The Mistress Memoirs

by Jillian Hunter

  He looked down at her face, no longer playing. “Keeping secrets incurs a heavy burden.”

  She bit her lip, backing away. “Disclosing a secret to a person who breaks your trust is worse.”

  “Sometimes a secret has to be exposed to lose its power. Sometimes it has to be shared. I know Brian is my son. And I know what happened to you in London.”

  She drew back, her eyes darkening in disbelief. “She told you,” she said softly. “She swore on her soul that no one would ever know. Well, that’s the end of it. I’m leaving this house tomorrow. I don’t care if I do end up on the streets. I won’t live with a thankless lot of traitors.”

  He caught her arm as she turned, the tears of shame and betrayal in her eyes more than he could bear. “Don’t blame her. I wanted the truth. She thought I ought to be told.”

  “I don’t blame her,” she said in a low furious voice. “I blame both of you. Georgette sleeps with married men when she is desperate for the money she spends like water to support her lifestyle. You overtake an entire house in the hope of finding honor. Do either of you care that others might suffer for your selfishness?”

  He shook his head. “I never realized until I came here that my obsession would put other innocent people at risk. But don’t be angry at Georgette. Forgive her.” He lifted his hand to catch the tear that slipped down her face. “Forgive me.”

  “I’m weary of whores,” she said in a flat voice.

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  She tossed her head. “And I’m even wearier of the men who create them and the helpless children they create in their sin. And I have nothing but contempt for men who lead women to believe they are loved when all they want is a whore.”

  “Are you weary of love?”

  “How would I know? It has never come to me.”

  “Perhaps it will. Kate, perhaps it has and you don’t realize it.”

  “Either way, it is not your business.”

  “I’ve already made it my business. You can’t leave Georgette because I forced her to explain your past to me. I needed to understand you.”

  “Why? So you can make me fall in love with you and then abandon me?”

  “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  “Go visit your widow.”

  “I don’t want her. I want you.”

  “Well, you can’t—”

  “And you want me.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, bent his head, and silenced her with a deep kiss. She gave a moan, her body limp against his. He slid his hand down her neck to her bottom, caressing her until her breathing slowed and he knew that she would give him another chance.

  She turned her head to the side. “One of us has to find the strength to stop this.”

  He buried his face in her neck. “It isn’t going to be me.”

  * * *

  It wouldn’t be Kate, either. His kiss laid open the deepest layer of her inhibitions and exposed the desires she had convinced herself did not exist. It was dangerous, yes, to give him the power to dominate her. Had he promised her anything? But did it really matter anymore? Ten years of not allowing a man to touch her. Ten years of believing she did not deserve anything but abuse.

  Just once, then, she would know.

  He breathed a sigh in her hair. “Do you hear voices in the hallway? Please tell me you don’t.”

  She turned to the door. “Oh, no. It’s Georgette with the squire and his wife. She never uses the library.”

  “Then why is she coming here tonight?” Colin asked tersely.

  “She wants to open a literary salon when she retires,” Kate whispered, her eyes wistful. “I think it’s a lovely ambition. I promised to help.”

  “Is there no place in this house where a man can woo a woman in private?” he asked in a disgruntled voice.

  “Hush. Don’t breathe a word.” Kate took his hand and drew him into the stuffy stairwell, squeezing around him to close the secret panel moments before Georgette and her company entered the library.

  “What do we do now?” he said, gazing up the stairs to the partially opened door at the top.

  “I suppose we sit and wait.”

  But that was easier said than done. The stairs were so narrow that she couldn’t sit comfortably unless she moved above or below him. Instead, she settled down at his side. She was tired and tempted to rest her head against his shoulder, close her eyes for a moment.

  “You’re built like a pillar,” she murmured.

  “Where does that door lead to at the top of the stairs?”

  “My bedchamber.”

  “Does Mason know?”

  “Yes. He bought the house because it was riddled with hidden escape routes that he can use in an emergency.”

  “Who does he need to escape from?”

  She hesitated. “You. He’s scared to death that you’re going to hunt him down like you did his father.”

  He didn’t deny it as she hoped he would. But he was considerate enough to change the subject. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach Troy before the walls collapsed.”

  “Did you enjoy the play?” she asked, slipping her hand inside his jacket.

  “All I watched was you.”

  They subsided into silence as laughter and the clinking of glasses drifted from the library. “How long do you think they’ll keep this up?” he whispered. “We can’t sit here forever.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder. “Georgette can entertain until breakfast. It’s not as if she has anything else to do.”

  “Breakfast? Good heavens. You’d better go to bed.”

  “That’s a good idea,” she whispered, easing out of his lap. “Come with me.”

  “What did you say?” His voice held an edge that stirred her nerves.

  “You could escape through my bedroom door and not be seen. Nan and the children won’t awake again tonight.”

  He stood; even in the dark his sensual intensity quickened her breathing. “If you take me to your room, I might not be able to leave. I’ve made it clear that I desire you.”

  She allowed her body to brush against his. Her night rail and robe provided little protection from the heat he radiated. He ran his hand down her back in a caress that electrified her senses. She had believed for years she would never experience a passion that wouldn’t shame her.

