The Accidental Mistress (33 page)

The Ton was abuzz, of course, but he didn't care, far too concerned about repairing the damage that had been done to his relationship with Lily. Good lord, he couldn't get the sight of her face out of his mind—the shock and the horror, the misery gleaming in her eyes. As soon as he'd spoken to Amelia, he would go to Lily to make amends. That way, at least, he would be able to give her the good news that the engagement was off before he begged her forgiveness. Surely once he explained what had happened, she would understand and welcome him back.

A tap came at the door. He glanced up to find his butler there, a peculiar expression on the man's usually emotionless face.

"Yes, what is it, White?" Ethan asked, setting down his pen.

"Pardon me, my lord, but a footman has arrived with some boxes."

He raised a brow. "What sort of boxes?"

"Bandboxes, my lord. I am given to understand they contain your … um … personal effects. Clothing and such, from … um … your recent habitation in Bloomsbury."

Bloomsbury!

Christ, she has sent back my things.

Which meant that Lily had decided to cut him out without even granting him a hearing. Though perhaps to her way of thinking their brief conversation last night had already served that purpose.

His hand curled into a fist, a fresh wave of fury and frustration rising inside him. Silently, he cursed his mother again for her outrageous, high-handed interference. If strangling her would do any good, he would march over to her townhouse right now to do the deed. But violence was useless—though if the time came when he could once more stand to be in the same room with his mother, she would likely find herself on the sharp side of a good tongue-lashing. Still, the nightmare events of last evening had occurred and nothing could change that fact. All that remained was to repair the damage as best he could.

Standing, he moved past his butler and strode out of the room and down the hall. In the foyer, he found a small hillock of boxes. Lifting the lid off one, he stared down at his belongings, catching a glimpse of his razor and comb, along with a few stray pence and shillings that winked up at him in a kind of taunting derision.

A muscle ticked near his eye, a growl working its way into his throat. He swallowed the sound as a single, daunting realization set in.
Not only is winning Lily back going to be hard,
he thought,
it's going to be hell.

* * * * *

Truer words had never been spoken, Ethan realized later that afternoon as he paced across the Sutleigh townhouse drawing room, Amelia Dodd seated on the nearby sofa, garbed in demure white.

"What do you mean you won't break the engagement!"

Amelia cringed, her pale face growing paler. "Oh, please do not yell at me."

"I am not yelling at you," he blasted back, realizing that perhaps he was bellowing a bit. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he drew a breath and willed himself to be calm. "My apologies if I raised my voice," he continued in an even tone. "Miss Dodd … Amelia … I understand that all of this is very distressing for you. Frankly, the situation is distressing for me as well, since neither one of us had agreed to the unexpected announcement that my mother made last night. I assume you were as stunned as I."

Her lashes lowered over her eyes, a faintly guilty expression pinching her pretty features. Apparently she had known something about his mother's plans. Perhaps that was why she had been so nervous in his company last night.

"Papa said you offered for me months ago," she explained in a breathless rush. "That last night was a mere formality."

"I told your father that I was
considering
offering for you," he stated. "But that nothing was settled as of yet. I planned to pay my addresses to you this spring to see if we would suit. Did you not find it odd that I would supposedly consent to an engagement without even speaking to you about the matter first? Without actually proposing to you in person?"

She said nothing, her chin lowered as she stared at her clasped hands.

He walked a few steps forward, then back, stopping in front of her. "Amelia, let us speak honestly. What happened last night was a mistake, something my mother, and apparently your father, concocted in order to force us together. I am truly sorry for any embarrassment and pain this debacle has caused you. However, it is not too late to undo the damage."

She released a small sigh.

He seized upon the sound, taking it as encouragement to continue. "You and I are not married yet, and we do not ever need to be. But you must be the one to end things between us. You can break this engagement; you have that prerogative. As a gentleman, I do not."

She shook her head. "But we are publicly pledged now."

