Mistress in the Making

by Lynne Silver

  “You heard?”

  “I have excellent hearing, and they weren’t exactly whispering.”

  She licked her lips and looked up anxiously at his face, but white teeth gleamed in semidarkness, transforming his face into a thing of masculine beauty. Her breath hitched at her luck. Madame had warned them to accept any gentleman who bid, and even hinted that an older man would demand less. But Charlotte shivered at delight that Lucas held many physical attractions. Then she snorted at her silliness. As if she had anything to be proud of. The man didn’t even seem to want her, and only wanted to best his brother.

  She lowered her gaze and stepped toward Madame’s parlor.

  “They called you Charlotte.”

  “What?” She paused with one foot nearly in the doorway of the parlor.

  “The girls on the stairs called you Charlotte,” he repeated. Coarse hairs dotted his cheeks and chin and he had shadows under his eyes, the kind that lack of sleep formed.

  “They did, but Madame prefers Charlene. She believes it to be a more fitting name for a mistress.”

  “Which is it to be then? What do you prefer?”

  “Char…” She hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “Lotte,” she said. He’d already won the auction. Surely he wouldn’t renege because of her name, and it boded well that he even cared about her preferences. Remaining Charlotte helped her retain a core piece of her soul.

  “Come in, Charlene. Stop dithering in the hallway,” Madame said from behind her desk.

  “Charlotte and I were just conversing,” he said with an emphasis on the second half of her name. He helped her into her seat and elegantly sank into one beside her.

  Madame’s lips pursed for a second before she smiled brilliantly. “I’ve done a quick bit of research.”

  Lucas said nothing, simply steepled his fingers together and waited for Madame to speak.

  “You are Lucas Morgan, long thought to be dead, and twin to the current Earl of Westhunt.”

  It was obvious to everyone in the room Lucas was a man of virility, the opposite of dead.

  “Normally, I’d question your identity, but you resemble your brother to a remarkable degree.”

  “We are identical twins.”

  “Identical in all respects?” Madame’s tone was sharp and probing. “I ask because your brother is a powerful man. He made it very clear to me he wanted to win my first-ever mistress auction. So tell me, Mr. Morgan, why should I allow you to steal my prize mistress out from under your brother’s nose? Do you have the authority to protect me from your brother’s wrath?”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened and her stomach turned over. Then this wasn’t a sure thing? She could be passed like cake to the next highest bidder—a man who looked as though he ate young maidens for breakfast?”

  “If all goes according to plan, I will not only protect you, but the entire city, nay, the entire world from my brother.”

  Shocked silence erupted in the small room at Lucas’ confident and unexpected words.

  Madame fiddled with papers on her desk to hide her consternation.

  Morgan leaned forward and said in a quiet, urgent voice, “Madame Bella, heed my words. If you allow this young lady to go with my twin, she will not fare well. You will earn a reputation—”

  “A reputation of giving my customers what they demand,” Madame interjected.

  “Perhaps, but if one of your girls was to go missing or die, it would make it more difficult to procure more students, would it not?”

  Charlotte sat back, barely able to breathe. Go missing? Die? How evil was his brother? Why wasn’t he in Newgate? Or Bedlam? Remaining an impoverished ward of her mysterious cousin was looking better and better.

  Long seconds ticked by while Madame considered his words.

  “Very well,” she said at last. “Sign here.”

  In a blur of speech, Madame dictated Mr. Morgan’s promises and Charlotte’s obligations to Madame. She was to send fifteen percent of her monthly stipend back to the school for the period of three months. She was to receive a residence and an account at a dressmaker among other things. In return, she was to be at his beck and call, and to submit to whatever sexual desires he demanded. Charlotte barely caught it all. She hardly dared acknowledge the time had come for her to leave the safety of the school and apply all she’d learned in the past months.

  Before she could form any questions or last-minute pleas for Madame, she was bundled into Mr. Morgan’s carriage and alone in the dark with the man.

  They drove in silence for a few moments.

  “Where shall I drop you?” he asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “I asked where I should direct my driver.”

  “Um, I realize you haven’t had time to procure a house for me yet, but surely you’ve given thought to where you’ll keep me,” she said in a low voice.

  He sat back against the padded bench. “I have no plans of keeping you. My intent was to take you from my brother. Mission accomplished. You’re free now, where shall you go?”

  His words hit her stomach like a prize fighter’s punch and horror settled in. “You can’t do this. You promised Madame.”

  He chuckled. “Worrying about your fifteen percent, are you? Never fear, I’ll send Madame her money.”

  “But…” Her sisters, what would she do? All her grand plans of saving her family began to crumble before her eyes. She’d planned her sisters would stay in whatever house her protector set up for her use. Without that, they had nothing. How would Elizabeth go through a Season?

  Mr. Morgan propped his booted feet beside her thighs. “You’re a pretty chit. You’ll find another protector soon enough. Where shall I take you?”

  “With you,” she blurted. “I have no place else to go.” The skirt of her dress squeezed and wrinkled beneath her worrying hands.

