The Accidental Mistress (39 page)

Will it?
she wondered. So much still lay unresolved between them, including the falsehoods she had told him about herself. Despite her reservations, she knew that matters had come too far for her to conceal the truth from him any longer. After everything he had done to find her, to save her, she owed him that and more. But even as she prepared herself to confess, she hesitated, a queasy, fluttering sensation beating like a pair of tiny wings in her chest. Leaning back slightly in his arms, she finally forced herself to speak. "Ethan, there is something I have to tell you."

"Whatever it is, Lily, you don't need—"

"But I do," she interrupted, determined to proceed now that she had begun. "There is a great deal I have to say, so much I
should
have said long ago. My only excuse, I suppose, is that I was afraid of what you would think, what you would do."

"Lily—"

"Please, let me have my say."

After a small pause, he inclined his head. "As you wish."

She scooted back, putting another inch between them before she continued. "I have not always been completely truthful with you about myself. My name is … my real name is Lily Bainbridge, not Smythe."

"I know."

Her lashes lifted, her gaze flashing upward. Oh, well, of course he knew that, she supposed, given that he'd tracked her home to Cornwall. But as for the rest …

"No," she went on. "You do not understand. When I say my name is not Smythe, I mean it was
never
Smythe. Ethan … I …" She drew an unsteady breath, then pushed out the words. "I was never married."

She braced herself, waiting for an explosion, an exclamation of shock and confusion, even anger. Instead he gazed at her out of calm, steady, completely unsurprised eyes.

"Yes, I know," he said again.

The jolt she'd thought he would feel went through her. "What do you mean,
you know
!"

"Exactly that. Although I didn't piece together your deception until quite recently, I did figure it out."

"But how?" she sputtered.

"Because the military keeps records, my love. No officer by the name of John Smythe fought at Vittoria, let alone died."

She swallowed, incapable of forming a coherent response while she digested the unexpected turn of events. Of all the possibilities, she had never once considered that he might check on the military service of her make-believe husband.
And here I always considered myself so careful and so clever. Not so clever lately.
Then a new thought occurred.

"And you aren't angry?" she asked, studying his face for signs of his true feelings.

He raised a golden eyebrow, remonstrating her with its curve. "I was initially. In fact, I was furious when I first realized that you had lied to me, particularly given you had just accused me of having done the same. But … ," he said with a significant pause.

"Yes?"

"Finding out that you were gone, and that I might lose you, well, the reality of that put everything in a different perspective. I admit that I have not completely forgiven you yet for your elaborate fiction and the ease with which you perpetrated it upon me—"

"Deceiving you was never easy," she interjected.

"—But I know you had reasons for doing what you did, reasons I have recently come to understand more and more. My word, Lily, did you really stage your own death? The story in Penzance is that you swam out to sea and drowned. How much of that is true?"

"A great deal of it—actually, everything except the dying part. When Chaulk demanded that I marry Faylor, I refused, but he would have seen me wed despite my refusal. I knew I could never submit to such degradation, such utter misery, and that I would rather risk my life than spend it tied to a brute like the squire. So I swam out during a storm and let everyone assume I had perished."

"You played a dangerous game that could really have cost you your life. How exactly did you survive?"

Taking a breath, she told him her story—how she had run away to London and met him en route, about claiming her inheritance and her decision to turn herself into a widow. Wanting no secrets between them, she was careful to leave nothing out.

When she finished, he leaned back against the seat. "You went to such extremes, then, so you would never have to marry?" he remarked in a contemplative tone. "So you could remain free and independent of men?"

She rubbed a palm over her skirt. "Yes, that is what I intended."

He remained silent for a long moment. "And do you still hold those same opinions now?"

No,
she thought, the answer rushing upon her. Once she had viewed marriage as a trap, a miserable prison into which women were tricked, then left to suffer. But her days living with Ethan had proven her wrong on that score, and despite her earlier hurt feelings and sense of betrayal, she knew she wanted nothing more than the chance to share her life with him. So long as it was Ethan who asked her to marry him, then her answer would be an unequivocal "yes."

