His Mistress

by Treva Harte

  "Miss Ward?" It was the lawyer. Cullen. Cullen Grant. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

  Disturbing her? Mercy was still breathing hard from her dream. She tried to come up with the right words to respond.

  "Not at all. Is there a problem?"

  It seemed as if her own world was the dream, completely unreal, since Luke died. The man was calling to tell her there had been a mistake—that she'd misunderstood. There was no money. There—

  "I wondered if you might like to have dinner with me. I hope you wouldn't consider that a problem." His voice sounded unusually hesitant. She could tell he wasn’t used to indecision.

  Dinner? Mercy scowled. A business dinner? Or…something else? She bit off asking that and wiped her hands over her face. She was so tired of asking stupid questions.

  "Very well. When?" She'd simply find out the answers for herself.

  "Tonight at—would eight be too late? I have business to finish up here, I'm afraid."

  Finishing up business seemed to indicate she wasn't work-related. Mercy thought about that smile and those eyes…and the body attached to them. If she was wrong and she found their evening out would be charged to her in a bill, she would be disappointed. Ridiculously disappointed.

  "I could wait until then." What else did she have to do?

  She hung up before she realized she didn't know where he planned to take her or how to dress. Mercy looked at herself in the mirror. Perhaps it had been that dream, but she was eager to look good. Desirable.

  "Idiot." She said out loud.

  But she assessed herself in the mirror anyhow.

  Once she stared at her face, she blinked. Her cheeks were flushed—from her date? From her dreams? But she looked more alive than she had since she first got the news about Luke.

  Then Mercy looked again. There was—there was ink on her cheek. She stared down at her hands. There was ink there. Printer's ink?

  "Oh my God."

  * * * * *

  Mercy sat on the front stoop, clutching her shawl tight about her. It was cold but not the frigid cold of an ordinary Boston winter. It was just cold enough to make her blood stir.

  "Mistress Baines?"

  She knew that brogue. That voice. Lately the captain had seemed to be everywhere. In a way he was. His friends came late at night to talk and play cards and she had to retire to her own room. Her apprentices' room. And James slept with Paul and Captain Bryant's dour manservant. Sometimes she thought she'd go mad. She wasn't sure what frustrated her more—the lack of sex or the additions to her cramped household.

  She could feel the tension rising throughout her household by the day.

  "I hate him."

  "James?" She'd been startled. James rarely spoke his strongest feelings, even though he had them. "What do you mean?"

  "I hate Bryant. I hate what he stands for, I hate what he is himself. Cocky. Able to flirt with you without penalty. Able to bed you—“

  "James! He's never—“

  "He wants to."

  "Perhaps. He's never said so. And, remember, he'll bed me only if I consent. I choose who I make love with. "

  "Sir. I thought you would be celebrating tonight." Mercy didn't bother to stand. The Captain stood before her and bent his head in almost a bow. "Isn't this the King's birthday? I thought all the army was celebrating."

  "Yes, I did have a toast with the others to his health. But George the Third is no particular king of mine." The man smiled and then gestured to the stoop. "May I?"

  She nodded and he settled himself next to her. Was he just a trifle closer than need be? Mercy wasn't sure. James was probably right when he'd snapped out those words about the captain even though she'd pretended all was well. She was playing a dangerous game with two men and not sure how it would end. No doubt dangerously.

  "You are a soldier for the king, Captain. And yet you say the king is not yours?"

  "I'm Irish, Mistress Baines. Even if I were English, there are still those who don't find an upstart from Hanover an Englishman. I'll fight for him if he pays me. I don't need to feel loyal to him."

  "But you'd die for him in battle?"

  The man shrugged.

  "I'll die for something, I suppose, someday. I'd die to win a battle, to save my men, or because I just calculated my risks wrong. Dying for a king? No."

  "That's an interesting viewpoint, Captain." Mercy cocked her head. "Do many in your ranks subscribe to it?"

