His Favorite Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Now, here he stood, waiting for Gabriella. He was just about to check the time on his pocket watch, when Lily appeared in the doorway. She signaled the harpist, who abruptly switched to a different song, then nodded to Rafe, who strode out of the room to join her in the hallway beyond. Tony’s pulse gave an odd kick as he tugged once more at his waistcoat and moved to take the correct place at the altar.

  Lily entered first, a small basket on her arm out of which she scattered pink rose petals as she walked. Julianna came next, a nosegay of larkspur held in her gloved hands. Her eyes twinkled as she assumed her place on the opposite side of the minister. Then Gabriella appeared carrying a bouquet of white roses, her other hand atop Rafe’s arm as he led her forward.

  Breath stilled in Tony’s chest, his gaze riveted on Gabriella while the rest of the world grew suddenly distant. She was a vision in white, quite literally the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld, beatific as an angel come to life. She glided nearer and nearer still until she stood beside him as Rafe handed her gently into his keeping.

  Casting him a shy glance from beneath her lashes, she gave him a little smile that went straight to his loins. Abruptly he found himself fiercely glad they were to be wed. If she is my reward, he thought, then the sacrifice of my bachelor’s freedom seems a small price to pay. Knowing his lustful musings had no place during their wedding ceremony, he tamped them down, and concentrated instead on the words the minister was speaking.

  When his turn came to recite his vows, he said them in a calm, clear voice that rang out across the drawing room. Gabriella did the same, though her words were more quietly spoken. Her hand shook slightly inside his own as he slid the plain gold wedding band onto her finger to join the glittering, square-cut diamond he’d given her four days ago. Moments later, the minister pronounced them husband and wife.

  Uncaring of being watched by the assembled guests, he drew her into his arms and claimed her lips—claimed her—taking her mouth in a long, deep, thorough kiss that made his head buzz and the blood in his veins run thick and hot. Gabriella gave a small, muffled whimper and opened her mouth to let him take more, touching her tongue to his. Before he could respond to her silent invitation, a large male hand nudged his shoulder.

  “Hey there, save something for tonight, will you?” Ethan said with clear amusement in his voice. “You’re making the ladies blush. And if I’m not mistaken, your bride as well.”

  Tony broke off the kiss, Gabriella blinking up at him with a rather dazed, but radiant expression on her face. True to Ethan’s prediction, her cheeks colored up seconds later when she realized everyone was watching—good-natured laughter ringing out at Tony’s unrepentant shrug.

  Tucking her hand over his arm to keep her with him, Tony led Gabriella forward, knowing they were supposed to partake of the wedding feast. I’d rather feast on Gabriella, he thought, but decided he would have to content himself with food and drink for the time being.

  Several hours later, Tony assisted Gabriella from his traveling coach, afternoon sunshine beaming down from the clear blue sky above. The front door of a cheerfully appointed red brick house flew wide, a middle-aged woman emerging, her shoes crunching fast on the pea gravel as she bustled across the drive.

  “Welcome to Thorne Park!” the housekeeper declared, pausing to dip into a respectful curtsey. “What a pleasure it is to have both of you here! Everything has been arranged to your specifications, Your Grace. The rooms are all aired and cleaned and the larder stocked with the best the local farmers can provide.” She broke off and gave a short laugh. “Well, listen to me rattle on when I’m sure you’re wanting to come inside. So, come, come. I’ve made peach lemonade and biscuits with ham, if you’ve an appetite. Or there’s wine and spirits, Your Grace, if you’d care for something stronger.”

  Tony sent her a polite smile as the three of them crossed into the house. “Actually, a glass of your lemonade sounds quite refreshing, Mrs. Lamstead. But first, why don’t you show my bride upstairs so she can have a moment to relax.”

  “I’ve been relaxing for hours in the coach,” Gabriella reminded him with an indulgent smile, her good humor intact despite their day’s travel. “But I could do with a basin of water and a fresh gown, I must admit.”

