Mistress by Agreement

by Helen Brooks

  ‘What a place.’ He turned to her after a moment or two, his voice richly appreciative.

  ‘Gorgeous, isn’t it?’ They hadn’t said much on the way and it was a relief for some of the crackling tension to diffuse. ‘The back garden is just as beautiful. It’s full of hollyhocks and wallflowers and all the old-fashioned types of flowers. I’ve always thought of this place as a piece of heaven on earth. A very English heaven, of course,’ she added with a smile.

  ‘Wooden benches and a rose garden and arbours?’ he said smilingly. ‘I bet it has all those?’

  She nodded. ‘And rambling roses scaling old stone walls and apple and plum trees. It’s just perfect—to me, that is.’

  ‘It must be worth a small fortune,’ he said softly, glancing at the mullioned windows. ‘I didn’t realise lecturers were paid so well over here.’

  ‘They’re not. George’s father was something big in the city, a real wheeler and dealer, which is pretty amazing to think about when you meet George. He’s a dear but hardly of this world, such a genius in his own field he doesn’t know what day it is most of the time. Beth’s perfect for him; she’s more mother than wife. Anyway, as the only child he got everything when his parents died in a car accident just after he and Beth married, and so they decided to plough the lot into their own little piece of English heaven which is near enough the university for it not to be a huge problem. Of course that was over two decades ago now, and the price of property has gone crazy since then. As an investment it was pretty cute. I think George’s father would have been proud of him for once!’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ He turned fully to face her in the tight confines of the car as he reached out a hand and touched the shining silk of her hair, letting one finger trail down the smooth skin of her cheek. ‘Real peaches and cream,’ he murmured almost to himself, ‘and very English. And yet the French side is apparent too.’ Rosalie had told him during the wait at the hospital some weeks before that both her parents had died when she was young, but that was all, and now he asked, ‘Your parents? Was it an accident like George’s parents or something similar?’

  She answered the way the family had decided to handle it at the time of her father’s suicide. ‘My mother died of a brain haemorrhage, and my father felt he couldn’t go on without her…’

  ‘He took his own life?’ he said very quietly.

  She nodded, flushing slightly. She had never found it hard before to leave out the more pertinent facts that clothed the bare truth in quite a different garment, but now she felt uncomfortable. Therefore it was with a real sense of relief that she saw Beth at the front door beckoning them into the house. ‘Beth’s calling us.’

  She turned to open her door but he caught her hand for a second, saying quietly, ‘You’ve had a tough start in life one way or the other.’

  ‘People have worse.’ He was making her feel twice as guilty. ‘My grandparents were wonderful to me, and my mother’s two sisters spoilt me rotten. You might meet Jeanne—she normally calls round if she knows I’m here, like Beth does if I visit Jeanne. She lives quite close.’

  Why had she said that? It was too cosy. As if he were her boyfriend or something. She didn’t want him to meet her relatives, or know all about her. She pulled away from him now, cross with herself and everyone else. She had always been so careful to keep the opposite sex at a distance since Miles, even the harmless ones, and now she was in the most farcical situation and through no fault of her own. Beth might be one of the warmest and most hospitable creatures under the sun, but right at this moment she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate her aunt’s generosity.

  She hoped George and Kingsley would take an instant dislike to each other, and Kingsley would be bored stiff here. She always spent time with Beth when she visited, knowing how lonely her aunt got with the children gone and George ensconced in his study most of the time he wasn’t at the university, and she saw no reason to change things because Kingsley had engineered an invite. Perhaps he’d give up and leave early if things were too dull? He was used to the jet-set lifestyle, after all.

  ‘You’re frowning again.’ Kingsley had come round to the passenger door, opening it and helping her out, and now his voice was soft when he added, ‘Smile sweetly for Beth. We don’t want to upset your lovely aunt, do we?’

  She murmured a word that was rude enough to make him blink, and, encouraged at that small victory, stitched a smile on her face as she hobbled off towards the front door, cursing the plaster and the fact she couldn’t sweep elegantly in front of him.

