The Accidental Mistress (8 page)

Silently begging her friend's forgiveness, Lily started telling her tale.

By the end of the story, the smile had fallen from Davina's lovely mouth. "You poor dear, losing both your mother and your husband so close together, how utterly dreadful! Well, you are not alone anymore. You are with friends and are not to worry further."

Lily shared a heartfelt smile with the other woman.

"And though your grief is only natural," Davina continued, "you cannot hide yourself away. You need to be around people, and I have just the solution. I am hosting a dinner party this Thursday evening and I insist you come. I shall not take no for an answer."

Lily chuckled, feeling brighter than she had in days. "Well then, I suppose I had better say yes."

Ethan accepted a glass of whisky from the butler. Taking a swallow, he listened to the conversation of the small group of men with whom he stood.

"We have too many soldiers returning from the war with no prospects of employment," stated Lord Pomfrey. "It's a foregone conclusion there will be unrest unless something is done."

"Yes, but what? There are no simple solutions, particularly with prices so exorbitantly high," replied another lord.

"Just the reason we need to change the obstinate attitudes of Liverpool and the rest of the Tories," their host, Lord Geoffrey Coates, declared with righteous zeal. "Surely there are ways to convince them to compromise."

"Now that, my lord," Ethan said, "is an effort that will last you a lifetime. Haven't you heard the old chestnut about why Tories can't ride donkeys? Because the donkey will be too stubborn to move and the Tory too stubborn to get off."

The men laughed, including Coates, though Ethan could tell his reformer's enthusiasm remained undaunted.

Ethan barely knew Lord Coates, he and the other man tending to run in different social circles. But in order to help the passage of a bill that would aid the laborers and farmers in Ethan's home district, he had accepted tonight's invitation to dinner.

The men were diving into another burning political debate when a radiant blond threaded her way through the guests and stopped next to Coates.

"Geoffrey, gentleman, your pardon for the interruption, but as some of you may know, there are ladies present."

Lord Pomfrey nodded his balding head and smiled. "Yes, madam, I believe you are quite correct."

"Then take pity upon us poor females and mingle a bit. There will be time aplenty for all of you to rail against injustice once the port and cigars have been served."

"Duly noted, my lady," Pomfrey agreed, sharing genial smiles with the others.

As the men began to disburse, Davina Coates laid a gentle hand on Ethan's sleeve to stop him. "My lord, if you would indulge me, there is someone I should like you to meet. She is a dear friend of long acquaintance who is newly arrived in London. Shall I make you known to each other?"

"Of course, your ladyship," he agreed, setting down his whisky tumbler. "Please lead the way."

He wondered about the identity of this friend and hoped his hostess wasn't trying to play matchmaker. If so, she was destined to be disappointed. Preparing himself to be polite, he followed Lady Coates.

As they walked, he couldn't help but notice a slender woman standing with another pair of ladies on the far side of the drawing room. Vibrant as a flame, her tresses were pinned in an upsweep, a few short tendrils left to curl against the graceful length of her neck. With her back turned to the room, he couldn't see her face, but was left instead to admire the willowy beauty of her figure, draped in a gown of rich emerald silk.

His body tightened of its own accord, reacting as it seemed to do these days to every redheaded female he encountered. Weeks may have passed, but he still couldn't seem to shake from his mind or senses the recollection of one particular auburn-haired minx. To his surprise, his hostess led him past a number of other guests on a path that drew him closer and closer to the redhead.

Could
she
possibly be the friend? he wondered.

Apparently so, he realized, when Lady Coates stopped at the woman's side and leaned forward to murmur something in her ear. After a quiet excuse to the other women with whom the redhead had been conversing, Lady Coates turned back, a wide smile on her lips. "Pray allow me the pleasure of introducing my dear friend to you. My lord, Mrs. Smythe. Lily, Ethan Andarton, the Marquis of Vessey."

As if the earth were suddenly shifting on its axis, he watched as the woman he'd never thought to see again spun slowly around. Air whooshed from his lungs, the sight of her catching him like a fist to the belly.

