Rules for Being a Mistress

by Tamara Lejeune

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “Castle Argent?”

  She nodded. “You must give me your word never to sell it when you are my husband.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And my mother and my sister are my concern,” she went on. “I will make all decisions regarding them, and you will not interfere.”

  Benedict was beginning to see the simple beauty of the plan. “Your sister, Allegra,” he clarified. “Your other sister would be my concern, and my responsibility.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You’ll need money, as well, of course,” he said. “If you won’t sell Castle Argent, you must have money for its upkeep. I understand there’s no income from the property.”

  “I’ll trust you to be generous.”

  He hesitated. “There is one thing you might not have considered,” he murmured to her. “I will need a son and heir. As my wife—”

  She laughed lightly. “Think again! Did you imagine you’d be taking the pair of us to bed with you? That won’t be possible, I’m sorry to say.”

  He actually blushed. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Of course not,” she said dryly. “I’d be willing to raise her children as my own. Sure, won’t they look like me anyway? My little nieces and nephews.”

  He thought about it. “You would really do all this? Does Castle Argent mean so much to you?” He frowned, puzzled. “Is that why you refused Lord Redfylde? Because you feared he would sell your house?”

  “I refused him because I don’t love him. As you know, I’m cold and heartless. Are we agreed, then? You’ll marry me, and live happily ever after, with her?”

  “I will have to think about it,” he said.

  She frowned. “What is there to think about?” she said sharply.

  “I will have to speak with—with Cherry, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Miss Vaughn.

  Chapter 18

  Miss Cherry was late in arriving, but, as always, her lover was happy to see her.

  “Good evening, Miss Cherry,” he said, setting aside his book as she took off her hat and tossed it onto the sofa. “We need to talk.”

  “Hush!” she commanded.

  Kneeling before him, she placed her palms on his thighs. The submissive posture aroused him instantly, but he wished that she was not dressed as a man. “I have been thinking about you all day, Ben,” she said, her voice unsteady, her green eyes wide with longing. “I want to do it. I want to do it now. I want to do all the dirty things you like,” she said, sliding her hands underneath his nightshirt, along his hairy thighs. “I can’t bear the thought of some other woman pleasing you in ways that I have not.”

  He stared down at her. “You mean you…you wish to palate me?”

  “You’ll think you’ve died and gone to a brothel,” she promised.

  His mouth went dry. Never had the green eyes looked so far from innocent; never had her small mouth looked so luscious. Yet his first instinct was to deny himself. “I thought—It seemed to disgust you.”

  “Nothing about you could ever disgust me, Ben,” she said softly. “Did you not do the same for me? Without my asking? It didn’t disgust you to kiss me down there.”

  “No.”

  “Well, then. I can’t believe I was so selfish. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I’ll try,” he promised as she rolled his nightshirt up.

  “It’s just another part of your body,” she murmured.

  As she took the aroused member gently in both hands and brought it to her lips, he shivered, groaned, and sank lower in his chair, his eyes falling closed. His left hand clasped her behind the neck as he inched into her clinging mouth.

  His self control was not equal to the pleasure. She fell back as he suddenly pushed her away. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked him.

  “That was perfect,” he said warmly. “Really, you were very, very good.”

  “Better than the whores in the brothel?” she demanded.

  “Without a doubt,” he said, almost in pain. “Now, go get undressed for me, there’s a good girl. Wait for me in the bed. I will be with you soon, I promise.”

  She took his hand. “Come with me now, darling Ben,” she said playfully. “You could be my maid and undress me.”

  “No,” he said harshly. “I hate seeing you dressed as a man. Now, go.”

  She was taken aback by his tone. “Are you angry?”

  “I will be,” he snapped, “if you don’t do as you are told.”

  “Fine!” she snapped, departing for the bedroom just before he disgraced himself.

  Her anger melted when he presented himself to her a few minutes later, smiling warmly. “You’re a difficult man to love,” she complained softly as he came to bed.

  “I know,” he said, softly kissing the nipples of her breasts. They were soft and warm, but they soon stiffened as he played with them. “It’s not fair on you. Forgive me?”

  He eased his hand gently between her legs, opening her. He was always gentle with her. He always entered her as if she were still virgin. She sighed softly.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she said when he told her about Miss Vaughn’s surprising offer. “I wish I’d thought of it,” she added, tracing idle patterns across his torso with a lazy hand. “The woman is a genius, I’m thinking. I stand in awe of her unmitigated brilliance. She must frighten herself at times, with all that massive brainpower.”

  They were lying together in bed, as naked as newborn babies. He pulled her as close to him as he could. “I don’t want to lose you, Cherry. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I do believe my heart would stop.”

  She laughed softly. “Marry Miss Vaughn, and you won’t lose me.”

  He frowned suddenly. “I wish you would not tell Miss Vaughn everything, Cherry,” he admonished her. “I’m a private man. What happens between us when we are intimate should remain between us. You should not have told her we were lovers.”

  “I never said a word to Miss Vaughn,” she assured him. “She’s only pulling your leg. Godsakes, I’d be too scarlet to tell anyone what we do with our bodies like a pair of beasts. I’m shameless, I know, but I’m not completely shameless.”