  George and Kingsley did not take an instant dislike to each other at all. Kingsley displayed such an interest in the other man’s work that George was in danger of becoming positively effusive over pre-dinner cocktails, and Rosalie groaned inwardly as she contemplated her aunt’s gratified expression, for all the world like a satisfied mother whose brilliant child was being appreciated.

  ‘I’m just going to show Kingsley the garden.’ When she couldn’t stand it a minute more, Rosalie put down her cocktail and all but frogmarched him out through the open French doors and into the last of the spangled evening sunshine.

  ‘You don’t have to humour him quite so enthusiastically, you know,’ she said snappily once they were far enough away from the house not to be overheard.

  ‘I’m interested,’ he protested mildly, pulling her down onto a sun-warmed bench near an old tree providing a giant sculpture for sweet-smelling roses to ramble over. ‘Sit awhile and relax, you’re too tense,’ he added reprovingly. ‘You need to learn to chill out.’

  Chill out? Chill out? She might have got some very nice chilling-out time this weekend, but with Kingsley around relaxing was not an option. She’d never felt so edgy in all her life.

  A couple of blue tits were busy stocking up for the night from a nut feeder Beth had hanging from the tree, and Rosalie kept her gaze on the small birds, willing herself to calm down. She had a whole weekend to get through; she couldn’t afford to let him get to her like this.

  Nevertheless, she was painfully aware of him sitting next to her, one arm stretching along the back of the old wooden bench so that his body was inclined towards her. She had noticed the faint dark shadow of body hair under the blue shirt earlier, and now the delicious scent of him she had smelt once or twice before teased her nostrils, forcing her to acknowledge her heightened senses.

  Kingsley stretched out his long legs, his voice easy as he said, ‘This is great, isn’t it? You could believe the rest of the world didn’t exist here, it’s so peaceful.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought you were the sort of man who wanted peace.’ It slipped out and she regretted it immediately.

  ‘No?’ He bent closer, turning her face to him. ‘Why is that?’

  Rosalie flushed. ‘Just your reputation,’ she said after a moment. But she knew he would persist with this now.

  ‘Which is?’ He didn’t seem inclined to let go of her chin.

  ‘Work hard and play hard.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ She wasn’t quite sure what he saw, but then he said, ‘Amazingly I’m not a robot, Rosie. I get tired, I get sick on occasion, scratch me and I bleed, just like any other man.’

  She lowered her eyes; the intensity of his gaze was unnerving ‘I know that,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Of course I know that.’

  ‘I don’t think you do.’ He let go of her, and they continued to sit without speaking in the warm, scented air. Fat honey-bees buzzed busily among the profusion of flowers, paying special attention to the roses, and the evening was alive with bird song. Why had she never brought Miles here? Her hands were clasped too tightly together and she forced herself to relax her fingers one by one. Had it been because university life had been so frantic, so busy, their circle of friends so absorbing? Or because she had been frightened the cracks in their relationship, which had begun to appear shortly after the quick register office wedding, would have been apparent to Beth? That her aunt would have recognised the same spirit of tyranny and oppres
sion in Miles that had been in her sister’s husband?

  She shifted slightly on the seat, brushing a wisp of hair from her face. But at least her father had had some excuse for acting as he had, or not an excuse, exactly, she corrected herself, but a reason behind his actions that explained his obsessive peremptoriness with her mother. And he had loved her too, tortured and twisted as that love had become. Miles had been the original spoilt little rich kid, the adored and indulged only son whose every whim had been granted since birth.

  ‘You haven’t left him behind yet, have you?’ The voice at her side was very quiet, and as Rosalie’s eyes shot up to meet his Kingsley covered her hand with one of his own, refusing to let go of it when she tried to pull away. ‘He’s right here now, isn’t he?’ he said softly. ‘The silent spectre at our shoulders.’

  Rosalie’s stomach clenched. She looked away, her mouth unconsciously tightening. How come he could read her mind?

  ‘Do you still love him?’ Kingsley said evenly.

  ‘Love him?” It carried such distaste Kingsley couldn’t doubt her antipathy.

