No Ordinary Mistress (Entangled Scandalous)

by DeHart, Robyn

  “That is more appropriate for my mistress,” he said, coming to his feet. He walked around her in a circle, taking in the entire sight of her, knowing full well that his perusal of her would irritate her. He didn’t know if he did it for that reason or because he wanted to take his time and memorize every detail of her, because now that she was back in his sight, he knew he’d be damned reluctant to see her go again.

  She cocked her head in his direction. “I actually don’t require your approval,” she said tightly.

  “Regardless, you’ve got it, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes flared.

  He chuckled. “I’d love to see that passion, that fire, put to something more pleasurable and productive,” he whispered to her.

  Emma sucked in her breath but said nothing in response.

  He turned to Madam Dupree and gathered the woman’s hands in his. “Marvelous job, as usual. And you have, on order, everything else the lady requires?”

  “Yes, of course, My Lord. She has three dresses now, and the rest of the pieces shall be delivered by the end of the week. We’ll put a rush on everything.”

  “Thank you.” Remy nodded over the woman’s hands, and she cooed delightfully. “I shall make certain my solicitor pays you for expediting everything.”

  With that, the modiste and her assistants left the room, and Remy was left alone with Emma and Harrison.

  “Well, it looks as if the two of you are ready for your outing,” Harrison said. “Emma, you must trust Remy, he will ensure your safety. I have other matters to attend to before it gets too late in the day.”

  She nodded but said nothing. She stood there with her arms wrapped around herself. The stance was closed, unwelcoming, yet Remy felt quite invited to stare at her ample breasts. He forced himself to look away.

  “Despite our differences, we know how to work together,” he told Harrison. “See you in a few days, and hopefully, by then we’ll know who killed Comfry.”

  “Very good.” Harrison nodded to Emma, then left the room.

  When they were alone, Emma turned to him, her eyes ablaze. “I don’t need your protection.”

  “If you didn’t need protection then you wouldn’t be here with me.”

  He took a step closer.

  A step too close.

  She could feel warmth radiating off his lean, muscular body. From this close, she could see the gold ring that circled his pupils and then faded into the mossy green of his irises. She sucked in a breath. “There is truly no point in arguing. The two of us shall never agree on anything.”

  “I doubt very much that is true.” He gave her a crooked grin she knew had probably melted hundreds of hearts across London. But she was no debutante. She was a trained spy for the royal crown. He was merely another assignment.

  He grabbed her wrists, his hands encircling her arms as if she were no bigger than a girl.

  “Emma, you mustn’t flinch when I touch you.” He held onto her, his warm gaze slid over her body, taking in every inch of her.

  She stood still.

  “People are to believe you are my mistress. No one will believe any such thing at the moment.”

  He was right; she knew that. She wasn’t afraid of him touching her when they were at the party. “When we are there, I shall be fine. We lived in the same house together in Paris. I can certainly pretend not to be repulsed by your touch when I need to.”

  “Sharing living quarters isn’t the same as being intimate,” he said. “We were not assigned to be lovers before, as we are now.”

  They might not have been assigned as lovers before, but she knew that had they continued working together in that small house, it would have happened. He’d never asked, but the tension existed between them, every time they’d been together. Every simple touch was electric, every glance heated. Damned if that attraction was still here, caught between them, pulling her to him despite the fact that he reminded her of everything she didn’t want to be.

  “Right now, we are alone, so there is no reason for you to be this close to me.”

  “Ah, but there is.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her body tight against his. He looked down into her eyes, and her thoughts swam incoherently through her mind. Good heavens, he was dashing and so roguish. She should push her way out of his arms, but damned if she wasn’t curious as to what he would do next.

  One of his eyebrows cocked, and then he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. It was a gentle kiss, sweet, romantic, and her eyes fluttered closed. His lips were softer than she recalled, not that she’d spent any time remembering what his lips had felt like or whether they’d been soft or otherwise. But then something changed in his demeanor, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid seductively across her closed mouth, teasing, beckoning, and she complied, parting her lips. In an instant, the kiss switched from something sweet and pleasant to something so passionate she lost her breath.

  His tongue swept into her mouth, slid against hers seductively, and she, against all her better judgment, melted against him and kissed him back. In that moment, they were back in Paris with a single kiss that seemed to promise more, yet ultimately had meant nothing. And damned if she didn’t want more, then and now.

  These kisses were reserved for the passionate people, the lovers who crept into darkened corners because they couldn’t endure one more moment apart, one more moment without touching one another. His fingers crept up into her hair without disturbing the artful coiffure. He was no novice when it came to embracing a woman while keeping her appearance from looking ruffled.

  She clung to his shoulders. Her breasts tightened, her breathing shortened, and tingles of desire traveled from her belly to the apex of her thighs. Good heavens, did he intend to seduce her fully, make reality of their charade, and have her become his mistress in every sense of the word?