  “Good,” he said, relieved.

  “That’s settled, then?” she said happily. “You’ll marry Miss Vaughn?”

  He kissed the top of her head, ruffled her short hair with his fingers. “That’s what I want to talk to you about,” he said. “I’ve done a very foolish thing. I’ve made a horrible mistake.”

  She sat up straight. “In London?” she cried. “I knew there was someone! I could smell it on you!” She jumped out of bed and started to dress.

  “No!” he said, trying to catch her. “It’s not what you think. I asked someone else to marry me. It was very stupid, and I’m sorry for it now, but there it is.”

  She stared at him. “Miss Vaughn, you mean.”

  “No. Someone else. It was the same day, in fact. Your sister made me so angry that I asked someone else. You don’t know her. Her name is Serena Calverstock.”

  “That black-haired bitch!” She picked up a boot and threw it at him.

  He dodged it. “I’ve asked her to release me, but she won’t.”

  “You’re engaged?” she howled.

  “No,” he said violently. “Absolutely not.”

  She took a deep breath. “What’s the problem then?”

  “She won’t give me an answer. Look, she obviously means to refuse me. She just wants me to take her to the theater and partner her at cards. She wants an escort, not a husband. She can’t keep me dangling forever. I promise you, I’ll be free in a month. Maybe two.”

  “Two months! We could all be dead by then.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she made only a half-hearted attempt to shake him off. “I knew I couldn’t trust you,” she said bitterly.


  “You can,” he said, kissing her neck the way she liked. “She will refuse me in the end. I can be very disagreeable when I choose to be.”

  “Aye!” she said.

  His slipped his hand between her arm and her ribs and claimed her breast.

  “Two months?” she whispered, undone by his touch. “Then you’ll marry me? I mean, us? Miss Vaughn?”

  “Of course, my darling,” he said, his warm voice sending shivers down her spine. “I ought to have told Miss Vaughn, but I wanted to tell you first.”

  She nodded wearily. Disentangling herself, she began to dress.

  “Don’t go,” he said, admiring her slender body as it disappeared into his clothes.

  “It’s late, Ben.”

  A sudden panic seized him. “Darling, you do realize that she means nothing to me? You are the one I love.”

  She shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “You will come tomorrow night, won’t you?”

  Her shoulders slumped. She wished she had the strength to tell him no. “I’ll come,” she said. “It’s not as though you’re married to her, or even engaged. I’ll come.”

  “Ten o’clock? I’ve a wretched card party, at Lady Dalrymple’s, but I’ll leave early.”

  She nodded again.

  “I’ve a present for you,” he said the moment she arrived the following night.

  She frowned at him as she took off her coat. He was still in his evening dress. He looked splendid, a picture in stark black and glittering white. “We discussed this, Ben. No presents. I’m not a whore. I just like being with you, that’s all. You don’t have to buy me presents.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “It’s not that sort of present. To be perfectly honest, it’s a present for me. It’s in the dressing room. I want you to put it on. Then we will have a little supper, and then, who knows?” He grinned at her like a wolf, making her laugh.

  They both knew what would come after, but she looked in dismay at the covered dishes on the big ottoman. “Oh, Ben, I’m sorry. I can’t—”

  He glanced at the clock. “Only eleven-thirty. And it’s Friday, I know.”

  He smiled at her. He thought it was perfectly absurd that she insisted on abstaining from eating meat on Friday, but he knew better than to tax her about it. She would sleep with him every night, and in bed deny him nothing, but she would not eat meat on Friday. “It’s only scallops, I promise. And lobster, and smoked oysters, and a little caviar. Nothing whatever to interfere with your firm religious beliefs.”

  She was moved that he had taken such trouble for her.

  “Go and get dressed, darling,” he urged. He did not have to ask again.

  She found the box on the bench in his dressing room. Inside was a black satin gown. Puzzled, she put it on. Black was the color of mourning, but widows did not wear satin. Nor was the style appropriate for a woman in mourning. The low-cut bodice laced at the back. It had no sleeves and was held up by nothing more than black satin ribbons. The skirt was flat and straight at the front, but gathered into pleats down the center of the back, emphasizing the rounded cheeks of her bottom. Without the pleats in the back, she would not have been able to walk, the skirt fit her so snugly across the hips. Decidedly it was an indecent dress, but there was nothing slattern about it. Its simple lines, and the rich sheen of the satin made it seem quite elegant.

  “How does it fit?”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. Even more foolishly, she trembled as he approached her. This was her lover. She was not afraid of him in the least. And yet she trembled like a deer at the approach of the wolf. His hand clasped her shoulder and his lips touched her neck. His eyes, when she met them in the mirror, were warm with approval. She felt like a woman. A little too much like a woman for comfort. Honey began to flow between her legs, and she blushed.

  “Who died?” she asked, trying to shake off the odd anxiety that had seized her.

  He laughed softly in her ear, and she shivered, biting her lip. “I think I did. Black is my favorite color,” he added by way of explanation, slipping his hand across her breasts, which were barely covered by the black dress. “I knew it would set off your beautiful white skin to perfection, and I was right.”

