The Mistress' House

by Leigh Michaels

  For a moment, Georgiana couldn’t believe that Julian wasn’t the one who stood there. Her heart fell. Shouldn’t he have come himself to tell her what had happened?

  Of course, she had thrown the inkwell at him… What if he didn’t want to see her again after that? Oh, why did he have to be Silsby?

  Her gaze fell on the dull black stain on the cream silk that covered the wall. Mary had cleaned up what she could, refusing to allow Georgiana to help. “You’ll get your hands all stained,” she had fussed—and so Georgiana had been relegated to watching as the maid gathered up the shards of crystal and blotted the wall.

  She felt like a scolded child. Because you’ve acted like one, she thought. She had seized what she wanted without thought for anyone else… That was why Julian was in this mess, being raked over the coals downstairs… What was happening down there, anyway?

  Had Mrs. Mason come to take her downstairs to face the music? “My uncle?” Her voice trembled a little.

  “Sir Rufus and Lord Hawthorne have gone.”

  Gone where? Georgiana wanted to ask.

  “I thought you might like something warm while you wait, dear. Lord Silsby presents his compliments and asks if he may call on you in an hour.”

  An hour? What could possibly take as long as that? Did Julian need to be coerced into doing the honorable thing? Did he have to muster his courage before facing her? Was he trying desperately to find a way out? Or was he lying somewhere bleeding and insensible?

  Surely not the last—unless he had actually not sent that message himself.

  But whatever was going on, she had an hour to think about what she would say to him.

  ***

  Georgiana was in the library when Julian arrived; Mason showed him in, and she stood still, holding a book clutched in her hands to keep her fingers from trembling, and surveyed him from head to foot.

  Lord Silsby looked very different from the Julian she was used to. His coat was new, a deep, rich blue that suited his tanned skin and his eyes. She’d never been quite sure what color his eyes were—it was so difficult to tell by candlelight, and sometimes they’d looked blue and sometimes gray. But now she could see that they were indeed blue, a light, clear shade like seawater. His boots were new and polished to a glassy gleam; his cravat was perfectly tied; he was freshly shaved and his hair was no longer falling into his eyes. He looked every inch a lord, with not a trace left of the scruffy soldier she’d fallen in love with.

  She couldn’t deny it any longer, and Georgiana was too honest even to try. She did love him. Probably, she thought, she’d fallen in love with him that first night in his cousin’s garden—because even when he’d been all starchy and correct, he’d also been thoughtful and charming and funny…

  When he’d relaxed and showed her his true self, she had loved him even more. And then when he’d made love to her and shown her what a man and a woman could be together…

  “Miss Georgiana,” he said, and bowed over her hand with impeccable manners.

  Her world hung in the balance. She wanted to fling herself into his arms… to carry them back to the night before when things had been so much simpler.

  “I have discussed the matter with your uncle, and he has given his permission for me to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  As if Uncle Rufus would refuse the match that he’d practically given his soul to arrange!

  Georgiana waited. And waited. “Is that all?” she asked finally.

  “I have not yet discussed the matter with my grandfather, but since he approved the match initially, I’m sure there will be no hesitation from that quarter, either. You’ll be a marchioness…” He cleared his throat. “And one day my duchess.”

  He didn’t sound very happy about it.

  I don’t want to be a duchess, she thought drearily. I’d so much rather just be your lover.

  And that, she thought, was probably what he’d prefer, too. So she knew exactly what she had to do.

  “Lord Silsby, I am honored by your offer,” she said, her tone every bit as formal as his had been. “But I refuse.”

  ***

  She looked delectable, Julian thought as he was ushered into the library by a stern-faced Mason. But then Georgie always did. Today she was dressed in something that was pale blue and frilly and much more formal than he’d seen her wearing before. He doubted she could get out of this dress in a hurry, for it seemed to fasten up the back. But that was all right; he’d be more than willing to help…

  He almost stumbled over his proposal. Then, with the formalities over and the rote words spoken, Julian was more than ready to draw her close and kiss her—a real kiss, too; none of this peck-on-the-cheek stuff that newly betrothed couples were allowed by society’s rules—and so it took an instant for her answer to sink in. Even then, he looked at her for a long moment, expecting her dimples to appear, expecting that her warm, rich laugh would ring out at any moment as she shared the joke.

