The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis

by Christina McKnight

  She smiled triumphantly and clapped her hands vigorously. “Then I propose we attempt to make the next couple of days tolerable for us both…no more sulking, no more melancholy, and more entertainment. You will set aside your grief, and I will overcome my coming loss.”

  He should in no way agree to her proposal. The wise decision would be to turn around immediately and slip from her room unseen. To forget their time in the carriage, their time in her chambers today…and, if he were truly smart, ignore their time together in the study. However, Eli was reluctant to sour her delightful mood by rejecting her suggestion outright.

  Her request was a simple one: two days, or what remained of their time in Derbyshire, with his company as a distraction. She was requesting nothing but his time—which Eli had in spades.

  “To clarify, we will accompany one another while in a proper setting?”

  “If that is your wish, my lord,” she conceded with a nod.

  “Very well, then,” he replied. “I would like to know more of what you propose.”

  Sam leapt from her seat and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close for a tight hug. “It will include…”

  Her words trailed off as all Eli could think about was her arms wrapped around him. The feel of her breasts pressed to this chest. The way her hips aligned with his. And that, when she spoke, her breath lingered at his neck…warm and inviting.

  He suspected he would regret his decision to go along with her plan—he only hoped he was far from Derbyshire before his remorse truly sank in.

  Sam released her hold—far too soon, but also too late to dissuade the stirring within him—and bounded back to the bed. She seemed completely unwitting of the scandal it would cause if he were discovered in her private chambers. Even if a chaperone had been present, it would be exceedingly inappropriate.

  There was no hiding how aware he was of her exquisite beauty: her hair begging to be released from its trappings to fall wildly down her back, her gown a bit too snug across her breasts, and the way her skirt rose, revealing a quick glimpse of a shapely white ankle as she’d hopped on her bed.

  His manhood jumped in response.

  Her bed.

  Her rumpled, sleep-disturbed bed.

  Large, plush, and covered in a soft peach and white coverlet. In fact, the entire room was decorated with feminine pieces, from the white writing desk in the corner to the brass chandelier hung high above the bed. The chaise close to the window was a creamy white with pillows matching the drapes.

  He focused on her troubled demeanor to keep his own wayward thoughts from moving into actions.

  But even with all this light, bright décor, the room was cast in shadows with the draperies tied tightly shut and not a single lit candle. It was much the way Sam appeared when he’d first walked into her chambers—surrounded by shadows, as if stalked by what haunted her. Though it did not diminish her outward glow.

  His own chambers were in direct opposition to this one. The color palette was dominated by varying shades of the darkest blues with large, oversized pieces of dark cherry wood furniture. Not a speck of soft color or delicate, girlish adornments could be found in the room.

  Thankfully, she hopped from the bed and hurried to the closest window. Pulling back the heavy drape, Sam pinned it in place with the tie and rummaged through the writing desk before retrieving a slip of paper and a pencil, its tip sharpened to a deadly point.

  Eli feared for a moment she would return to her place on the bed, but again, luck was in his favor as she took the seat next to his once more.

  She cleared her throat, setting the paper on the small table between them. “Now, it is my understanding you are unfamiliar with the guests in residence, is that correct?” When he nodded, she continued, “Very well, I will task myself with familiarizing you with everyone: names, titles, estate location, and interests. Is that agreeable?”

  “Certainly, it would be most helpful.”

  “Marvelous.” She leaned over the table and scribbled a few hasty notes on the paper.

  From his vantage point, he could not read what she wrote.

  “What are you to gain from our arrangement?” Her interest in him puzzled Eli greatly. She was a stunning beauty, poised and elegant, blessed with a charming wit to match. He, on the other hand, was a social outcast by choice. While widely traveled and educated—all thanks to his grandfather—Eli was not a society man. He was a gentleman, thanks once more to his grandfather; however, he’d never attended a soirée or playhouse in London. He was most at home at his country estate or gallivanting across the wilds of England, Scotland—or even the deserts of Africa.

  Adventure was what he craved, what he missed most about his grandfather. However, could he find the kind of thrills he was used to in the arms of Sam?

  The twinkle in Miss Samantha’s eyes told him she too sought adventure, although Eli suspected that partaking of an exploit among society was far more dangerous than exploring the caves in Egypt.

  Sam was utterly shocked Elijah had agreed to her request. She kept her eyes on the paper before her to keep hidden how much she looked forward to their arrangement. If she’d known she would open her bedchamber door to find Elijah standing there or that she’d propose this plan, then she would have thought it through beforehand, instead of scrambling now to figure out how best to use their arrangement to her advantage.

  Dare she admit what she desired from their association? Maybe an ounce of truth would not be awful to admit.

  “It is simple, my lord.” And it was rather simple, at least in Sam’s mind. “You will escort me about Cummings’ home: to all gatherings, meals, and entertainments. It will appear I am being courted by a marquis, a quite dashing gentleman.” Sam paused, giving him a wink. “This will show any eligible gentlemen I am a prize. I have heard the best way to gain the attention of men is to appear unattainable.” And no doubt it would impress her father greatly.

  “Are you seeking attention, Miss Samantha?”

