Mistress by Marriage

by Maggie Robinson

  Edward stared at his son with icy hauteur. “I fail to see why you keep inserting Amelia into this conversation. Her father and I have a long-standing arrangement. You will do your duty to the family.”

  “Just as you’re doing yours by dragging the Christie name through the mud?” Suddenly, Ned grinned. “Wait a minute! Uncle Roger will be so scandalized he’ll break the betrothal contract. He’s even higher in the instep than you are! Yes. Get your divorce. You have my blessing. You’ll have your freedom, and I’ll have mine!” He let out a childish whoop and practically ran out of the study.

  “Neddie! Ned! Come back here! We are not finished!” Edward heard the reverberating slam of the front door. Hell and damnation. He pinched the headache back from between his brows. How had he sired such an impetuous imbecile? If Alice had lived, her children would be circumspect. Respectful. He’d never caned Ned in his life, and was regretting it. His fingers twitched to do so.

  It was Alice’s fondest wish that Ned marry her brother’s girl. They had talked about it when the children were the merest babes. Amelia was perfectly acceptable. Perhaps not a raving beauty, but she was neat in her appearance and habits and had a handsome dowry, not that the Christies needed an infusion of cash. Edward’s investments were conservative. Sound. Lucrative. Amelia expected Ned to marry her when he came of age, just as Alice had expected to marry Edward twenty years ago. The poor girl would be heartbroken.

  What kind of husband Ned would make was now in question. Drinking, carousing, showing execrable judgment. Edward flushed. He was not the coldest man in creation, but as warm-blooded as the next man. But he was prudent. Practical. His son had two years to get his education, pull himself together and rise to the occasion. Two years was a long time. Anything could happen, even the reformation of Edward the Younger.

  Thinking of time, Edward consulted his appointment book and penned a brief but detailed letter to Caroline, feeling somewhat more in control afterward. Then he negated that by opening his desk drawer and removing the hinged gilt case that held Alice’s miniature. It had been some years since he’d talked aloud to his dead wife, but sometimes just looking at her painted pink face eased his heart. Not today. Prying the case open, he didn’t see the usual sympathy from her large brown eyes, but an accusatory glare.

  “You’re right. Everything is all bollixed up. I—I’ve lost my way, ever since Caroline. Sometimes I wonder if you’re in heaven punishing me for marrying again, but that doesn’t seem very heavenly. I couldn’t seem to help myself, you know. Caro is—well, I don’t think you’d understand her. God knows, I don’t. I’m going to try to set it all to rights—if only I can figure out how.”

  Feeling foolish, he snapped the case shut. Next he’d be talking to plants or imaginary friends. Whom he should be talking to was Will Maclean about the divorce. He returned the portrait to the dark of the drawer and headed out to do just that, being careful not to slam the door behind him.

  Edward had had a full and frustrating day—his early interlude with Caroline, his aborted interview with Ned, the somewhat alarming appointment with Will Maclean, his appearance for appearance’s sake in Parliament late in the afternoon to vote on a bill he hadn’t even read. But he knew which way his party expected him to vote, and he did his duty as he always did. He was Baron Christie.

  Finally, he was off to be just Edward, to find a few hours of easy, mindless pleasure again in the arms of his soon-to-be ex-wife. Well, not soon. Certainly not soon if Will was to be believed, and Will was as honest and upright as any man in Britain. There had been discussion of formal separation versus divorce, but Edward’s mind was made up. Will had thrown every conceivable spanner in the works to test him, raised every possible objection as devil’s advocate, but Edward stood firm.

  Firm was his watchword. Firm he was. The thought of Caroline’s fiery hair across the white linen of her pillow made him as randy as a schoolboy. Perhaps that was Ned’s problem—Amelia’s mousy blond hair held no similar attraction. Maybe Edward had been too demanding, expecting his son to deny his baser instincts. He would try to talk to him again, when their tempers cooled.

  Edward startled the two Jane Street guards by appearing three times in three nights. He startled himself that he had the stamina, considering he’d been there that morning too. But the street was not patrolled in the daytime, as though one’s sexuality only came alive at night. That certainly was not true in his case.

