The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis

by Christina McKnight

  Fabulous.

  She’d seen everything…

  “And was that Lord Ridgefeld with you?” She set her tiny hands on her hips. She’d grown into a woman without Sam noticing—and an observant woman, at that. “I am certain Marce will enjoy the story of my sister most regal climbing out of the back of a market cart like a common farmer’s daughter.” Payton smirked triumphantly.

  “You would not dare!” Sam retorted, stepping toward her sister and crossing her arms. “I will tell Marce of your nightly trips to the gaming halls.”

  “You can prove nothing.” Payton didn’t bother denying her late-night outings, merely pointing out that no evidence of it existed.

  Thankfully, Sam had been holding onto a little tidbit of evidence, in case the need ever arose for her to make use of it. “A note arrived several days ago…something about you owing a certain shopkeeper five pounds by next week.” Payton’s eyes widened in surprise, her mouth gaping. Sam continued, “So, I think it advantageous for both of us to keep each other’s confidences. Do you not agree?”

  Payton only nodded, her chocolate-brown curls bouncing with her exaggerated effort.

  “Very good.” Sam smirked. “Now, I should hurry to my room and freshen up for supper. That farmer must have transported a hundred pigs in that cart. I smell worse than a horse’s stall in the blazing summer heat.” Though Sam would not forget Ralph’s kindness.

  Sam strode confidently past Payton, certain her sister would never risk Marce learning of her ever-increasing gambling debts. Just as Sam would not delight in their eldest sister questioning her outings with Lord Ridgefeld—or worse yet, her intentions toward the man.

  With the man.

  They all had secrets, it was only a matter of finding the means to keep them hidden.

  For now, Sam needs must figure out what her next outing with Elijah would be. She’d thoroughly enjoyed their time at Gentlemen Jackson’s and Hyde Park. It wasn’t even a stretch to admit that she’d enjoyed their reckless phaeton ride into the country, though her feet were a bit sore from their short walk until Ralph had happened upon them and offered assistance.

  Not to mention her aching arms from holding onto the reins as the horses ran with abandon. There was no chance she’d admit she’d been frightened during their short jaunt out of London.

  “You know, dear sister,” Payton called, halting Sam before she started up the stairs. She didn’t turn to face her youngest sibling. “When a man courts me, he will need more than a filthy horse and cart to woo me. I suppose not all women are as particular as I.”

  Sam’s back stiffened, but she refused to turn, in no mood to neither argue with her sister nor defend Elijah. “Then I think it is a grand thing that Lord Ridgefeld is not courting me.” She paused, debating whether to say more. “And, thankfully, for all gentlemen concerned, you are far too young for a courtship as yet, which will afford you ample time to improve your whiney, simpering disposition.”

  At Payton’s gasp, Sam smiled to herself and started up the stairs.

  No matter how much she teased Payton, Sam was certain the girl needed time to mature before setting her sights and gaining a tender for any man. For once her youngest sibling grew a taste of the pleasures a man could give, she would fall fast for the first gentleman who could bring her to the edge of ecstasy, and she’d jump over without needing a push. Not that Sam was naive enough to allow Elijah to bring her to the ledge. Nor was she trusting enough to throw herself off the cliff with only him as her guide.

  “Have a wonderful afternoon, Payton.” Sam turned the corner at the top of the stairs and continued down the hall to her room…and blessed privacy.

  She needed solitude to decide what outing she’d undertake next with Lord Ridgefeld. His presence was certainly a boon for her, bringing amusement and a sense of leisure to her normal routine since joining society. It was a constant wake up, dress, eat, social calls, afternoon entertainment, meals, and evening soirees. The pace left no time for satisfaction of the grand moments she’d experienced in the last several months.

  Once safely in her room—all of Jude’s possessions gone—Sam sighed in relief.

  A lovely pink gown hung from her wardrobe in anticipation of her evening out. She hadn’t any notion what entertainment was planned for her that night, but the dress was certainly demure, a soft blushing color that suddenly seemed far too innocent for Sam to wear convincingly. Would society look at her in the gown and suspect the pleasure she’d experienced with Elijah?

