A Proper Mistress

by Shannon Donnelly

  Terrance grinned and stood, but before they could square off, Molly had hold of Theo's arm, dragging it down, forcing him to glance at her.

  When he'd ridden into the yard, he'd only seen her tousled red hair and his brother's back—fury blurred the rest into a haze. He'd been off his horse in a flash and dragging Terrance off Molly.

  Anger with his brother still boiled in him, but the pain in his hand from the blow he'd stuck had shocked him from that haze. Now he glanced at Molly, at her hair, damp and curling, and at how her gown clung to her form, transparent and showing her breasts and waist and curving legs.

  His scowl deepened and he wanted to hit Terrance again—blazes, but what was his brother doing, poaching on another man's turf!

  "Please, stop this," Molly begged.

  He almost shook her off. Instead, he glared at his brother. Terrance was trying to strip off his riding coat, cursing at its tight fit, and had managed to get the shoulders down. It tempted Theo to take a crack at him now. Not very sporting, but how satisfying to knock him down again.

  "Oh, for...." he started to say. He glanced at Molly again and at the grooms gathering in the yard—one of them had hold of his horse—and he straightened. "You'd best come inside," he said, speaking both to Molly and Terrance.

  "Damn if I will!" Terrance said, still struggling with his coat. "You there, give a hand," he told a groom. The fellow grabbed hold of the sleeves and dragged, stripping the jacket off.

  Terrance squared off at once against his brother. "Come on now—let's see if your luck holds."

  Irritation and anger with his brother welled in Theo—years of it, he realized. Where had Terrance ever been when he'd wanted him around? Theo had followed after him, copied him, tried to be him, in fact. And all it'd ever gotten him was—nothing. Eyes narrowing, Theo realized that he had never wanted anything so much as to wipe the smirk from his brother's face.

  He wanted to pound some sense into the bounder, damn it.

  Taking Molly's hands, he put her away from him. He shrugged out of his own loose-fit coat and handed it to her. "Won't be but a minute."

  Molly glanced from Theo to his brother. Terrance looked even larger without his coat on. His shirt sleeves billowed, fluttering in the breeze. Rain spattered down on all of them, and she wished the clouds would loosen a torrent that might stop this. But the drops continued in splatters.

  She looked again at Theo, now in his shirtsleeves. He had his fists up and looked ready to move light on the balls of his feet. But she could not allow this. Not a fight of brother against brother.

  "Stop it!" she said, striding between them, clutching Theo's jacket. "Stop this."

  Theo glanced at her, blue eyes snapping with irritation. "Stand aside. This is about you—and far more than that."

  "I don't care what it's about. I don't want anyone hurt—and I don't want you hurting your brother."

  Terrance gave a laugh. "He won't do that—though I promise only to blacken both his eyes."

  She rounded on him. "For what? For making you feel foolish because you were acting a fool? You're a bully, just like your father tries to be, and you ought to be looking after your brother, not trying to hit him!"

  Turning, she glared at Theo. "And you—oh, you've got to stop."

  Jaw set, he glared at her. "Step aside, Molly. I won't have him handling you like that."

  Terrance straightened and let his hands drop. "Bloody hell, this isn't about how I handle your strumpet, it's—"

  "I'm not his strumpet. I'm not anyone's strumpet. I'm a cook in a bawdy house, and no one is going to fight over me or for me or in front of me!" Molly stamped her foot on the cobblestones and both men turned to stare at her, eyes wide and mouths open.

  Embarrassment scorched her face, and Molly realized what she had just said. She drew in a breath and let it out. Well, Theo now knew the worst of her, but she found she couldn't meet his eyes to see his reaction. At least she seemed to have stopped their fighting.

  Turing on her heel, she strode for the house. Thunder cracked behind her and the rain began to pour now, so she had the excuse of that to break into a run. And she could always tell herself, too, that the thunder had drowned out Theo's calling her name rather than that he had not called after her at all.

  #

  "Quite the spitfire," Terrance said. He wiped the rain from his face, glanced around and held out his hand for his coat. His anger had faded and he no longer wanted to give back his brother two punches for the lucky one that had landed him flat.

  Theo turned to him, eyes glassy.

  "You need a drink," Terrance said, laying an arm across his brother's shoulders. "And to unburden your soul—what in Hades are you doing bringing a cook home as your doxy?"

  "A cook," Theo repeated, his tone hollow.

  Terrance glanced at his brother.