  Instead, her face remained sober and her lovely sensuous mouth stayed firm.

  “What the devil?” he said, shaken. “Georgie, you can’t turn me down.”

  “I just did.” She looked directly at him. “Please go away.”

  “You can’t. I mean it—you really can’t. You’ll be ruined.”

  “But that’s exactly what I intended,” she said, sounding surprised that he had to be reminded. “I did this so no gentleman would ever want to marry me.”

  “Now there’s an idea that was doomed to failure—as you’d know if you had just a little more experience.”

  “Either I’m ruined, or I’m not,” she pointed out. “You can’t have it both ways, Lord Silsby. So which is it to be?”

  Julian felt like throwing something. “Georgie—”

  She seemed to have stopped listening. “I want to travel.”

  “I’ll take you to Italy for our honeymoon. I’ll take you around the world, if you want.”

  “I want to be free—and I’ve achieved that. My uncle certainly won’t try again to arrange a marriage for me after this. And I’ll have my pick of the gentlemen of the ton, once they discover that I’ve been your mistress.”

  “Georgie, if you think I’m going to start you on your chosen career with some kind of a recommendation—”

  “You won’t have to, my lord. I’m sure the word will get out soon enough.”

  If she’d hit him over the head with a book of sermons, she couldn’t have stunned him more. “It will not come from me,” he said coldly.

  “Of course not. But servants talk, and enough people know what happened here this morning that the news will spread. For all I know, my uncle and your grandfather are talking it over right now.”

  “And if that discussion of theirs doesn’t lead to a wedding… It’s not just your reputation that’ll be ruined, you know. People will think I refused to marry you.”

  “Oh, now we reach the nub of the problem. It’s your reputation you’re concerned about.”

  “It is not. Dammit, Georgie—”

  She raised her chin. “I shall tell them differently, of course. You need have no fear that I will blame you, Lord Silsby.”

  “Georgie, stop the Lord Silsby nonsense. You can’t do this.”

  “Tell me why I should not.” She sounded perfectly reasonable—which did not take away his urge to pick her up and shake her. Gently, of course, and only long enough to jar loose these nonsensical ideas of hers.

  “Well, for one thing, my grandfather still wants that land. If you turn me down, he’ll be proposing to you himself, and the Old Man doesn’t take rejection any better than I do.”

  He was hoping she’d laugh at the sheer foolishness of the suggestion. Instead, she seemed to turn the idea over and consider it from all angles before shaking her head.

  “You’re angry,” he said.

  Something flashed in her eyes, but she said calmly, “I have considered my answer, and it is final. Good day, Lord—”

  Julian took a step tow
ard her, and she broke off mid-title. At least he’d made that much of an impression—though he felt like a brute, because he’d seen a flicker of fear in her face.

  “Georgie.” His voice was hoarse. “I know you don’t want to marry me. I know you don’t want to marry anyone—at least not right now. But you must.”

  “Last night,” she said almost casually, “you started to tell me I should marry—as if anyone would do.”

  Julian frowned. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s the way it could have sounded.”

  “And today you’ve proposed. Why? Because Uncle Rufus will call you out if you don’t?”

  “I’d like to see him try.”

  “I heard Lord Hawthorne yelling at you.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “You almost sound as if you mean it. How noble of you to make the sacrifice.”

  This was not going at all the way he’d planned it. “It’s not a sacrifice.”

  “Oh? Today you expect me to believe you actually want to marry me? After all this fuss and bother?”

  “No one is forcing me into anything, Georgie.”

  “But left to yourself you would never have offered for me.” She turned away.