  The captain smiled instead of shrugged this time.

  "Warm for the northern colonies is it not?" His eyes drifted down the street.

  "Yes. Remarkably warm for January." Mercy accepted the change of subject easily. She knew she'd get no more from him anyhow. "That's good for us. The people who have fled to town now that the British are here have less problems that way. Some have no money for firewood."

  "And are these poor folk in town because of the British or because they are fleeing their countrymen who wish to rebel?" The captain glanced at her.

  "They're here because there is trouble. Terrible trouble. I don't know that it matters why." Mercy spoke carefully. She didn't know whether the Captain was a Tory, Whig, or simply his own man, but she didn't want to cause any problems for herself.

  "Well, you're in the right about the benefits of the weather for another reason entirely. Our officers had feared the winter would cause the Charles to ice over. And then the countryside would rise up to cross over that ice and try to take Boston." He spoke almost absently. She realized that his hand had reached out to touch her wrist. He fingered it lightly, caressingly.

  "Should you tell me of this, sir?"

  Should she protest? But it was such a light touch. And, foolishly, her breath was quickening a little as he played against her skin.

  "That's no great secret in town. But why can't I speak of it with you? I heard your husband was a good Tory, fiercely loyal to the King, Mistress Baines."

  "He came from England when he was a boy, Captain. And yes, he was loyal."

  "And you are not?" His fingers reached up to the crook of her elbow, where suddenly her skin felt very sensitive to his touch. She swallowed.

  "I don't have much loyalty to things I don't understand, Captain. I've never seen the King. Never been to England. But I can't say I am a rebel, either. I simply want to work in my own shop and conduct my life quietly. That's difficult in these times." Mercy shrugged. "I have no concern with politics and I wish these present troubles didn't intrude into my life."

  "And I'm a soldier, meant to be a part of trouble." His eyes went back down the street. "When I was a boy, just commissioned, I was sent to the Colonies. Down South. With General Braddock. That would be twenty years now. Twenty years."

  "That was trouble indeed."

  "Trouble beyond my young imaginings then. 'Twas an education watching my men drop while Indians picked them off like they would targets. And the officers above me died even faster. I got my first blooding there. Damn, it stung!" He rubbed his shoulder at the memory.

  Then his hand moved from his shoulder and reached out to caress her neck, tickling sensitive nerve endings near the pulse in her throat. Mercy shivered. She had to speak now, didn't she? But she didn't. He had clever hands. The man was heating her body with just the tips of his fingers. "The only one who got us out was a Colonial. He wasn't much older than I was at the time. A Yankee named Washington. He and the other Colonials who knew what they were about kept us together as best they could."

  "I see."

  "I have respect for you Colonials. More than many in this army do." The Captain's head turned, sharply, and his hand dropped down to his side, resting on his sword handle. He spoke calmly but she could see he was on the alert. "And I respect what they can do to my army if we are not careful."

  Footsteps interrupted what he might have said next. James appeared suddenly from around the corner of the house and stopped short when he saw the two of them. Everyone was silent for a moment.

  "You are not out carou
sing in the King's name tonight, sir?" James asked.

  Mercy's breath sucked in. She'd sat and watched and wondered. She'd wanted James and cursed his absence when the Captain had seemed to be gone for the night. Now all her former desire for James' return was gone. Did James want trouble?

  "No, boy. Are you? Townsfolk are not allowed out at night without good reason. Nor are they allowed out of town without a pass."

  Out of town? Why would Bryant say that—

  "I know, sir."

  James began to walk up the stairs, past Mercy, without even acknowledging her. Mercy felt panic. Something was wrong. Something she hadn't been aware of until now.

  "Boy."

  "Captain?"

  "Let me see your hand."

  Mercy realized then that one arm dangled oddly from under James' cape. James hesitated.

  "Now, boy."

  When he stretched it out, Mercy saw blood dripping from James' palm, despite a rag that bound it. Her hand crept up to her throat.