"We do not have to be," he urged. "Have you not been listening? All you need do is jilt me."

Her mouth parted on a faint gasp. "I cannot."

"Why not? Dear lord, we barely know each other, so there can be no possibility that feelings are involved. Surely you do not truly wish to wed me?"

"My papa wishes me to wed you," she said, finally looking up to meet his gaze. "I cannot disobey him. He will be frightfully angry if I do."

"And I shall be frightfully angry if you do not."

Her eyes widened at that, but despite a slight tremble, she held her ground. "I am sorry, my lord, but I have given Papa my word. I cannot go back on it."

Ethan began pacing again, thumping a fist against the side of his thigh. If simple reasoning would not work, maybe a more direct method would have some effect.

"So you care nothing for the fact that I am in love with another woman?"

Her shoulders tightened, followed by a long pause. "Your mistress, you mean? The one they say you followed outside last night."

"Yes, the woman I want to make my wife. I ask you not to stand between that, for all of our sakes."

"Papa says all men have mistresses."

He swallowed the growl that rose into his throat. "Your papa says a lot of things, does he not? And what has he to say of you and your own happiness? Or haven't you a right to find pleasure and contentment in your life? Haven't you the right to find love?"

Her face crumpled at his words, her lower lip quivering before she could prevent the reaction.

"Ah," he said, moving to sink down next to her on the sofa. "So there is someone else already. Who is he?"

She shook her head. "No one. I should not have said."

"You did not. Your face did the talking for you. Is he a neighbor?"

Her eyes darted upward, her surprise clear. "How did you know?"

You are seventeen and have lived all your life at home. Who else could it be?
he reasoned. Instead of voicing his thoughts aloud, he shrugged. "Lucky guess. What is his name?"

"Robert," she admitted, her tone warming as she spoke the obviously beloved name. "Robert Hocksby. He is the local vicar's son and only two years my senior. He and I used to take our lessons together at the vicarage when we were children."

A smile moved over her mouth, the color back in her face. "We talked of so many things," she said, "sharing our dearest wishes and most daring dreams. Robert wants to be a physician and has apprenticed with our own village doctor. He would like to attend medical college, then afterward conduct his own research in order to investigate more of the science behind disease. But Papa says—" She broke off, as if suddenly realizing how much she was revealing.

"Yes?" he asked in a soft voice. "What does your father say?"

"He says that physicians, even trained ones, are nothing but quacks and charlatans destined to prey on others for a meager stipend. Robert may have been born a gentleman, but he is an impoverished one and impoverished young men do not marry earl's daughters, no matter whether feelings are involved or not."

Looking up, she met his gaze, her expression one of sad resignation. "I am sorry, my lord, but I cannot go against my father. You and I must marry whether we wish to do so or not." She ran her fingers over a ribbon on her dress. "You may keep her, though, if you wish—your mistress, that is. I understand and will not interfere."

So she understands, does she?
He didn't think Lily would be quite so generous in her attitude. He could only imagine her explosive reaction were he to suggest such an arrangement. If she didn't skewer him first, she would most certainly kick him out on his ass. Which, come to think of it, she had already done in a sense, considering the return of his clothes and grooming essentials. No, Lily was not the sort of woman who would be content to share—no more than he would be easy with the notion of her taking another man to her bed. Besides, he didn't want Amelia Dodd for his wife, even if she didn't mind him "keeping" Lily.

The muscle ticked near his eye, keen vexation smoldering like a barely cooled ember in his chest. He wanted to reach out and give Amelia a good shake, yell at her a bit more until she saw reason and agreed to free him from his obligation. But he could see such coercion would have little effect.

He could always jilt her, he realized. But such a course would not only brand him as a cad, the act would sully Amelia's reputation forever. Antiquated as the notion might seem, he knew many still considered an engagement almost as binding as having taken marriage vows. If he were to reject Amelia, her social standing would be permanently damaged, her chances of making a good marriage cruelly diminished. He could not do that to her—or at least he was not ready to do that to her unless such a drastic step proved to be the only solution. Surely there had to be another way out of this disaster, some means of convincing Amelia to defy her father and refuse to marry him. Yet until that time arrived, he supposed he would have to remain engaged to her, whether he wished to be or not.