  His feet hit the floor of the carriage with a thump and he leaned forward, forearms on his powerful thighs. “Listen here. I arrived in town only recently, I have no permanent residence, and I don’t sleep with whores. I certainly don’t live with them.”

  She gasped at his cruel words. “I’m no wh…”

  “Save it, Charlotte. You stood on that auction block smiling and displaying the wares for all to see. Don’t play the missish virgin now.”

  She swallowed hard over the sudden lump in her throat. What could she do? Was he to throw her onto the cruel London streets? Would she have to stumble back to her family’s crumbling estate admitting failure? No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She sat up straight on the bench, eyeing her adversary. Madame’s many lessons about the male gender rolled through her head.

  Without a further word, she dropped to her knees in front of him and reached for his trouser buttons.

  Chapter Three

  He barely had time to process where her hands were before his cock was out and gently squeezed between two of the softest palms he’d ever felt. His eyes closed and his hips reflexively gave a short upward thrust.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, but she didn’t answer.

  Her hot mouth wrapped around him and he hardened instantly. Blood pounded between his legs and it was all he could do to keep from crying out. It had been long, too long, since a woman’s soft touch had been near him. He gripped the pillowed fabric of the carriage bench and squeezed, fighting for control, but rational thought abandoned him as Charlotte’s mouth wove a magical spell around him. Christ, he’d never felt anything this amazing in his life.

  He’d heard rumors of such things, but sailors rarely had time for extended love play. A quick game of in and out at every port was all he’d usually manage. Why was she doing this? Did she think he’d change his mind about keeping her? Although he’d offer her marriage if she kept her mouth wrapped around him for a few minutes more.

  He placed one hand around the crown of her head, sliding his fingers around her silky, wheat-colored tresses. His movements caused her hair to spill out of her elegant style
and fall onto his thighs adding yet another texture of delight.

  She slid her mouth up and down his swollen shaft, her tongue doing amazing things at the base. When he felt a tiny lick on his tightened balls it all became too much and he exploded into her mouth. Cool air whipped at his softening cock when Charlotte sat back and smiled coyly at him.

  “I’ll be good to you. You’ll love having me around,” she said with shining lips.

  He snorted and tried to arrange his trousers to discretion. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  She pouted. “You didn’t enjoy that?”

  “It was bloody brilliant, and you know it,” he said, looking out the window or anywhere but into her anxious-to-please face. He was embarrassed at how easily she’d distracted him with sexual favors.

  “I promise to do it every day if you allow me to stay with you,” she said and slid up onto the seat next to him, placing her hand suggestively on his upper thigh.

  His cock actually gave a little jump at the nearness of her hand. In fact, if it were up to that particular appendage, Mistress Charlotte would be on her back, legs in the air while it pounded into her. And Christ, every day? The idea was overwhelming in its appeal. Hell, he’d ask her to do a lot more than that. A picture of her dressed in nothing but delicate gold chains around her wrists and ankles entered his mind and his shaft jumped again.

  Seven years ago, when he’d first started his travels, he’d purchased delicate gold shackles from a mischievous vendor in an eastern market place. At twenty-two, he’d barely understood their purpose. Now he’d finally met a woman on whom to use them.

  She gave a small smile as if she could read his thoughts and was ready and willing to be his sexual slave, chained for his pleasure. He couldn’t let his mind go astray. For a wild minute he wondered if the whole auction had been engineered to derail his plans to investigate his brother. But no, Sebastian had been genuinely shocked to see him alive and irate at losing Charlotte. Lucas needed to lose his new mistress and go looking for answers.

  “One day. You can stay the night, but tomorrow, I expect you gone.” He waited for her to pout and whine like most women he’d known, but she merely smiled and kissed him on the cheek as if he were her big brother.

  “Wonderful. You won’t regret it.”

  She’d been given a reprieve. Granted, it was only one evening, but at least she wouldn’t be sleeping on the streets tonight. She’d simply have to convince Lucas she was worth having around. If his reaction to her little performance was any indication, she could unpack permanently tonight. Oh my, had Madame Bella known what she was talking about.

  When she’d first discussed that particular sexual act and demonstrated on a willing footman, Charlotte had been aghast. It looked quite messy and humiliating, but it had really worked. Lucas had been at her command for a few glorious minutes. And it hadn’t been horrible—in fact, she’d liked holding his cock in her hand. It was warm and silky and hard all at the same time. Pleasuring him left her feeling edgy and heated. Perhaps she should demonstrate her mastery of some of Madame’s other lessons.

  He seemed ready, if the swollen nature of his penis was any indication. Madame had said men needed time to recover, but Lucas had hardened almost immediately after she’d placed her hand on his lap. Perhaps she hadn’t performed correctly. Oh god, she was such a naïve little virgin. How could she have thought taking copious notes during the months of lessons were enough to make up for any real experience in the bedroom?

  She’d simply have to try harder. When they arrived at his home, she’d remove her clothes and enter his bedroom and refuse to leave until she’d pleasured him thoroughly. Unless of course, his wife was waiting for him…

  She looked up quickly. “Are you married?”

  His brows lifted. “No. What gave you that idea?”

  Relief flooded her. “I was just checking.”

