The Mistress Memoirs

by Jillian Hunter

  “You and whoever he was should be grateful that you emerged from tonight’s assault with only a torn skirt to show for it.”

  “I am grateful.”

  “Perhaps you should leave now,” he said, looking down into her face. “If you don’t, I might ask you to show me how grateful you are.”

  She drew a breath to break the spell that bound her. Of all the men Georgette had entertained, Sir Colin appeared the most confident of his sexuality. Kate doubted he received many refusals. In a way she held the advantage—she knew details of his past desires from working on Georgette’s memoirs.

  At the time, transcribing their love affair had seemed academic. Now she was tempted to return to her room and review what Georgette had made her write about him. It appeared that his allure had only grown stronger over the years.

  “Go,” he said. “Run. Flee while you have the chance. I’m impressed by the way you put me in my place. Not that I will stay there, mind you.”

  “For tonight I’ll be satisfied if you simply stay in bed.”

  Chapter 9

  Kate walked in dread down the hall to Georgette’s room, where she found her employer and a wide-awake Nan, evidently summoned from the nursery, waiting for her.

  In fact, Georgette looked animated, but then, she was trying on her rings and tiaras, and jewelry tended to lift her mood. “What do you think of him, Kate?” she said before she had even closed the door.

  Kate crossed her arms. “How long will he be here? How do I explain him to the children? And what if Mr. Earling comes home earlier than expected? There will be a duel.”

  Georgette swiveled around on her stool. “What if he’s utterly mad? What if his story is untrue?” She dropped an emerald ring into her jewel casket. “Mason cringes when he steps on a spider. He hates to kill anything. And how do we know that Nathan Earling was in his right mind when he admitted that Mason had poisoned the viscount?”

  “But what if his story is true?” Nan inquired.

  “Where are the witnesses? Where is the proof?” Georgette turned her head to the desk at which Kate had seated herself, leafing through a sheaf of papers. “What do you make of him, Kate?”

  She glanced up guiltily. “He’s exactly as you described him.”

  Georgette frowned. “Do you think he’s cracked?”

  “Do you?” Kate asked, determined to remain neutral.

  “For years he was convinced that Nathan Earling killed his father.” She poured out her nightly cordial as she spoke. “Now all of a sudden he’s convinced that he was pursuing the wrong man. You have to present some proof before you hunt a man to the ends of the earth to accuse him of a crime.”

  “I know someone who might shed some light on the shadows,” Nan said, reaching for her cane. “Griswold, Mr. Earling’s footman. He worked for old Mr. Earling and I believe was in service at the time of the viscount’s death.”

  “Oh.” Georgette made a face. “Griswold can hardly be expected to remember something that happened thirteen years ago when it’s all he can do to find the carriage. Don’t you agree, Kate?”

  Kate frowned. “I don’t have an opinion yet.”

  “What is wrong with you? Did something happen to you in the garden that you forgot to mention? Did anyone hurt you?”

  Kate’s eyes misted over. There were times when Georgette was such a dunce that Kate was tempted to give notice. “I’m fine,” she said. “I got smoke in my eyes and it still stings.”

  “Maybe Colin will have changed his mind by tomorrow and will leave us alone,” Georgette said hopefully. “We didn’t exactly roll out the carpet and give him his own set of keys.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Except—is it possible that he isn’t mad? What if everything he said is true?”

  Georgette’s face darkened. “Has he already won you over?”

  “On the contrary. He was rather ill-mannered earlier in the night. But then, it wasn’t the sort of dilemma that brings out the best in a gentleman.”

  “It’s difficult to remember social niceties when flaming arrows are going over your head,” Nan agreed. “Some gentlemen would not have stood and fought.”

  “How would you know?” Georgette asked in a gentle reproach as she rose to help Nan to the door.

  “I was an actress once. We used bows and arrows onstage for many a play. I’ll never forget the time I shot mine into the air and straight through the Earl of Wetherby’s tall black hat.”

