His Favorite Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “No,” he interrupted. “Let her remain where she is. Actually, it is you I have come to see.”

  “Oh,” she declared, tucking her hands at her back. “Have you really?”

  An intense expression flickered in his gaze. “Yes.”

  She trembled, thinking of his kisses and caresses, including the ones they had shared only last night. Despite their increased intimacy of late, he had never before approached her here at home, as if the townhouse were forbidden territory—which, in a way, she supposed it was.

  Striding past her, he went to the door and closed it with a nearly silent click of the lock. Then he returned to take up a position directly before her.

  What is he about this morning? she wondered. Why has he come to see me in such a seemingly clandestine fashion? An uncharacteristic wave of shyness ran through her as she met his penetrating gaze.

  “Miss St. George…Gabriella, I have come to ask you a rather important question.”

  “Oh? And what might that be? This doesn’t have to do with last night, does it?”

  He raised a brow. “In a way, but that no longer matters. Gabriella…” He paused, leaning forward to take her hand, which he enfolded securely inside his own. “Forgive me if I do not have precisely the right words at my disposal. I have never done this before, so I hope you will excuse me if I fail to say everything you might wish to hear.”

  And what would that be? How could I possibly know when I can’t even fathom the question?

  “This may seem unexpected,” he continued, “but I assure you I have given this matter a great deal of thought and believe it to be the best thing for us both. You and I get along well, do we not?”

  She stared for a moment at his query. “Of course, but then you know that already.”

  “And physically, we are extremely compatible.” Moving closer, he stroked his free hand over the curve of her hip, letting his palm rest against her waist. “I don’t think I am wrong to say that you would welcome me into your bed.”

  The air rushed from her lungs, her pulse throbbing in a mad rhythm at the base of her throat. “Y-Your Grace, I…I,” she began, her words sounding strangled.

  “A simple yes or no will suffice.” He stroked his thumb against the underside of her palm, sending hot and cold shivers racing across her flesh, her nipples puckering beneath her bodice.

  I should not tell him, she thought. I should not admit to having such wanton, impassioned emotions inside me. And yet, he already knew her answer, particularly since she had made no effort to deny his touch over the past couple of weeks. Under his steady gaze, she gave in to his silent demand. “Yes,” she whispered, only then realizing the enormity of what she had confessed.

  “Good. We’ll do well together.”

  What is he saying? Surely…Good God, surely he isn’t asking me to be his mistress? She didn’t want to be any man’s mistress and yet…

  “Gabriella St. George,” he said in a deep, velvety tone. “Will you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?”

  Air left her lungs in a great whoosh, as if she’d hit the ground hard. She blinked against the dizzying sensation. “Did you say wife?”

  “I did.”

  “But you don’t want a wife! Everyone in the Ton knows that.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “It would seem, then, that everyone is wrong.”

  For a long moment she could barely think as she tried to digest what he’d just said, wondering if he was truly serious. Over the past weeks, her emotions had been jumbled and unsure, setting her caution aside as she let herself drift day-to-day on the sea of excitement and pleasure she felt when she was with him.

  Yet deep inside her had dwelled a secret wish, a hidden hope that he might one day ask her to be his bride. Still, she’d never really thought he would propose. Now here he was, asking her to be his wife. Had she, Gabriella St. George, really brought England’s most elusive and sought-after bachelor up to scratch? So it would appear. Despite everything that had happened between them, though, his conquest somehow seemed too easy.

  “So, what do you say?” he coaxed.

  Say? She wanted to say “yes,” she realized, but something held her back. A tiny frown furrowed her brows. “Why?”

  He scowled back as if he had been expecting her unquestioning agreement. “Have I not just said? We are well suited. And in case you haven’t noticed, I desire you. Badly.” He drew her closer so their bodies were pressed together, his arousal plain.

  His bold display left her in no doubt of his truthfulness on that score. But did he desire her so desperately he was willing to marry her in order to have her in his bed? And what of love? He’d said nothing of such tender emotions.

  Her heart clenched at the thought, a flood of awareness washing through her, along with a realization she had denied until this very moment. Good heavens, I love him! Truly love him. And with only a single word, he can be mine.

