The Mistress' House

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The Mistress' House Page 21

by Leigh Michaels


  “I don’t think I should tell you that.”

  “My dear, we’ve just slept together. You can tell me anything.”

  “I don’t think I went to sleep,” she said doubtfully.

  He smiled. “It’s a manner of speaking. Another name for making love.”

  “Oh. Then it’s apparent I do need more lessons.” She hesitated. “Are you tired, Julian?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Then this would be the perfect time for Lesson Two.” She sat up, suddenly eager. “How to stir a man when he’s reluctant, you said, or tired. Let me think… No, don’t tell me. Let me figure this out on my own.”

  “I have no intention of telling you. I’m going to sleep for a few minutes, and then I’m going to sneak back across the garden.”

  “And you’ll visit me again tomorrow? I’ll be sureto unlock the door after the butler goes to bed—unless you’d like me to meet you in the grape arbor again.”

  Julian opened one eye. “I could almost feel sympathetic for your guardian.”

  He hadn’t promised, Georgiana noticed. Definitely she was going to have to take matters into her own hands. “I understand being tired. But reluctant…? No, I don’t see why anyone would ever be reluctant, Julian, because what we did was awfully nice. I liked it a great deal.”

  “I noticed that, urchin.”

  “And I’d really like to do it again.” With tentative fingers, she began to explore, tracing the angles of his face, the arch of his throat, the outline of the muscles on his upper arms, the fine dark hair on his chest where it arrowed down across a narrow waist and flat belly. She stroked the head of his penis. “It’s so velvety. And so soft. Not at all like it was before.”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “Georgie, you hell-born brat, stop it!”

  She was obscurely pleased. “Does that mean I’m doing well with my lesson?”

  “Too well, minx.”

  She watched as he seemed to stir and grow under her touch, and then, quite happily, she applied herself to learning exactly what worked best… until he growled and pulled her under him once more and demonstrated that he was neither tired nor reluctant.

  Yes, she thought. Lesson Two had gone quite nicely.

  And… in due time… Lesson Three did, as well.

  ***

  It was hours later—not long before dawn—when Julian slipped back across the garden. Blessedly, no one in Thorne’s household had discovered the unlocked dining-room window, so he climbed back in, sat down to take off his boots, and tiptoed up the stairs to his room, where he dozed a bit—and thought about Georgie.

  He felt like a cad—yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret what he’d done. Since Georgie had been absolutely set on losing her virginity, he’d thought he could at least ensure that she was with a man who wouldn’t hurt her in the process. Once she had experienced making love, he’d told himself, she would understand how vulnerable a woman was when she gave herself to a man in that way, and she would let go of her truly lunatic notion to choose lovers based on their ability to give her jewels and fund her travels.

  Except it hadn’t turned out that way at all. He supposed if he’d been thinking clearly—something that he could see now wasn’t likely to happen anytime Georgie was in the vicinity—he’d have threatened her with rape instead of making love to her. Scaring her half to death might have given her second thoughts. Making love to her certainly hadn’t.

  For, as it happened, Georgie was a natural at lovemaking. She was as sensual as a kitten—and every bit as cunning in gaining her own pleasure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so easily aroused.

  Yes, he was a cad, no question about it. Making love to her even once had been reprehensible; he’d had absolutely no intention of repeating the process. But Georgie’s eagerness was a stimulant like no other, and so Julian had compounded his lapse in judgment by staying with her. And allowing her to seduce him again.

  She’d worn him out, in fact—but she had still been going strong, making plans for Lesson Four, when he’d finally forced himself to leave her. Walking away from her had not been easy; she’d been curled temptingly in that velvet-draped bed, an innocently seductive siren. But if he’d waited any longer, he might as well have sat down on the back step and waited for the scullery maid to take him in with the milk.

  Damned if he didn’t think Georgie was right about the potential for success in her chosen career. All she’d have to do would be to walk around Hyde Park and give limpid looks to gentlemen, and she’d have them lined up on her doorstep. They’d be bidding for the honor of giving her diamonds and houses and carriages…

  It made him feel ill.

