The Mistress Memoirs

by Jillian Hunter

  “But—”

  Colin pulled out the chair that sat in front of an escritoire. “Then at least let her sit down. I have a feeling there will be more fires to put out before this conversation ends.”

  Chapter 7

  Colin forced his gaze away from the governess, who gave a world-weary sigh and turned her attention to the papers that covered the desk. Her expression indicated that this was not the first time she had been ordered to act as a buffer on Georgette’s behalf. Tonight was probably not the first time she had been kissed against her will in the line of service, either.

  He glanced around the room in distaste. Marie Antoinette might have envied Georgette’s taste for opulence. There was an excess of gilt ornamentation everywhere he looked—on the ceiling, the desk, the chaise, the finials sprouting from the arms of the Parisian sofa made of patterned gold brocade. The chairs and card table balanced on delicate spiral legs. The feminine gilded mirror on the wall encompassed only half his reflection. Through the door that opened onto the master bedroom, he saw an enormous bed draped in gold taffeta. The pale Chinese-silk panels on the walls added a peaceful counterpoint to a chamber that suggested sexual pleasure.

  He gave Georgette a droll smile. “You have come quite far from your cottage. I might appreciate the furnishings if Mason hadn’t killed my father for them. Although I’m grateful to know that you live in material comfort.”

  “Then why are you here to spoil it for me? Answer me, Colin. Why after all these years do you have to return?”

  “I told—”

  She raised her voice. He blinked. “Did you care that I had to dig myself out of a mire of disgrace to secure a marriage after you left? Did you care that my parents disowned me? Did you care that I gave—”

  “Madam,” Kate cautioned softly from her chair.

  His mouth firmed. “I was a thoughtless rogue. I admit it. I will make amends if you allow me.”

  “Why didn’t you write?” Georgette demanded. “If Mason is such a dangerous person, why didn’t you warn me before?”

  He walked a circle around her. “You aren’t listening. I didn’t know myself until two months ago when his father confessed on his deathbed in Ireland that Mason was the man I sought. Haven’t your instincts ever suggested he is not what he pretends to be?”

  “If I were a woman who could trust her instincts, I would never have slept with you.”

  “And you are wrong,” he said. “I did write to you before I left England. Perhaps my letter never reached you. My mother wrote me once or twice. She said you were happily married to old Lawrence Lawson and expecting his child. I interpreted from that news that you had gotten over me and would be cared for. Was my mother wrong?”

  “No,” Georgette said after a long pause. “She was telling the truth. But I only married Lawrence because—”

  “Oh, no!” the governess cried in chagrin. “We haven’t paid the dressmaker this month.”

  He stopped pacing. He glanced at the figure at the desk. Except for a pinched frown on her broad forehead, she appeared completely detached from the situation. But then—had the governess said something about Georgette’s memoirs? Perhaps she’d heard it all by now. She had certainly regained her composure in the garden quickly enough. Any other woman would have gone into hysterics.

  She looked up at him without warning, and he remembered how that sulky mouth had felt when he had robbed it of a kiss. He half smiled. Considering the coolness of Georgette’s reception, it might have been a blessing that he had kissed her companion by mistake.

  Georgette’s voice interrupted his reverie. “I think you ought to sit down yourself, Colin. I must say, you look rough around the edges.”

  He felt it, too; anger and frustration had taken a toll on the devil-may-care boy she had once loved. And while it was true that Georgette was as beautiful as ever, she’d always had a temper, and he had wronged her. He didn’t blame her for resenting him. Or for becoming a courtesan. He might have done the same thing in her place.

  “For months after you left,” she said unexpectedly, “I had dreams of killing you.”

  “Yours was not a good marriage?” he inquired in a careful voice.

  Georgette stared at him. “Mr. Lawson lived long enough to saddle me with three children and a string of debts that could stretch from this village to London.”

  “That is unfortunate,” he said.

