My Fair Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  She spoke of trust. What of her trust in him? She should know he had only her best interests at heart.

  Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped back inside the study.

  Yvette Beaulieu looked up at his entrance and smiled. “Is everything well with your wife?”

  “Yes,” he lied, crossing to his chair and settling in. “Quite well.”

  “I can see now why you wish me to make a portrait of her and the baby. She is exquisitely lovely, as I am sure your petit enfant will be when he comes. I cannot wait to return for the commission. But I will be careful not to say a word, since it is to be a secret.”

  “Yes, just so.”

  Rafe wasn’t sure there would be a commission. Once Julianna heard of his plan to have her and the baby’s likeness painted, she might not wish to proceed. But he couldn’t voice his concerns to Madame Beaulieu, not after he had contracted for the work.

  The widow of an old friend, Yvette depended upon commissions, such as his own, to supplement her meager jointure and support her four children. Well aware she would not accept charity, he had thought the portrait a fine way to aid her, and at the same time do something nice for Julianna. He’d seen the expression on Julianna’s face when she had noticed Yvette, however, and wasn’t sure now that she would accept the gift.

  Unlocking his top desk drawer, he counted out a stack of coins. “The first half down. I will pay the remainder upon completion of the work.”

  He would have paid her the entire sum now, but knew her pride would not let her take the money.

  “Oh, this is far too generous. A third would have sufficed.”

  Yet as he watched, her small hand reached out and took the coins, trembling slightly as she dropped them in obvious relief inside her reticule.

  “Well, I should take my leave, monsieur…oh, pardonnez-moi, my lord, it is now.”

  He smiled. “‘Rafe’ will do fine, just as it always has done. Take care, Yvette. Give my best to the boys.”

  “Mais oui.” With a laugh, she stood.

  He escorted her to the door, Yvette leaning up to give him a Gallic buss on both cheeks. She laughed again as Martin held open the door.

  Turning, Rafe noticed a movement overhead and glanced up in time to catch a flash of Julianna’s skirts on the landing above.

  With a sigh, he returned to his study.

  Julianna peered out the window of the upstairs drawing room and watched the world pass by—ladies and gentlemen, nannies and children, maids, footmen, and street vendors all going about their normal routine. She wished she could join them, but after yesterday, knew she would not be able to go anywhere without being tracked.

  Why is Rafe having me followed? she pondered again. She’d spent a near sleepless night with that question and others disturbing her thoughts and shaking her emotions. Does he have so little trust that he must have me watched? Or is it something else?

  His silence on the subject infuriated her.

  More than ever, she needed time away. She could always visit one of her friends here in the city, she supposed, but doing so would serve little useful purpose. Doubtless they would sympathize with her present unhappiness, and yet she had no wish to reveal the details of her failing marriage.

  Pain squeezed in her chest at the thought, memories flashing of the willowy blond as she’d reached up and kissed Rafe good-bye.

  Is she his lover? The evidence would certainly seem to suggest she was, though Julianna couldn’t truly believe Rafe would be so crass or so cruel as to bring the woman into their home if that were the case.

  I need time to think, she decided, away from this house. Away from Rafe.

  Yet could she escape Hannibal’s surveillance?

  Taking a seat on the sofa, she began to formulate a plan.

  Nearly two hours later, Julianna slid the key into the lock of her Upper Brook Street townhouse, her pulse beating with relieved satisfaction. Closing the door behind her, she crossed the familiar entry hall, the house utterly silent in a way she had never before heard it.

  Her plan had gone perfectly. Despite Hannibal’s vigilance, eluding him had proven far easier than she had imagined it might be. Of course, her escape would not have been possible without the sharp-witted help of her modiste. Yet all it had taken was a few words into the woman’s understanding ear in order to procure her assistance.

  And so while Hannibal waited in the front of the shop as she supposedly tried on a dress, Julianna slipped out the back and into a waiting hackney. A short ride through Mayfair had deposited her at the door of her old home.

  Walking into her sitting room, she pulled back the curtains to let in a rush of crisp spring sunlight. Removing the dust cover from her favorite chair, she settled herself comfortably, or as comfortably as she could with the baby drumming his tiny feet against the inside of her stomach. Hoping her touch might prove soothing, she rubbed her palm in large, easy circles over her belly. A couple of long minutes later, the baby finally began to settle, shifting one more time before falling still. Leaning her head back against the wing chair’s high back, she closed her eyes.

  My time here is limited, she mused. Already, Hannibal would be searching for her, and reporting her disappearance to Rafe, if he had not done so already. So she owed it to herself to enjoy her freedom, to revel in the pleasure of being home again.

  Yet as she continued to sit and to think, she realized that as reassuringly familiar as her townhouse might be, it was no longer where she belonged. For good or bad, her home was now with Rafe. Whatever trouble lay between them, she could never go back to the past, to the way her life used to be. To the way she used to be.

  She stroked her hand over her belly again.

  When she’d told Rafe yesterday that she wished she’d never met him, she hadn’t meant it. After all, if she’d never known him, she would still be living her old life, pleasant but passionless, each year melting into the next in a kind of innocuous haze. What would have become of her? Always a sister, an aunt, and a friend, but never more. Certainly never a mother.