  The mere thought of their intimate moment in his carriage sent heat flooding her entire body. She stripped her overcoat from her shoulders to ward off the warmth overtaking her as she hurried to her window, unlatching it and throwing it wide to allow in the breeze.

  Sam scanned the driveway and street below, but Elijah—and the cart—was gone, disappeared from sight. A spark of remorse filled her. Certainly they had quarreled, but if she hadn’t insisted they try and outrun Lord Proctor, Cartwright’s carriage would not now be deserted outside the city and Sam might have been able to convince Elijah to extend their outing. He’d mentioned a picnic in the country. Something entirely uninteresting to her, but with Eli…she rather thought she’d enjoy the outing. Maybe that would be her next request. Or the opera. Her mind swirled with possibilities. Covent Garden outdoor playhouse with its darkened garden paths and private audience boxes.

  However, Marce would never agree to allow her to journey to the opera or Covent Garden unchaperoned with Lord Ridgefeld. It would be highly unseemly and certain to gain undue attention—which only increased Sam’s desire to do exactly that.

  Besides, she owed Elijah a reward for their afternoon outing.

  What better way to give it than to request his accompaniment to Covent Garden that very evening. Certainly, he would not turn down her request, it was innocent enough. Especially if she could convince Jude and Lord Cartwright to join them. Her twin owed her much more than a mere night at the playhouse for her hand in Elijah fleeing Hollybrooke.

  Sam hurried to her writing desk and jotted off a quick note, requesting that Jude and her husband accompany her to Convent Gardens. As their houseguest, they would have no option but to invite Lord Ridgefeld to join them. But, hastily, Sam added Elijah was welcome, as well, just in case Simon was too obtuse to realize it would be rude not to bring Ridgefeld along.

  Sam replaced her quill and dusted the page with sand to make sure the ink did not smudge after she’d folded the note. She could not risk any of her message being illegible when Jude read it. Would her sister—her closest friend and confidant—suspect Sam’s clandestine intentions behind her invitation?

  Truthfully, Sam was unconcerned with how Jude interpreted the note. She was determined to see Elijah again—the sooner, the better. There was much more she sought to learn from him before he disappeared once more to the far reaches of Liverpool.

  Eli entered the museum, unable to dispel his smile. He’d thought the brisk walk from Piccadilly to the museum would give him time to put Sam from his mind, at least until his afternoon of work was complete. Once he’d returned to Lord Cartwright’s townhouse, and his room, he would be free to allow his thoughts…and desires, to return to her. For now, he had a task to complete, and if he did not wipe his satisfied grin away before meeting with Cartwright, the earl would certainly suspect Elijah had something altogether different on his mind that had naught to do with his family’s treasured collection.

  The exhibits were busy with meandering men, women, and a few well-behaved children as Eli made his way to the door leading to the offices and the workroom hidden in the far reaches of the large building. He’d relish the opportunity to bring Sam here to wander through the displays and disappear into the darkened maze of corridors, exploring not only the hidden treasures not on public display but also each other.

  “Ridgefeld,” Lord Cartwright stepped into his path. “I’ve been trying to gain your notice since you entered the museum.”

  “My
apologies, my lord. It is rather loud in here.”

  Cartwright glanced around. The museum was as it always was, quiet as a mausoleum. He shook his head as if he’d missed something important but was unwilling to admit it. “I was not expecting you this afternoon. I am on my way to meet Garrett at White’s for a meal. Join us?”

  He’d hoped to spend several mindless hours sorting through artifacts and jotting notes for display cards, not sitting with the two men closest to the woman he could barely take his mind from.

  Bloody hell, maybe a meal and drink would help him sort through his coming dilemma. The possibility of his intention to court Miss Samantha properly—with her brother and brother-in-law’s approval—could be discussed over their meal.

  “If you have other plans—“ Cartwright’s brow rose.

  “No,” Eli insisted. “No, I do not. I would very much enjoy joining you.”

