My Fair Mistress Page 3

  What price to place on a lady’s virtue?

  Lower-class women offered their bodies for sale all the time, of course, bartering sex in order to earn a few shillings for food, for shelter, for survival. But this woman was no common whore; she wouldn’t starve or freeze to death in some alley if she didn’t give herself to him.

  Abruptly, the knowledge of what she was contemplating angered him. Was her brother so very important to her, then? Was keeping the young earl safe from financial and social destruction worth placing herself quite literally into the hands of a stranger?

  “Before I ponder such a detail,” he mused aloud, “tell me why. Why would you do this?”

  Her gaze flashed up to his. “I’ve told you why. I have to help my family.”

  “Your brother, yes. And is he truly worth such a price? Even if I accept you in trade, so to speak, what’s to keep him from frittering away his fortune after this debt is paid? What’s to guarantee your noble gesture won’t be for naught when he tosses away his fortune again at some future date?”

  “Harry’s promised me he’ll never gamble again, and I believe him. He’s miserable and repentant, enough so that I’m convinced he’s learned his lesson. He’s not a bad young man, only a misguided one.”

  “The debtor’s prisons are full of misguided men whom others once thought were good.”

  “Harry is good,” she defended. “Besides, he’s not the only person who would be harmed. I have a little sister. She’s seventeen and ready to make her come out in a few weeks. I won’t have her embarrassed, nor will I see her put in the position of having to marry for money. I want her to be able to love and admire the man she marries, not feel as if she must wed in order to replenish the family coffers.”

  As Julianna herself had once done? he wondered. Had she been forced into a marriage not of her own choosing? She was young to be a widow, younger than his own thirty-five years. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, he’d guess, a woman still at the height of her bloom with many, many fine seasons yet to come.

  Hawthorne.

  He vaguely remembered hearing of a property by that name that had passed to a distant relation when the old lord died without leaving a male heir. Was she his widow? If so, her husband had been several decades her senior.

  He watched her for another long moment, his body hard and aching for a taste of her. Suddenly he wondered why he was arguing with her. What did he care about her motives or reasons? If this woman wanted to offer herself in exchange for Allerton’s debt, who was he to dissuade her?

  Still, was a chance to bed her really worth thirty thousand pounds? Years ago, he’d have given a firm, if regretful, no. He’d have had to say no. But through force of will and his own stubborn determination to succeed, he was now a wealthy man, a very wealthy man who could easily afford, should he choose, to do precisely as he wished.

  So, should he give in to temptation?

  God knows he wanted her, his body hungering with a fresh, belly-tightening pull of desire. He couldn’t recall ever craving a woman with such instantaneous need. There was something about her that attracted him on a basic, elemental level, igniting a visceral reaction quite at odds with his usual state of calm, calculated restraint.

  He imagined how it would feel to hold her in his arms, to kiss those soft, cherry-ripe lips, to settle his naked body against her own and sink himself deep, deep into her moist, heated flesh.

  State his terms, she’d told him. State his terms and there was a very good possibility he could do all those things with her and more.

  “Six months,” he said in a brusque tone.

  “Six?” Her dark eyes grew round.

  “Yes, six. Five thousand pounds per month until the debt is paid. It’s an extremely generous offer, I do assure you. Most mistresses don’t get a fraction of that.”

  She lowered her gaze again. “And is that what I’d be,” she murmured low, “your mistress?”

  “Seems the most appropriate, least offensive term for what we are discussing.” Needing a distraction, he drew his thumb along the smooth edge of a silver letter opener. “I’ll want you at least three times a week. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d set you up in a house that provided me with access to you whenever I wished. But I assume that won’t be an option in this case.”

  Her head jerked up, a bit of fire returning to her expression. “No. No one of my acquaintance can ever be permitted to know about us. And you will have to promise never to breathe a word to anyone about our arrangement, most especially not to my brother or to any of his peers.”