  Rafe had given her a child, and in that regard she had no regrets—the baby was, and always would be, a genuine blessing. But what of her love for Rafe? Did she regret that?

  A tear dampened her face. With the back of her hand, she wiped it away. She ought to regret her feelings for him, she supposed. Lord knows everything would be simpler that way.

  And yet she could not. Loving Rafe was part of who she now was and she wouldn’t change that, not even to save herself the pain.

  But what of the future, their future, assuming they had one together? As he said, their lives were now irrevocably entwined, their marriage one that, no matter how disastrous, would continue for the rest of their lives.

  Given that, perhaps she should do more to reach out to him. Maybe she should put aside her fears and insecurities and admit her feelings, humble herself enough to confess her love and pray he felt some glimmer of warmth in return.

  But what about the woman in his study yesterday? What if she was indeed Rafe’s mistress?

  If she was, the blond was soon to be gone. Julianna would insist he end the relationship and make the effort to rekindle one with her.

  And if he refused?

  Well, she would deal with that if it happened. She would also deal with Rafe’s ridiculous edict that she be watched every second of the day. Did he honestly not trust her? Or did he imagine he was protecting her? And if so, from what?

  Her escape today proved he had nothing to fear. She was perfectly fine and nothing untoward had happened.

  Taking a deep breath, she rallied herself to return home.

  The sound of the front door being opened and closed echoed through the empty house.

  So, she thought, I’ve been discovered. Is it Rafe or Hannibal who has found me?

  Footsteps reverberated against the polished marble floors, moving slowly up to, then past, each room. Straightening her skirts, she prepared herself for the confron
tation to come.

  The footsteps fell silent and a tall male figure filled the threshold of the sitting room. But instead of a pair of familiar green eyes, she met blue ones. Their expression both icy and terrifying.

  Opening her mouth, she screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  NO LUCK?”

  Rafe gave a quick shake of his head to Ethan as he strode across his study. Reaching for the brandy decanter, he splashed a draught into a tumbler and tossed it back, the amber liquor leaving a numbing heat against his tongue and throat.

  Unfortunately the spirits could do little to numb his fear and worry over Julianna. Nearly two days had passed since she’d slipped away from Hannibal at the dressmaker’s shop, and since then there’d been no sign of her.

  After raking fingers through his already disheveled hair, he let his hand fall to his side, where it curled into a fist.

  Most likely she was staying with a friend, still angry with him for ordering Hannibal to follow her. He would have been far less concerned and far more irritated by her disappearance were it not for the fact that he’d checked with all her friends—discreetly of course—and none of them appeared to be harboring her. Nor had any of them seen her in the past few days.

  He’d also questioned her modiste, who denied any knowledge of Julianna’s whereabouts since she had left her shop and climbed into a hackney cab. Hannibal, shamed at having been given the slip by a woman—and a tiny, pregnant one at that—set himself to the task of tracking down the hack driver. When he finally located the man, the driver said he’d taken her to a house in Upper Brook Street.

  Her house.

  “We checked the townhouse again,” Rafe said, crossing to lean against the fireplace mantel. “It’s obvious someone was there, since one of the dust covers is gone from a chair. But whether Julianna was there alone or not, I couldn’t tell.”

  Nor could anyone tell if she’d left the house of her own volition, or at someone else’s.

  What if St. George has her?

  The very idea twisted his gut into knots. Given the failure of her guards, though, he couldn’t discount the possibility. Not only had Hannibal been unable to keep her in his sights, the runners had as well. He supposed their only excuse was the fact that they had been watching for an outside threat, never anticipating that Julianna herself would be the one to flee.

  And while they’d been busy searching the nearby shops and streets for her, they’d lost track of St. George as well. In a fit of anger, Rafe had sacked the runners, and given Hannibal a dressing-down he wouldn’t soon forget.

  Still, the fault was his own.

  Did I drive her away with my silence? he wondered, recalling their quarrel. How will I live if something dreadful has befallen her?

  “She will be all right,” Ethan said as if he’d read Rafe’s mind. “Do not lose heart.”

  Rafe nodded without enthusiasm. “You’re probably right. Maybe she went to visit her sister.”

  But he knew she hadn’t. For one thing, Maris and William were supposed to be traveling to London in the next couple of days. Julianna wouldn’t have left for fear of passing them on the road. Plus, being so close to giving birth, it was unlikely she would have undertaken such a long journey, even if she had been angry and upset enough with him to leave.

  “I can ask a few more people if they’ve had contact with her,” Ethan volunteered. “I know the Nevilles a bit better than you. Maybe Beatrice wasn’t being honest when you asked her about Julianna.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think Lady Neville was deceiving me.”

  Yesterday morning Vessey had paid a friendly call only to discover the household tense with anxiety, and Rafe bleary-eyed from lack of sleep—sleep he hadn’t done well to get last night, either. Once apprised of the situation, Ethan had offered to help, asking around the city in search of Julianna.

  “Still, you might discover something if you inquire again,” Rafe said, willing to do anything to find her.