  “Does not every woman?” she replied, setting her pencil aside.

  “I would not know what a lady seeks.”

  The man acted as if he hadn’t ever been in the company of women. “What about your mother…mayhap a grandmother, aunts, or female cousins?”

  His chin dipped, and she noticed that his hands were clenched tightly into fists in his lap. “My grandmother died long ago—I barely remember her—and I have no other female relations. It was only ever Grandfather and me.”

  “Then I can help you in another way, as well.” Elijah was affording her the perfect diversion to keep her boredom—and father—at bay until they departed for London. “I shall give you an education in women. I am certain you wish to find a match at some point.”

  If he ever journeyed to London, the marquis would find himself hounded by every matron, their simpering daughters in tow. Sam leaned closer to him, unable to think of other women being in his presence. Or worse yet, Eli finding the women’s company enjoyable.

  Sam had witnessed many pitiful debutantes ushered around the ballroom by their mothers and introduced to men of every caliber: some old and wealthy, some young and titled, and others revolting but well connected with superb lineage.

  Outrageously deplorable.

  She and her sisters were all expected to wed, but they were not forced upon every gentleman they encountered or sold to the highest bidder.

  Her place on the fringes of society afforded Sam the opportunity and freedom to move about almost unnoticed. Though her beauty did draw much attention, and it was normally of the scandalous variety—which she’d allowed on a few occasions. A chaste kiss in a darkened hallway, a dance with a most handsome lord pressed a bit too closely, and even a ride in one lord’s enclosed carriage.

  However, Sam had never involved herself in a tryst of any sort.

  Do not doubt she’d been propositioned—sent flowers and extravagant gifts, but Marce had insisted she return each with a stern note that their impure advances were not
welcome.

  Would Marce approve of Sam spending time with Lord Ridgefeld?

  “I have not thought overly much of attaching myself to a lady,” he replied.

  “Then this will also work in your favor. There are a few young women here, and likely their mothers will sink their razor-sharp talons into you as soon as they hear you are unwed, titled, and wealthy.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Allow me to ponder this…you will gain the notice of men, and I will ward off marriage-minded mothers?”

  “I guess that is very true,” Sam agreed with a laugh. However, she would not mention that having Eli at her side during her time at Hollybrooke would also keep her father away, reducing the chances of him seeking a private word with her or, heaven help her, making Sam cause a scene before everyone gathered. At this point, she had nothing to say to Beauchamp. She was uninterested in any apology he might feel obligated to issue nor any promise for a future association of any sort. “Does this meet with your approval?”

  “We both agree to conduct ourselves in a suitable manner?”

  “Certainly, my lord,” she said.

  “You will introduce me to gentlemen of note, while keeping the matrons’ talons from sinking into me?”

  “That will be the easy part.” Her empty stomach fluttered as she awaited his answer.

  He allowed a low, long sigh to escape, turning his gaze to his lap. “We will not find ourselves in a compromising situation—after leaving your bedchambers today?”

  She hesitated to agree. On one hand, she found Elijah safe and non-threatening. On the other, she desperately longed to learn more about the physical side of an intimate relationship, and he was the only person who could help her with that. He would never agree to teach her. However, there was no reason to share with Eli what she truly sought.

  “No, we will accompany one another only in public areas,” she conceded, hoping he did not notice her wording was open to interpretation. The study had been a very public area; however, their time there was without the prying eyes of any other guests. “If you agree, I will expect your company for the evening meal.”

  “I do agree. However, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” He eyed her suspiciously as if he expected her to dissolve into tears once again when he left the room. “We can begin immediately. Mayhap I can escort you on a walk through the garden, or we can join the gathering on the lawn.”

  She hadn’t any idea where Beauchamp had gone after she’d fled the study, but Sam was not ready to face the man just yet—or the questioning stares of the other guests. By dinner, she would need to compose herself. She was expected to attend and be at her family’s side as they reveled in their final meal before the ceremony on the morrow. Even if her father showed for the repast, Marce would never risk a scene by seating Sam close to the man. Until then, she had much to occupy her time and energy.

  “I believe I have a gown to be fitted for the wedding,” Sam said. “But I will see you this evening.”

  Standing, she realized she did not want Elijah to depart, but it would not benefit either of them if her maid arrived and caught them alone in her bedchambers. He stood, as well, and trailed her toward the door.

  “I have one last request, my lord,” Sam said, setting her hand on the doorknob but making no move to turn it.

  He paused before her, so close she could smell the fragrance of his freshly laundered shirt. “I do not think one final request could do any harm.”

  His warm breath brushed against her cheek and down her neck, making it difficult for her to remember what her entreaty was. She itched to touch him: her fingers running through his neatly combed hair, and her lips meeting his once more. It was only overshadowed by her desire to have his hands discover her body, his tongue exploring her mouth, and his body pressed tightly against hers.

  “Your request, Miss Samantha?” he whispered.

  The space between them sizzled. “I long to have a certain book returned to me.” Was that the request she’d had in mind? She hadn’t any clue. “Please, my lord,” she cooed, leaning close to his ear, bidding the rest of her to remain under her control even as she yearned to touch him. Her entire body hummed with a longing her mind did not fully understand.

