The Accidental Mistress (35 page)

Trembling, she sank into a nearby chair and pressed her knuckles to her lips. A tear slid down her cheek, hot against her cold skin before it dripped onto her bodice. More tears joined the first as she buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

* * * * *

Long hours later, Ethan swirled the brandy in his snifter, watching the translucent spirit run in clinging rivulets inside the glass, the liquid winking as its depths refracted in the candlelight. Abruptly losing interest, he drank down the whole, then raised a pair of fingers to signal one of the White's Club waiters to bring him another.

As the servant left to do his bidding, a new figure arrived and lowered himself into the chair opposite with an insouciant grace that only a full-blooded duke could carry off.

"Haven't you had enough?" Wyvern remarked, nodding toward the empty snifter—the fifth Ethan had downed since arriving at the club.

Ethan's lip curled. "I would have to say no, since I am still capable of carrying on a conversation with you. If you've come to bully me, you can take yourself off again."

"Me? Bully a man who is so obviously blue-deviled? What sort of friend would I be if I did that?"

"The kind who's come to gloat, no doubt. Go on, say it. I was an idiot for aligning myself to that girl, to that child that I will never love, and to whom I may yet find myself leg-shackled. Quite against my will, I might add."

Wyvern gave a sympathetic shrug. "Well, I will admit I did warn you, but you are miserable enough without me rubbing more salt into your wounds."

Ethan beat a fist against the padded arm of his chair. "I've got to do something, Tony. Amelia Dodd has to be made to see reason and agree to call off this travesty."

"Is that why you are so low?"

Meeting his friend's gaze, he shook his head. "Lily has cast me out."

"Ah. I had wondered how she was taking the news."

"Not well. She has convinced herself that I am lying about my real intentions toward Lady Amelia. She thinks I only want to continue having my way with her, and that I plan to marry Amelia regardless of my promises otherwise."

"And what
do
you want from her?"

"Everything," he said, his voice softening. "I love her, Tony. Furious as I am with Lily for not trusting me, my feelings for her are stronger than ever. If only she could see that. If only she would believe me and give me time to figure a way out of this mess. Blast my mother for her meddling!"

"You'll get no arguments from me on that subject."

No, he would not, Ethan knew, well aware of Tony's history with his own mother.

The waiter arrived, setting down a tumbler of Scotch for Wyvern and a fresh brandy for him. The duke waited until the man departed before proffering a comment. "Regretful as it is to say, what can you do if Lady Amelia insists on proceeding with the wedding?"

Ethan scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not certain, short of jilting her. But there has to be some other means of convincing her to call off the engagement."

"And if there is not? Are you prepared to repudiate her and face the scandal that will inevitably follow? Many will view such an act as unpardonable, especially your family and hers."

So long as Lily will have me, I do not care what anyone else thinks. But will she welcome me back? Or am I only assuming the depths of her feelings for me?

Despite her obvious anger over his perfidy, she had never actually said she loved him. Given her opinions about the steadfastness of men, he was no longer certain such feelings would matter. He had wounded her badly by lying, he realized, even if that lie had been one of omission instead of outright deceit. When the time came, he would have to work hard to win back her trust. But would she let him, or would she bar him forever from her heart and her life?

"I will do whatever is required not to marry Amelia," he said, "on that I am resolved." Lifting his glass, he tossed back a long draught, enjoying the fiery tang the alcohol left in his mouth. "And it is not as if she really even wishes to wed me. Apparently, Lady Amelia is in love with the local vicar's son, some impoverished fellow whose suit the earl will not entertain. If only I could convince her to run off with him, my problems would be solved." He froze, suddenly aware of what he'd just said. "My God, that's it!"

"What's it?"

"I need to get Amelia and her would-be beau alone together in the same room, then put the idea of an elopement into their heads. Surely, if she loves him as much as she claims, she won't be able to resist running off to marry him, despite the threat of her father's ire."