  So, he’d been barking up the wrong tree there. He knew a second of quick relief, before the question of what was wrong kicked in. ‘So you don’t still care for him. Why is he such a big deal in your life, then?’

  ‘I told you before, I don’t want to talk about Miles,’ she said shakily, her voice refusing to obey the command to be firm and cool. ‘I’m cold, let’s go in.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ he challenged softly, squeezing her hand as he spoke. ‘And I’m just trying to understand where you’re coming from, that’s all. I don’t want to drag up painful memories for the sake of it, but right from the first moment I met you there’s always been a silent third party present. I didn’t know what the problem was at first, but it’s him, the ex, isn’t it?’

  He felt the withdrawal even though she hadn’t moved a muscle and he knew he was right. He also knew he was getting in way over his head. This wasn’t the way he did things. He cursed himself for being a fool. He had done the love and commitment thing once and had been left with enough egg on his face to keep him in omelettes for the rest of his life.

  ‘You’ve no right to question me like this.’

  She was damn right, he hadn’t. ‘Yes, I have,’ he said grimly. ‘You’re here right now with me, not him, and I don’t like threesomes.’

  The control thing again. He couldn’t have said anything worse as far as she was concerned. They were all the same under the skin, the whole male race, apart from the occasional being from another planet like George. ‘I didn’t invite you to be here, remember?’ she bit back harshly.

  ‘Do you want me to leave?’ he asked grimly.

  Did she? It was a drenching shock to find out it was the last thing in all the world she wanted, and it caused her to say, her voice quivering despite all her efforts to control it, ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I want.’

  The world was motionless, and then with a low growl of irritation he took her into his arms. He kissed her over and over until her weak, fluttering protests faded, each kiss deeper and hungrier than the one before, and somehow she found herself lying on his lap with her hands clinging to his shoulders. And still he kissed her. His mouth was warm and wonderfully experienced and his arms were strong, the heat between them explosive.

  It was Beth’s voice calling from the house that eventually brought them apart, Rosalie blinking and staring at him with huge drugged eyes as he raised his head. ‘You don’t want me to leave,’ he whispered gently, his eyes so blue it hurt her to look into them. ‘Say it.’ He kissed the tip of her nose, a tender, curiously intimate caress. ‘Say it, Rosie.’

  She looked at him. ‘I don’t want you to leave.’

  ‘Good.’ As Beth’s voice called again he stood up with her, lowering her gently to her feet before reaching down and handing her the crutches. ‘That’s good, because I had no intention of going away.’ He grinned at her, purposely breaking the spell that their lovemaking had woven round them because they had to go into the house and pretend the world hadn’t suddenly tilted and changed direction. ‘And for the rest of the weekend we’re just going to enjoy being in each other’s company and have fun,’ he added softly. ‘Okay? No more questions, no more big debates.’

  She blinked again. He was like a human chameleon, changing his persona so swiftly and completely she couldn’t keep up with him, she thought helplessly.

  And as though he had read her mind, his smile faded. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ he said quietly. ‘We’re two adult people getting to know each other a little better and neither of us is hurting anyone else. What is wrong with that?’

  Put like that, nothing. But one of the adults was Kingsley Ward, which took this into a vastly different ball game.

  ‘Come on.’ As though he had suddenly tired of the situation Kingsley’s voice was brisk. ‘I’m starving. I hope Beth’s a good cook.’

  ‘She’s a brilliant cook.’ This was safer ground. ‘Three super-intelligent children and a near genius husband inspired her to excel in the thing she’s always had a gift for, and her meals are second to none. Even your friend, Glen, would have a hard job to compete. And she’s something of a wine boff too.’

  Kingsley smiled again, a very cat-with-the-cream smile. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy this weekend in more ways than one,’ he said softly. ‘Wine, woman and song.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that be wine, women and song?’ Rosalie said breathlessly, taking a second to stop and brush back the hair from her face as they walked to the house, her crutches proving a mixed blessing, as always.