  She wanted to feel such passion now. To know pleasure in his arms. She wanted this man to show her what she had missed. She would grieve when he left. But it would be worth it. She would never meet anyone like him again. She could live on the memory of him for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  She had second thoughts as soon as they reached her room. Perhaps she wasn’t ready to take a risk, although for all practical purposes the world viewed her as an impure. Keeping her virtue intact mattered only to herself. Perhaps she ought to wait. But for whom?

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have encouraged him in the lodge, or in the library.

  Perhaps—she stole a look at him. He didn’t appear to be in any hurry to leave.

  He glanced around the room as she hurried about to tidy the stacks of books and papers heaped on her desk and bed and chairs. He came forward and wrestled a box of letters from her arms.

  “Love letters?” he asked, turning his head to read the note that sat on top.

  “Yes. To Georgette. Not to me.”

  “Has anyone ever sent you a love letter?”

  She smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

  “And you haven’t saved yours?”

  “Why would I? I’ve no intention of writing my memoirs based on a half dozen indecent offers.”

  “Good for you.” He placed the box on the floor beside her desk. “I’ve never understood why a woman hangs on to old letters.”

  “Perhaps it’s because when she grows old she can read them as proof that once she was desirable.”

  “Isn’t that what her husband should do?”

  She looked down at the floor, onl
y now spotting the kettle lid she had brandished as a shield during the play and beneath it the ivory silk dress that Etta had worn as the goddess Eris. “Look at that,” she said in reproach. “The children must have sneaked in here after the performance.” She bent in resignation to stow both items behind her dressing screen.

  “The children love you,” he said.

  She laughed, rising slowly. “It may not always show, but I love them, too.”

  “I think everyone in this house loves you,” he said. “And your love for them does show.”

  His implacable stare quickened her heart. “My room is usually not in such a shambles. I expect we’ll be finding props around the house for the next month.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be here that long,” he said, his mouth tightening at the corners.

  “Don’t say that. We have nowhere else to go, and Georgette hasn’t saved enough to even afford—”

  The muffled sounds of movement in the library below diverted her attention. “Oh, dear.”

  “What is that?” he asked, staring down at the floor.

  “Madam and her company have set up the card table. It’s going to be a long night, I’m afraid. What does she care? She can sleep all day if she likes.”

  “Well, I won’t be able to sleep worrying that Hay might return to the house.” An unfathomable expression settled on his face. “In fact, I don’t feel at all tired. Do you?”

  She nodded absently. “I’ve cleared a path to the door. You should be able to escape without tripping and alerting Georgette or her guests.”

  “I know that my presence in your room is unnerving you.” He sat down in a chair by the fire. “But unless you insist that I leave, I’m going to stay. And not fall asleep.”

  She shivered. The deep resonance of his voice proved irresistible to ignore. But then, he had not waited for an answer before he took off his jacket and vest and loosened his neckcloth in a leisurely manner. She swallowed, uncertain what she should do next. She had never entertained a man in her bedchamber. Perhaps she should have paid closer attention to how Georgette conducted her affairs. It was easier for Kate to write about an intimate act than to initiate one. Did he expect her to give him an invitation? He had never hesitated to admit his desires before.

  “Did you enjoy the play?” she said to fill the silence between them.

  He replied without a moment’s hesitation. “I hated it.”

  “You what?” she said, this disclosure enough to put all the other concerns from her mind.

  “Yes. I could not take my eyes from you. Nor could every other male sitting in the audience.”

  She frowned to cover the flustered pleasure she felt at this confession. “That isn’t true at all. Georgette was the attraction. No one noticed me for one moment onstage.”

  “Well, I did.” He twirled his neckcloth in his hands, the movement fascinating her. “Is the door to the hall locked?”

  She glanced up into his face, not calmed at all by his forbidding smile.

  “Yes.”

  “Then remove your robe.”

  “Why should I?” she asked softly.

  He sat back in the chair, his gaze dark, expectant. “Don’t make me wait too long or I’ll take it off you myself. It looks too pretty on you to risk it being torn. I am struggling to hold back my instincts, which I suspect you already know.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered, her throat tight.

  “Why not?”

  “The coals are too bright.”

  “You invited me here,” he said quietly. “What does it matter how bright the fire burns?”

  “I just can’t. It isn’t dark enough.”

  “Come here,” he said, the stern gentleness in his voice her undoing. “Stand in front of my chair and undress for me.”

  She fought back panic, shame, temptation.

  He beckoned her with his hand. “It gives a man pleasure to look at what he possesses.”

  She lowered her gaze. “Then you don’t understand.”

  “Do you desire me?”

  “You know that I do.”

  “Well, then, show me. Would you prefer that I go first?”

  He unbuttoned his shirt. She glanced up, intrigued, at his solid chest and the steel-hard plane of his stomach. He made as if to rise, his hand lifting to his waistband.

  “It’s different for a man,” she said, forcing her eyes to his. “I can’t even bear to look at myself in the mirror.”