And what of Lily?

When he arrived here this afternoon, he'd planned to depart a free man. He had intended to go to Lily and explain everything, then afterward, drop down onto a single knee and ask her to be his wife. But obviously that plan would no longer work. He couldn't very well ask one woman to marry him while still engaged to another! He supposed only the truth would do. Surely once he explained the situation to Lily, she would forgive him and be willing to wait. Gazing again at his "fianc�e," he decided to give persuasion one more try.

"Amelia," he said. "I cannot believe your father will refuse to let you end this engagement, if you explain to him that is what you truly wish. Say you cannot stand the sight of me and that after last night you think I am a beast. He'll huff and puff a bit, but then he will adjust. And by the time the full Season arrives this spring, this incident will have faded from everyone's minds, leaving you free to seek another worthy beau."

She gave him a pitying look. "My lord, you obviously do not know my father as well as you think. Ever since you approached him a few months ago, he has talked of little else but our impending nuptials."

A scowl furrowed his brow. "I asked him to say nothing to you on the subject."

"Well, he did. You may not realize this, but he has been anticipating a marriage between our families quite literally for years. You and I are his only hope of achieving that aim, and now that a wedding is arranged between us, he is not about to let me call it off because I have taken a supposed dislike to you. I am afraid such an idea will not serve." She sighed. "I am sorry, my lord."

But not sorry enough!
he raged silently.
Not sorry enough to end this dreadful misalliance by calling it off.

"Very well, Miss Dodd. I see I must at present accept your refusal."
At least until I can think of a way out.

Standing, he executed a clipped bow. "Good day to you, my lady."

"Good day, my lord."

Fists set at his side, he strode from the room.

Lily pushed aside her uneaten nuncheon, together with the cup of tea that sat on the tray, both the food and beverage having long since grown cold. She knew she should force herself to do something, anything other than continue to sit idle here in the chair in her sitting room, staring into the fire. If only she could somehow find the will.

Later,
she decided.
I will busy myself with an activity later, but not right now. Sleep is an activity, though, is it not?
She could do with a long afternoon nap. After all, she had not slept last night. The rest would do her good. More important, sleep would let her escape, let her forget her present misery as she curled up inside a warm cocoon of oblivion.

Climbing out of her chair, she started toward her bedroom, but before she'd taken more than a few steps a knock came at the sitting-room door. Hoping whoever it was would go away, she said nothing. When the door opened despite a lack of invitation, she expelled a sigh and turned to face the intruder.

"Pardon the interruption, ma'am," said her butler, an apologetic expression on his face, "but Lord Vessey is here. I know you gave explicit instructions that he not be received, but he insists upon seeing you."

Her tiredness disappeared, her spine straightening as though she had been whipped by a lash. "I assume you told him that I am not at home."

"Yes, ma'am. He … um … he says he can tell when I am prevaricating and, um—how did he put it?—I am to inform you that he isn't going away until the two of you have talked."

Isn't going away, is he?
she fumed.
Well, he can wait downstairs until snowflakes start to fall in Egypt.

"Pray advise his lordship that anything he has to say can be addressed to me by letter."
Which I will cheerfully burn upon its arrival,
she promised herself. "Then inform him that he can either leave this house voluntarily or be thrown out. You and the footmen should be up to the task."

Alarm lines carved themselves deep in Hodges's brow. "Oh, ma'am, I do not think that would be wise. He won't go easily and the marquis is a lord, after all. Laying hands upon a member of the nobility can land a man in gaol."

She tsked and shook her head. "Lord Vessey is not going to have you tossed in prison. Besides, he'll know you were only doing my bidding."