  “If I had a wife, I sure as hell wouldn’t be out purchasing mistresses.”

  The vehemence in his voice shocked her. According to Madame, aristocratic gentleman thought nothing of having a wife along with a mistress. One for the breeding, one for the fucking, but Lucas didn’t seem to think that way.

  “Or maybe I would be,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, you said something. I heard you,” she said insistently.

  He picked up her palm and set it firmly off his lap onto her skirts. “If you keep up the questioning, you’ll be out of this carriage faster than you can say ‘I’m no virgin’.”

  “But…”

  “Enough, Charlotte. It’s been a long day. I’m weary.” To prove his words, he leaned his head against the carriage seat and closed his eyes.

  She decided not to provoke him further. What was it Madame had said? Oh yes, men were often more loquacious after a good meal. It was her recommended time for asking for baubles or other favors.

  While jewels would help, Charlotte needed a bit more money than some paste jewels would offer. A Season in London was expensive. If she was to help Elizabeth through, she needed the reliability of a monthly income for some time.

  Sitting back, she pondered her future while Lucas pretended to sleep. Rather badly too. Having three younger sisters, she was aware when someone actually slept and when one faked it to get out of an unwanted conversation.

  He didn’t want to talk to her or keep her, which begged the question of what awful sin his older brother committed to force Lucas to such devious behavior. Why had he spent a fortune on a mistress he didn’t want?

  A few minutes later, the carriage halted in front of a dark home. Charlotte peered around as Lucas opened the door and hopped out with athletic grace. He held out a perfunctory hand as she stepped down onto rough gravel. He reached back in the carriage to yank out her satchel. Moonlight glinted off weeds poking through the dusty dark stone along the path leading to a large arched front door.

  No butler greeted them, only darkness, which Lucas fixed by setting a light to a candle set on a table just inside the entry. How he did this in near pitch darkness she didn’t know.

  “You have no servants?” she asked in a low whisper, fearing a louder voice might scare off the ghosts that seemed to be lingering.

  “Only one and I told him not to wait up. Hold this.”

  Her arms wrapped unthinkingly around her satchel, which he thrust into her chest and she followed him down the hall and up one flight of stairs where he paused at the top landing.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I just realized something. Follow me.” He turned to enter the first door on the right where the candlelight danced on a large bed in an even larger room where a fire blazed in the hearth. “You’ll sleep here.” He pointed to the bed and turned on his heel to exit.

  She dropped her satchel and caught his arm. “Where will you be?” She tried to infuse her tone with honey and hide the fact that this creepy, dark house scared her a bit.

  “Not here.” He shook off her arm and exited, leaving her alone in near blackness.

  “Goodnight,” she said to his retreating back, but he didn’t respond.

  Once alone in the room, she turned toward the bed and tried to feel her way to it in the near darkness. A bit of the firelight reflected off the bed and she paused when her toes bumped into a small something on the floor. She bent down and picked up the mysterious object. Soft, bendable leather told her they were shoes, slippers really. Judging from the length, they belonged to a man. Lucas most likely, since he was quite tall. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see something other than the slipper and the large bed. She could make out a tall wooden dresser, but the objects on top were hidden in darkness and revealed no clues.

  Whose room was this? Lucas had said he was only recently back in town and had not procured a home. If he had but one servant, would he have taken the time to order a guest room readied? Most likely not, which meant this was L
ucas’ room.

  Oh dear. Not a good start. What would Madame recommend? Was it a good sign he’d given up his bed for her? Or was he too much of a gentleman not to? Either way she’d have to go find him. She couldn’t allow him to bunk down in a drafty, empty room.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned back to the doorway and exited the room. Trailing a hand along the wall, she called for Lucas softly and walked down the hall hoping no staircase would catch her by surprise. Lucas didn’t answer, and she didn’t believe he’d be asleep already.

  “Lucas,” she said a bit louder.

  “What?” a crabby voice called back from downstairs.

  She spun around and felt her way down the stairs, grateful for every bit of moonlight coming through the windows. Once downstairs, finding Lucas in the stygian darkness was easy since he held the lone candle and its light glowed from a room to the left of the base of the stairs.

  She entered that room to see Lucas crouched in front of a fireplace, piling logs and bits of paper.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t turn around. “Rowing a boat. What do you think I’m doing?”

  “I see what you’re doing. I’m wondering why.”

  At that he paused and turned to her. “I’m lighting a fire so I don’t freeze my bollocks off in here tonight.”

  She stifled a smile at his curse. If he thought to scare her off by language, he’d have to do better than that. Her father had treated her as a son and had thought nothing of letting loose with foul language now and again. “If the house hasn’t been lived in for a while, you’ll be bloody lucky not to have bats and other creatures joining you.”

  It was hard to tell in the shadows, but she thought he may have smiled at her returned curse.

  “What are you doing here? Couldn’t sleep?” His voice softened.

  “No, especially knowing I’d kicked you out of your own bed. This is your home. I’ll sleep down here.”

  He snorted. “You’re no lady, but you are a woman. I won’t force you to sleep on the floor. Compared to some of the places I’ve slept, this is practically a palace.”