  Even so, she hesitated. “This isn’t about last night, is it? You aren’t proposing because we were seen together? Because if it is, then—”

  “Then what? Then our getting married makes even more sense.” He slid his hand along her back, circling his palm in gentle, soothing strokes that made her long to arch against him like a contented cat. “Let me make you happy, Gabriella. I can, you know, if you’ll give me the chance. Let me make both of us happy.”

  Cradling her as close as nature and their clothing would allow, he bent and took her mouth, his lips moving over her own in a heated, seductive glide. Her mind turned fuzzy, as it always did at his touch, her breath thinning into shallow, unsteady puffs.

  “Marry me, sweetheart,” he murmured against her mouth. “Tell me you’ll be mine.”

  Be his. Oh, how I want to be! she thought. Yours and no other’s.

  She’d met so many men since coming to London, some of them quite compelling. But none, not a single one, could begin to compare with Anthony Black—not in looks or demeanor or temperament. He possessed all the traits she most admired in a man: intelligence, compassion, and courage. And above all, an ability to see the world with humor, and never take anyone or anything, including himself, too seriously.

  He spoke of happiness—hers and his. Surely that must mean he felt a measure of love for her, did it not? She knew there were men who couldn’t express the words, not even when they felt quite deeply. Perhaps he was such a one, showing her what he could not bring himself to say.

  “Well?” he asked again, dappling her lips with soft kisses. “What is your answer?”

  “Yes!” she declared. “It’s yes! I will marry you!”

  For a brief moment, he eased back, his eyes turning a kind of dark, intense blue she’d never seen before, an expression in them of satisfaction and something else she didn’t entirely understand.

  Then she didn’t have time to think at all, his mouth ravishing hers with heat and raw, unfettered need. She clung, answering his passion as fully as her innocence would allow. Moaning, she opened her lips wider to let his tongue inside where he dipped and dived, his skillful play leaving her aching and half desperate for more. His hands moved low, stroking over her buttocks before clutching her hips to lift her higher. Spreading his thighs, he set her between them, unabashedly allowing her to once more feel the blatant strength of his desire. She arched, unable to control herself as she curled her arms around his neck.

  He’d just palmed one of her breasts, her nipple an eager peak beneath his questing fingers, when the familiar sound of an opening door echoed through the room. She paid it no mind, too caught up in the glorious sensations assailing her body to give the noise much heed.

  “If you weren’t my friend, I’d call you out!” said a masculine voice in a hard, ringing tone. “Then again, I just might make an exception since you were supposed to be protecting her, not helping yourself to the goods. Let her go.”

  Tony stiffened against her, his arms tightening for a long, lingering moment. Slowly, he broke their kiss
, turning her gently so she was held in the protective curve of his embrace. Only then did he look across at the other man. Peeking through her eyelashes, Gabriella was alarmed by the expression on her uncle’s face.

  “You unprincipled rake!” Rafe charged. “I should have known leaving her with you was like handing a baby chick to a wolf. You just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

  “No, it would seem I could not,” Tony stated. “But there are mitigating circumstances, if you would care to listen to them.”

  “Listen to what? How you’ve seduced an innocent girl? I knew last night there was something going on. If I hadn’t trusted you, I might have realized it sooner.”

  “Realized what?” demanded a lilting voice as Julianna glided into the room. “What is going on?” She paused, taking in the view of Gabriella standing inside Tony’s embrace. “Then again, perhaps I don’t need to ask.”

  “That’s right, they were fairly caught,” Rafe explained. “En flagrante, you might say.”

  Tony quirked a brow. “Hardly that, since Gabriella and I don’t have so much as a loosened shoelace between us.”

  “You’d have had half your wardrobe loosened up soon if what I saw was any example.”

  Gabriella felt her cheeks heat despite knowing she and Tony had nothing for which to feel ashamed.

  “Now, Rafe,” Julianna soothed, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. “It can’t be as dreadful as all that. Why don’t you give them a chance to explain.”

  “Explain what? What can they tell us that I haven’t seen with my own two eyes? And why are you taking up for them? Did you know about this?”