  He was so very close.

  She pulled back and looked into his eyes, begging him to give in to her request. Having the book returned, allowing her to gaze at images of other nude forms, would surely take her mind off his body.

  He leaned toward her, filling the space she’d left between them. He was going to kiss her—right here, in her chambers. Instead, he halted, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers. If she pushed out her lower lip just a bit, it would graze his.

  Her hand fell from the knob, and Sam prepared to wrap it around him when their lips met…if their lips met.

  The silence between them stretched endlessly as Sam awaited either his answer or his lips.

  Every nerve ending in her body tingled with anticipation.

  “There is no chance of that.” He straightened, pulling the door open. When had he grasped the knob? “If you seek to continue your scandalous education, you will need to return to the study for another volume, for I will not be returning the first to you.”

  Sam expelled her breath as he strode through the open door and into the empty hallway. His footfalls gradually faded as he made his way to his own chambers, his door opening and shutting soundly after he’d entered.

  It was only then Sam realized he’d denied her final request—but his actions vowed something far more alluring than what the combined books promised. There was little need for her to return to the study for another volume.

  Lord Ridgefeld—Elijah—would afford her the distraction she desired…and the satisfying promise of so much more.

  Chapter 12

  Eli stood before the looking glass as he fumbled with his neckcloth. The blasted thing had given him so much trouble it had lost its pressed appearance three attempts ago. He should never have excused his valet in favor of dressing in solitude. He was bound to be tardy for escorting Miss Samantha to supper if he did not settle on a knot and accomplish the task quickly.

  Making a good impression was imperative; however, arriving unburdened by secret longings for Sam was far more important.

  Mathers had spent the better part of an hour with his straight blade to Eli’s jawline. It was essential for him to make a notable impression on Cummings and Cartwright. If not, the men might very well turn down the Ridgefeld donation. With Sam at his side, she was certain to steer him in both navigating the meal and any entertainments planned for their evening. Thankfully, there was no ball or dancing, making Eli’s formal shoes and stockings unnecessary. The loathed finery was a necessary evil for some, but he’d managed to avoid their torture most of his adult life.

  He’d settled on his Hessians, black trousers, a crisp shirt, and a coat. He was at ease, yet presentable. Fashionable without appearing the peacock.

  If he were at his estate, he’d have recently finished meeting with his steward and would be preparing for a brisk walk about his property and stables to check fencing, the horses, and crops—trailed the entire way by the horde of cats that earned their keep as rodent catchers. Cook would have his evening meal readied when he returned from his daily activities.

  Did other lords take such an interest in their estate’s condition?

  Elijah couldn’t help but think that he’d been raised in a vastly different manner than most men of the ton. He’d never lived a life of luxury—he worked hard, every day, whether it was at his family home or on one of his many adventures with the late marquis. His hands were calloused from swinging a pickaxe for days on a dig in Austria. His legs were muscular from walking behind a plow in Africa when he’d helped a community plant row crops. His skin was tanned from his many sea voyages. These were experiences—adventures—many noblemen would never know. And also memories he’d cherish; maybe one day share with his own children.

  Sa
m had asked if he planned to wed soon, and he’d lied, saying he hadn’t thought of it and denied it was something he was interested in at present. The fact remained that he would, at some point in the near future, take a wife and start a family—or face the possibility of living alone except for the servants at his estate. Very much like stockings and formal shoes, London would soon be another necessary evil, for what other way could he become acquainted with suitable females?

  If there were another way, Eli would be interested to know. Country parties seemed not at all horrid; however, one need be acquainted with the host and hostess to garner an invitation—which was exceedingly difficult when one was unfamiliar with polite society.

  He would journey to London in the near future to transport his grandfather’s extensive collection of antiquities and artifacts. Certainly, there would be enough time to explore society for a week—maybe longer.

  Eli could stall no longer in his chamber if he planned to arrive in time to partake of the meal with the other guests. Except for the morning meal, he was unfamiliar with any other people in attendance. It was also likely he’d already forgotten the names of the many people he had met thus far.

  “The mail coach it shall be,” Eli mumbled, his fingers fumbling as he tied the rather simplistic knot. They were in the country, after all, certainly profligate neckcloths were not required. He turned one way and then the other, inspecting his handiwork. “It will have to do.”

  Retrieving his coat, Eli slipped into the garment, allowing its restrictive tailoring to settle across his shoulders. If it were up to him, he’d don a far less limiting jacket; however, his valet had assured him the fit was indeed proper, even though he did not favor it.

  Eli stepped into the hallway, pulling his door securely closed. The wall sconces had been lit, casting a glow down the corridor in both directions. At first, the deafening silence unnerved him. Everyone must have journeyed downstairs already.

  The sense of being utterly alone was nothing new to Eli, but the unfamiliar house had him straining to hear the odd noises given off by the old manor. A gowned figure rushed around the corner, her slippered feet making not a sound as she hurried toward him. She passed under a sconce, illuminating her auburn hair and making her appear as if she wore a heavenly halo. The thought almost had him laughing as Sam was in no way angelic.