  "Interesting." Captain Bryant's voice was crisp. "The guard said they'd heard someone spying near some of my fellow officers. The men had a bit of a scuffle. The fellow broke away, but not without a sword slash on the hand for his trouble."

  James said nothing. But Mercy saw his other hand reach under his cape.

  That was when the captain’s servant stepped out from the shadows, his Brown Bess musket leveled. James froze in place.

  "I wouldn't try anything rash, young man. Assaulting yet another British officer would do you no good."

  "Assault? I hurt my hand earlier today while chopping wood for the mistress." James drawled the words out. "But you may believe what you wish."

  "That he did." Mercy seconded the lie without hesitation. "And I can't believe James chose to go out tonight to flirt and play after causing me such trouble. I thought I told you to put a poultice on it and rest, sirrah. That hand will be of no use to me for several days as it is. I have no need for you to aggravate the wound, James."

  "I apologize, Mistress." James said.

  "And you'd be prepared to tell anyone you needed that was the way of it, would you, Mistress Baines?" The captain's voice was very soft. “I see. Put the musket down, then, Sean.”

  “Don’t let ‘em get away with it, Capt’n!” The servant protested. “You’re always too soft—“

  “Enough, man.” Bryant snapped the order out but he kept his eyes on Mercy all the while. Mercy stared back, unflinchingly.

  "That’s what I’d tell anyone, Captain. Anyone at all."

  "Then I see I was wrong, Mistress Baines." The captain shook his head. "As were you. You are a woman with strong loyalties indeed."

  Chapter Five

  "Good evening, Sleeping Beauty." Mercy smiled as her eyelids slowly lifted up.

  "Oh!" This wasn't a dream. Cullen was in front of her, on his knees, his face close to hers. "I guess I fell asleep in the chair."

  Thank God she'd dressed before she fell asleep on the porch. But probably her hair was now a complete mess…and she hadn't checked her makeup or—

  "I know you're awake now but could I have a kiss anyway?" he asked. He didn't wait for her answer but leaned forward and just gave her the lightest breath of a kiss.

  Light but still arousing. Mercy stared straight into his incredible eyes and thought for a moment she might lean forward for yet another. Those eyes reminded her of someone else. Someone charming, attractive. And those lips were incredible. Then she let out a quick huff of air. Of course she wasn't going to kiss him again. She hardly knew this man! He pulled back a safe distance, but kept eye level to her.

  "I suppose I should apologize," he said. "But you were so irresistible asleep like that."

  Irresistible? Mercy laughed.

  "Hardly," she said. "Luke had all the good looks in the family."

  "Well, from the photos I saw of Luke when he was healthy there must have been a strong family resemblance between the two of you."

  Mercy tried to fit that idea into what she'd always believed of herself. Yes, she and Luke certainly looked like brother and sister but as to her attractiveness? She decided to think about that later.

  "I hope I look all right for dinner," Mercy said. "You didn't say where we were going."

  Cullen still had on his business suit from work. And a tie that matched the color of his eyes. His hand reached out to help her up. He lifted her out of the chair easily.

  "You look perfect for the place I have in mind. You look perfect anyway." His hand rested on her elbow, half-escorting and half-caressing. Mercy shivered. Was this how Captain Bryant's hands had felt? She could almost feel the same things her namesake felt now in those dreams, she almost felt like a participant instead of an observer…

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Cullen. Please call me that. I feel as if I know you. Ever since I became involved in your brother's estate business and heard of you I've been eagerly anticipating meeting you."

  "Ah." She didn't point out that their meeting would have to mean her brother had died. She preferred to think about this man's eagerness to see her instead, even if Mercy didn't know what to think of him. "Where are we going?"

  "To my house. If you don't mind."

  * * * * *

  "Were you out of your mind?" Mercy hissed the words to James as she bent to rewrap the new bandage she made for his sword cut.

  "I realize I could have cut a tendon. That would have made me less useful to you." James shrugged. "But I think it will heal quickly enough."

