Scandal's Mistress

by Bronwyn Stuart

  Damn. He should have thought of that. Of course she was going to need help with her dresses and her hair and the kind of feminine pastimes women pursued in the privacy of their chambers.

  “Will I need such a maid?”

  He’d assumed she’d come from a wealthy Italian family. He had assumed she would know how to act in a genteel household but perhaps she was not as well versed as he’d thought.

  “Not tonight, bella.” He grasped her elbow and gently turned her so she presented the curve of her back to him. She wore no corset; only a sheer scrap of linen hid the exact color of her skin from his eyes. At that moment he wanted to tear it from her body. Biting back another of his well-used curses, he set to lacing the garment the best he could.

  How women strapped themselves into these things every day, he had no idea. All the tugging and exertion made him warm, or maybe it was that she was so close he could smell violets on her skin, or that he could feel individual silken strands of her hair as they slipped over and through his hands.

  “I’m sure this isn’t entirely appropriate,” she whispered, breaking the silence that descended. Was she nervous?

  “It isn’t appropriate at all but if you would rather have dinner in your underthings, I would understand.” God, he wanted her to say yes. His mind ran rampant with images of garters and stockings and sheer fabrics.

  “I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “What happened to my old dress?”

  “I should hope it has been burned by now.”

  She swung around in his arms, her eyes like narrow chocolate strips. “What did you do with it?”

  “Was it a special gown?”

  “No, but that is beside the point.”

  Why the devil did she argue? Or was she being stubborn for the sake of it? Her emotions were all over the place and it made him a little dizzy. “What is the point?”

  “It was my dress. I should have liked to have decided its fate.”

  “Really? What would you have done with it?” Now he was amused but tried not to show it. Her little display of defiance showed she wasn’t quite as nervous as he’d first thought. The last thing he wanted to do was crush her fiery spirit. He counted on that passion when he finally took her.

  “I don’t know,” she cried as her brown eyes flashed. Perturbed, she thrust her hands on her hips again and tapped her toe.

  Justin sighed. They had better things to discuss than her ancient gown and all its holes. “Can we please go down to dinner now?” He had to get them both back on to neutral ground and he had to get out of the bedroom. All he could see when he looked at her was the bed at her back. A few small paces and he could throw her down on it and have his way, agreement be damned. But he wouldn’t do that. He was a rake, a rogue, the worst kind of scoundrel, but he was no blackguard.

  Justin watched, entranced, as she chewed on her bottom lip, deep in thought. When she nodded, her hair fell over her shoulder in a wave that hid the curve of her breast from his sight. Damn. Perhaps he would have to get her a lady’s maid. He wanted her hair piled high atop her head so he could take great delight in letting it down, one pin at a time.

  He followed her from the room, swallowed a groan and another oath. When they reached the top of the stairs, he took her hand and laid it on his sleeve, the heat from her palm a scalding reminder that she would be his in a matter of days, perhaps even a matter of hours if he had anything to do with it.

  A possessive need attempted to take over but he pushed it back, urged it to bide its time until the right moment, until victory and satiation was at hand.

  As they walked through the arched doorway of the dining room, Justin nodded to Newberry. Tucking her into a chair, his hands lingered on her back, his thumbs stroking her shoulders. All of these little touches kept him anchored and kept his desire in check, feeding it only a little at a time. He hoped she felt his touch and wanted more. There had to be a way slip past her guard, help her along until she couldn’t say no and then make her think it was her idea. Hell, he didn’t want her to be able to think at all.

  Taking his own seat, Justin had the distinct feeling it was going to be an interminably long night.

  * * *

  Carmalina was so nervous she may as well have chewed coal. She couldn’t help but feel she was the intended dessert after the main course was cleared away. The way he stared at her, his eyes all but devouring, left her shaken and the butterflies in her stomach took flight once again.

  The man had the uncanny ability to make her forget where she was, what she was doing and most importantly, who she was.

  Who are you?

  It was a very good question. Was she a good Italian girl from a good Italian family? Or was she a mistress, a glorified whore paid to be at his beck and call? Should she be ashamed to dine at his table knowing what her fate would be? Should she be frightened or mortified?

  Probably both.

  After singing on the stage she was branded the same as any actress and thus would be stamped with the stigma for the rest of her days in England. She would receive no respectable offers and would be at the mercy of her employer if she did manage to find a position. She couldn’t help that she was beautiful, but sometimes it held her back rather than helped her forward.

  Carmalina knew she’d done everything she could before coming to the decision to be with Justin Trentham but the feeling that she had sold her dignity wouldn’t go away. It was why she’d insisted on time to prepare herself. She wanted to get to know Trentham and decide if she would have had a relationship with him if he weren’t the son of an earl. If he hadn’t propositioned her the way he had. If he was just a man and she just a woman.

  So why now question her decision? Was it because her gown gaped where it wasn’t tied tight enough? Was it because her wild hair fell untamed down her back, or was it the formal dining setting that set her nerves on edge?