Tony gave a faint snort. "Which is sure to be formidable indeed, were such an event to occur."

Ethan ignored Wyvern's remark and set his glass aside. Leaning forward in his chair, he smiled, hope buoying his spirits for the first time since this matrimonial disaster had begun. Concentrating, he felt frown lines take shape on his forehead. "Now I just have to remember his name," he murmured aloud. "What was it? Robert something … Robert … Robert what?" He trailed off for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Hocksby! Robert Hocksby. And considering that he is the vicar's son and an apprentice physician, he should not be too hard to locate."

The duke met his gaze, one of his dark brows taking wing. "Oh, no—"

"Oh, yes. Tony, how would you like to take a little trip?"

Lily tried to focus on the printed words in front of her, but every time she returned to the story, her thoughts would drift away, invariably settling upon Ethan.

With a sigh, she gave up the attempt at reading and set her book aside. More than a week had passed since he had walked into this very room, demanding that she listen to his side of the circumstances that had led to "the engagement," as she had taken to calling it. Well, she had listened; then she had turned him away. Despite her edict, a part of her had expected—perhaps even hoped—that he would once again attempt to contact her.

But nothing.

His silence was absolute, as though there had never been any kind of relationship between them at all. And perhaps for him their affair really was done. He'd said what existed between them was not finished, that he would be back to prove his word and reclaim her as his own. And yet if the society pages were to be believed, he was having no difficulty forgetting her. Reports mentioned him out and about—Lord Vessey attending one party after another, Lady Amelia often seen on his arm.

This morning when she'd read about him dancing with his fianc�e last night, she'd ripped the column from the paper and fed the crumpled page to the fire. For a moment, she'd derived a measure of perverse satisfaction in seeing the newsprint burn, but once the paper had turned to flying bits of blackened ash, a familiar melancholy returned.

She had stopped crying and was forcing herself to climb out of bed each morning, to wash and dress and eat breakfast exactly as she had always done. Yet nothing was right anymore, most especially her.

She missed Ethan more than she had realized was possible. In her weak moments, she even imagined herself going to him and agreeing to be his mistress again if he would have her. But pride held her steady, her sense of self-worth keeping her from making an utter cake of herself. Which is why she had stayed at home this past week, refusing callers—even Davina, who had stopped twice to inquire about her welfare. She was having Hodges give out the tale that she had come down ill with a cold, but of course, anyone with a brain could guess the real reason for her malaise.

At first she had wondered if she truly was ill, so tired and listless she'd barely managed to leave her bed long enough to take a meal. For a brief while she had wondered if she might be with child, but one morning soon after, she had awakened to a familiar cramping ache and had known there was no baby.

She ought to have been relieved, since heaven knows the last thing she needed was to find herself carrying Ethan's out-of-wedlock child. But perversely the knowledge only brought on a fresh bout of tears, as though the discovery placed an even greater distance between her and Ethan.

Sighing again now, she gazed out the window at the cool but sunny November day. Generally, she would have been outside enjoying the city on such a fine afternoon.
And regardless of my humor,
she realized,
that is precisely what I ought to do.

Moping was not like her. In the past, she had always met life's difficulties with action and fortitude. This time should be no different, in spite of the recent blow to her heart. After all, even if she wished it, she could not hide away forever.

Life goes on, and so must I.

Resolved, she rose from her chair and walked out of the room then down the hallway. Vaguely she heard voices, but she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to pay them much heed. Rounding the top of the stairs, she started down. "Hodges," she called, "please have my phaeton made ready. I wish to go out."

"By God, it
is
you!" remarked a silky voice that hid a core of menace. "For a dead woman, I must say you look remarkably fit."

Lily's feet slipped on the wool staircase runner, a quick grab at the railing all that saved her from a fall. As she clung, she gazed down at a face she'd hoped never to see again, her heart pounding like death drums in her ears.

Gordon Chaulk.
And beside him, Edgar Faylor, an expression of triumph glittering in his cruel black eyes.