Lily! His
Lily. And yet not her at all. At least not the version of her he remembered. For one thing, she looked stunningly soft and feminine. Gone were the trousers and coat, together with all the other little masculine details she'd tried to mimic, including the snug queue of hair she'd worn against her neck.

Gone, too, was the sight of her comely legs and taut little buttocks, hidden now beneath the folds of her dress. However, as regretful a loss as that might be, he could not complain about the view of her breasts—the lovely rounded shape of them delineated by her bodice, a tantalizing strip of flesh revealed to his appreciative eyes.

Yet as markedly different as she appeared now in her female attire, there was no mistaking her face. The same adorable nose with its delicate sprinkling of freckles. The same jewel-tone eyes, her green irises nearly a match for her elegant evening gown. The same mouth, her lush, sultry lips the very ones he'd plundered with a series of hot, passionate kisses, kisses he imagined he could taste even now.

He struggled to quash his instant rush of desire, his loins aching in a way that he knew might prove embarrassing if he didn't get himself under firm control. Catching her gaze with his own, he read the astonishment shining in her eyes.

Her lashes swept downward just before she dropped into a deep curtsey. "An honor, my lord."

He bowed, only then recalling the name by which Lady Coates had introduced her.

"Mrs. Smythe." Even to his own ears, his words sounded harsh, reverberating in a graveled rumble.
Mrs. Smythe!
His brows drew together, sharp as a set of daggers.

Hell and damnation, is she married?
Unable to voice the appalling question, he stared.

Davina Coates, about whom he'd very nearly forgotten, glanced between them, an expression of puzzled inquiry on her face. "Perhaps it is my imagination, but do the two of you know each other?"

"No," Lily shot back.

"Yes," he said at the same time, their voices crossing over each other's.

Lady Coates laughed. "Goodness, which is it? Yes or no?"

He waited, allowing Lily to speak first.

"No," she said. "At least not really. Lord Vessey and I have … seen each other, I believe, but have never been formally introduced."

"Yes," he drawled. "We have
seen
each other."
And kissed each other, and touched each other as well.

"Oh," their hostess said, looking even more curious than before. "Perhaps you were acquainted with Mrs. Smythe's late husband, your lordship? Could that be where you met?"

Late husband? Ah, so she is a widow!
A rush of coiled tension eased from his shoulders.

"Hmm," he said, "I do not believe so, but perhaps. Wherever it was our paths crossed, I am glad they have done so again."

Lady Coates cast them another bemused smile. "Well, good. It pleases me that I could introduce you properly this time. If you will excuse me, I see I am needed across the room. Something about dinner, I expect."

Lily tossed her friend a narrowed look as though she wished to protest the desertion. Instead, she held her tongue as the other woman smiled once more, then glided away.

For a long moment, neither he nor the beautiful adventuress before him spoke. And she was indeed beautiful, more radiant and bewitching than he remembered. A part of him was irritated with her—for what he didn't entirely know—but another, far stronger part of him was pleased, happy and relieved to have suddenly discovered her once again.

This time,
he mused,
I will not be letting her get away.

Angling his body forward, Ethan crowded closer in the hopes of their conversing without being overheard. When she took two steps back into a nearby corner, he followed. As he did, a hint of the rose-and-vanilla scent perfuming her skin drifted upward to his nostrils.

Desire thickened in his blood. Had they not been in company, he wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to restrain the wild urge to press his face against her neck—or better yet, her breasts—for a deeper inhalation.

Instead, he forced himself to meet her gaze. "So, how are you, Lily? I presume I may call you Lily, or would you prefer Mrs. Smythe?"

She played her fingers over a button on the wrist of one of her long, white evening gloves. "Mrs. Smythe, I think. And I am quite well as you can see, my lord. Yourself?"

He quirked a brow and smiled, more amused than annoyed by her somewhat prickly reply.

"I enjoy robust health as well. And you may relax, Lily," he said, ignoring her request to maintain formality. "I have no intention of telling anyone where it is we actually met, nor more importantly, how you were garbed at the time."