  Though he might be forty, he was still fit. The Christies were fortunate with their physiognomy—each generation was taller and leaner than the last. Ned topped him by an inch, and Jack was catching up. Little Alice was a worry, however. Even her Aunt Beth, a tall woman herself, seemed unable to untangle his daughter’s coltish awkwardness. Allie was all sharp angles in body and in tongue.

  Enough. No more fatherly thoughts and worries. He was on Caroline’s steps to sin, and sin well—if one could sin with one’s wife. He rather thought one could.

  Once again, Hazlett was prompt opening the door. “Good evening, Lord Christie. Lady Christie is in the downstairs drawing room.”

  Well, damn. She was going to make him work to get her upstairs. It wouldn’t harm him to brush up on his flirting skills—if one could flirt with one’s wife. He rather thought one should.

  His breath hitched when he spotted Caroline, a brilliant ruby in an emerald sea. She reclined on her green couch reading a book, wearing the most . . . the most incendiary . . . something. His mental words deserted him. One could hardly call it a dress. Perhaps a peignoir. Whatever it was, the pearl white of her bosom spilled over the flimsiest of bodices. Her skirt had been raised so one unstockinged ivory leg lay most visible on the sofa cushions. Her eyes finally lifted, bright as polished silver. Her hair streamed over her shoulders like rose-gold and molten copper in the candlelight.

  Good Lord, he was thinking like a jeweler in a trance.

  He woke up abruptly as Caroline made a show of yawning and stretching. “Let’s get this over with, Edward. I’m quite fatigued.”

  Rubbish. She looked well rested, her skin glowing, her eyes gleaming like silver. She looked like a woman who had been shopping, had spent a fortune on a dress and knew its worth and her own.

  “Is that a new gown? If you recall, I don’t favor red.” Critical Baron Christie had slipped into Easy Edward’s shadow. That did not sound a bit flirtatious. Certainly if Caroline appeared in public is such dishabille, there would be cause for criticism. But there was no one to see her—nearly all of her that was worth seeing—except for him. He began again. “Although you look very—vibrant.”

  Caroline’s silver eyes shot silver bullets at him. “Your good opinion matters little to me. I received a note from your friend Will Maclean a little while ago, no doubt designed to rob me of my sleep. You wasted no time after this morning, did you?”

  Edward was mistaken; her eyes were not like silver, but ice. While he had urged Will to spare no speed or expense, he had not expected him to contact Caroline that very day. “You knew my intentions,” he said, his back stiffening.

  “Indeed. Forgive me if I cannot reconcile the chill of your heart to the heat of your manhood. The dichotomy must cause you some confusion as well.”

  He would not acknowledge he’d had his own faint misgivings over the current path he’d chosen to tread. “I’m not confused. I am exercising my marital rights. You yourself encouraged me to appease my carnal nature.”

  “When have you ever listened to a thing I said? You think I’m cork-brained—you’ve said it often enough.” She snapped her book shut, no doubt wishing Edward’s head was between the covers.

  He removed the simple gold stickpin from his cravat and tucked it in his pocket. “I did not come here to argue.”

  “Or discuss your children! And there’s no roast, either, so let’s get on with it.” Much to Edward’s regret, Caroline tossed her ruched skirt back over her exposed leg. He continued removing his tie.

  “About the other night
, I’ve talked to Ned, and he recognizes how inappropriate his visit was. You can expect to receive an apology.” He wound the length of linen around one hand, dropping it on a pie crust table. It appeared once again they would not make it all the way upstairs to the bed.

  “I don’t need an apology. He was befuddled—he’s just a boy.”

  “He’s nearly twenty. At his age, I was not vomiting in the streets.”

  Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “No. You were probably at home, reading your Bible.”

  “There’s no need to be blasphemous, Caroline. I’ve never made any pretense of being a saint. Or even particularly religious.”

  “But you have made a habit of being good.” She pronounced the word with contempt, as if good was bad. Perhaps in Caroline’s world, it was.