  Cartwright clasped his shoulder and turned toward the front door. “Wonderful, my carriage is being brought round to take us.”

  At the mention of conveyances, Eli remembered Cartwright’s damaged phaeton abandoned on the road leading out of London. If he planned to broach the subject of courtship, it would not be in his best interest to mention the broken carriage until after Cartwright and Garrett seemed amiable to his pursuit of Sam. Hell, maybe he should hold off telling the earl until all the betrothal papers were signed.

  The carriage ride to White’s passed quickly, Cartwright lost in his own thoughts and not bothering with chitchat.

  It gave Eli time to brush the dirt from Ralph’s cart from his trousers. He’d offered the man money in exchange for transporting them into London, but the farmer had refused, only promising to check on the phaeton on his way back home to make sure vandals hadn’t set upon it.

  His grin returned at the thought of Sam nestled in the filthy cart, with nary a complaint as they were jostled and jarred the entire journey. It was not hard to picture her, a heavy pack on her back and garbed in thigh-hugging trousers as she kept at his side while they explored the desert or used machetes to cut a path through the South American jungle.

  She continued to surprise him with each hour they spent together. In Derbyshire, she’d appeared much like the spoiled, well-mannered debutante she was, but even then, Eli sensed a deepness to her. A part of her that she hid from others. Chances were if he hadn’t happened upon her in Cummings’ study, looking through that scandalous book, he would have never discovered the enchanting creature she was.

  Sam did not trust easily, but she had good reason. A reason Eli understood better than most.

  She was quick to divert a subject if she sensed it was not to her liking—another skill Eli was adept at.

  Sam had no qualms about gaining what she wanted—by any means necessary—be that an education in intimacy or an outing all too unsuitable for an innocent maiden. Elijah envied this trait in her. He tended to push others away, deny himself what he truly longed for in an attempt to keep others at bay, in turn, guarding himself against hurt and loss.

  However, he was determined to change that. His goal for prolonging his stay in London was to court Sam properly. Do anything and everything to make her happy; bring the light to her eyes he’d first noted at Hollybrooke. That Sam appeared to revel in their time together also gave Eli hope for his future—their future.

  He would wait in anticipation for her next note requesting his company on an outing. Or was she prepared to invite him into her home, Craven House? Maybe it was his turn to take the lead and call on her, make a plan of his own?

  Bloody hell, but he had no idea what activities a couple did when courting, especially in London. In Liverpool, he might invite her to the harbor and take her out on one of the many schooners to watch the sun set. Or invite her to the Sunday gathering at his local parish for a meal with his local community. Even an afternoon at Tidbell’s Inn for a spot of tea.

  Eli’s connections and knowledge of town life—or lack thereof—was no more glaring than in that moment.

  Focusing on Cartwright on the opposite bench, he watched the man scribble in a small journal he held close, his pencil feverishly moving across the paper as if he sensed if he slowed down, his thoughts would evaporate.

  “What are you writing?” Eli asked.

  Cartwright glanced up, puzzled, as if he’d forgotten he was not alone in the carriage. “Oh, I am making notes of topics to speak about with my dear sister, Theodora, when I travel to her school in Canterbury.”

  Eli pictured the precocious girl he’d met in Derbyshire, no more than thirteen, but destined to be a true beauty with an intellect to match. “I hope her journey to school went well. If I remember correctly, she was to set off for Canterbury when you and Lady Cartwright started your bridal tour.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Correct, Lord Ridgefeld. I hadn’t expected you’d retain such inconsequential information.”

  “It is not every day a man meets a young woman destined for greatness, Cartwright.” Elijah wondered if he spoke of Lady Theodora or Sam. “I look forward to one day speaking with your sister about the merits of girl’s boarding schools as opposed to private tutors.”

  “I am certain Theo would enjoy a spirited debate on the subject.” Cartwright nodded, a lock of his fair hair falling across his face.