  “My life is defined by misfortune,” she said without any self-pity in her voice. “My father, the old bugger, died one month after you left, and shortly after, my mother fell ill. I cared for her until she went to the grave. I’m a whore, Colin. Isn’t that why you pursued me in the first place? I was an easy conquest.”

  “You weren’t a whore when I knew you. Georgette, I am sorry. I had no crystal ball to foresee our future.”

  He took a breath. From the corner of his eye he saw the governess lift her hand to her face. Then he thought—no, he was sure he could hear footsteps outside the door, and the excited whispering of young voices.

  “Do you have mice in the manor,” he asked, “or do I hear children in the hall?”

  The governess surged from her chair, papers scattering in every direction. “Madam, may I take my leave? As it is obvious that you and Sir Colin are not going to resolve your conflict tonight, I suggest I have a room prepared for him. No matter what stands between you, he was put through an enormous trial in the garden.”

  Georgette laid a hand upon her flawless bosom. “Yes. You are right as usual, Kate.”

  Kate bobbed both Colin and Georgette a halfhearted curtsy, so clearly glad to escape that Colin could have laughed.

  “Kate.” Georgette’s voice intercepted her before she reached the door. “Come back for our guest after his bedchamber is ready.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “And make sure there are no mice in the halls tonight.”

  * * *

  Kate curtsied, not waiting for Georgette to change her mind. She had already been on the receiving end tonight of Sir Colin’s masterful personality as well as the hatred of a half dozen men. She needed a little time to recover her wits.

  He moved past her and opened the door, a courtesy she might have respected if he hadn’t given her a heart-stopping smile at the same time.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But of course.”

  She edged past him only to smother a gasp as she spotted the tall boy standing in the hall, his two half siblings hiding in his shadow.

  “Brian!” she said under her breath.

  He stared past her to the door, which Sir Colin had closed. “Are you all right, miss?” the boy asked anxiously.

  Kate’s heart tightened. Heaven help the child. He looked the mirror image of his father. How could Georgette hope to hide the fact from Colin? As Brian had matured, his hard cheekbones, his chin, and above all his eyes of bewitching blue had begun to dominate his face. Georgette might be the worst mother in the world, but nevertheless she adored her children.

  Still, most rakes avoided acknowledging their illegitimate offspring until goaded by conscience or a court judgment. Perhaps Colin wouldn’t want to claim his son. Perhaps he enjoyed his reckless life too much to take any responsibility. At least Georgette had been married at Brian’s birth, giving the boy the benefit of a last name.

  “Three mice, indeed,” she said, wrapping her arms around her charges and guiding them to the stairs that led to the uppermost floor. “All eavesdroppers are to be imprisoned until dawn. What on earth have you done to Nan?”

  Charlie clung to her. “She drank Etta’s tonic, miss, and her snoring is keeping us awake something awful.”

  “Why is that man in my mother’s room?” Brian asked, slipping out of her grasp. “Who is he? Why did he fight to help us?”

  “He’s a visitor. It’s nothing to do with us.”

  “A visitor?” he said dubiously. “Another one already? But I thought that Mr. Earling—”

  “Come along,
Brian. He isn’t that sort of visitor.” And if he was, Kate did not want to know about it.

  The four of them walked toward the staircase, Brian clearly not believing her. “Then what sort of visitor is he? Do you think my mother will ask him to stay?” He drew back, balking at the stairs leading to the nursery. “I’m too old to sleep in there with that crabby old woman and the babies.”

  “Don’t be disrespectful. You adored Nan until a year ago. You also liked the nursery because it overlooks the stables.”

  “What if there’s another fight?”

  “There can’t be. My nerves will unravel. I—”

  She turned her head, as did the three children, diverted by the clash of raised voices coming from the main suite. In reality, it was Georgette who sounded like a raging gorgon. Obviously Sir Colin had made another remark that had set her off.

  “Told you there’d be another fight,” Brian said with a smug grin. “You’ll have to enter the ring again, miss. No one else can soothe her temper like you do.”

