The Accidental Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Returning from his mental wanderings, he noticed his secretary waiting, his pen at the ready in case Ethan had any further commands to relay.

  “I believe that will conclude our business for today, Cooksey,” he stated, “unless there is something else that requires my immediate attention.”

  The younger man laid down his pen. “No, my lord, nothing urgent. The afternoon post just arrived.” He stood and handed Ethan a letter. “I took the liberty of glancing through the rest, mostly business correspondence and bills, but this one appears to be a letter from the dowager marchioness.”

  Shifting his gaze, Ethan stared at the cream-colored vellum bearing the Vessey crest, his London address written clearly in his mother’s pale, flowery hand. After a long moment, he reached out to accept the missive.

  Cooksey returned to his desk.

  So Mama has written, has she? Ethan mused. No doubt she is wondering why I am not at Andarley, or at least attending some house party in the countryside.

  He’d had a similar letter from her previously. At the time, he’d penned a brief note, informing her that he had decided to remain in Town for a few weeks.

  That had been a few weeks ago.

  He supposed he ought to write her again and let her know he would be remaining in London for the remainder of the fall. As for winter, well, he guessed he would have to go home for Christmas. As head of the family, his presence was expected for the holiday.

  A frown settled over his forehead, the idea of leaving London, leaving Lily, causing an uncomfortable knot to form in his chest. Perhaps I could invite her? And introduce her as what? My friend? Only family came to Andarley for Christmas, and Lily was not family.

  She would be if she were my wife.

  He paused at the thought, then just as quickly brushed the notion aside like a pesky speck of lint. Lily had already made her wishes clear on that subject, and she had given no indication since that she might have changed her mind. Besides, they were only having fun, enjoying themselves until the passionate spell they were under finally dissolved, as such whims were sure to do.

  By next month, he and Lily might be heartily sick of each other. By November, they would probably be bored and mutually eager to part ways, leaving him free to journey home for Christmas, their affair nothing more than a pleasant interlude whose memory would grow more distant by the day.

  A frown collected on his brow, his hand curling into a fist on his desk. Forcing himself to be calm, he steadied his emotions. His suppositions were exactly that, possibilities that might or might not occur. For now, Lily was his, and so she would remain until the day he no longer wanted her in his life.

  As for what to tell his mother…he would say that he planned to stay in London a while longer. After all, he was no more obligated to discuss the reasons for his behavior with his mother than he was required to share the specifics of his sex life with her.

  Thinking of his sex life made him think of Lily and the fact that he’d been here at Andarton House since early this morning. Eager to be back in her company, he set the letter aside. He would read his mother’s missive later.

  Shoving back his chair, he got to his feet. “Well, if we are done, then I’m off. I shall see you in a couple of days.”

  If his secretary had any opinion about his employer’s recent absences from home, or where Ethan was spending his nights, he gave no indication. “Good day, my lord. I will have today’s correspondence ready for your review upon your return.”

  With a nod, Ethan strode through the door.

  The actors’ voices boomed on the stage two nights later, their recitation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream carrying clearly through the theater, even upward to the private boxes set aloft.

  As Pan quipped and cavorted in his impish garb, Lily shifted her attention away from the action unfolding below to gaze at the man seated at her side. Possessed of his own special kind of magic that more than rivaled that of the characters on stage, Ethan held himself with elegant aplomb. His golden hair glinted even in the low light of the darkened theater, the angles and planes of his chiseled features so magnificent they literally stole her breath.

  As if aware of her scrutiny, he shifted his gaze and caught her looking. Eyes twinkling, his lips turned upward in a slow, easy smile, an intimate, exclusive smile he shared only with her. The blood in her veins rushed faster, her body tingling with a familiar pleasurable hum that flowed to the ends of her fingers and tips of her toes. Had she and Ethan not been in full public view, she knew he would have kissed her. Or else she would have kissed him.

  Since coming to his bed, she had blossomed under his expert tutelage, no longer reticent about expressing her physical desires, whatever those needs and wants might be. He’d told her once that there should be no secrets between lovers, and when she was inside his arms there were none, every touch honestly given and joyously received. He’d taught her that when it came to making love, nothing should be forbidden, not if the act brought both parties pleasure. And in his embrace, she had discovered she always found pleasure. Lately, he didn’t even have to touch her to evoke a response—a mere glance enough to leave her aching for his possession.

  He worked his spell upon her now, lowering his gaze to trace her lips in a way that made her mouth throb as if he really had kissed her.

  Then he returned his attention to the stage, watching and listening to the actors as they danced and pranced and made amusing fools of themselves. The audience laughed. Ethan chuckled, enjoying whatever jest had just been told.

  Knowing she ought to be watching the play as well, she fixed her gaze upon the players. Less than a minute later, though, her interest had turned once again to Ethan. Needing his touch, even a simple one, she laid her hand over his where it rested on his thigh.

  Without shifting his eyes from the play, he turned his hand over and linked his fingers with hers, cradling her palm inside his own in a snug yet infinitely tender clasp.