Her delicate brows moved across her forehead like two small slashes of fire. "I certainly hope not. Should you decide otherwise, I shall deny it most emphatically."

"Yes, I am sure you would. But pray do not overset yourself. What passed between us shall be our own little secret, including what happened in the coach. You have my word as a gentleman."

His statement seemed to reassure her, anxiety visibly draining from Lily's body as though she had been waiting for him to unmask her before one and all.

"I must admit, however," he continued in a low voice meant only for her ears, "that I am surprised to learn you are a widow. You certainly gave no intimation that such might be the case."

"There were a great many things I did not mention on that occasion, if you will recall. Introducing such a topic did not seem germane."

"I am sure it did not. Permit me to extend my sympathy for your loss, however."

Her lashes swept downward, lowering to fix in the vicinity of his waistcoat. "Thank you."

"You must have married young. You cannot be a day above nineteen."

Pale pink spread across her cheeks as her gaze returned to meet his own. "I am twenty, which is not so young, considering that many women marry at sixteen."

"Yes, but most of them do not lose their husbands. How did he perish?"

At first she said nothing, worrying her fingertips over her glove buttons once more. "He died a soldier's death on the battlefield. And now, if you do not mind, I would rather not discuss any more of the particulars."

"Of course." He paused for a moment. "So is that why you do it, to distract yourself from the grief?"

Puzzlement filled her eyes. "Do what?"

"Indulge in risky and thoroughly outrageous wagers with friends."

Surprise flared inside her gaze for an instant before an expression of thoughtful introspection replaced it. "I had never thought of it as such, but perhaps you are correct. One can sometimes find oneself running quite literally from one's troubles."

"Then might I suggest exploring alternate outlets for exorcising such needs."

She arched a brow. "Like what, my lord?"

He was about to tell her when the Coateses' liveried butler called for everyone's attention to inform them that dinner was now served.

Around the room, as ladies and gentlemen began to pair up according to rank, Lily leaned toward him, her voice a whisper. "And in case you are wondering, Davina is not the friend involved, so please leave Lady Coates out of this. She has no idea about my little excursion, and would be distressed if she did."

He dipped his head toward hers. "I told you before, this is our secret and no one else's."

Just then, a slender gentleman appeared at Lily's side, bowing to them both. "Your pardon, but I believe I am to escort Mrs. Smythe into dinner."

Ethan wanted to flick the other man off like a pesky fly. Instead he restrained the urge, faced Lily, and executed a perfect bow. "Until later, madam."

She curtseyed. "Of course, my lord."

Forcing himself to turn, he went in search of his own partner, wishing the woman were Lily.

* * * * *

He really needs to stop gazing at me,
Lily thought nearly an hour later.

Dinner was proceeding apace, wine and conversation flowing liberally as a small multitude of voices mixed with the quiet background click of silver utensils scraping against fine bone china and the occasional ringing tap of delicate cut-crystal glassware. Beautifully wrought silver candelabra were positioned throughout the room, the lighted beeswax tapers adding a honeyed sweetness to the air. Footmen served and cleared with nearly invisible precision, every course more delicious than the last.

Yet Lily barely noticed the food or the conversation, far too aware of a certain golden-haired gentleman and his watchful gaze.

The marquis was seated several feet down and opposite, relaxing back in his chair with the graceful assurance of a lion. With candlelight burnishing his hair to a gleaming gold, he reminded her of some ancient god of Nordic myth. Or a warrior perhaps, since she was coming to realize he possessed a wild intensity that belied his veneer of quiet sophistication. Added to that was the fact that he was, without question, the handsomest man in the room. Of course, given his undeniable masculine beauty, he was likely to be the handsomest man in
any
room.

And he was looking at her.
Again.

Glancing down at her plate, she struggled to slow the rapid pace of her heartbeat, aware of him as if he were seated only inches away instead of feet.
He really ought to stop,
Lily thought, silently chiding him as she cut a tiny piece of the roast venison with cherry port sauce and lifted the bite to her lips. Despite the buttery tenderness of the meat, she had difficulty swallowing, knowing if she glanced up she would find those mesmerizing amber eyes still upon her.