  “No, not directly,” she said, “but I confess I had my suspicions.”

  “And yet you said nothing?” Rafe looked offended, his jaw tightening in a dangerous way. “We’ll talk about this later, madam.”

  Julianna waggled a dismissive hand. “Don’t madam me in that tone, Rafe Pendragon. I did what I thought best, since I knew you would react exactly as you are now. Well, Gabriella, Tony, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “Yes?” Rafe growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “What excuse can you possibly offer?”

  “Hmm. You know, somehow all this furor makes our announcement seem rather dull by comparison, does it not, my dear?” Tony drawled, addressing himself to Gabriella. “But I suppose we might as well tell them.”

  “Tell us what?” Rafe said through his teeth.

  “Why, the news that Gabriella has just consented to be my wife. We’re getting married.”

  Rafe’s arms dropped to his side, Julianna’s mouth falling open before she recovered enough to close it. Apparently, even she hadn’t considered such an idea. Julianna recovered first. “Married!” she exclaimed. “Are you really?”

  Gabriella nodded. “Tony just asked me a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh, but isn’t that wonderful!” Rushing forward, Julianna enveloped first Gabriella, then Tony, in an exuberant hug, her bubbling excitement making Gabriella bubble in return.

  Rafe wasn’t quite so instantly overjoyed. “Why?” he said, voicing the same question Gabriella had asked herself.

  Tony met his friend’s gaze as he looped an arm around Gabriella’s shoulders again. “Because it’s the right thing to do. And because it’s what both of us want, is it not, sweetheart?”

  Leaning down, he brushed a kiss against her temple that made her melt again. “Yes,” she said, gazing into his eyes. “Most definitely what we want.”

  Only then did Rafe unbend, striding toward them with his hand outstretched for Tony to shake. “Well, if that is the case, then I am happy for you both. My blessing is yours, of course. May you be as happy as Julianna and I.”

  “We will,” Gabriella said, unable to contain her smile of beaming happiness. “I know we will.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  S TANDING BEFORE THE gilded cheval mirror in Julianna’s dressing room, Gabriella watched as Julianna’s maid pinned a sheer, waist-length white veil onto her elegantly coiffed tresses, then stepped back to study the results. “Oh, Miss, you look a right dream, if you don’t mind my saying so,” the servant declared.

  “Doesn’t she though, Daisy,” Julianna concurred. “Sheer perfection.”

  “Do you really think so?” Gabriella asked, casting another quick glance at her reflection before turning to face her two matrons of honor.

  Lily nodded with an enthusiastic smile. “The moment Tony sees you, he won’t be able to look away. And he’ll have a deuced hard time keeping his hands off you, too, if I don’t miss my guess.”

  “I am sure you do not,” Julianna remarked with an indulgent expression. “I’ve rarely seen a more eager bridegroom. Imagine giving us only five days to prepare for the nuptials. The household has been in a complete frenzy ever since.”

  As Gabriella knew first hand, her friend was right. After Tony’s stunning proposal of marriage, he’d given her a second jolt a few minutes later by announcing that he wanted them to be wed by special license within the week. Julianna had exclaimed that it could not be done, given all the details to be arranged—not to mention the guests. Lily had tossed in her objections once she heard the news, both of them beseeching Tony for more time, but he’d held firm.

  “Why bother delaying?” he’d told Gabriella once they were alone. “I want to marry you. And now that my mind is made up, I see no point in waiting. To be honest, even five days is too long. Were it feasible, I would wed you tomorrow.”

  She hadn’t been able to keep from melting at his words, and to be honest, she hadn’t really wished to wait either. She loved him and wanted to be his wife, some niggling part of her afraid if she insisted on a long engagement, he might change his mind and decide he’d made a mistake after all.

  “Still, we managed,” Lily pointed out. “Even Gabriella’s dress turned out splendidly despite our having to improvise.”