  Was that the very smallest quaver in her voice? Hope sprang to life inside him. After all, she hadn’t actually thrown him out—quite. But what was she up to? Why was she being so obstinate? Something about this felt familiar…

  Lesson Four, he thought. Make him seduce you, he had told her. Show him that you’re interested—but make him work to have you. Now the wily little imp was using it against him.

  He wanted to laugh, to seize her and spin her around in some crazy dance.

  He knew better. He was a seasoned campaigner; it was time to change his tactics.

  “Left to myself,” he said softly, “I would have gone to my grandfather this morning and told him I wanted to be released from the match he had arranged for me.”

  Her spine had gone rigid. “Exactly. Which is why I cannot—”

  “So I could offer for the woman I love instead.”

  She stood very still.

  “You, Georgie.” He watched her thoughtfully. “But you’ve rejected my offer, and I accept that it’s your right to do so. You say you want to be a mistress. All right—but you’ll be my mistress. Or else.”

  She spun to face him. “Or else what?” She sounded quite annoyed, and it took great effort not to smile at her indignation.

  “Or else I’ll make sure every gentleman in the ton knows you’ve got a dreadful disease and might give it to him if he gets too close to you.”

  She gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

  “I would. I intend to be your only lover. So come, darling, since you’re going to be stuck with me and only me for the rest of your life, why not go the whole way and marry me? It’s not such an awful fate. I’ll take you to masked balls. I’ll give you diamonds and carriages and houses—”

  “And furs, I suppose?”

  “Nobody said anything about furs—but yes, I’ll give you furs. And children. Because no matter what you think, you’re really not cut out to be a mistress, my Lady Flame—except to one man who will treasure you and adore you and love you, and have no intention of sharing you ever.”

  “You don’t really want to marry me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He could see in her face the struggle she was enduring. She was torn between doubt and belief… between wanting him and being afraid he didn’t truly want her. But he knew now how this would end—and he could be patient for as long as it took her to believe him.

  “You can have the land,” she said faintly.

  “Give it to my grandfather. He’s the one who wants it. What is it, anyway, a few acres? What does it matter? Someday we’ll have an abbey… it’s as big as a castle.”

  “I don’t want an abbey.”

  “Are you certain? We could put up arbors all over the place and grow as many grapes as you like.”

  Sparks flared in her eyes. “You lied to me—Lord Silsby.”

  “No, I didn’t… Yes,” Julian admitted slowly. “I suppose I did, in a way, because I let you believe I was nothing more than I appeared to be. But I wasn’t hiding it from you as much as I was trying to deny it to myself. I wasn’t meant for this, Georgie. I was never supposed to be anything but a soldier.”

  She was looking doubtfully at him.

  “Besides,” he went on, “you lied to me as well. You knew perfectly well Thorne would never have touched you, but you threatened that if I didn’t make love to you, you’d go to him instead.”

  Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

  “And I haven’t seen a single male servant, except Mason, in this house, Miss If-you-don’t-make-love-to-me-I’ll-seduce-a-footman.”

  She ducked her head a little, and Julian seized the opportunity to put his arms around her. Georgie resisted for a moment longer, but then she melted into him, and suddenly happiness surged through him.

  He put his hand under her chin and looked deep into her eyes, which were filmed with tears. Happy tears, for she was smiling at him in a gentle, almost shy way that he’d never seen before—a smile that made his heart twist.

  “It’s you I want,” he whispered. “You, and only you. I love you, Georgiana.”

  She started to cry in earnest, then. “Oh, Julian—I only wanted you to care about me.”

  “Always. More with each day that goes by.” He kissed her long and slowly, and tasted such sweetness in her that it made him ache.

  After awhile, he sat down on the library sofa and drew her onto his lap. “What would you have done if I hadn’t obliged you, Lady Flame?” Julian nibbled the sensitive triangle right below her ear.

  “I’d have kept tempting you until you did,” she admitted. “I don’t understand how I knew you were the man I should make love with. I just knew it. But I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, Julian. I didn’t want to—at first.”