  “I can’t wear this, Ben,” she protested weakly. “It’s not decent!”

  She stood trembling as he slipped his hand into the bodice and cupped one breast. “You should tighten the laces,” he said reproachfully. “I would not be able to do this, if you had dressed yourself properly.”

  She giggled nervously. “Properly!” she said. “There is nothing proper about this dress.”

  He withdrew his hand and looked at her in the mirror. “Do it,” he commanded softly and urgently. “Tighten the laces.” When she had pulled the laces as tight as she could, he helped her tie them. She could barely breathe, but her bosom looked magnificent. With the waist cinched in, her breasts and hips appeared fuller, and between her breasts was a rich, deep groove that had never been there before. He grunted in satisfaction. “Now,” he said, catching her roughly around the waist, “you are properly dressed.”

  He seemed unable to prevent himself from caressing her. He ran his hands over the satin dress, the satin skin. It was all a single piece to him, the one black as sin, the other white as snow. The stark contrast excited him, and drawing on his excitement, she became excited, too. I can always breathe tomorrow, she thought madly as he began to stroke her bottom through the dress. The warmth of his hand penetrated the cool, smooth satin, and, involuntarily, a moan escaped her lips. She had never been so wet, so aroused, by so little. It was as if he had been caressing her with his mouth for hours. She wanted to be taken violently until her body could bear no more.

  Her legs could no longer sustain her and she fell forward, breaking her fall on the padded bench. The warm smell of the cool leather filled her nostrils. In the morning he would sit down on this leather bench while his valet tied his shoes for him, but tonight it had a different purpose. With a catch in his voice, he forbade her to rise and she remained kneeling, waiting. He knelt over her and lifted her skirts, watching himself in the mirror as he caressed her bare bottom. He soaked his fingers in the soft wetness between her thighs. In this position, the damage to his right arm remained out of view, and he enjoyed the illusion that he was a whole man. He dropped his dressing gown and peeled off his nightshirt. He wanted to watch himself as he made love to her.

  Her eyes were half closed, a lazy smile on her lips as he rubbed the swollen head of his member between the lips of her body. He mounted her as the stallion mounts the mare, his thighs hard against hers. Retreating until only the very tip remained between her lips, he brought his hand around her body, caressing her from the front until she came undone, moaning incoherently, her body tossing. The sensation of her body tightening around him, the irresistible music of her cries, the vision of her face panting with pleasure, awakened a beast in him, and his first thrust was so violent that she was forced to cling to the leather bench with both hands.

  She cried out in surprise. He had always been gentle with her before. She realized now that he had been holding back his passion, harnessing it on a tight lead, hoping to spare her. She did not want to be spared. She wanted him to lose all control.

  He paused because she had cried out.

  “Please,” she begged. She looked at him in the mirror and deliberately pushed her backside against him. After that, he took no notice of her cries. The more violent he became, the more excited she was. More than once he watched her face melt in pleasure as he drove into her. After the initial gasp of surprise, not one word of protest did she utter. Quite the reverse. She pleaded, she begged, she beseeched him to rend her. He would never have dreamed she could be so strong. Wrapped tightly in the black satin dress, her slender body seemed invincible. He was the more vulnerable, completely naked, completely a slave to his desires.

  “I love you,” she gasped as he drove into her for the last time. He looked at her beautiful
face in the mirror. Her smile was serene. Then he could no longer see. His climax blinded him. He made no attempt to pull out this time, instead filling the furrow with his seed.

  It no longer mattered if there was a child. In two months or less, he would marry Miss Vaughn and Cherry’s children would have a secure place in the world. He wanted a child. He wanted dozens, as many as her unbelievable body could give him.

  They collapsed to the floor tangled together. As he slowly returned to himself, he was ashamed, ashamed that he had used her so violently on the floor of his dressing room. The sight of her in that black dress had driven him almost insane with desire, but that was no excuse for battering her so cruelly.

  “I was a beast. Forgive me,” he murmured despondently.

  “I don’t think I can,” she responded. “You should have taken me like that weeks ago, you cruel bastard.” To his amazement, she laughed.

  As they lay on the floor, she began to stroke his arm. Not his left arm, but his right arm, even the seam at the base of the elbow, where the surgeons had done their work. She stroked it as if it were any other part of him, and it felt good. This was acceptance, love, untainted by pity. Cherry loved him, and desired him, too, just as he was.

  He would never let her go. He would die first.

  “I will be so beastly to Serena that she refuses me within a week, I swear,” he said.

  He could feel her mouth moving over him, but he was too sated to even open his eyes. “Are you going to be beastly to me as well?” she asked, laughing softly.

  But she was too sore for him to be beastly. When he tried to enter her again, she howled like a wounded animal. “Come,” he said simply, helping her up from the floor.

  He opened a door, and showed her the big, steaming Roman bath on the other side. It hissed like the devil. He had to go in first to demonstrate that it was safe before she would commit so much as a toe, but finally she pulled off the black dress and followed him into what looked to her like the mouth of hell. The hot water burned her skin all over, especially the wound between her legs. In a little while, though, it burned away all the pain.