  “Wouldn’t want it to leak out that you’re trafficking with a baseborn commoner like me, hmm?”

  A faintly alarmed look came over her face, as if afraid he’d withdraw his offer because of her declaration. “It’s not just my reputation at stake,” she defended. “I have my sister’s welfare to consider. She mustn’t be tainted by my actions. Even a whisper of scandal could ruin her chances in Society, you see.”

  Yes, Rafe thought, he did see. The aristocracy, when it chose, could be vicious as snakes, especially to members of its own class. Particularly to its women, when they were perceived to have broken the rules.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her, “no one will ever know. I’ve a reputation of my own and am well known for my tact and discretion in all matters. It will be our private business and ours alone.”

  Julianna let out a shaky sigh of relief and struggled against the shivers that threatened to take hold of her.

  For mercy’s sake, what am I doing? she kept asking herself. Was she really sitting here across from this chillingly lethal man discussing how best to barter her body to him for payment of Harry’s debt? Harry would be livid if he knew and would unquestionably forbid her to proceed. But what else was she to do?

  From the time of their mother’s death when Julianna was eleven, she’d cared for her two younger siblings, more mother to them in many ways than older sister. They were all the family she had left in the world. She couldn’t abandon them now, no matter the sacrifice.

  “Very well,” she murmured. “That leaves where and when. Even as a widow, I can’t come and go at all hours. We would need to meet at times when my absence would go unremarked. Afternoon, perhaps.”

  She flushed at the thought. How mortifying! In all the years of her marriage, she’d never once had relations at any time other than night.

  “Afternoon is agreeable. I’ll rearrange my schedule. As for where, I have a couple of locations in mind. I’ll think on it and let you know. You’ll need to give me your direction so I can send ’round a messenger. Discreetly, of course.”

  Half numb, she repeated her address on Upper Brook Street, realizing as she did the magnitude of her actions. Was she really going through with this shameful plan? With every word spoken, every second that passed, the likelihood increased.

  A queasy fist clenched tight in her stomach. Only by sheer force of will did she remain seated, powerfully tempted to hurry out to her waiting hack and race back to the security and comfort of her home. A home where he now knew she lived. She’d come to offer him her possessions. Instead she was offering herself.

  “I can think of only one final item that requires discussion,” he said in that deep, smooth drawl that made shivers tingle deliciously along her spine. “The likelihood of you getting in a family way.”

  Her mouth fell open, her shock so profound she couldn’t utter a squeak.

  He went on. “I’ll do what I can to prevent a pregnancy. There are a few methods available, though admittedly none that are foolproof. You should take precautions as well, efficacious herbs and such; that way both of us can increase the odds no unwanted issue shall spring from our liaison. Lord knows the last thing I want is to bring another bastard into the world.”

  Was he illegitimate? she thought, wondering at his remark. She recalled the earlier statement he’d made when he’d referred to himself as a “baseborn commoner.” Well, many men of his class came into this w
orld outside the sanctity of marriage. If he had, it didn’t matter to her.

  She swallowed a sigh, an old, familiar sadness sweeping through her as she considered the topic at hand. Though in this instance, all she could feel was relief. She no more wanted to find herself pregnant with his child than he did.

  “You needn’t worry, Mr. Pendragon,” she said, rediscovering her voice. “There will be no child.”

  He frowned. “And why is that?”

  “Because I am barren.” She gazed toward the window and stared half-seeing at a weak shaft of light reflecting against the pane.

  “Are you certain?”

  Painfully embarrassed at having to discuss such a delicate, private matter, her head snapped around. “Quite certain. In the five years of my marriage I never conceived. My husband had three daughters from a previous marriage. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which one of us was at fault.”

  For a moment he had the grace to look chastened. “My regrets.”

  “Keep them,” she tossed back. “Given our impending arrangement, my inability to conceive a child would appear to be a blessing.”

  He stood and came around his desk again. “So, we are agreed then?”