  Except… there was no reason she couldn’t be his mistress. True, his income—such as it was—wouldn’t run to diamonds and houses and carriages anytime soon, but surely he could convince Georgie that there were compensations to having him as her only lover…

  Something about that didn’t feel quite right, but he hadn’t figured it out yet when his batman came in to open the drapes. Julian yawned and sat up, and as soon as he had bathed and shaved, he went downstairs to breakfast.

  He wasn’t aware he was whistling until Thorne eyed him suspiciously and said, “You’re in an unexpectedly good mood, considering the black cloud the Old Man left you in last night.”

  “Oh, that,” Julian said. “Actually, it’s just that whistling… uh… keeps me from yawning. I haven’t slept well since the war started—always the need to be alert, you know. That’s why, when I can’t sleep, I walk around at night.”

  “The war’s over, Julian.”

  “It gets to be a habit. Plus I’m a bit worried about what the Old Man will think up next.” Julian put a slab of ham and a spoonful of deviled kidneys on his plate, selected a slice of toast from the rack, and sat down. Damn, he was hungry. “I hate to keep the servants up waiting for me while I’m out walking. Might I have a key? Just in case.” In case next time someone finds a window open and locks me out.

  The butler poured his coffee. Without taking his eyes off Julian, Thorne said, “Carson, give my cousin a key so he can come and go as he likes.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the butler murmured, and went away.

  “I’ve been thinking about your problem, Julian.”

  My problem? For an instant, Julian felt a mad urge to ask Thorne’s advice on what a mistress should know. But of course that couldn’t be the problem Thorne was referring to.

  “Yes?” he managed. “My problem?”

  “The Old Man and the shrew,” Thorne said patiently. “She wasn’t just a bad dream, Julian. Pull yourself together. I’m going home to Surrey at the end of the week. I want you to come with me.”

  Leave London? Leave Georgie? Not bloody likely. Julian shook his head. “The tailor said it would be next week before he had all my order finished.”

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t seem so concerned about clothes yesterday.”

  “That was yesterday. What’s in Surrey, anyway?”

  “You’ll be able to visit around the neighborhood, and get to know a few people. Start to establish yourself in society. Then you can go and stay with Colford for a while and do the same thing.”

  It sounded deadly dull to Julian.

  “Let people know you’re home. Hint that you’ll be looking for a wife. Then as soon as hunting season starts, you’ll be invited to some house parties, and you can begin to meet a few young women.”

  “What good will that do? The Old Man—”

  “The Old Man is being very shortsighted. You need to take a longer view of things—and if you make your case like a reasonable man, you can bring him around.”

  Julian looked at Thorne with astonishment. “Maybe it’s easier to deal with him when you’re an earl in your own right, Thorne, but I’m telling you—”

  “When you find someone you like, you’ll simply come back to town and discuss it with the Old Man. Remind him that you’re the last remain
ing heir—and tell him if he insists on marrying you off to the shrew, he can whistle the idea down the wind of you having a legitimate son to carry on the line. But if he lets you marry someone you don’t mind seeing in the bedroom, you’ll make sure he has a half-dozen great-grandchildren to bounce on his knee. If you handle him right, you can get what you want.”

  Someone you don’t mind seeing in the bedroom… Yes, that would make a good topic for a lesson sometime. Being a mistress entailed always looking attractive and appealing and tempting…

  Of course, there were far more important subjects to take up first, and Georgie didn’t need much help in being attractive and appealing, anyway. That chemise she’d been wearing last night might have been virginal white, but the way it fit hadn’t just been tempting, it had been downright wicked.

  He wondered what she’d look like wearing blue, the same color as the Dorset sky…

  “Julian!”

  “What? Oh, Surrey. I don’t think so, Thorne. You’ll be billing and cooing with your bride, and I haven’t been in London for so long that I really want to stay a while.”

