The Accidental Mistress Page 23

  He came awake moments later, his palm sliding reflexively over her bare back. “Hmm,” he murmured, “are you feeling all right? Why are you awake?”

  “I don’t know. I just awakened. As to the other, I’m feeling lovely.” More than lovely, she thought, brushing her mouth over his jaw. She sensed the passion rise in him, as it had already risen inside her.

  Threading his fingers into her hair, he cupped her head and captured her mouth in a claiming that was warm and slow and tantalizingly delicious. A hum of pleasure sighed from her lips, followed by a whimper when he drew slightly away.

  “No headache?” he asked, massaging her scalp where his hand still cradled her head.

  “None,” she said, her answer as light as a whisper.

  “No sniffles?”

  She smiled and waggled her head from side to side. “Not even a sniff.”

  “Well then, if you are recovered…”

  Reaching down, he caught her hips in his strong palms and gently lifted her on top of him. Without preliminaries, he parted her legs so they fell naturally around his waist; then, with a supple glide, he slid inside her.

  She bit her lip at the splendid fullness, her body growing instantly wet and ready for his possession. But he kept their lovemaking unhurried, taking her with a tenderness that was a rapture in itself. She didn’t even know her peak was near until the climax came upon her, joy exploding, then spreading outward—hot and sweet as honey, her limbs turning waxen and weak.

  On a quavering sigh, she held him close, rocking with him until he found his own ease. His gasp of pleasure made her smile, his obvious exultation a balm to her ears. Lying bonelessly against him, she knew there was no place she would rather be than inside his arms. No other man with whom she wanted to be. Not now. Not ever.

  Love burst inside her heart—a love she should not feel, a love she did not want, and yet could no longer deny. Closing her eyes, she burrowed against him, tucking her face into the warm, resilient curve of his neck.

  “What is it?” he murmured after a long moment.

  Words tumbled into her mouth but stuck there, her tongue unable, or perhaps unwilling, to say aloud what she had only just discovered.

  I love you, she thought. And I do not know what to do.

  Shaking her head, she remained silent, kissing his neck and cheek before once again lying still.

  “Sleep,” he said, running his hand over her hair in long, soothing strokes.

  Giving in to his command, she did exactly that.

  Ethan strode into Andarton House the following afternoon, planning to meet with his secretary and deal with several matters of business. Once all essential items were resolved, he intended to go upstairs to his rooms and change into suitable evening attire, since he and Lily would be attending the opera tonight.

  Lily had been unusually quiet over breakfast this morning, enough so that he had suggested they cancel and remain at home again. But her smile and reassurances had soon persuaded him otherwise.

  “I will not hear of missing tonight’s performance,” she’d said, sending him an even brighter smile than her first.

  Still, he wondered at her mercurial mood. Something untoward had happened at the fair, though he couldn’t for the life of him imagine what that something might be considering she had never left his side.

  At first, he’d assumed she was coming down ill. Later, though, he began to wonder if her reaction might stem from some other cause. A few times yesterday he’d gently tried to probe for answers, but she’d brushed his efforts aside. Deciding she needed rest more than a confrontation, he let the matter drop. Perhaps she was only a bit under the weather as he had originally assumed, and he was just imagining trouble where none actually existed.

  Now, after greeting White, his butler, he handed his hat and greatcoat to the other man, then started across the marble foyer toward the hallway that led to his office. He’d only taken a few steps when the older man spoke, stopping him in his tracks.

  “My lord,” White called. “If I might have an additional word, I thought I should mention that the dowager marchioness is in residence.”

  Ethan swung around. “My mother is here? How long ago did she arrive?”

  “Two evenings since, my lord. We had expected you yesterday, which is why I sent no note.”

  As Ethan recalled, he had mentioned stopping by the house yesterday, but when Lily came down ill he had changed his mind.

  “Not to worry, White. Where is she now?”

  “She is in the drawing room,” replied a quiet, well-modulated feminine voice from the second-story hallway.

  Turning, Ethan tipped back his head and looked up, meeting his mother’s blue-eyed gaze where she stood on the landing above. “Hello, Mama.”

  She smiled down. “Hello, dear. I thought I heard you and came to investigate. It would seem I was right. I have been enjoying a cup of tea in the family drawing room. Why do you not come upstairs and join me?”

  Ethan paused for a moment, then, deciding he could spare a few minutes, crossed to the stairs. If he watched his time, he should be able to visit with his mother, meet with his secretary, change his attire, and still not be late for his evening with Lily.

  “More tea, if you would be so good, White,” she called down to the butler. “And a few of those crumpets and the lemon curd his lordship prefers.”

  “Right away, my lady.” The butler bowed, then departed to carry out her request.

  When Ethan reached the landing, his mother threw open her arms for an embrace. “Come and give me a kiss.”

  Crossing to her, he bent and pressed his lips against one lavender-scented cheek, noticing in passing that she had a few more strands of white in her sophisticated blond coiffure and a new set of creases at the edge of her mouth. Still, despite having passed middle age a few years before, the dowager marchioness remained a very attractive woman—slender and elegant, her eyes as shrewd and intelligent as ever.

  “You should have let me know you were coming to Town, Mama,” he said, as they strolled down the hallway and into the drawing room. “I would have taken care to be here to greet you.”

  “And I would have written had I known you might not be at home when I arrived.” Her words were pleasant, but he had no difficulty catching the underlying censure.

  Taking a seat opposite him, she reached for a cup and poured his tea. A moment later, a light tap came at the door. “Ah, here are the crumpets now,” she declared.

  After the maid set down a laden silver tray and closed the door behind her, his mother prepared a plate for him. “As we were saying,” she continued, passing him the offering, “I was surprised to find you not in residence. Have you perhaps been traveling, after all? Grown tired of the city, since you missed coming to Andarley this summer?”

  Deciding not to play games, he set his untouched plate aside. “No, I am not at all tired of the city and have not been traveling, as I am sure you already know.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his own. “Yes. To be perfectly candid, I have been hearing rumors, even as far as the wilds of Suffolk.”

  He refrained from mentioning that Suffolk was hardly anyone’s idea of a wilderness. “Oh?” he drawled. “And what are they saying?”

  Her pale brows narrowed on her forehead. “That you are living with a widow here in the city, some redheaded creature who has apparently beguiled you.”

  His jaw tightened, his voice turning hard. “Lily is not a ‘creature,’ and you will never refer to her as such again.”

  His mother laid a hand against her chest as if he had wounded her. “Is that her name? Lily? I had clung to a tiny shred of hope that the rumors were false, but I see you make no effort to deny them. Though it pains me to say this, Ethan, you are a fair way to making a disgrace of yourself.”

  “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 h
ad 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.

  Chapter Eighteen

  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.