  “I can’t bear to think that you have so little trust in me. But perhaps that is my fault. Can you give me the chance to prove that you have changed me?”

  She untied the sash at her waist and let the robe slither to her feet. Georgette’s voice whispered in her mind, “Do what pleases him, and then do a little more.”

  She reached up, one shoulder at a time, and untied the laces of her night rail. His eyes widened as the garment slipped slowly to the floor. The rasp of silk felt decadent against her bare skin. She had become unbearably sensitive, aware, under his intense scrutiny. Her heart raced in anticipation. Did her body displease him? She lifted her arms to cover her breasts, to hide the scars—

  “Don’t,” he said sharply. “You are the most perfect woman I have ever seen. Do you think me so shallow that those marks on your skin would matter to me? Or to most men, if you want the truth.”

  “It isn’t the marks,” she said. “It’s the memory of how I came by them. I doubt I would care if I’d been injured saving one of the children. I had done nothing to encourage him. I worked hard. And yet it was his word against mine, and no one would come to my defense. No one would believe me except Georgette. He threatened to send me to prison. He accused me of trying to seduce him.”

  His face hardened into a grim mask of resolve. “Then take my word. After tonight, no other man will debase you or make you doubt your worth without answering to me.”

  “I still wish she hadn’t told you.”

  “Why should you carry the shame for what a monster did? Why should you deprive yourself of passion because of one man’s perversion?”

  She lowered her arms. He couldn’t know how he affected her. She barely felt the fire burning at her back. But she could feel herself enshrouded in the sexual heat he exuded.

  Steam. Smoke. It rose like incense between them. She took a breath and let his warmth enfold her.

  “Colin,” she whispered, averting her eyes.

  She heard his boots hit the floor and looked up as he pulled off his shirt and finished unfastening his trousers. Her heart ached at the beauty of his body, his sculpted perfection. From his wide shoulders and narrow waist to the heavy organ between his thighs, he was a dominant male, and unabashedly determined to make her aware of the fact.

  His virility overpowered her in the most pleasant way. Never had she dreamed that she could revel in feeling defenseless, or so delicate that if he touched her she might dissolve. In fact, she thought she was melting by the moment.

  “Kate,” he said, moving toward her.

  He clasped her face in his hand and captured her mouth in a kiss that promised that his claim on her would be irrevocable. She shivered at the contact of his tall, muscular body against hers. He trailed his fingertips down the curve of her spine to her bottom.

  “I want all of you,” he whispered, his erection jutting against her belly. “I wanted you before I even knew how strong and giving you are. I was sure you were a temporary obsession, and I had to wait for it to pass.”

  “And?” she asked, enthralled by his admission as he led her by the hand to the bed.

  He pulled her down on top of him, his eyes heavy lidded and dark with unfettered desire. “And the more time I spent in your company and watched you fight for my son, the less I could deny that what I feel went far deeper than lust. By the way,” he added, tumbling her to her back, “your body is bliss. I apologize now for the pain you’ll feel tonight and perhaps in the days that follow.”

  “I might not break as easily as you se
em to think.”

  “You will if I don’t restrain myself the first few times.”

  “I want you, anyway,” she whispered. “I’ve decided, and don’t try to change my mind.”

  “Do you think I’m mad?”

  “I need you, Colin.”

  A devilish smile darkened his face. “Your body is begging for a master.”

  * * *

  Her warmth had penetrated his blood, his bones, his heart. It would be impossible to exorcise her. The only way he could survive was to bind her to him. She needed his protection. He needed her at his side to light the darkness he had made of his life.

  He rose up on his arm and deep-kissed her into a delirium. He took pleasure in her response—a quick intake of breath, the nipples of her full breasts darkening as she arched in helpless surrender. She wanted him to take her. Instead, he took his time.

  He brushed a kiss of possession against the blue-veined pulse that throbbed at the base of her throat. Her lips parted. He closed his eyes for a moment, his stones tightening at the thought of her sweet mouth sucking his cock. The demons of his desire fought to make him forget this was her initiation.

  How tempting to possess her all at once and sate his needs instead of allowing her a gentle deflowering. Slowly he drew his fingertips across the slopes of her breasts, circling each engorged nipple but not touching. He wanted to entice. Excite. Make her desperate one caress at a time.

  She stirred, her breathing unsteady. “Is this the pain that you warned me to expect?”

  “I have been in pain since the night you let me touch you in the lodge.”

  “That’s what you get for luring me there under false pretenses.”

  “I should be ashamed of myself.”

  She regarded his saturnine face in rue. “You might try to look repentant.”

  “Well, you’ve heard the saying ‘Passion cometh before penance.’”

  “I must have missed that pearl of wisdom.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said with a dark smile. “I’ve taken it as my duty to further that lapse in your education.”

  “How kind of you,” she whispered. “Perhaps in the course of our lessons, I might regather my wits and remember the insight Madam has shared with me over the years.”

  The devil on his shoulder could not let a virgin’s taunt go so unchallenged. “Theory is one thing, sweetheart. But it takes practice to perfect a skill. Unless one is gifted at birth with a talent.”