense of honor and obligation over having taken her virginity. But now …

Do I love her?

Yes,
he realized, with a sort of dawning certainty. He would marry Lily in a minute if she would have him. But would she? After all these months together, she showed no signs of having changed her mind on the subject of marriage, seemingly content to go along exactly as they had been doing.

What if I propose again? What if she says no again?

He swallowed against the crushing rush of emotion the idea evoked. He had yet to hear back from Ross on his findings about John Smythe. If Ethan hoped to battle a ghost—especially one as important to Lily as her deceased husband—he would do well not to proceed without first knowing everything he could about the man.

"So?" the dowager prompted, deep concern showing on her attractive face.

"I have no plans to marry Lily Smythe."
At least no immediate plans,
he thought.

His mother released an audible sigh. "Well then, that is good. You will not have to dash Lady Amelia's hopes."

"Mama, I did not say—"

She held up a palm. "Yes, I know, but take a bit of time. Do not rush into any decisions right now. Promise me you will say nothing to Sutleigh or Lady Amelia for the present, whatever your ultimate decision might be."

He did not wish to marry Amelia Dodd. He knew that now, knew as well how deluded he'd been to ever consider tying himself to a girl he did not, and never would, love. But he supposed he could placate his mother a while longer. At least until he made some permanent decisions about his future with Lily.

"Very well, Mama, I promise to say nothing to Sutleigh for a few weeks more, if that is what you wish."

She sent him a pleased smile. "It is." Leaning over, she patted his hand. "Thank you, dear."

On a nod, he returned her smile.

"Now," she pronounced. "Since you are here at home, why do we not have dinner together tonight? I am sure Cook can make at least one of your favorite dishes. Roast beef, perhaps?"

"As delightful as that sounds, I am afraid I've already made other plans. I have business to see to with my secretary, and then I am going out to the opera."

"With her, I suppose," she said, the smile disappearing from her face.

"Yes. With Lily." He paused, then took a chance despite the mild impropriety of the suggestion. "You are welcome to accompany us, if you would like."

She shook her head. "Thank you, but no. Come to that, Ethan, I shall be removing to the dower house tomorrow."

"You do not need—"

"But I do. I have decided to remain in Town until Christmas. The Little Season is starting and I should like to enjoy a bit of company. That said, I will be more comfortable in my own residence. I only came here to Andarton House because I was having my sitting room redone. The work should be finished by the morrow."

"Very well, Mama. I shall look forward to sharing dinner with you on another occasion." Glancing at the clock, he noted that more time had passed than he'd imagined. "I really must be going."

"You are busy. I understand."

Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. "Do not worry, Mama. All will be well."

An odd little smile curved her mouth. "I know you are right. All
will
be well, Ethan. Now, do run along."

He studied her for a moment, wondering at her last remark. Generally, his mother was a calm, reasonable woman, who lived her life and let others do the same without interference. When it came to family, though, she did not always abide by that rule. In her estimation, if a loved one needed "protecting," even from himself, then no remedy was too extreme.

Once, years ago, she'd publicly boxed the ears of one of his sister's suitors when she had overheard the man making a mildly suggestive remark to her. With half of London looking on, the dowager had cuffed the young lord, then literally hauled him out by the ear, ignoring the guests' laughter and the yelping, stumbling young man.

Ethan frowned, and thought again of his mother's desire to see him wed to Amelia Dodd.
But what can she do?
he reasoned.
It's not as if she can make me marry the girl.
Deciding he had nothing over which to worry, he murmured his good-byes. By the time he reached his study, the matter had vanished from his mind.

The last days of October drifted by like falling autumn leaves, November ushering in a new session of Parliament, and along with it the return of Society to London. Although the Ton's numbers remained thin in comparison to all those who would flood the city for the full Season come spring, there were enough aristocrats assembled to throw an exciting entertainment or two.

Lily and Ethan were among those selected to receive invitations—although there was the occasional high stickler who decided to drop Lily from her guest list as a sign of disapproval of her current "wanton misbehavior." In general, however, the aristocracy loved titillating bits of gossip, and what could be more fascinating than watching the public byplay between lovers? Especially lovers whose affair was so passionate the couple could scarcely be parted from each other—not even, it was whispered, for so much as a night.

Still, Lily was only partially aware of the speculative interest she and Ethan were generating, too focused on her own inner musings to worry about the curiosity of others. Ever since the night she'd realized she loved Ethan, she had been in a quandary, one that continued to plague her now as she sat in her study attempting to reconcile her book of household accounts. Ethan had gone out for a few hours, providing her the opportunity to see to the necessary task. Unfortunately, she wasn't making much progress, her pen drooping in her hand, the ledger and a small stack of bills forgotten near her elbow.

Should I tell him how I feel or not?

That was the question that seemed to revolve like some steadily spinning planet inside her mind. Far too often these days she found herself dwelling upon the topic, growing silent, then having to cover the lapse with one sort of excuse or another. Sometimes she even dreamed about the question, imagining herself saying the words to Ethan—
I love you
—then gazing into his handsome face to await a response the phantom Ethan never gave. And therein lay another dilemma.

What if he does not feel the same way about me?

Despite their time together and their undeniable closeness, she wasn't certain his interest in her went much deeper than friendship. He liked her, of that she had little doubt. But love? Commitment? Family? Would he want those things with her? More confusing, did she want them with him?

When she had staged her death and run away from home, changing her name and her identity in an effort to sever all ties with her past, she had been so sure she would never wish to marry. Marriage was a prison, after all, a cage set to lure women inside, then leave them weeping and regretful once their freedom had been taken away. But lately she found herself questioning that assumption. Her mother had endured two unions that had brought her little more than pain. Yet was her mother's lot necessarily destined to be her own?

Over the past several weeks, she and Ethan had been virtually living together. They took their meals together. They spent long hours of every day in each other's company. They went out together in the evenings to attend a party or see a play. At night, they shared a bed, making love with an intensity that never failed to leave her satisfied. And on the occasional night when they did nothing but sleep, they spooned together under the blankets in a blissful contentment, one she'd never imagined she might enjoy. And enjoy Ethan she did—each day at his side a new adventure, each night in his arms an exquisite delight.

But what of the future? Did they even have one together, or was she simply spinning fancies she would be better off crushing in their infancy? To say nothing of her circumstances and the fact that her present life was based on a lie.

How would Ethan take the news, should she decide to share the truth of her past? For such a revelation, once uttered, could never again be recalled.
Dare I take the chance?
she pondered.
Dare I open myself and my life up to such risk? Dare I trust Ethan with everything, including my heart?

Yet ultimately what choice did she have? As much as she wished it might be otherwise, she and Ethan could not continue on with their current arrangement forever. The two of them did not live in a cocoon, tucked away from reality; she knew wild talk and speculation about them was beginning to spread through the Ton. At some point she and Ethan would need to make a decision.
Either we must end our affair and stop seeing each other,
she thought—her chest constricting with a tightness that verged on pain—
or continue on to the next step. And the only possible next step is marriage.

But do I want to be his wife?

The answer that whispered in her head surprised her, the pen rolling from her grasp.
I do,
she realized,
I do want to be his wife. But will he have me?

She'd refused him once, brutally honest in her dismissal of his suit. At the time, they had both been relieved to remain free of the parson's noose. But what about now? Did Ethan still feel as he had then, or might he, too, have had a change of mind and heart?

Oh, if only I knew!

Withdrawing a handkerchief from her pocket, she dried her suddenly perspiring palms, balling the cloth inside one fist. She would have to tell him, she realized, not only of her feelings, but the truth about herself as well. For good or ill, at least then she would know.