  Kate hesitated, uncertain what to do as three pairs of innocent eyes lifted to hers. But then Georgette started to shout again, and Kate’s sense of responsibility returned. These children had already suffered too much upheaval. “Upstairs! You can sleep in my room tonight, but no quarreling.”

  Brian scowled. “I’d rather sleep in a horse stall.”

  “I’d rather listen to Mama shouting,” eight-year-old Etta said, sticking her nose through the railing.

  Kate pursed her lips. “I’ve a feeling you might have a chance of that tomorrow.”

  After ten years it amazed Kate that life had not depleted her employer of passion. However, this wasn’t an ordinary argument. And Georgette’s opponent was no ordinary man.

  Chapter 8

  Kate had gotten the children settled in her bed, Brian choosing the couch by the window, when she remembered her promise to Georgette. She hurried back downstairs to the floor below and made a quick inspection of the stranger’s suite. To her relief the chambermaids had recently aired out the rooms and changed the bedding.

  She was even more relieved to find Georgette and Sir Colin awaiting her return in a subdued mood.

  “Sir,” she said, standing in the door with a candle in a brass holder, “are you ready to retire for the night?”

  “Yes.”

  Georgette flashed her a look as he rose. “Come back to me when he is settled, Kate.”

  She sighed inwardly as she left the room, Sir Colin following a little too closely for her liking. There would be no peace at all tonight. “Follow me please, sir. Your room is at the end of the hall.”

  She was so startled as his arm reached around hers that she missed a step. “Would you like me to hold the candle and lead the way?” he asked.

  His voice sounded deeper now in the darkness than it had in the garden. It was also far more polite, despite an undercurrent of amusement. “I walk up and down this hall countless times every day. Why would I need you to lead the way?”

  He gave her an innocent look. “I wouldn’t want any of those mice to scurry past and frighten you.”

  She looked up at him as he took the candle from her hand. The contact of his long fingers against hers threw her into a brief panic. He smiled faintly. No doubt he understood the effect of his touch.

  “It isn’t that I distrust your sense of direction,” he said. “I happen to be a man who needs to be in control at all times.”

  The candlelight flickered across the chiseled angles of his face as if paying homage to his indecent appeal. She leaned back against the railing as his large body brushed around her. “It’s the second to the last room on the right,” she said, still undecided whether he was purely arrogant or a little off in the head. Perhaps it had been for the best that he and Georgette had never married. He appeared to act as tinder to her flint. If tonight were any indication of their compatibility, the pair of them would never have survived their honeymoon. And yet they had produced a beautiful son who it seemed had inherited his rebellious streak from both sides of his family.

  Sir Colin found the room without any difficulty. Kate remained in the doorway as he placed the candle on one of the branches of the shaving stand. He threw his black coat on the bed and shrugged off his vest.

  She caught an impression of wide shoulders and a lithe body before she looked away. She retreated into the hall as he began to unbutton his shirt.

  “I’ll have one of the servants come up to bring you fresh water. And—” A bright stain on the right shoulder of his shirt drew her notice. “That’s blood, isn’t it? That’s where that arrow must have struck you. All this time you’ve been arguing and raising a fuss when you’re bleeding and don’t even know it. I can’t believe you didn’t mention it! Is it your hope to become a martyr? Sit down on the bed this instant.” Which to her surprise he did.

  “It’s nothing,” he said.

  “Do you think I want to chance finding a dead body in this room tomorrow?”

  She went straight to the bed before he could reply, caution dispensed by concern. Georgette always said Kate lived for life’s emergencies, to which Kate usually responded, “Yes, and it’s a good thing, too, because you cause quite a few and turn quite helpless in a crisis.”

  He lifted his brow as she leaned over the bed.

  “Do take care,” he said in a low voice. “I liked kissing you tonight, and a wounded beast is always dangerous, even to those who offer help. If, indeed, I develop blood poisoning, I might not be responsible for my delirious actions.”