  It was that thought that brought her to her senses. She pushed at his chest and stepped away from him. Her hand touched her mouth, and she frowned.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  He grinned, completely unaffected by her anger and their kiss, though she still shook on the inside. “Now you will not look so untouched by me. We need to appear as if we’ve been intimate. That kiss will make it easier.” He turned as if to leave. “Shall we? We have a ways to drive to get to the Foxtail Estates.”

  “That’s a ridiculous name for a home.” She said nothing else as they made their way to the carriage and she crawled inside the plush space.

  “You didn’t appear to be quite so offended when you were in my arms,” he said once the carriage lurched forward.

  “I told you I knew how to play the part.” Let him believe she was pretending just as he was. Let him believe that she cared not a whit about him. She couldn’t very well admit to the truth of the matter, that his mere nearness had her so flustered she could scarcely breathe.

  “Indeed,” he said.

  But she could tell from his tone he didn’t quite believe her.

  It mattered not. Kissing Remy would not happen again. Having to work closely with him would be a challenge alone without further complicating things with her unwanted awareness of him.

  Besides, his kiss had made his point; she needed to make certain she appeared the way any other mistress would. She’d been around men enough to know how to behave accordingly. But damned if that wouldn’t take all her energy, and then she might not be able to focus on the investigation. As soon as they found that journal and solved Comfry’s murder, she could go back to simply being Emma Masterson, perhaps get another assignment as a governess, and stop wearing dresses that made her feel as if her bosom was completely bared.

  Chapter Four

  Remy was thankful for the darkened carriage. He didn’t want Emma to see how much the kiss had affected him as well. He’d kissed her for one reason only: to startle her out of her prim and proper facade, to cut to the woman beneath all the propriety. He hadn’t anticipated enjoying the feel of her against him so muc
h. He’d thought his desire for her long since dead, yet his blood still hummed with lust.

  No, that wasn’t the truth at all. He’d kissed her for no other reason than because he wanted to. Had wanted to for years. He’d wanted to remember what her lips felt like. And his response didn’t surprise him; he wanted her, plain and simple. But there was nothing plain and simple about his relationship with Emma. So he had to keep his mind on what their purpose was. Tonight they were going to a party at a nearby estate, and then they would sneak into Pennington Hall to search for the journal. But before they arrived at either place, he had to keep his mind on the investigation and not the fact that he wanted nothing more than to pull Emma across the carriage and into his lap where he would continue to kiss her until she begged him to take her. He wanted her panting, shouting his name.

  “Once we arrive at Foxtail Manor, you’ll need to begin acting the part of my mistress. We’ll be sharing a bedchamber for our stay there.”

  “I’m certain you’ll be comfortable on the floor,” she said tartly.

  He wasn’t so certain he’d need to be on the floor. “Are you absolutely positive you’re up to the task of pretending to be my mistress?”

  “I suppose that all depends. Are your mistresses usually left feeling cold and bored by your company?”

  “Quite the contrary.” He could argue with her, tease her, but he wouldn’t discuss other women with her. He’d had other mistresses, but at the moment, he couldn’t remember much about them but their names.

  One delicate brow rose and her head quirked to the side. “You were saying?”

  He looked at her, willing her to stop being so damned prickly and relax with him. It occurred to him, though, perhaps he’d been wrong about the two of them. Perhaps she truly was as put out by him as she appeared to be. And perhaps this attraction he’d thought was between them was only on his side.

  “I was saying that we’ll be there shortly, so do whatever it is you do when you have to pretend to be attracted to someone.” He said nothing else until the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the estate.

  The footman opened the door, and Remy jumped out. He took Emma’s hand as they ascended the stairs to the front door. “We must make an appearance here, get our room secured, and then we can make our way over to Pennington Hall. Remember you are my mistress.”

  She grabbed his jacket and pulled him close and then kissed him. Just as before, she held nothing back, and then the kiss ended. “I’m not so daft that I have already forgotten my assignment.”

  He chuckled as they made their way into the foyer. They were announced as Lord Westbridge and companion. Emma had never before been to a ball, but she knew about them from stories her mother used to tell her. This, Emma knew, was no ordinary ball. Perhaps this was why it was outside of London, away from the prying eyes of the marriage-minded mommas. Here, couples embraced publicly, kissing and nearly fondling one another. They danced too close, the ladies sat upon the men’s laps, and the dresses were so low-cut she was certain she’d already seen more breasts than she’d been prepared for.

  “Good heavens,” she whispered.

  Remy pulled her close. “Not what you were expecting?”

  “I can’t imagine anyone would expect the likes of this.”

  He led her to the refreshment table and retrieved a glass of champagne for her. He watched as she took a sip and glanced around the room. Her brows rose when she spied a woman flirting with two men simultaneously.

  He leaned close to her ear. “Are you uncomfortable?”

  She started, but the movement was so small, it was barely noticeable. “Of course not.” Remy still believed her to be experienced in all matters of the flesh. Such displays shouldn’t be so disconcerting. “It seems futile that we had to attend this party.” She held up her hand to prevent him from explaining. “I understand. We couldn’t let anyone know our true purpose for being in this area, but I can still be irritated that we have to attend such public displays of debauchery.”