  Gabriella watched as all eyes turned to study her wedding gown of lustrous white glacé silk with an overskirt of pale, semitransparent tiffany. Delicate Mechlin lace was stitched along the hem and the edges of her half-sleeves, the lace’s pattern of entwined leaves and flower petals a regal complement to the cluster of tiny white rosebuds threaded into her dark curls. “No one would ever guess that gown was once one of your coming-out dresses,” Lily continued.

  “I know,” Gabriella said. “It turned out so splendidly. Thank you both for helping me with this lovely gown and the cake and the decorations and, well…everything. You’ve made my special day absolutely perfect.”

  Gabriella watched as Julianna sniffed back a sudden tear before her friend moved forward to give her hug. Lily followed suit and did the same.

  “With all this fuss, I feel a bit like a princess,” Gabriella confessed a moment later.

  “Well, a princess you are not,” Julianna said with a glance at a nearby ormolu clock. “But twenty minutes from now you’ll be a duchess. I assume that will suffice?” she teased.

  A smile curved Gabriella’s lips, nerves making the inside of her stomach quiver. “It will more than suffice, since Tony is to be my duke.”

  “Shall we go find him?” Julianna urged.

  Gabriella gave an enthusiastic nod, then let the other women lead her from the room.

  Inside the drawing room, Tony stood near a small, flower-covered bower that had been set up for the ceremony, morning sunlight dappling the room’s interior with a cheerful brilliance. The fragrance of roses and lilacs perfumed the air, and harp music was being played in soothing tones. At his side were Rafe and Ethan—his friends having gladly agreed to serve as his groomsmen. The white-haired minister stood thumbing through a few pages in his prayer book, while a select group of guests sat in three narrow rows of chairs, chatting quietly as they waited for the bride to arrive.

  Tony straightened his waistcoat, then twisted the ruby signet ring he wore on his little finger around in a circle. He’d taken care in selecting his attire this morning, optin
g for the traditional wedding garb of a dark blue tailcoat, light gray breeches, and snowy white linen with polished black dress pumps on his feet.

  Only a few minutes more, he thought, and Gabriella will be here. A few minutes after that and I will be a married man. His chest tightened briefly at the thought, despite his certainty that he had made the right choice by deciding to marry Gabriella.

  Actually, it had been the only choice, given the trouble Erika Hewitt could still cause. He’d managed to put her off again by sending her a huge bouquet of flowers and a diamond bracelet to make up for having to delay their assignation yet again. An unavoidable emergency, he’d told her in the note he’d sent to her townhouse. She’d written back, granting him two days more—but only two, or else her tongue would begin to wag.

  Somehow, he’d managed to keep the engagement quiet, determined that Erika wouldn’t find out about the wedding until after the deed was done. He’d invited only friends he knew he could trust, explaining that he and Gabriella wanted a private ceremony free of Society’s scrutiny. In fact, he’d sent the notice to The Morning Post a mere half hour ago in order to ensure that he and Gabriella would be married and in his coach heading out of the city before anyone learned of their union.

  The Ton would be agog, he knew, the wedding the talk of the Town for weeks to come. As for Lady Hewitt, he imagined she would be crimson with fury come morning, shredding her copy of the newspaper until all that remained were tiny flecks of paper and smudges of ink on her hands. Her screams might even be loud enough to be heard all the way up to his small estate in Norfolk, where he and Gabriella planned to honeymoon.

  Convinced of the need to act quickly, he’d hurried the wedding along this week in spite of everyone’s surprise and dismay over his haste. Convincing Gabriella had proven surprisingly easy, and Julianna and Lily had fallen in line with his plan once they realized he could not be swayed from his chosen course. Rafe, however, had been suspicious.

  After dinner that first evening, Rafe had pulled him aside to ask if there might be any other “pressing” reason why he was in such a rush to wed. One, Rafe suggested, that might raise eyebrows in a few months’ time? But he’d reassured his old friend that there was no such necessity and that Gabriella would come to her marriage bed a virgin—as innocent as the day she was born. He’d even offered to swear an oath on the subject should Rafe insist. Rafe had not, satisfied with his answer. Tony knew the other man still wondered at his reasons, sensing they were not driven solely by affection for his niece, but Rafe had said nothing further, clapping him on the back when he’d ask him to stand with him as best man.