  “I know, sweetheart. But that’s all right, because you did it anyway.”

  She snuggled closer, and closer yet. “You don’t have to go see your grandfather just yet, do you?”

  He held her a few inches away from him and said firmly, “If you’re trying to seduce me, Georgie, you can stop right now. I’m not taking you back to bed until we’re married.”

  He was expecting her dimples to flash, and he wasn’t surprised. But even though he’d braced himself for the impact of her smile, he hadn’t counted on it being brighter and more stunning than ever before. Her elfin grin lit up her face and made him woozy.

  “Want to bet?” she said softly.

  And Julian, the seasoned campaigner, knew when it was time to surrender.

  Seven

  THE EARL RECEIVES AN OFFER

  Lord Hawthorne scrawled his name on the last of the letters Perkins had laid out on the big desk in the library, sanded his signatures, pushed his chair back and crossed the room. Thorne’s hand was already on the knob, the door was half open, and the butler was waiting in the hall with his greatcoat when Perkins spoke.

  “I’ll see that these letters are sent out immediately, my lord. But there’s one more item to call to your attention.”

  Thorne sighed and turned back to his man of business. “If you’re still on about that bloody canal, Perkins…”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Because I have to tell you that you’ve convinced us. Colford, Silsby, and I are all agreed you’re correct that it will be a good investment. Purchase four shares—one for each of us.”

  “Four shares, my lord?”

  Thorne grinned. “You’re thinking I’ve forgotten how to count? The fourth one is for you, man. If we’re going to have to listen to you prose on about canals for the next ten years, we thought you should be just as heavily invested as we are.”

  Perkins’ face was a study in astonishment. “My lord!”

  “Consider it a token of gratitude from each of us—for finding that incredi
ble house on Upper Seymour Street.”

  Perkins cleared his throat nervously and followed Thorne into the hallway, lowering his voice. The butler retreated to a discreet distance, still holding Thorne’s coat. “About the house, my lord…”

  Thorne groaned. “New wallpaper again? I thought we’d already replaced the panel the whirlwind hit with the inkwell.”

  “Yes, my lord, we did. It’s not about wallpaper or servants or the roof this time. A gentleman has expressed interest in purchasing it.”

  Thorne’s eyebrows raised. “Does the gentleman have a name?”

  “Not as yet, sir. I mean, rather, that the man of business who approached me did not divulge the gentleman’s name.”

  “Testing the waters,” Thorne mused. “Seeing if I wanted to sell before coming out in the open.”

  “I presumed so, my lord.”

  “I suppose you believe it the sensible course of action?”

  Perkins coughed. “It’s not for me to say, my lord. However, it would seem that you… that you…”

  “Have no further need of it? Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, Perkins. One never knows when a small, discreet, very private little hideaway will be welcome.”

  “But my lord…”

  “It was, after all, your idea,” Thorne reminded him.

  Perkins stiffened as if a poker had been rammed up his spine.

  Lady Hawthorne came out of the morning room cradling her infant son, Lord Chilton, in her arms. “Say good-bye to Papa before he goes out to his club for the day,” she crooned to the baby, who drooled and waved his hands. “Perkins, did I hear you speaking of Number 5 Upper Seymour Street?”

  Perkins looked wildly around, as if hoping that a trapdoor would open under him right there in the hallway so he could make a faster escape. He stared for a moment at Thorne, who remained silent. Then he sighed and took the fall. “Just a matter of the drains, my lady.”

  “I see. You always handle things so carefully for his lordship. He is fortunate to have you looking after his… interests.” She bestowed a smile on Perkins and started up the main staircase.

  “As for the house,” Thorne said. He wasn’t looking at Perkins; he was watching the sway of the Countess’s skirt as she climbed the stairs. “It’s really up to Lady Hawthorne to decide whether I will need it or not. Feel free to discuss it with her, Perkins. And do let me know what she says.”