  “Of course, of course,” the housekeeper invited. “If you’ll just follow me, Your Grace, all will be as you wish.”

  Tony watched as Gabriella stood motionless, her gaze darting for a long moment between him and Mrs. Lamstead. Suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Oh, you mean me, do you not!” She let out a self-deprecating laugh and laid a palm against her chest. “I don’t know how I shall ever grow used to being called ‘Your Grace.’ It seems quite peculiar.”

  “One grows accustomed,” he said.

  Gabriella arched a brow in his direction. “Well, I am sure one does after hearing it for practically the whole of one’s life. I, on the other hand, have never before experienced anything loftier than ‘Miss’ or ‘hey, you.’ This other shall take some getting used to, I must warn you. Perhaps I should tell your staff to just call me Gabriella and save us all a great deal of confusion.”

  Tony laughed, then laughed a second time when he noticed the housekeeper’s gaped-mouthed expression, the woman apparently amazed by Gabriella’s unusual candor. Taking Gabriella’s hand in his own, he brushed her palm with a kiss. “My staff is now also your staff, and I do not believe they would be comfortable referring to you by your given name. So, I fear you will just have to muddle through.”

  “A muddle it will likely be, but I shall do my best.”

  Folding her hand inside his own, he laid his lips against her knuckles. “Of that, I have no doubt. Now, go along with Mrs. Lamstead and I shall see you at dinner.” Stepping nearer, he bent to murmur into her ear so only she would hear. “And get some rest while you can. Seeing this is our wedding night, I plan to keep you up late this evening. Very, very late.”

  Color burst like blossoming peonies on her cheeks, her eyes gleaming with a clear mix of nerves and anticipation. With a small nod, she slipped from his embrace and moved away to follow the housekeeper.

  He watched until she disappeared, enjoying the graceful sway of her slim hips as she walked up the stairs. His loins grew heavy, carnal hunger urging him to follow her and take her now instead of waiting until tonight. But he’d lasted through the ceremony and the wedding breakfast; he could restrain his needs for a few hours more. Although to be honest, he’d been restraining his needs for weeks now, Gabriella the only woman he could recall ever waiting so long to possess. And possess her he would, slaking his deep thirst for her as often and as long as he wished—now that he could, now that she was his wife.

  God, I can barely wait to have her! he thought, his arousal aching between his legs.

  Turning on his heel, he strode down the hall to the study, where he knew he would find the Scotch decanter. Taking down a tumbler, he poured himself a healthy draught, deciding he was in need of something stronger than lemonade, after all.

  Married! he thought as he tossed back a long swallow. For good or bad, Gabriella and I are now irrevocably joined. Still, he was looking forward to spending the next month here at Thorne Park alone with her. He rarely used this minor estate, purchased years ago on a whim as a bucolic retreat. However, when he’d been considering places where he and Gabriella might honeymoon, this property had come to mind—the remote, tranquil location seeming just right. Undisturbed, he and his bride would be able to sleep late, go to bed early, and laze their days away as they reveled in each other to their heart’s and body’s content.

  Tossing back the last of his drink, he thought again of this morning’s ceremony and how enchantingly lovely Gabriella had looked. My wife, he mused, to have and to hold for as long as our passion burns. And when the desire cooled, as it inevitably must, they would rub along together well enough, he assumed, no more miserable than most married couples. For the present, though, there was nothing remotely cool about him, impatience a
nd barely controlled arousal riding him hard.

  Maybe that’s what he needed, he considered, a bit of exercise to take the edge off the worst of his pent-up energy and tension. He’d ordered a pair of his favorite steeds sent over from Rosemeade as part of the honeymoon preparations so he and Gabriella could ride if they wished. Perhaps a good gallop, followed by a cold bath, would relax him enough to get him through the next few hours until finally, it was time for bed—and Gabriella.