But he hadn't asked her, she realized, crumbling a little inside as she remembered his fianc�e in London. Still, she was made of sterner stuff, was she not? If she truly loved Ethan—and she did—then she owed it to herself to fight for him.

"No," she said aloud, pressing herself against his chest. "I do not feel the same. I know that girl … Lady Amelia, stands between us, but I do not want her to. I love you, Ethan, and whatever you decide, whatever you tell me, I will believe you this time. I only want us to be together."

He reached up a hand and stroked her hair. "Do you? And if I tell you I want you as my mistress again?"

Disappointment washed through her, but she ruthlessly pushed it aside. "Then that is what I will be."

Sliding a finger beneath her chin, he urged her face upward so that she was looking into his eyes. "That is a very generous offer, but entirely unnecessary."

"What?"

"I didn't ask you my question about marriage so you could become my mistress. I asked you so you could become my wife. Marry me, Lily. And this time, I will accept nothing other than a 'yes.'"

"But what about Lady Amelia?"

"Mrs. Hocksby by now, I would expect," he corrected. "About the same time you left London, Amelia eloped to Gretna Green with a young man she loves. I assume the pair are now husband and wife, leaving me free to plight my troth where I will. So, tell me you will be my wife."

For a moment she couldn't breathe, joy bursting like fireworks through her veins. "Oh, yes, yes, my love."

Mouth curved in a wide smile, she tossed her arms around his neck and drew his head down to hers. Humming low in her throat as he responded, she took the lead, plundering his mouth with a thoroughness that made her burn from head to toe. Wishing they were closer, she murmured her delight when he lifted her off the seat and onto his lap, settling her where both of them could claim an even deeper level of intimacy.

As their kisses continued, she lost awareness of her surroundings, threading her fingers into his hair while he played upon her desires with a series of long, heated kisses, interspersed by quicker, shorter nips and licks. Her lips were swollen, her body aching, by the time they broke apart to take a full breath of air.

"Good Lord," he exclaimed. "I don't know how I've done without
that
for all these many days."

"I've missed you too." She smiled.

"Don't look at me like that or I may decide to take you here and now, after all."

"Then why do you not?" she encouraged, brushing her fingers against his cheeks and temple.

"Mostly because of the condition of these coach springs. I fear if we try anything, we might both emerge as cripples."

A laugh escaped her at the image.

He bounced her playfully atop his thighs. "But that does not mean I plan to wait long."

"You do not have to wait at all. It isn't as if we have not been intimate already."

"True, but as much as I am dying to return to your bed—and believe me, I am—I was thinking we might have a traditional wedding with a reading of the banns and all the requisite trappings. I am proud to make you my bride and I want everyone to know it. By the time we wed, no one will doubt we are marrying for anything other than love."

A tremulous smile spread over her lips, warmth glowing inside her like a summer sun.

"What would you think of being wed at Andarley?" he continued. "The family chapel is small and would not hold above twenty guests, but it is a pretty enough little building. I believe you would like it."

"The chapel sounds divine. Though I would marry you anywhere, even if it were in a hut."

Pleasure burnished his gaze, followed by a humorous twinkle. "A hut, hmm? Well, I can do a bit better than that for the ceremony, though we might be able to locate a hut for the honeymoon, if you are set on such an accommodation."

She laughed. "Wherever you like, my lord, so long as we are together," she pledged. "I love you, Ethan."

His face turned serious. Bending his head, he brushed his lips over hers. "I love you too. Now and forever."

"Oh, you look absolutely beautiful!" Davina declared five weeks later as she stood back to survey the final touches made to Lily's wedding ensemble. Gowned in winter-white velvet with elbow-length sleeves and a square-cut bodice, Lily had to confess that she did feel a little like a princess. Only minutes before, her maid had finished arranging her hair into a fashionable riot of curls before pinning an ankle-length veil of the finest Brussels lace onto her head. Her hands tingled, her heart beating at a wildly erratic pace. In all her life she had never felt so nervous, yet so ebullient. There were moments when she wondered if her white, pearl-encrusted slippers were still touching the floor.