  The carriage slowed to a stop, and the door opened to reveal the famed gentlemen’s club White’s. Until now, Eli had only been privy to stories of the place’s grandeur: the dark, masculine interior, the male camaraderie found within its exclusive walls, and the relaxation of sharing a private evening reading The Post and drinking port.

  “Coming, Ridgefeld?” Cartwright called from the walk outside the carriage.

  Eli hurried to join him and hide his anticipation of being inside. It would be unbecoming to show his exhilaration at embarking on an age-old tradition among society men. His grandfather had brought Eli’s father here many years ago. And if the late marquis had been afforded a few more years, Eli was certain they would have come here together, as well.

  Instead, Cartwright stood beside him, and Sam’s brother waited inside. Could these two men fill the void his grandfather’s demise had left within Eli? Would they become his friends? His family?

  “Well, Ridgefeld.” Cartwright slapped him on the back. “Let us enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before returning to my townhouse and discovering the evening entertainment my dear wife has planned for us.”

  Eli gulped. “Both of us?”

  “You are our guest, and Jude informed me it is only proper to entertain one’s visitor for the duration of their stay.” Cartwright recited the words slowly, much as he had the morning of his wedding in Cummings’ office when he bid Eli to depart. The earl was only a messenger, and therefore, held no responsibility for the repercussions Eli faced with Sam. “Shall we?”

  The door opened as they neared to allow them entrance, and swung just as quickly closed to keep the prying eyes of the loitering individuals outside from invading and disturbing the sanctity of the club.

  Would Elijah give up his quiet existence in Liverpool for a life surrounded by the extravagant nature of town society? The answer was simple…if it were Samantha’s wish, he would grant it.

  Cartwright waved to Lord Garrett Davenport and the man moved toward them.

  “You did not say you were bringing him.” Sam’s brother nodded at Eli, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “But I guess he can stay. This way.”

  Eli’s first thought was that the man jested. They were barely acquainted with one another; there was little opportunity for the man to make any decisions one way or the other about Eli in such a short time. That did not stop the pang of hurt he felt, though.

  The trio moved to a table set for them before the roaring hearth as a manservant added a third place setting.

  “I hope you don’t mind I selected the grouse and wild salmon for our meal.” Garrett dropped into his seat, a drink already in his hand, obviously unconcerned if either
man took issue with the selected fare.

  Elijah turned to admire the great bay windows at the front of the establishment, the dark mahogany wood walls that matched the furniture to perfection. Even the servants’ garb was highlighted with a dark blue, the same hue used for the upholstery of the overstuffed chairs scattered about the room in some organizational arrangement that eluded Eli’s understanding.

  Behind him, Eli heard Garrett speaking in hushed tones with Cartwright. Phaeton…London countryside…repairs…bloody inconvenient…no one hurt…just a carriage, where the only words he could make out between the pair. Sam must have sent word of their phaeton ride misfortune to her sister.

  “On the road leading out of London?” Garrett shouted loudly behind him, before hissing, “That is very far from Hyde Park, do you not think? What where they doing all the way out there? Did you think to question that?”

  “Certainly, I did,” Cartwright’s squeak said he hadn’t thought to question any of it—and Eli was content with that. It was a conversation to be had at a later time. “But Garrett, the probability of a carriage having trouble is quite high, especially with a phaeton of its age and usage. I do not think it warrants further discussion.”

  Eli continued surveying the room, anything to keep away from the discussion of the damaged phaeton. Not that he was avoiding the conversation, it was only that Cartwright was a much more agreeable and understanding man without Garrett near.

  Chuckles and a shout of outrage had him spinning to watch a table across the room. A group of men sat relaxed as a game of faro was underway. He wandered closer, the need to be part of the revelry overtaking him. A man in a shockingly bright mustard-yellow coat shuffled a deck of cards with ease, keeping up a steady stream of conversation with the players gathered around the table. If Cartwright and Garrett were not waiting on him to dine, Eli would be tempted to take a seat at the table and test his luck at a hand. He’d never thought of himself as a particularly providential man—especially after his grandfather’s death and his mother’s disinterest in reuniting with her only son—but since meeting Samantha, things had improved.