  Either that or I’ll be drinking a whole lot more of this Scotch, he realized. Somehow, he didn’t think she would appreciate dealing with an inebriated bridegroom on her wedding night. Abruptly making up his mind, he set down the crystal tumbler and strode from the room.

  Peering out one of the four master-suite windows, Gabriella watched Tony gallop across the yard below, the hooves of his coal-black stallion tearing up clods of earth and grass as they raced past. How magnificent they are, she thought, both man and beast! Moving as if they could outrun the wind, the pair headed for a grouping of trees and quickly disappeared beyond, the green foliage concealing them from view.

  She sighed, wishing Tony had asked her to join him, since heaven knows she could have used the distraction. He probably assumed she was asleep by now, resting up for the night to come. But how could she possibly rest! Especially after he’d made that brazen promise that he planned to keep her up late. Very, very late.

  A tremble chased over her skin at the memory of his lips whispering against her ear, her eyelids sliding half closed—not from nerves, but rather a surfeit of anticipation.

  Shameful as it might be to admit, she was looking forward to tonight, eager to finally discover the mysteries of the sex act. Already, Tony had brought her to dizzying heights of pleasure when all they’d done was kiss and touch. She knew there was more, but she couldn’t really imagine how that could be better than what she’d experienced up to now. Still, she was anxious to find out. Until then, however, she had time. Too much time, she was finding.

  A glance across the room revealed the peach lemonade and biscuits Mrs. Lamstead had brought up. But despite the delicious-looking repast, she found she had little appetite. Hopefully that would change by dinnertime; otherwise, the meal was destined to be a very long one indeed.

  A yawn caught her a moment later. Smothering it with a hand, she wondered if Tony was right. Maybe she should make an effort to lie down and rest. She certainly had the right to be tired, considering the hectic pace of the past several days as well as the nervous excitement of this morning’s ceremony. She still hadn’t fully recovered from the torrid kiss he’d given her there on the altar, her need for him in those moments making everything else fade away.

  Later at the wedding breakfast, she’d fiddled with her meal, too powerfully aware of Tony seated next to her to be interested in food. Nonetheless, she’d forced herself to swallow a few bites here and there, then eat half a piece of the splendid wedding cake Cook had gone to so much trouble to create. Afterward, she’d changed into her traveling dress and said her good-byes, letting Tony assist her into the coach amid boisterous cheers and warm good wishes.

  Finding it all a bit unreal even now, she stared for a moment at the rings on her finger, their sparkle and weight assuring her that none of it had been a dream. And later tonight she would become Tony’s wife—not only in name, but in all the ways there could be.

  Trembling again, she crossed the room and pulled the bell. A warm bath might soothe her, she decided, the fragrant lavender-scented soap she’d packed making her skin smell sweet and clean for his touch. She would even wash her hair. A good towel-drying and a few minutes in front of an open window should see it dry in time to dress and go down for dinner. Suddenly invigorated, she toed off her shoes and waited for her maid to appear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “MORE WINE?” Tony inquired in a voice as rich and smooth as the merlot they had been drinking with dinner. He leaned forward and reached for the decanter.

  “No,” Gabriella said, laying a hand over the top of her glass. “No more, or else I am afraid I may end up tipsy.”

  He paused before relaxing back into his chair. “I wouldn’t worry, since I am sure you would be adorable tipsy. But for now, I suppose, you are right. Shall we move on to dessert, then?”

  She nodded in agreement. “Although I don’t see how I can possibly eat another bite. Everything was so delicious.”

  He watched her over the rim of his glass, the intensity in his eyes sending invisible tremors coursing over her skin. Touching the goblet to his lips, he sipped the beverage as if he were imagining something else he’d like to taste. She swallowed and gave him a smile.

  Abruptly he set down his wine. “Perhaps you would rather retire? I can tell Mrs. Lamstead to save our dessert for later.”

  A wild flutter brushed the inside of her belly, nerves she hadn’t felt earlier rushing to the fore. “Yes, all right. W-will you join me?”