  She relaxed, secure in the embrace.

  I should not feel this way, she thought. I should not like being with him so much, but heavens, I do. In my entire life, I have never before been so content…and yes, I might as well admit it—so happy.

  Months ago when they had begun their affair, she hadn’t expected their liaison to last more than a few weeks at most. He was a man of experience, and she was by no means the first woman to share his bed. She’d assumed he would grow weary of her, and she of him.

  But that had not happened. Quite the opposite, in fact. Instead of familiarity breeding contempt, their time together had only drawn them closer; the more they learned about each other, the more they found to like. At least, that was how she felt.

  Her favorite time of day was morning, when she would awaken to find his arms around her, both of them warm and cozy beneath the sheets. Later, she would lie on her stomach in bed and watch him shave, adoring the masculine ritual as he scraped the overnight whiskers from his cheeks with a confident skill she found amazing.

  During the past couple of weeks, they had taken to having breakfast together, talking over plates of eggs and toast like an old married couple. Only they were not wed, and not likely to be.

  How long will this last? she wondered. How long do I want it to last?

  A little voice whispered forever, but ruthlessly she pushed it aside.

  I do not love him. I will not let myself.

  Her mother had loved her father, and look where the emotion had led her. Not that Ethan was anything like her father. For one thing, she had glimpsed in his behavior no tendencies toward an insatiable lust to wander. As for insatiable lust…well, I cannot complain of that, she mused with a little inner smile. Nonetheless, Ethan and her father were both men, and men, in general, had a habit of disappointing women. Lily did not wish to be disappointed, nor had she any desire to be left with a broken heart.

  If she had any sense, she would break things off between them. Already, she was pushing the boundaries of common sense, continually ri
sking the possibility of finding herself with child. Not long after losing her virginity, she’d worried about the ramifications of the act. When her monthly had arrived on time, she knew she had been lucky. Of course that hadn’t stopped her from letting Ethan seduce her again, nor kept her from agreeing to become his lover. Afterward, however, she had known she must take precautions.

  She had considered going to Davina to ask for advice, but couldn’t imagine discussing such an intimate topic, not even with her friend. Next, she’d thought of Julianna, but quickly discarded the idea, feeling uneasy at the idea of discussing contraceptive options with a pregnant woman, especially since Ethan was a Pendragon family friend.

  In the end she’d decided to go to the source, so to speak, and broach the matter with Ethan. After all, he was the one who might get her with child, so it seemed only reasonable he should be involved in keeping her from doing so.

  He’d taken in her blushing query with calm composure, apologizing for not bringing up the issue himself. French letters, he said, were mostly useless since, as the saying went, they were nothing more than a barrier to pleasure and a cobweb against pregnancy. As for early withdrawal, he knew of two fellows who claimed to have practiced the method religiously and ended up begetting more than one unplanned child. An herbal preventative would be best, he decided, along with a bit of caution between them on certain days of the month.

  Two afternoons later, he arrived with the promised remedy—a bitter tincture that was to be taken every morning without fail. Brewed by an elderly woman with a knowledge of ancient herbal draughts and potions, the concoction was purported to be all but foolproof.

  So far, the claim had proven true.

  Nevertheless, Lily’s affair with Ethan was a risk, and not just because of pregnancy. Although they continued the pretense of maintaining separate lives, in reality Ethan was practically living with her. He stopped at Andarton House only to deal with business concerns, tending to ignore his clubs in favor of spending his evenings with her. He claimed company was sparse these days at Brooks’s and White’s, but she knew he preferred being with her.

  This week alone they had attended the opera and a lecture on ornithology he thought she would enjoy, and tonight they were here at the theater.

  She had loved them all, but she loved even more knowing that she and Ethan would be going home afterward, where they would spend the night in each other’s arms whether they decided to make love or not.

  Seated beside him now with her hand tucked comfortably inside his, she wondered again what it was she thought she was doing.

  Falling in love?

  And that was what terrified her the most, the very real possibility that she might lose her heart to him. If she were truthful, she was halfway there already.

  But I shall not fall all the way, she assured herself. Ethan and I are only having a bit of fun with each other, a few weeks’ delight before the interlude ends.

  And when the affair was over?

  Air left her lungs as though she’d taken a little punch to the chest, a small, involuntary gasp escaping her lips.

  Ethan turned to her and lifted an inquiring brow. “Is everything all right?” he whispered.

  Meeting his gaze, she forced herself to smile. “Everything is wonderful.”

  And it is, she thought, at least for now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  OUTSIDE LILY’S BREAKFAST-ROOM window, a pair of rust-colored fall leaves raced each other through the clear, cold mid-October sky. Focused on his morning meal, Ethan paid no mind to which leaf landed first as he bit into a triangle of crisp, golden toast smeared with strawberry preserves. Across from him at the dining table, Lily broke the red wax seal on a letter that had been delivered only moments ago.