  “Look,” Edward said quietly, getting a grip on himself. “You obviously want to provoke me. You are dressed as a harlot, in a color I abhor. You’ve arranged yourself like temptation on a platter to make me sorry for wanting you. I can’t be. I want you, Caro—just not as my wife. Just as you don’t want me for a husband. I don’t mean to hurt you—or myself—anymore. You know divorce is the most sensible solution.”

  “Yes. You are perfectly right as usual.” With one violent tug, she ripped the diaphanous fabric of her bodice straight down, freeing her breasts. There was nothing between the dress and the snowy velvet of her body. Edward stared for a moment, slow to find words.

  “That was unnecessary. You won’t be able to mend it.”

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I bought more dresses. And you had better get used to the color. Close the door, would you? We wouldn’t want Hazlett to have an apoplexy.”

  He didn’t quibble at the order, but slid the pocket door shut and turned the lock with a click. Somewhat disappointed that the bedroom ceiling mirror would not be an accessory to their activities, he reminded himself there were still twenty-two more days before he left for Christie Park—if he didn’t have an apoplexy of his own.

  Caroline slipped from the sofa to her knees, rising like a white light from a pool of crimson fire. There was no hesitation for either of them. She made quick work of his falls without resorting to the destruction she’d exhibited a moment ago, cupped his balls and took him in the warm wet heaven of her mouth. He tried to stem his orgasm by counting each long black eyelash as they fluttered against her cheek, but never made it much past one hundred before he lost himself. She smiled, satisfied with her explicit power over him.

  “There.” She stood, fishing her torn gown from the floor and draping it about her as best she could. “You can go home now.”

  Edward collapsed on the couch, his pants still down. He reached into a pocket, handed her a handkerchief and watched her delicately blot her lips. He tried to smile, but his facial muscles were as slack as his brain. “I think I had better reciprocate, don’t you?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Completely unnecessary. I am fully capable of attending to my own needs, thank you.”

  “Is that how you spend your nights, Caro? With your fingers—or an object? I confess, I think I’d like to watch.”

  She blushed. “You presume too much.”

  He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. The dress dropped to the floor again. She was still as he kissed each knuckle, then inserted her longest finger into his mouth, imitating her earlier act. He suckled until her blush deepened, circling her palm lazily with his hand. She soon buckled and fell into his lap.

  “Maybe I have a lover,” she rasped.

  He released her finger and pressed it against her slit. “Show me, Caro. Show me what you do.” He helped her get started, stroking over her hand until she was boneless, her head back against his shoulder. Her jasmine-scented hair tickled his throat. He wished he’d removed his clothing, but at least his cock was free, hardening and nestled in the cleft of her arse. His left hand was busy with her full breasts, teasing each nipple to pink marble.

  He knew she was close. Her honey dripped, and he took his hand away. She went still instantly.

  “Finish it, Caro. Come for me.”

  She groaned in frustration. He chose that moment to nip her ear, then sweep his tongue inside. Clumsy at first, her fingers circled again as he’d taught her. He watched, riveted, heard her shallow breaths, felt her tremble straight through his skin to his bones. A wicked rose flush crept over her chest to her belly. He held her to him as she crested, crying out. It was too soon for him, but he needed to feel closer. Lifting her hips, he sank into her and concentrated on the way she contracted around him. He pushed her hand aside, touching her himself, pinching and stroking until she spasmed endlessly around him. Somewhat of a miracle, his own tension mounted and he experienced another orgasm nearly as strong as the first.

  They sat in a mutual stupor, consciousness clouded, their hearts erratic. Edward glanced at the case clock. He’d not been there quite half an hour and he was wrecked. He should go home. But he had no inclination to displace Caroline from his lap, her scent of jasmine and sex drugging him to complacency. The couch was too narrow for them to sleep on; at some point he would have to let her go.