  His eyes darkened. “In a few minutes. I’ll stay and finish my wine.”

  She nodded, then slowly rose to her feet. As she made to move past, he reached out and caught her hand. Before she could guess his intentions, he tugged her down onto his lap and wrapped her snuggly inside his embrace.

  His mouth took hers, his kiss both bold and hungry, as if she were what he really wanted for dessert. His tongue skimmed across her lower lip, then did the same above, before delving in between to capture her flavor. Curling her palms against his shoulders, she kissed him back, forgetting everything in that moment except him. Then he stopped, the interlude over almost as quickly as it had begun.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, breath panting from her lips.

  “Impulse. I thought we could both use a little something to tide us over.” He stroked a hand across her hip. “Go upstairs. I won’t be long.”

  Her body humming, she let him place her back onto her feet. For a moment, she wondered if she was steady enough to walk, but somehow she managed.

  Tony gazed after her as she departed, wishing he’d kept her in his lap where he’d had her only moments ago. Reaching for his wineglass, he drained it.

  Ten minutes, he decided. He’d give Gabriella ten minutes, then go up to change in the adjoining dressing chamber, where earlier he’d bathed and dressed for dinner after his ride. Twenty minutes more should give her enough additional time to ready herself while he stripped out of his garments, slid into a robe, shaved one more time, and brushed his teeth. Rising to his feet, he went in search of Mrs. Lamstead.

  After thanking her for a most wonderful dinner, he made her eyes widen by informing her that she needn’t arrive at the house tomorrow until well past midday. When she protested that he and Gabriella might awaken hungry “come the morn,” he agreed she could set their uneaten dessert, along with a plate of cold foodstuffs suitable for breakfast, in the larder. She could also ready the kettle on the stove and arrange the makings for a fresh pot of tea. Otherwise, he and his new bride, he assured her, would do quite well on their own. Leaving the half-scandalized woman to finish her duties and lock up the house, he made his way up the stairs.

  Meanwhile inside her bedchamber—their bedchamber—Gabriella stood in a thin, white silk nightgown and slippers waiting for Tony to arrive. She gazed at the bed, a huge affair with carved cherry posts and dark green damask hangings. The sheet and counterpane were turned back in silent invitation, the draperies drawn to create an atmosphere of seclusion and comfort. After helping her undress, the maid had bid her a smiling good night, then let herself out of the room to make her way to the servants’ quarters, which were housed in a small, detached wing.

  Alone now, Gabriella shot a glance toward the door that led to the dressing room, a few faint noises letting her know Tony was on the other side. A tremulous quaver fluttered in her belly. I wasn’t nervous earlier today, she mused, so why am I now? It’s only Tony, after all, a man I know and trust. The man I love—my husband!

  The thought made her breath g
row shallow, memories washing over her of all that had passed since that first momentous evening when Tony had caught her in Rafe’s study. How long ago that night seemed now, as if half a lifetime had passed, instead of only a few short months during which she and Tony had become friends and so much more. And always, there had been the unassailable pleasure of his touch, his every caress and kiss making her sigh with delight. Even now, the heat of the impassioned kiss he’d given her downstairs in the dining room lingered on her lips, making her long once again to be in his arms. And she would be. Soon.

  So then, of what exactly am I afraid?

  Suddenly her anxiety eased, her old sense of anticipation rising again to take its place. Gazing around the room, she wondered if she should continue to wait where she was, or instead take a seat on the sofa. Of course, he might be expecting to find her already in the bed. Or was such an idea too bold, especially for an untried virgin on her wedding night? Pondering each choice, she quickly made up her mind.

  Checking his pocket watch, Tony snapped the gold lid closed, then set it aside. Forty-five minutes. In deference to Gabriella’s maiden state, he’d given her an extra measure of time, concerned she might be suffering from a case of bridal nerves. If he didn’t mistake the matter, she’d seemed a bit reticent at dinner, although her kiss had certainly been sweet as ever.