  Carmalina knew exactly what it was. She was being preyed on by a predator and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.

  The oppressive silence thickened until she felt forced to fill it with chatter. Another new experience for her. “Do you always eat in this room?”

  “No. Usually it is for celebrations and formal events with family and such.”

  “Are we celebrating?” Carmalina asked.

  “I am.” The shining intent in his gaze set her on fire. An uncomfortable, rhythmic thud pounded a staccato beat low in her belly. Breaking the visual contact, she concentrated harder on the next course set before her by a footman.

  “Thank you,” she murmured before the little man could run away again.

  “Thank you? For what?” Justin asked.

  “I was thanking the man for my dinner.”

  “It’s his job to serve you dinner. I pay him very well to do so.”

  His arrogance surprised her. She’d thought him a kinder man than that but then again, she didn’t know him. “Am I not to thank the staff? Am I not one of them?”

  “You are no such thing. You are a guest in my house and therefore they will serve you the same way they serve me.”

  “I’m not the same as you.”

  “I didn’t say you were. Are you always this defensive?”

  Carmalina had the good grace to be contrite. She was usually never this argumentative or negative, but the lack of sleep, the close confines and a few glasses of wine all added up to push her closer and closer to the edge.

  The edge of what, she still didn’t know.

  “I’m sorry, Justin.” The use of his name would go a long way to soothe his ruffled feathers. “I’ve never been here before, like this. It has been longer than I can remember since I dined with only one other person, let alone a man.”

  “How long has it been, bella?”

  “Too long. I’m afraid my manners may need a little polishing.”

  “Never.” He shook his head but she could see the humor in his eyes. He still stared at her like a puzzle, a gift to be unwrapped and then deciphered. It was bet
ter than feeling like the next course on the menu.

  “Have you a busy evening planned?” She needed to change the subject before they wandered into unchartered territory again. Inane niceties were far preferable to personal revelations.

  “I’m not going out this evening.”

  The pie she ate stuck in her throat until she coughed and spluttered with all the grace and elegance of a decrepit pig. He was going to stay in? With her?

  “Are you all right?” The concern in his eyes as she fought to catch her breath would have been laughable if she’d been able.

  No! She was not all right. “I’m fine, really. Merely surprised.”

  He raised his brows.

  “I thought gentlemen went to their clubs of an evening.”

  “Not when there is entertainment to be had at home.” The smolder was back. But then Carmalina wasn’t sure if it had ever left. It only burned hotter, more intense.

  “I’m afraid the events of the day have tired me somewhat. I’ll not be good company tonight.”

  “Never fear. I can entertain myself.” The way his eyes flashed had her thinking all sorts of nebulous but inappropriate thoughts. Now, how to flee and make it appear she didn’t run from him? Even though that was exactly what she’d do. It was hard to think when the lights from the candles flickered, reflecting off crystal and china. When she finally looked into his gold-flecked eyes she saw the heat and determination there. She then realized she was as much a puzzle to him as he was to her.

  “I believe I shall retire if you don’t mind.” She placed her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back.

  Justin shook his head, his feral look almost ferocious. “I do mind. I mind very much.”

  * * *

  He wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. He wouldn’t let her run to her room every night as soon as soon as they’d eaten otherwise she would come to see it as a refuge of sorts. He didn’t want her to run from him and he most definitely did not want her bedroom to be sanctuary.

  He hadn’t expected the platonic intimacy involved in sharing but he rather liked it.

  Platonic female company. If a fortune-teller had warned him about this night, he would have scoffed, perhaps laughed, and then demanded his coin back.

  No. He would give Carmalina this night. She was so skittish she wouldn’t be able to relax no matter what he did so they would go to the library and get to know each other. That was the plan anyway. “The night is young. Please don’t deprive me of your presence just yet.”

  “It is nearly ten o’clock. The night is no longer young.”

  “Please?” Justin hated to beg but if that’s what it took then it’s what he would do.

  Their gazes met and held; her dark brown eyes were nearly black in the dim candlelight. Yet she began to give in. Her frown wasn’t quite so sharp, her brows didn’t dip so low and her posture wasn’t as tense as it had been moments before.

  “Do you promise to keep to your word?”

  “I am a gentleman.”

  She snorted. “I will have your word nevertheless.”

  She didn’t trust him? Good start, bella. She shouldn’t let her guard down lest she risk being devoured, ravished and more. Her good sense would be an added obstacle. Right now he needed that barrier.

  “You have my word. I will not lay a finger on your person unless you ask me to.”

  Her frown back in place, she studied him for a moment. He would have given all the money in the world to know exactly what went through her mind.

  The skin between her eyes finally relaxed and a tentative smile crept to her lips as she sat back down. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Perhaps a game of chess? A glass of brandy?”

  “All right.” She nodded. “Chess it is.”

  They finished their wine and Justin led her to the library where the fire burned hot in the grate, the game already set on a low table between two dark leather chairs. This was his favorite room in his uncle’s house. He would never see this home as his, only as a temporary place to rest his head at night. He was extremely grateful but it was yet another favor. Another act of charity for the boy who couldn’t look after himself.