  Thorne rubbed two fingers across the line between his eyebrows as if his head hurt. “You know you’re taking a chance this young woman will turn up at Seaborne House some night for dinner.”

  “She’s indisposed.”

  “Indispositions end, Julian. Or the Old Man may summon her, just as he did you last night—and I wouldn’t put it past him to have a special license in his pocket so he can take care of the matter right then.”

  “I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” Julian polished off his ham and went back to the sideboard for more, along with a pile of eggs and bacon. He wondered what Georgie was having for breakfast—or if she was even awake yet. More likely she was still curled up in bed like the kitten she so resembled… sleeping off an exhaustion that would look far more innocent than it really was.

  ***

  Georgiana, however, was wide awake. After Julian left her, she had napped for a while and then remembered that the maid would be coming sooner or later with her morning chocolate, and there would certainly be questions if she found Georgiana snuggled up without a nightgown on. So she’d scrambled to pick up her discarded clothes, made sure Julian hadn’t left anything behind, and then put on the nightgown that had been laid out for her the previous evening and started to climb back into bed.

  When she pulled back the sheets, however, she realized that not all of the traces of their night together could be as easily removed as a chemise that had been discarded on the floor.

  Julian hadn’t warned her of this. Of course, he had been rather busy all night—and he’d left in a bit ofa hurry near dawn—so perhaps it had simply slipped his mind.

  But if the upstairs maid did a thorough job of bed-making this morning and saw bloodstains on the sheets, she would have to go to the housekeeper and report. And Mrs. Mason would have to go to Lord Hawthorne and tell him. And Lord Hawthorne—he of the many mistresses—would certainly know what had happened, and he would summon Georgiana and yell at her. Or even worse, he might send Perkins to yell at her. They would demand to know who the man had been, but of course Georgiana would refuse to tell. Even if they were to torment her, she still wouldn’t talk…

  But the important point was that she’d be watched far more carefully in the future. No more late-night walks in the garden, and certainly no more visits from gentlemen. Julian wouldn’t be able to come to see her again tonight—but she had no way to warn him to stay away. And if Lord Hawthorne found out that Julian had been the one in her bedroom, the Earl might throw him out of the house and refuse to help him financially…

  Julian wouldn’t have any choice then but to marry an heiress. Even thinking about that made her feel sad—especially since it would be partly her fault.

  Besides, Georgiana had no intention of giving up her lessons. So obviously she had to act—and quickly.

  She stared at the stained sheet, thinking hard. She could say that her monthlies had started—but she could hardly keep up that pretense for long.

  She could say that she’d cut herself—but she didn’t have a wound nor the strength of mind to actually pick up her scissors and create one.

  She stood for a moment, thinking quickly—for the maid might come in at any moment—and then she reached for her inkwell. Just in time, too, for the glossy black ink was still spreading over the spots on the fine linen when she heard steps outside her door.

  She tugged the sheets off the bed and was standing in the midst of a maelstrom when the door opened.

  The maid looked around in confusion. “Miss Georgiana, what’s the matter?”

  “I was writing a letter, Mary,” Georgiana improvised. “And I tipped over the inkwell.”

  “In your bed?” The maid sounded horrified.

  “I know—it was so careless of me. The sheets are ruined, I’m afraid, but I think I got them off the bed before the ink soaked through and into the mattress… I hope Mrs. Mason won’t be too angry with me.” Her voice trembled a little—and not intentionally.

  Mary’s gaze slid from the stained sheet to Georgiana. “Begging your pardon, Miss, but how did you get so much ink on the sheets and none at all on you?”

  Georgiana bit her lip. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Not that she would have liked to stain her nightgown, for it was her very favorite. But she could at least have coated her fingers… “Just lucky, I guess?” she offered tentatively.

  Mary made her way around the heap of linen to set Georgiana’s tray on a small table by the fireplace. “Accidents happen,” she said finally. “I’ll just put the sheets in the rag bin.”

  Remorse tugged at Georgiana. “Do you think Mrs. Mason will be angry? They were very nice sheets.”