  Kate laughed reluctantly. “I’d love to have seen that. You must have brought down the house.”

  “I brought down the earl,” Nan said with an unremorseful grin. “When he realized I’d taken off his wig, he fainted in embarrassment. The audience loved me for that. They wanted to see the same act over and over. I had to take archery lessons so I wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  Kate got up and opened the door to walk Nan up the top flight of stairs to the nursery. Georgette hung back, impulsively kissing first Kate and then Nan on the cheek. “That’s what we need in this house—a good laugh. When is your new play making its debut, Kate? I’ve been studying my role.”

  Which consisted of only four or five lines, the most Georgette could memorize, although even then she’d forget and would inevitably end up improvising her role. But that was part of the fun. The audience reveled in an act gone wrong. And since this particular audience would consist of a small but elite class of freethinkers who welcomed the controversy that Georgette had brought to their boring parish, it wouldn’t matter what she did on stage. It was enough to be able to brag that one had been invited to a courtesan’s performance. Georgette might not have bookish skills, but she could enchant an audience with her unaffected charm.

  “I know my lines,” Nan boasted.

  “Perhaps you’ll bring down the house again,” Kate said, brightening at the thought of the amateur theatricals she adored writing. She wanted to slip back into her safe world and take those she loved with her. “We have a little over a fortnight before it opens,” she added. “I hope our neighbors won’t be afraid to attend in light of what happened tonight.”

  “Those who are our true friends will come,” Georgette predicted. “Who can resist a comedy?”

  Kate gave her a look. “Except that this play is based on a tragedy. Good heavens. Didn’t you read your part? There’s even an epic battle scene to be fought onstage. I wrote it to invoke a melancholy mood.”

  “All the more reason it will be a comedic delight,” Georgette said, winking at Nan.

  They moved as one into the hall, Georgette describing her costume to Nan, and Nan pretending to listen until they passed the stranger’s room. A wedge of candlelight shone beneath the door.

  Georgette paused. “I shall insist he leave in the morning,” she said in a soft voice. “His claim is ridiculous, isn’t it, Nan? The viscount’s heart could have given out. Why would Mason poison the man who was about to become his father’s partner?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Nan said. “Young Earling was always competing against that handsome boy in village sports. He never won. It was no secret that he considered Boscastle to be his rival.”

  “Yes,” Georgette said, “but that was over me. It would have made more sense for Mason to poison Colin if he wanted a clear field to engage my affections.”

  Nan gave a quiet laugh.

  “Perhaps he tried. Perhaps Sir Colin was too strong to die after a dose or two. Ask Griswold if you’re brave enough to face the truth. He might remember what happened.”

  Chapter 10

  Colin pinched out the candle and rose to look through the window at the peaceful garden. A sliver of moon illuminated the main parterre. Shadows enveloped the swathe of turf and trees that grew against the wall.

  It was easy to mistake one person for another in those places of eclipse. From a distance one might take Georgette and Miss Walcott for sisters. In the candlelight, however, they did not compare. Georgette was still beautiful and hot tempered. She had a practical side.
Her companion—well, she was a complete surprise. A mystery.

  He regretted his mistake perhaps more than she did. The scent and taste and feel of her had infiltrated his awareness. He would be tortured by temptation unless he could persuade her to his point of view. He thought he had a chance.

  Had he imagined that during their kiss tonight there had been a moment when he felt her capitulate, sub-

  mit if not invite? His instincts had prepared for her surrender . . . and warned him of her innocence.

  He turned from the window, disturbed by a hesitant rap at the door. She hadn’t shown the least interest in sharing his bed; in fact, all Colin had sensed in her was a panic that had doused his passion more effectively than anything she could have said.

  Still, as he went to answer the door, he allowed himself a little hope. If she had returned to tend his shoulder, he would prove that he could behave when it was necessary. He could apologize again.