"I told you it was her," Faylor said.

"Indeed, you did, Edgar," replied her stepfather, his polished good looks as much in ironic juxtaposition to his reptilian character as ever.

"I am sorry, ma'am. I told them you were not receiving," Hodges declared from his place next to the door. And she could not blame him for letting them in. From the position of the door, she could tell that he had obviously been in the process of forcing the two men out when she had unwittingly rushed onto the scene.

Saliva dried on her tongue, the metallic taste of fear rising into her throat. If running would have done her any good, she would have sprinted away. But escape, she knew, was already too late.

Oh God, they have found me!

* * * * *

The following afternoon, Ethan grinned and gave himself a silent pat on the back as he stood in his study and reread the urgent note he had just received from the Earl of Sutleigh. In it, the earl was pained to share the "dreadful" news that late last night his daughter, Amelia, had run away with Mr. Robert Hocksby, an unsuitable boy with whom she fancied herself in love. Even now, the earl was in his coach on the Great North Road hoping to catch the wayward pair before they reached Gretna Green.

What the earl did not know was that the lovers were traveling in one of Ethan's fastest unmarked coaches, and that arrangements had been made so that they would have a quick and easy change of horses at each coaching stop along the way. If the pair continued on with no overnight stops, they should arrive in Scotland well ahead of the earl and be married by the time he discovered them—most likely the following day. Should matters somehow work out otherwise, Ethan knew he need not worry since Amelia would have been well and truly compromised by that time, leaving the earl no choice but to let his daughter marry her beloved Robert.

When Tony had arrived two days ago with Hocksby in tow, however, Ethan had not at first been sure his plan would succeed. Intelligent and earnest, with a pair of discerning gray eyes, Hocksby had initially been suspicious of Ethan's suggestion of an elopement. He had also been offended at what he saw as nothing short of a bribe.

"I cannot accept twenty thousand pounds from you," Hocksby declared, his shoulders squared with outraged pride. "I would appear no better than a fortune hunter."

"But do you love her?"

Something shifted in Robert's young face, a longing that was plain to see. "Of course I love her, more than you will ever know."

"Then you surely want her happiness, which is why you must do as I suggest. If Amelia and I wed, she will never be happy, and she most definitely will never be yours."

Sadness shone in Hocksby's gaze, a misery Ethan could well understand since his own recent separation from Lily.

"As for the money," Ethan continued, "I am not offering you a lump sum outright. I would be granting you a living on my lands in Suffolk, caring for those in the surrounding village and town. We have need of a skilled medical practitioner, but first I would expect you to attend and graduate from medical college. I understand you have an interest in that field."

"Yes, I do." Hocksby appeared mildly stunned, but the fresh glow of interest was clear in his eyes. "So let me understand this rightly. I could study medicine, have a practice after I earn my degree, and possess the financial means to marry Amelia too? Why? Why would you do this for me?"

"I am not doing it for you. There is someone I love as well. Elope with Amelia, so that all of us might be happy."

Moments later, Hocksby was pumping Ethan's hand in gratitude and saying yes, demanding to know how soon he might speak with his beloved.

Convincing Amelia to defy her father had taken a bit of doing as well, but once she heard about Ethan's offer, and stood inside the circle of Robert's loving arms, she couldn't bring herself to refuse the chance to be his wife.

After that, Ethan and Tony had made all the arrangements, even helping the lovers flee in the dark of night. The plan had proceeded without difficulty, in part because Ethan had been careful all the previous week to act the dutiful fianc�. He'd wanted no possibility of suspicion, especially on Sutleigh's part, that he was planning to do anything other than proceed with his engagement to Amelia.

With that problem now resolved, he was once again free to return to Lily and show her he'd meant what he said. First he would have to convince her to trust him again. Once she did, he would persuade her to put aside her fears and agree to be his bride. He'd already known that he loved her, but these past few days apart had only intensified his feelings, showing him that nothing less than a lifetime of loving her would do.