  “Mrs. Mason has seen worse than ink on sheets. I mean…” Mary’s face went red. “I beg pardon, Miss. I shouldn’t speak to you of…” She gulped and went to open the draperies. Then she swept up the bundle of sheets and went hastily away.

  Worse things than ink? That was certainly interesting, Georgiana thought, and sat down to drink her chocolate.

  ***

  In the off-season, there were few visitors to Gentleman Jackson’s club, and Julian enjoyed the attention of the famous boxer himself for a while, basking in a couple of restrained compliments and taking to heart some advice on how to better protect himself in a street brawl.

  When he was finished—and feeling both winded and hot—he wandered over to where Thorne was sparring with their cousin Lord Colford. Neither was really putting his heart into the bout, Julian thought. In fact, they seemed to be doing far more talking than fighting.

  “Maybe York,” Colford said as Julian walked up. “That should be far enough. Felicity could…”

  “No.” Thorne sidestepped what looked like a half-hearted jab. “I’m breaking the rules as it is. I can’t just ship…”

  Colford cleared his throat.

  “…the package out of town. Not ’til I hear from the… owner.”

  “A package?” Julian observed lightly. “Or a baggage?” Was Thorne disposing of another mistress? Heaven knew he’d done it often enough; Thorne had never had a mistress who lasted for more than a few months. Julian was just glad Georgie wasn’t going to be one of that long line…

  “A bit of both,” Thorne admitted. “How did your instruction go?”

  “I’m too tired to take you on this morning. Which is exactly what you intended, I’m sure—because you know I still owe you a beating for that insult.”

  “What insult was that?” Colford asked.

  “He told me I’m just like the Old Man.”

  “And so you are.”

  “I’ll have to fight you both if you keep that up, Richard.” Then Julian grinned. “Excuse me—I should say, Colford.”

  “Only if you want me to call you Silsby.”

  “Let’s stick to first names, in that case.” Julian mopped his brow. “I’m ready to go, if you two are.�
��

  “A friendly game of cards at White’s?” Colford asked.

  Why not? Julian thought. He had nothing better to do—and the rest of the day to kill before he could go back to Georgie.

  They walked from Gentleman Jackson’s to Colford’s club, and on the way a carriage pulled up, blocking the traffic on Oxford Street while a beady-eyed old lady leaned out to quiz them. “What are you doing back in town?” she asked Thorne, but without waiting for his answer she moved on. “Colford, nice to see you.” Her gaze came to rest on Julian. “And you must be the new heir. What a good-looking trio Seaborne’s grandsons have turned out to be. If I were thirty years younger…”

  More like forty, Julian thought, from the weather-beaten look of her. Possibly even fifty. But he made his bow nonetheless.

  “Lady Stone,” Thorne said.

  She looked him in the eye. “Sir Rufus Baxter was asking about you last night. You haven’t compromised his ward, have you?”

  “Certainly not,” Thorne said coolly.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. I’d hate to have to write your wife and tell her you’ve been up to no good. If it’s about that silly canal project of yours instead, I have to warn you he’s got no money to invest.” Shouts were starting to rise from the carriages that her ladyship’s barouche was blocking, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze had drifted back to Julian. “I understand we’re to wish you happy, Silsby.”

  “Not just yet, my lady,” Julian said.

  Her gaze grew even beadier. “Seaborne’s found someone who’ll stand up to him, eh? That ought to be interesting.”

  But finally even Lady Stone’s selective deafness had to admit the protests around her, and she waved to her coachman to proceed. As the traffic jam began to break up, the three cousins walked on.

  “A canal?” Julian said. “You’re actually thinking of sinking good money into a muddy ditch?”

  “Perkins swears it’s the next sure-fire investment.”

  “I’ll wager you don’t see him putting money into a long hole in the ground.”

  Thorne looked intrigued by that idea. “It’s not a bad notion, at that. I’ll be interested to hear what you think after he tells you his reasoning.”

 

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