  He opened the door. Before him stood an elderly footman, staring off at something down the hall. He held a bowl of hot water, a poultice, and clean towels on a tray. Colin waited for the man to realize he was waiting in the doorway. After a long interval in which he decided they might be standing there until the cows came home, he cleared his throat and said, “Did you knock, my good fellow?”

  “Sir, my apologies. I don’t know where my mind went. Miss Walcott wished me to—” He turned his head. He blinked at Colin and shrank back a step. “You, sir,” he said, shaking his balding head. “It can’t be you.”

  “Why can’t it be me?” Colin asked, reaching for the tray.

  “Because . . . because”—the tray listed in Colin’s direction, water sloshing onto the towels—“you’re dead, sir. I’m ever so sorry. I must not drink at night. I only seem to see these apparitions when I’m in my cups.”

  “To see what?” Colin said in irritation as the hot water started to drip on his trousers.

  “Dear, dear God. I never thought— It can’t be. It is impossible—” What was impossible Colin could only guess. So overcome by whatever irrational conviction had gripped his imagination, the footman appeared to forget the tray in his hands. It swayed. And then it slipped from his unsteady hold.

  Colin reached out reflexively before the tray fell to the floor.

  “What the deuce is wrong with you?” he demanded.

  The footman retreated, mumbling an apology, and took off down the hall. Colin shook his head, closed the door with his foot, and took the tray to the dressing table. He sat, unbuttoning his shirt, and glowered at his reflection in the mirror. He was in dire need of a shave, he could take a comb to his hair, but other than that he didn’t see anything of the supernatural about his appearance.

  “What is it about me?” he muttered. “Do I have the mark of the beast on my forehead? Is it my breath?”

  He had not anticipated a rousing welcome from Georgette tonight. He understood that his arrival disrupted the life she had struggled to make. The governess distrusted him, and she too had just cause.

  But what had sent that old footman into a frenzy? Why had he taken one look at Colin’s face and acted like a man confronted with a ghost? Had they ever met? That long, sallow face did seem vaguely familiar.

  He slept more deeply than he had in months. For now he managed to put from his mind the fact that he had taken shelter under his enemy’s roof. His shoulder throbbed, but even that discomfort did not awaken him. He needed a few hours’ rest.

  The time would soon come when he could not risk lowering his guard. It was unfortunate that he had no defense against his dreams or against the woman who broke the barrier of his control.

  He felt her warmth, the softness of her breasts against his forearm as she bent over him. A gentle hand touched his forehead. Her low voice taunted and yet brought comfort.

  “No fever, thank God. All I need is to have an ill mischief-maker on my hands. Who else would take care of him, I ask? Who else is stupid enough to pity a scoundrel?”

  The rustle of the sheet pulled down off his injured shoulder wrenched him into wakeful awareness. He opened his eyes to see a dark figure standing over him.

  “Stay,” he said hoarsely.

  “I can’t stay,” she whispered in vexation.

  He sat up. “Then why are you here again? Is this your revenge because I kissed you?”

  “I wanted to make sure that your shoulder wasn’t infected. I sent Griswold up to take a look and poultice you, but apparently you gave him the fright of his life. I realize that you are accustomed to having your own way, but does that mean you have to upset everyone in the house?”

  He frowned. “I didn’t do a blasted thing to the man. I behaved toward him with the same civility I am showing you.”

  She shook her head. “Well, if you invited him to keep you company during the night, I’m surprised he didn’t hit you with the tray.”

  “I beg your pardon. I didn’t get out two words before he went off about his drunken apparitions.”

  It was obvious from her skeptical expression that nothing he could say would convince her. She said, “Griswold is one of the most dependable servants I have ever known, and I have known him for years.”

  “Griswold?” The name did seem familiar, but in all honesty Colin didn’t give a damn about an emotional footman, except that the longer he kept this conversation going, the longer Kate would stay. “All I did was open the door, and the man went to pieces. He looked at me and dropped his tray. I’ve no idea why. Do you?”