  He had an early day tomorrow as well. Some last-minute minutiae before Parliament recessed for the season—if it would. Edward had heard rumblings that did not sit well with him. He longed for the sweeping green of Christie Park, Alice’s garden in riotous bloom, riding with his sons and daughter. He and Ned would visit the barony’s tenants, perhaps go so far as lending a hand in the mowing and haying, getting their backs brown from honest labor. Ned would have an opportunity to reacquaint himself with his neighboring cousin Amelia, and perhaps discover she was not so insipid after all.

  Edward took his responsibilities seriously, as a member of the government and as landlord and manager of a considerable estate. But right now, all he wanted to do was drowse in Caro’s arms.

  “Edward.”

  “Mmpf.” His lips brushed her temple and she twitched.

  “I really am very tired.”

  “As am I. I find you quite exhausting.” He traced a pattern on her rounded stomach as she swatted him away.

  “Be serious. I have an appointment with my publisher tomorrow, where I must plead for an extension for next month’s book. He won’t be happy with me.”

  Privately, Edward wished Garrett Marburn to the deepest hole of unhappiness possible. The natural son of an earl, he had all the posturing but none of the paternity of his class. Marburn had been well educated, and chose to skewer his father and his friends with scandalous accounts of society mischief. Caroline’s Courtesan Court books were only a portion of his publishing empire, and the least salacious of the lot, which was saying something. Rumor had it that Marburn was desperate to acquire a Jane Street house for himself, but the closest he’d come was to inveigle Caroline into writing about it for him. Deeds to Jane Street passed only in the most special of circumstances, and so far Marburn had not qualified despite his personal wealth.

  “Are you suggesting that I leave?”

  “I am insisting that you leave. If you stay the night, we won’t get a bit of rest. A woman my age needs her beauty sleep.”

  “Don’t flatter me, and don’t fish for compliments. You’re holding up very well.”

  “I’ve gained more than a stone. Perhaps even two.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Edward lied. That explained the subtle difference—Caroline was softer, although her tongue was sharp as ever. He believed the extra weight suited her, made her slightly more mortal. She had lived like a goddess on a pedestal in his mind for too long.

  “I need to get up. Please release me.”

  “In a moment.” Edward shifted to retrieve Caroline’s dress. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s—it’s engineered to come apart like that. You didn’t tear it at all.”

  “Clever, isn’t it? And most effective.”

  Edward laughed and set Caroline next to him on the sofa. “My God, you’re a witch. If you were a man, I bet y
ou could have exiled Napoleon to Elba far sooner.”

  “Poor man. I hear his treatment at St. Helena is a scandal.” Caroline took the garment from him and fastened it so she could go upstairs without undue curiosity. He supposed he’d better hike up his breeches as well—his long shanks made him a figure of fun.

  “One reaps what one sows,” Edward said. He couldn’t squeeze out much sympathy for the man who’d upended the world for all of his adult life. “I shall see you tomorrow evening. For dinner, if I remember correctly.”

  Caroline frowned. “Yes. You know you’re a bit of a tyrant. What if your dates don’t suit mine?”

  “One must eat, Caro, even a skinny fellow like me, and so must you. I shan’t take up too much of your time.”

  “Promises, promises,” Caroline muttered. She whirled away in a scarlet flash, leaving him to see himself out.

  Tomorrow night, he’d get her upstairs, or enjoy trying. Whistling most unlike a Christie, he buttoned up his trousers and walked into the balmy London evening.

  Chapter 7

  There was nothing she liked so much as matchmaking, but Lady Laura lived alone, doomed to press her lightly-freckled nose against the glass and watch the world in love without her.

  —Lady Laura’s Lesson

  The occasion called for diamonds, not as celebration but distraction. Caroline had only her engagement and wedding rings, and a simple spray of smallish stones set into a pin that had belonged to Edward’s mother. The major Christie jewels were locked up as they should be, waiting for the boys to marry and Allie to grow up. Caroline set the pin aside as not battle-worthy and picked up the topaz drop. Since her bronzy gown was cut conveniently low, it would do. She’d just need to be careful not to entice Garrett too thoroughly. He was getting more dogged by the day for her to break her vow of celibacy. Little did he know she had done so already with her husband.