  His cool green eyes regarded her the way a panther might its prey. Large and supremely male, he loomed over her despite the space separating them. She suppressed the need to tremble, aware of him in a way she didn’t believe she’d ever before been aware of a man.

  Was she truly prepared to place herself within his power? Inwardly she quaked at the thought. How would it be to let him touch her, kiss her, to give him the right to take her body? Her blood beat unsteadily at the notion. Yet it would only be for six months, she reminded herself. For her family, she could endure anything for six months.

  “Yes,” she murmured softly, “we are agreed.”

  He leaned even closer. “Shall we seal our bargain with a kiss?”

  “No!” she exclaimed, jolting in her chair. “There will be no kissing today.”

  He laughed, emphasizing the long dimples in his cheeks in a way that made him appear even more fiercely handsome than before. “Then it seems I shall have to console myself with mere fantasies until our next meeting.”

  Leaning across his desk, he reached for a ledger bound in fine quality leather, then flipped it open. Running a finger down one page, he paused on an entry near the middle. “Lord Allerton is scheduled to pay his obligation a week from Thursday. Would Wednesday next be a suitable date to begin our arrangement?”

  So soon? she thought, dismayed. That would leave her only eight days, a little over a week to adjust to the life-altering step she was about to take. And once she set herself onto that path, there would be no turning back.

  Yet a week, a month, a year, what difference would it make? No matter how much time she had, it would never be enough. Time would not make this bargain of hers any easier to face.

  “Very well,” she agreed before she had an opportunity to turn coward. “Next Wednesday it shall be.”

  He nodded. “What about your brother? What will you tell him?”

  Oh, dear. Harry. What would she tell him? Certainly not the truth.

  “I’ll think of a story,” she said. “Something he’ll accept without too many questions asked, something he’ll believe.”

  She stood, glad to be on her feet, even if her legs were a bit wobbly. “Well, the hour grows late and I must be going. I’ll await your message.”

  “You shall receive it shortly.”

  Julianna crossed to retrieve her pelisse. Before she could reach it, Pendragon strode up behind her and grasped the cloak. Silently, he held the garment up for her to don. Hesitating for a long moment, she slowly presented her back to him and waited.

  Her throat grew suddenly dry, heart pumping fast as the clean, masculine scents of writing ink, bayberry, and a hint of what must be Rafe Pendragon himself curled enticingly beneath her nose.

  He slid the cloak over her, then rested his broad palms on her shoulders. “If you don’t arrive by one in the afternoon next Wednesday,” he murmured, his mouth very near her ear, “I will assume you have changed your mind about our agreement. If that should prove the case, the original terms of your brother’s loan stand, including the due date. Think carefully about the lies you tell him lest they come back to haunt you.”

  She pulled herself out of his grasp and swung around to face him. “And what of you, sir? I have nothing but your word, and though I should likely make you write down the terms of our agreement, to whom would I show it should you decide to defraud me? How do I know you will uphold your end of the bargain and set my brother free when this…arrangement between us is at an end?”

  His jaw tightened, eyes lambent beneath hooded lids. “You do not. And though I can’t claim to be a gentleman, I am a man of my word. So long as you abide by the terms of our agreement, I will do the same. No tricks. No deceits. Whether or not you trust me is entirely up to you. You have my permission to forget this day ever happened and let your brother settle his own debts. Good day, Lady Hawthorne. I have other business to conduct.”

  He was angry at her accusation, she realized. Even more, he was insulted. Yet his words rang with truth, his demeanor radiating the kind of offended pride only a man of honor would display. If she chose to go through with this bargain of theirs, she felt reassured he would honor the terms exactly as agreed.

  “Until next Wednesday, Mr. Pendragon,” she said softly. “Do not bother ringing for your man, I shall see myself out.”

  Chapter Three

  WHAT ABOUT THIS one, Jules? Wouldn’t it make a stunning riding habit?”