  A knock sounded at the door, Hannibal striding in with a half-grown boy held in his grip. “Sorry to interrupt, my lords, but this ’ere whelp insists on seein’ you direct-like.” The big man paused, turning a fearsome glower upon the boy, one that made the youth struggle against the hold the giant had on his grimy collar. “I told ’im to leave ’is message wit me, but he refused.”

  Rafe frowned. “You have a message for me?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Let him go, Hannibal.”

  Huffing out a disapproving breath, Hannibal prodded the boy farther into the room. The skinny, underfed youth stumbled slightly but managed to keep his balance. Nervously, he cleared his throat. “You Pendragon?”

  “’Course he’s Pendragon,” Hannibal barked. “Lord Pendragon to the likes of you.”

  The boy’s eyes widened in obvious fear, but he held his place. Reaching inside his frayed tan jacket, he pulled out a letter, crumpled from having been tucked inside his clothes. “I was told to put it straight in yer hand an’ none other. The man wot gave me this said you’d give me half a crown if I delivered it.”

  “What man?”

  “Don’t know. Never seen him afore.”

  “Was he dark-haired or light?”

  “Dark. He paid me first to watch the lady, then after to keep this letter fer a couple days and give it to you.”

  Ethan sprang to his feet, while Hannibal let out a curse.

  The brandy churned inside Rafe’s stomach. “What lady?”

  “Don’t know. Pretty she were, but pregnant-like. Near big around as my ma just afore she birthed my little brother.”

  A stultifying silence fell over the room.

  “He weren’t lyin’, were he?” the boy questioned, his worried eyes darting between them. “About the money, that is?”

  Refusing to let his fingers shake, Rafe reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a coin. “No, he wasn’t lying. Now, the letter, if you please.”

  The boy handed over the missive, then just as quickly snatched up the coin. Biting the corner to check the metal for authenticity, he thrust the money deep into his pocket. Before any of them could say a word, the child ran. Hannibal started after him.

  “Let him go,” Rafe ordered.

  “But Dragon, he might have more information.”

  “Unfortunately, I fear all the information we need will be in this letter.”

  Crossing to his desk, Rafe picked up a silver letter opener and slit open the wax seal. He said nothing as he read the words inside.

  “Well,” Ethan asked. “Is it him?”

  A black sickness rose within Rafe, all his fears having come to fruition. “St. George has her. He wants the journals and money in exchange for her life and the baby’s. He’s given instructions. We ride as soon as the horses can be readied. There is no time to lose.”

  Julianna shifted in the hard cane-backed chair in which she sat, trying to find a more comfortable position. Tugging her woolen mantle closer against the damp chill that permeated the narrow two-room cottage, she watched Lord Middleton pace to the window, stare out for a long minute, then pace back.

  “It’s cold in here. Perhaps you ought to go out for more wood,” she suggested.

  The flames in the room’s single fireplace were burning low, producing little heat against the persistent spring chill outside.

  Middleton turned toward her, a sneer on his face. “And perhaps you should shut your mouth.”

  She folded her hands over her belly and huddled deeper into her cloak. As she’d learned during the four days since he’d kidnapped her and brought her here, Middleton was wound like a short piece of thread on a large spool, capable of snapping at any instant.

  He’d exploded once already when she’d refused to cook meals for them, giving her a savage slap across the face that had convinced her to change her mind. After that, she’d done as she was told, striving to be patient as she prayed for herself and the safety of her unborn child.

  He paced to
the window again, an annoying habit grown worse over the past couple of days. He was increasingly anxious, she’d noticed. The confinement and stress of the situation were beginning to take their toll.

  They were taking their toll on her as well. She knew Rafe would come for her, if for no other reason than the fact that he would never allow harm to come to their child. Nor to her, she admitted, no matter the current state of their marriage.

  Until he arrived, though, she had to stay strong, for herself and the baby. Despite the fear that had become her constant companion since this ordeal began, she refused to give in to its crippling effects. She’d also sworn to herself that she would not be worn down by Middleton’s threats, subtle and otherwise.

  During one of his more talkative moments, the viscount had told her how he’d hired a few street children to keep watch of her comings and goings. At first, he’d been stymied when Hannibal had begun to shadow her every step. But fate had taken a turn in his favor, he’d told her, when she’d slipped free of her guard and shown up at her townhouse alone. He’d chuckled as he recalled his moment of victory, as he liked to call it. She’d played right into his hands, a perfect little dupe.

  So Rafe was trying to protect me all along, she realized. If only I had listened. Of course, it might have helped had Rafe seen fit to express his worries over her safety to her. Then again, she knew herself well enough to realize she might have discounted his concerns, and done as she pleased regardless of the danger.

  So now here she was—wherever here might be.

  Based on the length of the coach ride and the rich, loamy agricultural fields she’d glimpsed out the window on the way, she suspected he had taken her northeast, perhaps to his home territory of Essex, or maybe nearby Suffolk. She couldn’t be certain, though, her surroundings giving her few clues. The cottage he’d chosen was certainly isolated, so much so that she hadn’t seen or heard a single sign of human activity since their arrival.