  “I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but it is you.” A woman’s husky voice sounded behind them. “Remington, you are the very devil to come into my house and not immediately come and greet me.”

  Emma and Remy turned simultaneously. The woman was older, quite likely old enough to be Emma’s mother, though you’d never know from the way she was dressed. Her gown, a bold and vibrant crimson, fit so low on her bodice Emma could see the pink centers of the woman’s breasts. Her graying hair had been piled artfully on top of her head. Her eyes, a silver that very nearly matched her hair, settled on Emma. “And who is this?”

  “Gloria, my dear,” Remy said, taking the woman’s hand in his own and bending over it. “My apologies. My companion and I were quite thirsty.”

  “Long travels will do that to you,” Gloria said. “As well as other activities.”

  “Indeed,” Emma chimed in. She ran a possessive hand over Remy’s arm.

  Gloria’s lips turned upward in a devious grin. “You look lovely, my dear,” she said to Emma.

  “Thank you. You have a beautiful home.”

  “You must tell me how you caught this wicked man’s attention.”

  “Perhaps another time,” Remy said. “We were on our way to dance.”

  Remy pulled her tighter to his side, and for a moment, Emma wanted to shift away. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him touching her, but rather the opposite. The more she was near him, the more she remembered the feelings she had for him. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Remington Hawthorne was an easy man to like: gregarious, handsome, and charming. But there was more to him, something she could see just below that charming facade he wore. So against her better judgment, she leaned into his body. Tonight she played his mistress. The charade might ultimately wreak havoc with her heart, but it was the risk she took for her work. And her work was important.

  “Yes, of course. Do enjoy yourselves,” Gloria said, then turned and walked off.

  Remy pulled Emma out to the dance floor and swept her into the waltz.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Gloria can be a little too much.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  They danced in silence for a few moments.

  “Emma, I never meant to insinuate I believe you’re a whore,” he said, his voice quiet.

  All around them, couples danced, kissed, and fondled. His soft admission in the midst of everything around them was far too intimate. She shook her head. “I can’t do this right now.”

  “Perhaps we should take a walk in the gardens.”

  “Fresh air sounds lovely.” She accepted his arm, and they stepped out into the night. They stepped off the balcony and into the gardens, brilliantly lit with thousands of candles. Walking arm-in-arm, they no doubt appeared the very picture of lovers. To the strangers around them, they were simply another couple seeking a moment alone in the darkness.

  “Tell me something real about yourself,” Remy said, his voice rich and warm, contrasting against the chilly night air.

  “What?”

  “I want to know something about you. Something real. Honest.”

  She was quiet for a moment. She knew what she’d say; it had been the first thing that popped into her mind. Still, she was hesitant. It was something she’d never shared with anyone. It wasn’t a sacred memory, so why should she worry?

  “I remember making biscuits with my grandmother. Every Sunday morning, we’d roll up our sleeves and roll out the dough together. She’d put flour on my nose, and we’d laugh.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded cold, devoid of emotion, as if she were reading the lines from a play instead of reciting something from her own life.

  “Sweet biscuits?”

  “Yes, sweet biscuits, and we’d dip them in our chocolate and sit by the fire and she’d tell me stories. She couldn’t read, so she could only share tales verbally.”

  “That is a nice memory.”

  “It is.” And for once, s
he realized it was, indeed, a nice memory. In a lifetime of coldness, where she was often left alone with servants while her mother searched for the wealthiest man to take for her lover, it was a memory filled with laughter and warmth. They stepped further into the gardens, falling into a quiet rhythm where their steps matched. They turned the corner, and there ahead of them, on a bench, was a couple quite actively engaged. The woman sat astride the man, her skirts bunched up around her, and she rode him fervently. Emma froze. The man grunted, the woman moaned, and still Emma could not move. Remy’s warm, gloved hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around.

  “Perhaps we should retire to our room for a while.”

  She nodded, but said nothing else.

  Three hours later, after spending time mapping out their plan for Pennington Hall, they left to find Comfry’s diary. Emma practically hugged Remy’s back as they skirted along the darkened corridor. If they moved as one, they’d be less likely to get caught. It was something they’d mastered together in their brief time in Paris. Funny how things came right back without even having to discuss them. They were a good team; she knew that, despite the emotional aspect of things.

  If she were completely honest with herself, she’d acknowledge the fact that she wouldn’t want to be working on this assignment with anyone else. She trusted Remy, and this was likely the most important assignment of her career. She’d seen her mark killed, and his family, people she’d grown to care for, had been sleeping in the house. Not only that, but the one man who had been a constant in her life had been murdered. She didn’t know if they were connected, but she felt certain they probably were.

  She’d be damned if she didn’t do everything she could to find Comfry’s killer. And she knew Remy would as well. There was assurance in that. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get her heart broken in the process, but she would manage that if and when it happened. Until then, she had to stay sharp.

  They made their way out the back door of the kitchen and onto the grounds. Remy had earlier established a deal with the grooms and had a horse waiting for them. They’d ride quietly to Pennington Hall, and hopefully, tonight they’d find the journal and all of this would end.