  “None of us have the wits to interrogate him at this hour. Besides, he’s foxed again. All I know is that our butler had to put him to bed.”

  “You still don’t believe me.”

  “Maybe the blood on your shirt frightened him,” she speculated. “How does your shoulder feel?”

  “I’m in absolute agony. I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep now.”

  She drew herself upright with a sigh. “I might not, either. Etta’s cough is worse.”

  “I thought I warned you that you enter this room at your own risk.”

  She edged to the bottom of the bed. “And I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was,” he said moodily. “And my shoulder is fine. The fuss you’re making is unnecessary.”

  She regarded him uncertainly. “The arrow you took could just as well have struck me as you, and if it had, I wouldn’t be in pleasant mood, either. Everyone is grateful that you intervened when you did.”

  “Someone had to do something,” he said. “Your lover was all but useless.”

  “My— What are you talking about?”

  “The one who cowered in the roses at the first sign of trouble.”

  “You told me to hide him!” she exclaimed. “I’ll have you know he took a chance coming here ahead of those hatemongers.”

  “Well, I’ll have you know that if he had any guts, he would have made sure you were hidden and then come out fighting. The twit seemed more concerned about the tear in his pants.”

  She drew back in chagrin. “There’s brandy on the corner table if you need it. Thank you again for your courage. Sweet dreams, sir. Let us hope the morning finds you in a finer temper.”

  He laid his head back on the pillow, watched her flit across the room in the dark. She paused at the door to curtsy, gone before he could confess that he needed more than brandy or that he might have enjoyed nothing else but her company. A quick wit. A gentle touch. He might have refrained from baiting her if he hadn’t sensed that she could give as good as she got.

  She had wished him sweet dreams. Not quite yet. He had a few matters to attend to before he could rest again.

  Still, the woman had made sure that if he managed to catch even another hour of sleep tonight, his dreams would be more sensual than sweet.

  * * *

  He waited for twenty minutes after she had sneaked into the room to check his shoulder. He sat up in bed and stared around the unfamiliar room. She would be relieved that she wouldn’t
have to dispose of a dead body before breakfast. He was relieved to have survived the night himself.

  Doubtless she would chide him if she discovered that he intended to wash, dress, and take a walk around the estate and through the woods before the sun rose. At first light he would visit her mistress to explain what course of action he had decided on during his night of broken sleep and second thoughts.

  He passed through the gardens, and all was quiet. He left the estate by walking around to the stables, an area vulnerable to attack unless someone stood watch. He was both relieved and concerned that no one noticed his departure.

  It took longer to walk to the smithy than he had allowed for, and his thoughts wandered. He’d been gone from England for an eternity; the rustle of a hedgehog, the flutter of moths through the wild honeysuckle that smothered the stone-walled lanes brought back a painful rush of memories.

  He allowed his thoughts to wander back to his family.

  He ached for what he’d abandoned. He hadn’t realized until three years after leaving home that his mother had remarried. Only his youngest sibling, Gabriel, had stayed with her. Colin’s eldest brother, Damien, the heir, had entered military service in Nepal before their father died. Sebastien, Colin’s second-youngest brother, had done his utmost to emulate Colin’s wicked deeds.

  Colin had adored the beasts and recalled their earliest years with rueful affection. He wasn’t proud of the fact, but he had taught Sebastien everything a young boy needed to know to survive.

  One death had splintered the family.

  Honor had fallen to Colin’s shoulders; he believed to this day his father had been murdered by a man of high ambition. Nathan Earling had resented Joshua Boscastle for excluding him from Joshua’s original foreign ventures. The night he was poisoned, Colin’s father had planned to propose a partnership with Earling as a conciliatory venture.

  Colin knew because he had been escaping through the conservatory to meet Georgette before his parents could stop him. It was to be the last time he saw his father alive.