  "I will smack you in another minute. You know I don't mean that."

  "I'm sorry I was caught. But for some reason Bryant isn't interested in arresting me so we're both safe enough. For now. Perhaps all you need to do is flash your eyes—or something more—at him and you'll continue to be safe."

  Mercy bit her bottom lip hard. God knows what the captain or others were listening to from the other rooms. James had picked a fine time to become both jealous and talkative.

  "Now you are being insulting along with stupid." Mercy spaced her words out evenly.

  "Then I must humbly beg my mistress' pardon, mustn't I?” There was neither contrition nor amusement in James' words this time.

  "That would be a small start to what needs doing, yes." She jerked the bandage a little tighter than necessary on his hand and wasn’t sorry when he winced.

  "Mercy, I've tried to get information before and I will again. I'm sorry if that puts you in danger. I never meant for that to happen. But you must know how important this is! We can't have the British occupy us forever!"

  Oh God.

  "You're a rebel, aren't you? And what's more, an active one." Mercy shut her eyes. This wasn't some young man's prank as she'd half-hoped. She should have known. Everything James did, he did deliberately. So much for staying out of trouble. "My home and business might be confiscated. We could all be sent to prison."

  "And that's why we have to get those with the power to do such things out of Boston. Out of the colonies."

  "I don't want to listen to this!"

  "Then don't. But I'll tell you anyway." James pressed himself against her and kissed her hard, devouringly. Her hands reached up behind his neck. "Mercy, I've wanted you forever. Since I first saw you. Maybe before then. When I dreamed of you in the night, I imagined how gently I would treat you—and then not so gently. It kills me to think I've dragged you into trouble."

  "Then why did you?" Mercy kept herself from wailing the words only by remembering others might be listening. "Why did you risk yourself?"

  He took a nip from her shoulder, as if he couldn't stop himself.

  "The only thing I care about more than you is freedom. I want my own desperately though I'll earn my way to that in a year and three months. But Boston's freedom is more important than even my own because that's in more doubt. If I can help get the damned redcoats out and make sure they stay out, then I must help. Nothing is worth more than that."

  "Including my own freedom
? What is that worth?" Mercy knew of the prison ships out in the harbor. People grew ill or died there under the horrible conditions. The British could do that to traitors. God knows, they could do even worse.

  James shut his eyes. Then he bent and began to loosen the bindings of Mercy's saque dress without looking back at her face.

  "You're worth everything, Mercy. Every part of you is valuable," he whispered against her breast. "I'm your servant. Your slave, really. I'd do almost anything for you. I never wanted you involved in my more dangerous activities. I'd learn to hide what I did from your—from my late master. I thought I could do that from everyone forever."

  "Those are nice words, James. But only words." Mercy fought the now familiar weakness as James slowly removed her dress. Her nipples were already hardening with just the thought of what he might do next. "You've put all of us in danger."

  She looked at the bandage on his hand as he bent her over the chair. The bandage showed what James was willing to risk.

  “Then let’s not use words right now,” he growled.

  Without any further play, he entered her from behind. Mercy gasped. How did he know she needed nothing more to prepare her for his hard slide inside her? Maybe because despite their quarrel both of them were already desperate for each other.

  She could tell that this time James meant to master her. She didn't find that objectionable right now. As her wetness helped him slide into her even deeper, she knew that she found it exciting to allow his domination.

  The considerate lover, the eager apprentice—both were gone at this moment. Mercy hadn't contemplated before how exciting it could be to have someone who wanted her immediately, without more thought. James had proved capable of answering her every demand. Now she knew he was also able to make his own.

  He was gripping her nipples hard, hard enough to hurt. That was exciting to her. His cock had never felt so hard penetrating her before. That was beyond exciting. Mercy whimpered. His breath rasping against her neck, his hair that draped over her body, tickling her skin as he pulled himself in and out of her furiously…that were no words for how she felt.