  “What are you thinking about?” Though her tone was gentle, Carmalina’s voice rang like a beacon on a foggy night and guided him back to the present. Back to her.

  “You really don’t want to know.” He winked and let his customary lecherous grin stretch his lips. He mentally kicked himself that he hadn’t guarded his thoughts better. It would be strange to have her in the house all day, every day. He was going to have to stay alert. Carmalina was far too astute for her own good.

  “Black or white, my dear?”

  “White for me, thank you.”

  “Ah, black for me, then.”

  “Fitting?” she asked with a low chuckle.

  “Perfectly.”

  He waited for her to sit and then sank down opposite. When he met her stare, he was staggered by the magnificence of her smile. It was the first time he’d really noticed her even teeth, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, twin dimples on her flawless cheeks. She was perfection, and he needed her.

  “You really must not look at me like that.”

  Justin ignored her statement as he waited for her to make the first move. She surprised him by playing her knight from behind the row of pawns.

  “Like what?” he eventually asked, his focus now on the game.

  “Like you want to eat me.”

  * * *

  Carmalina’s cheeks flushed when she uttered the words. She felt silly saying it at all but it was unnerving. Every time she looked up, his stare reminded her of a lion. She wanted to feel safe and secure, not be prey.

  She snorted under her breath. She would never feel safe and secure whilst living under a roof with one of London’s most notorious men. She knew theirs was not a bargain designed to make her feel at home anyway. Theirs was a business agreement and she had to repeat that truth to herself until some part of her believed it.

  “Now it is my turn to ask what you are thinking about.”

  She expected the question and thought about her answer while she debated the wisdom of moving her queen to protect her rook or leave it alongside the king. She wondered if the maker of the game of chess had been female. Only a woman would have appointed the queen as the most valuable piece and the king vulnerable to attacks unless she guarded him.

  She would stand alongside Justin Trentham while he caused his scandal and she would play her part well. But when the time came, she would protect herself as she’d always done.

  “I was merely thinking you should have left your knight where he was.” She moved her queen four spaces on the ebony and ivory tiles and announced, “Checkmate.”

  The game had barely run for twenty minutes and already it was over. Though she’d beaten him, she had the distinct feeling he’d let her win.

  “Another game?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so. It really is late and I must get some rest.”

  “Why did you say yes, Carmalina?”

  She sighed. She wouldn’t play it simple and pretend she didn’t know what he asked. “Have we not already discussed this enough, my lord?”

  “I don’t believe you’ve given me an answer yet. At least not one I like or believe.”

  “Perhaps the only answer I have is an undesirable one?”

  “Nothing about you is undesirable, my dear.”

  She didn’t want to give him any answers. She preferred the verbal parrying, wit and satire to the all-knowing way he peered into her soul. Her secrets were hers to keep and she wouldn’t share them with him at any cost. Carmalina still didn’t know what kind of man he was. What he would do with the knowledge that earlier he had held her fate in his hands.

  “Perhaps when you have answered some of my questions, I’ll return the sentiment.”

  “Bravo, bella.”

  Carmalina stood with all the grace of a queen, her ha
nds clenched in front of her so he wouldn’t try to kiss her good-night but more so he wouldn’t detect their slight tremor.

  “Why do you run?” he asked quietly.

  “Why do you see something that isn’t there? Is it so inconceivable that I wish to sleep rather than stay down here with you?”

  His smile was all she needed to know he did indeed believe the notion absurd.

  “Good night, Justin.”

  Carmalina thought she was free as she spun around and walked toward the door. Danger warnings screamed at her until she wanted to turn to see what he did, where he was, but then he would know just how terrified she was.

  “Good night, Carmalina.”

  The way he purred her name sent shivers skating along her spine. Her lips tingled with the need to taste him once more but she would not let her traitorous body win. One part of her was disappointed he didn’t try to kiss her, but the other part of her was glad. If he knew just how close she was to throwing herself into his arms, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it to his advantage.

  With the image in her mind of how a hungry lion stalks a poor, helpless lamb, she ran up the stairs and into her room, slammed the door shut and locked it behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  Never in his life had Justin slept so poorly. All night he tossed and turned and dreamed of Carmalina, mere meters away, yet the distance was insurmountable.

  Did she toss and turn and think of him? Did she lay still, the cool sheets caressing her bare skin, or did she wear a lace nightgown rucked up to her hips while she dreamed? He tortured himself and forced himself to think about something or someone else.

  But it was hopeless. She was the only presence in his tired mind that morning. The way she’d closed off and fled made him wonder once again why she had agreed to stay, why she had returned to his home. The image of her climbing into his garden flashed through his mind and raised more questions than he had answers.

  He stood from behind the desk in his study and pulled the bell cord for Newberry. If he wasn’t going to get any work done, he may as well do something else with his brain.

  “Sir?” Newberry entered the room with barely a sound, bowed low and then waited like a good butler should.