  Julianna glanced over at the sample of cloth Maris held out, a luxurious Prussian blue velvet far too bold for an ingénue of seventeen. Julianna raised a ruefully amused eyebrow, well aware of the game she and her sister had been playing ever since they’d arrived at the dressmaker’s shop nearly an hour before.

  “It would make a lovely riding habit for me,” Julianna said. “As I think on it, I may ask Madame LaCroix to make it up for my wardrobe. I could do with a new riding outfit.”

  Maris thrust out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “I don’t see why I cannot wear any of the pretty colors. Pinks and whites and pale yellows, ugh! I shall look like a washed-out fright in all these insipid pastels.”

  “You won’t look a fright,” Julianna repeated, doing her best to hide her amusement at her sister’s melodramatic declaration. “You’ll look beautiful. You know you are radiant in whatever color you wear.”

  “Well, I don’t feel radiant. I feel ordinary. Don’t you think I would look much better in this?” Maris lifted up a length of emerald green satin. “See?” she urged, displaying the cloth next to her fair skin and dark hair. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  Julianna shook her head. “You are not going to talk me into it, dear. You know debutantes must wear subdued shades. When you are a married lady, you may wear any color you like, but until then…” She shrugged, letting her statement drift off.

  “How wonderful to be a married woman!” Maris sighed. “Free of all these horrid rules and restrictions.”

  Not always so wonderful, Julianna thought as she perused the bolts of available fabrics. Contentment in marriage and the amount of freedom a lady had depended largely upon one’s spouse. She wanted Maris to take her time and find the right man. She wanted Maris to find someone who would make her happy.

  Julianna reached for a sprigged muslin, cream-colored with a sprinkling of tiny purple violets. “How about this? It would make a charming day dress.”

  “Hmm, I suppose it would.” Reaching out a hand, Maris held a length of the material up to the cheery sunlight streaming in through the shop’s front windows. “Actually, I quite like it.” She paused. “I’m sorry to be so difficult, Jules. I know you are right and only trying to advise me properly. I’m just nervous about my debut. What if I don’t take? What if no one likes me? They say blondes are de rigueur this
year.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Julianna shushed. “Everyone will adore you, and once they see that pretty face of yours, brunettes will suddenly be all the rage instead of blondes.” She dusted a reassuring kiss over her sister’s youthful cheek. “Quit worrying. You are going to have a wonderful Season, and you are forbidden to fret about a thing. Your only task is to have fun. You are a dear, sweet girl. No one will be able to resist you, especially the gentlemen.”

  Maris gave her a hopeful smile. “You truly think so?”

  “I know so. Now go try on the pink polonaise Madame set aside for you. Let’s see if the style suits.”

  “Pink, ugh!” Maris gave a mock shudder, rolled her eyes, and stuck out her tongue like the child she still was. Grinning, she strolled dutifully toward the fitting rooms in the rear.

  If only my own troubles could be so simple, Julianna mused. With nothing more to worry about than the color of my next dress, and whether or not I will be popular this Season.

  Over the past week, Julianna had racked her brain, trying to conceive of some way out of her agreement with The Dragon. She understood now why others called him that, the moniker more than a simple play on his unusual surname.

  The man truly was a beast. A quick, cunning adversary who could mesmerize a person with his cool green gaze, lull you with his words, then burn you crisp as toast before you understood you’d been neatly snared inside his trap.

  As ridiculous as it seemed, she’d clung to the faint hope that Harry would dig himself out, that he would arrive on her doorstep to tell her he’d found the money and had paid off the debt. But a look at him last night, when she’d gone to the family townhouse for dinner, had shattered her illusions.

  Dark circles had ringed his worried brown eyes, a sickly pallor adding a faint green undertone to his usually swarthy complexion. Then there’d been his drinking as he tossed back glass after glass of wine, swallowing it the way a thirsty man would guzzle water.