  “Oh, what happy news!” she declared. “Rafe writes to say that Julianna has had the baby, a girl, just as she had hoped.” She paused for a moment, a smile forming on her pretty lips. “The delivery went smoothly, much easier than the first, and both baby and mother are in fine health.”

  “That is wonderful,” Ethan agreed, taking up his knife and fork to cut a piece of the ham on his plate. “So what have they named her?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing as of yet, it would seem. They are still deciding and have narrowed the choices down to three.”

  “Well, so long as it is not Harriet, I shall have no complaint.” Underneath the table, Mouser rubbed against his trouser leg. Glancing down, Ethan met a pair of eager green feline eyes, the animal’s small, brick-pink nose and black whiskers twitching at the enticing aromas of ham and bacon. Cutting a tiny wedge of ham, Ethan dropped the meat onto the carpet and was quickly rewarded with a series of loud purrs.

  “What in the world is wrong with Harriet?” Lily questioned, setting the letter next to her plate.

  “Harriet is the name of a cousin who used to torment me as a child,” he explained. “Every time she paid a visit she would force me to wear some ridiculous cap she had embroidered. One year she stitched May flowers on the thing.” He rolled his eyes. “I ask you, is that any sort of present for an eight-year-old boy? The only saving grace was the fact that my brothers had to wear caps of their own.”

  A slow grin appeared as he remembered. “Arthur, in particular, hated it, since he said the hats ruined his dignity as the heir. Mother would never hear a word of argument though, making him, and the rest of us, wear those accursed caps so as not to abuse Cousin Harriet’s tender feelings. What about our tender feelings? Personally I think she sewed the blasted things just to watch us squirm.”

  “I am sure she did not,” Lily countered with a chuckle in her voice. “She likely spent a vast amount of time making the caps and was prodigiously proud of her efforts. My guess is she would have been devastated to think you did not like them.”

  “Oh, she knew. The old harridan enjoyed watching us suffer,” he finished, only half-teasing in his analysis.

  Lily raised her teacup to her mouth and covered a smile.

  A beseeching meow floated upward. After a slight pause, Ethan cut another smidgen of ham. Lily shot him a reproachful look. “You are only spoiling him, you know. If you keep that up, he’ll stop hunting mice altogether.”

  “And give up his favorite sport? Never. But you are right, Mouser is rather overindulged.”

  When she reached for the honey pot, Ethan used the distraction to slip the cat one last bite. Glancing up, he caught Lily watching.

  She shook her head, but made no comment about the infraction. “You know, I should love to have seen one of those caps.”

  Ethan cut the last of his ham in two and ate half. “Surprisingly enough you probably still can. I believe Mama has kept everything we children ever owned or wore. When Arthur and Frederick died, she had all their belongings stored, though for what possible purpose I do not know. A waste, if you ask me.”

  Reaching out, she covered his hand with her own and gave a comforting squeeze. “You miss them a great deal.”

  Her words were a statement and a sympathy shared. Why should they not be, since she understood the pain and emptiness of loss? Growing still, he laid his fork aside. “They were my brothers. Of course I miss them. Just as you miss your parents and your husband.”

  Her lashes swept down, a tiny frown marring the smooth line of her brow. “Of course.”

  Drawing her hand away, she paused for a moment before reapplying herself to her breakfast, nibbling on a small bite of bacon and a forkful of scrambled eggs that must surely have gone cold by now.

  Following suit, he ate the rest of his preserve-laden toast and waited while he chewed to see if she would make any further comment.

  She ate in near silence, flashing him a little half-smile before she reached out and lifted the teapot. Taking care, she refilled both of their cups.

  “You never talk about him,” he said, voicing aloud the thought that had been prodding him like a sore tooth over the last few weeks.

  The teapot wavered in her hand before she
placed the china safely inside its cozy. “Who?”

  “Your husband. If you think I mind you discussing him, you need not worry. I understand that he was a part of your life, just as my brothers were a part of mine. You may speak of him without fear of discomfiting me.”

  Her gaze lowered toward the tablecloth. At length, she picked up her teacup and took a long, contemplative swallow before setting the china onto its matching saucer with a faint tap.

  He tried to read her expression but could not, her features composed and uncharacteristically enigmatic.

  “Thank you, Ethan,” she murmured, “that is most kind of you.”

  He waited to see if she might open up at last, but she ate another bite of toast instead, then patted her napkin to her lips.

  A footman entered the room a minute later and at Lily’s signal, began to clear.

  Ethan considered questioning her further, suddenly needing to understand more about this man who figured so prominently in her life. Until recently, he’d been largely content to live without much discussion about either of their pasts, and yet the specter of her dead husband lay between them, the memory of him unspoken yet present nonetheless.

  He was familiar with the man’s name—John Smythe—and was aware Smythe had been an infantry officer who had lost his life in service to his country during the Battle of Vittoria. Beyond that, Ethan knew virtually nothing about his ghostly rival, not what he’d looked like, how tall he’d been, where he’d been raised, his likes and dislikes, nor how he’d come to meet and marry Lily.