"Davina is right," Julianna agreed from where she stood with them in one of the guest bedrooms at Andarley. "I cannot recall ever seeing a more radiant bride."

Lily gazed at her two friends, wanting to hug them both, but afraid she might ruin everyone's hard work of the past two hours if she did so. "If I do look as well as you both say," she replied, "it is only because I am so happy. Thank you for being here with me today and standing as my matrons of honor."

"I would not have missed your wedding for the world," Julianna said. "How could I, when it means seeing two of my best friends joined?"

Despite having only recently finished her lying-in, Julianna had declared herself healthy enough to make the journey from West Riding. Of course, Rafe, Cam, and baby Stephanie had accompanied her.

"You could not have kept me away either," Davina stated. "And I must say, I was pleased to see that the dowager marchioness is attending. It is always good to have peace within a family."

"Yes," Lily replied, restraining the urge to elaborate on the subject. "Very good."

She still wasn't sure what Ethan had said to his mother to make her change her initial refusal to attend the ceremony, but she had to give her future mother-in-law credit for at least appearing to welcome her into the family. With time she hoped the older woman would put aside her disappointment in seeing her matrimonial plans for Ethan foiled. Maybe they would never be as close as mother and daughter, but perhaps they could at least be friends.

"Oh, look at the hour," Davina remarked. "Nearly ten o'clock and time to leave for the chapel. Let us help you into your cloak."

With great care, Julianna and Davina assisted Lily into her matching, fur-trimmed white wool cloak, a necessity on such a cold Christmas Eve. Yet the morning sun was shining, making the blanket of snow covering the land wink and sparkle like diamonds, as if nature had decided to celebrate with her and Ethan.

"There, you are ready," Julianna pronounced. "Why do you not take a last quiet moment to yourself? Davina and I will be back in just a couple of minutes; then we shall be off to the chapel."

Lily sent both women a smile and a small wave, but once they departed, she found she could not relax enough to sit—though not out of fear, she knew, but anticipation. Since agreeing to become Ethan's wife, she had experienced not a single qualm, nor so much as an instant of doubt. Contrary to her earlier worries, she knew that nothing in her life had ever felt as right as her decision to marry Ethan. Whatever the future might bring, all would be well because they were together.

When the door clicked open behind her, she turned, expecting to find Julianna or Davina returned to help her down to the coach for the short ride to the chapel. Instead, Ethan stood in the doorway.

Her pulse jittered at the sight of him, wondering how he could possibly be more handsome, and yet somehow he had managed the trick. Dressed in traditional wedding attire, a blue tailcoat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, his firm chest garbed in a white shirt and gray waistcoat, while tight-fitting pale gray breeches hugged his thighs. Above, his starched white linen cravat was tied in a perfect mathematical, while below, black stockings hugged the muscled contours of his calves, polished black shoes gracing his long, elegant feet.

"Oh, don't you look magnificent!" she sighed aloud.

He smiled and shut the door behind him. "I was thinking the same thing about you. Good God, love, you fair take my breath you are so gorgeous, and I haven't even seen what's underneath that cloak of yours."

"Nor shall you until the ceremony begins," she chided with mock reproof. "You shouldn't even be here, you know. Julianna and Davina would have a fit if they knew you had snuck in."

"Well, it shall be our little secret," he said with a wink as he strode forward. "I have something for you and I didn't want to wait to give it to you."

"You could have sent it up."

He shook his head, stopping in front of her. "No, not this. I had to give this to you in person. I would have done so last night, but the package only just now arrived by special messenger from London." Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a long jeweler's box covered in black velvet.

"Oh, you didn't have to get me another wedding gift," she declared. "You already gave me this exquisite diamond necklace and earrings." Untying the ribbon at her throat, she opened her cloak just enough to reveal the gemstones. "See, I am wearing them now."