  “Were you delirious when you kissed me in the garden?” She forced herself to meet his gaze, but at a cost. He stared at her with unmasked interest, with impertinence, and while she realized that he had rescued her not two hours before, this was an entirely different predicament.

  He released a deep sigh. “I cannot return to my family to confess I’ve spent thirteen years away from home and have nothing to show for it. Is it wrong that I crave the presence of a sweet woman to ease my worries before continuing the battle I’ve anticipated practically half my life?”

  “I am neither your judge nor jury. Nor am I what your society would consider a ‘sweet woman.’ I might be a little tart, although not in the sense you desire. I have my own battles to fight.”

  “Alone?” he asked in curiosity.

  “Do I need protection against you?” she said impatiently.

  “I haven’t decided yet.” He scowled. “Of course not.”

  She narrowed her eyes to examine what she could see of his shoulder through his shirt. “It’s a deeper wound than I thought. It must hurt.” She laid the back of her hand across his forehead. “You’re warm.”

  He hooked his finger in her bodice, his mouth taut with either pain or passion; she couldn’t say which. She had to strain to hear the words he whispered, “Would you deny me a simple request in the event I do not survive the night?”

  “Sir,” she said softly, “if you do not remove your finger from my person, I guarantee that you will not survive the next hour.”

  “And who will I have to thank for my demise?”

  “His name is Lovitt. He is our groom and he—”

  “Swings a nice shovel. Sorry. You’d need another three of him to knock me out.” His blue eyes glistened at her. “Perhaps I do have a fever.”

  She plucked his finger from her bodice.

  “I will bring salve for your shoulder,” she said, straightening her back.

  “I don’t need that type of healing,” he said bluntly.

  “I don’t think you’re in any condition to know what you need.”

  His gaze traveled over her. “Your company would make me feel better than any salve.”

  She frowned at him. “Stop making remarks to provoke me.”

  He leaned back on the bed, watching her closely. “Can your company be bought?”

  “I am Mrs. Lawson’s companion,” she said, “and other than that I am not nor have I any desire to put mys
elf on the market. You asked me as much in the garden. Do I sound as if I would be good company tonight?”

  “I don’t care what you sound like, darling. I wasn’t asking for a philosophical conversation. You wouldn’t have to utter a word.”

  “Well, I will. And the word is ‘no.’”

  She could feel his disconcerting stare as she cast a final glance around the room before she escaped. “You can’t blame a man for trying,” he said. “I’ll do my best to behave myself during the rest of my stay. And quite honestly, I was only curious.”

  “Your stay?” She bumped against the night table. The candle flame wavered. “How long do you intend to be here?”

  “It’s my plan to wait until Mason returns. I’m tired of chasing the truth. Let him come to me.”

  “That could be weeks,” she said faintly, jumping back as he swung his legs over the bed. “What are you doing now?” she asked, her body tightening in apprehension.

  He hovered over her, shaking his head. “I was merely getting up to open the door for you again.”

  She felt blood rush to her face. “Sir, I’m only a companion and governess. To most gentlemen I am invisible.”

  “I doubt that. I’m having the devil’s time ignoring you.”

  She stared at him, her mouth compressed.

  “That was a compliment,” he added. “It’s all right for you to accept it.”

  Her eyes moved to the bloodstain spreading across his linen shirt. “That needs to be cleaned.”

  “I’ll do it before bed. I do not advise you to touch me again.” He glanced over her with a frown. “Perhaps you should have someone attend your needs.”

  “My what?”

  “Your gown.” He inclined his dark head. “Your dress is in a disgraceful state. I assume you didn’t sneak out to meet your lover looking like that.”

  “My lover? Who are you talking about? I don’t have a lover.”

  “You look as if you could use one.”

  She followed his gaze to her formerly unflawed pale silk skirt. A swag of shorn lace dangled between the muddied heels of her shoes. “Oh,” she said with a groan. “It must have been the rose brambles. It’s ruined.”