  He let his eyes roam over the high, rounded breasts, slender waist and long, long legs, before lifting his gaze to the beautiful face with its curtain of shining chestnut hair. ‘Not from where I’m standing,’ he said gruffly.

  The meal was as delicious as Rosalie had promised, and, with the wine flowing as freely as the conversation, and even George cracking a couple of jokes and proving quite witty in Kingsley’s company, Rosalie found she was enjoying herself.

  Kingsley had a way with people, she thought towards the dessert stage of the dinner, watching Beth positively bask in his appreciative comments about the food, which had actually prompted George to take a break from Planet Antiquity long enough to give his wife a rare compliment. But then Miles had always been able to charm the birds out of the trees too.

  The thought was like a punch in the chest and she was angry with herself for letting Miles intrude into her thoughts once again. She hadn’t thought about him in a long time, and now it seemed he was at the back of her mind all the time, or, as Kingsley had said, a spectre at her shoulder. Was Kingsley like her ex?

  She surveyed him from across the table as he held Beth and George captivated with another of the many funny stories he’d related during the evening, the sting in the tail often being directed against himself.

  Certainly Miles hadn’t been able to laugh at himself, but then Kingsley was probably quite aware that it was a definite plus in winning people over, she thought, with no apology for the cynicism.

  Miles had been tall, dark and handsome—like Kingsley. Rich—like Kingsley. Possessed of the certain something that, along with wealth and power, proved to be an almost irresistible draw to the average female—like Kingsley.

  Miles had also been cruel and unreasonable, a harsh despot who hid his true nature under blindingly good looks and a winsome boyish manner. He had been the perfect man until they had got married, the catch of the university, and she’d known all her friends had been green with envy. Who would have believed that behind locked doors he could turn into a vicious, brutal sadist when crossed, a savage, and for something as trivial as his toast being burnt? The flat they had rented had become a place of terror, and it had got so she had only felt safe when she’d been at her lectures or out in a group with their friends.

  Why had she stuck it as long as she had? Probably because she’d believed marriage was
for life back then, and she had been desperate to make it work after what had happened to her parents. Every time he had hurt her she’d told herself she had to try that bit harder to be a better wife. It had to be her that was at fault, surely? Miles was perfect; everyone said so. And then had come the night of their graduation…

  ‘…don’t you think, Lee?’

  She came out of the horror to see Beth’s dining table and three pairs of eyes looking at her. ‘I’m sorry.’ She forced a smile. ‘Thinking about a problem at work.’

  ‘Not my job, I hope?’ Kingsley’s voice was easy, lazy, but the piercing blue of his eyes told her she hadn’t done quite such a good cover-up job as she’d have liked.

  ‘Yours is fine.’ She turned her gaze to Beth, who had been the one who had spoken her name. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘What were you saying?’

  The conversation progressed naturally from that point, but Rosalie was aware that, although he laughed and joked as before, Kingsley’s gaze was thoughtful when it rested on her.

  They didn’t reach the coffee and liqueur stage until just before midnight, and by then the conflicting emotions Rosalie had suffered since Kingsley had walked into her office had her aching for sleep. Fortunately Beth and George were normally in bed by ten, and once everyone had finished their coffee and brandy Beth made no bones about retiring.

  The four of them walked up the exquisite curved staircase the cottage sported together, and once on the landing Beth and George disappeared into the master suite after the customary goodnights, leaving Kingsley and Rosalie alone on the landing.

  ‘Goodnight, Rosie.’ He had bent his dark head and captured her mouth before she could react. Warmth spread through her, and then a rising passion, the blood rushing through her body like hot mulled wine. He had pulled her hard into him, kissing her with almost violent intensity before he suddenly let her go.

  Her legs were trembling as he held her away from him so she could stabilise herself, and he looked at her with hungry eyes. ‘There was a woman once, when I was twenty, and I got my fingers burnt badly,’ he said roughly. ‘Since then I’ve always been up-front about how I feel; no promises of for ever, no commitment beyond that whilst the affair lasts I’ll be faithful and I expect the lady to be. Honesty and loyalty, and no regrets, no recriminations. Not a bad philosophy, is it?’