  He had been drinking steadily on his journey home—mostly in anticipation of having to see his father. He always handled that better drunk, when he didn't give a damn about the squire's disapproval or the inevitable arguments. But he'd been unable to resist the lure of coming home—it was just too tempting that he might glimpse Theo flaunting his mistress before their father. Only nothing seemed to be what he'd expected. The mistress was not a proper mistress at all, but a cook. And there was this story of Theo wanting to marry her. What was that about?

  "Come and tell me all," he ordered.

  After ordering brandy from the grim, disapproving Simpson, Terrance took his brother up to his rooms. That was a safe enough haven, for their father always demanded their attendance in a public room, and would never stoop so low as to hunt them down in their own holes. It also gave Terrance a change to change from his wet, dirty clothes—he now stank like a horse, he thought.

  As he stripped bare, washed, and changed into dry clothes, he also pulled the story from Theo, dragging it out with question after question.

  "So you see, it's all your fault!" Theo said, finally, glaring at his brother. He turned the glass of brandy in his hands. A cook! A cook, of all things.

  Terrance's head reappeared from the shirt he had been donning. "And how do you figure your stuffing your nose into my business to be my fault? Did I ask you to step in?"

  "Well, I'm not going to take your inheritance—did you ever think about what a bind you put me in, leaving it all to me to deal with father?" Theo asked, glaring at his brother. He put down his brandy glass.

  Terrance glared back. "I ought to have darkened your daylights when I had the chance—curse it, just leave father to me."

  "So you can avoid him better than I? You never come home, not unless your foxed, overspent on your allowance, or need a repairing lease. And so I'm the one father uses to rant to about your behavior. I'm also the one he tries to talk to about sheep and sheering and acres to plant!"

  Terrance grinned suddenly. "Sheep?"

  "Sheep!" Theo said, his tone disgusted. A reluctant smile edged up his mouth. "And if they were mine, I'd be thinking of crossing in some Romneys."

  "God save me," Terrance said, and drank back his brandy. "But what will you do about your cook now? If you mean to cast her off, I've—" He broke off at Theo's hot glare, and held up his palms and said, "Just trying to offer brotherly help."

  With a rude snort, Theo rose. "Help yourself, you mean. Molly is my lookout here, and I'd best go find her and talk to her."

  "She's made for more than talk, brother," Terrance said, his teeth showing in a wolfish grin.

  Theo shot him a glare, but he left the room in search of Molly. She was not in her rooms, so he started to hunt for her.

  A cook!

  His mind still could not latch onto that. She was a cook, she had said. Had she said it simply to shock them? She had looked ready to do anything to keep him from fighting Terrance. But, blazes, it fit too well—her interest in food and recipes, her blushes, her reluctance to allow what any jade had ready for sale.

  What rankled most was that he'd been made into a buffoon b
y her and Sallie. Duped by them. Had they laughed at how Theo Winslow couldn't tell the difference between a woman of experience and a woman with none? That festered like a sore.

  Frowning, he strode into the library.

  He found her there, seated at a writing desk, paper in front of her. She stood at once.

  She had changed into that stripped dress that she had first worn and seeing it deepened his scowl. It made him remember her coming down the stairs with Sallie. Smiling.

  Laughing at him, no doubt.

  He glared at her. "Is it true?"

  She looked up from the carpet, and he had to fold his arms and tighten the furrow to his brow to keep from giving into those wide green eyes. But the look in her eyes was all the answer he needed.

  "You're a better actress than I thought!" he said, his tone sharp and intending to wound.

  She looked away before she glanced at him again and gestured to the desk behind her. "I've left the bracelet and ring in the drawer with your mother's pearls. I...I don't know if I should thank you for knocking down your brother, but, well, thank you."

  He hunched a shoulder. "As a cook, I don't suppose you're accustomed to being mauled like that."

  "Oh, for...you wanted a low woman—and, actually, I'd finally thought of a way to make your father disinherit you. It was there before me all along, only...well, I didn't want to tell you the truth. I didn't want to give up...I mean, I thought you might think me...I mean, might not pay me. But now you can just tell your father everything and that'll do the trick for you."

  A rough voice from behind interrupted. "What trick? Tell me everything about what?"

  Theo turned to find his father in the doorway. He cursed himself for not shutting the door behind him—and locking it.

  The squire came into the room, his dogs at his heels. "Well, d'you have something to tell me?"

  Theo glanced at Molly. She had her chin up, but she looked even paler than the paper on the table. What, had she planned to leave him with a note? She could just forget that.

  He turned to his father, suddenly unwilling to have Molly's past laid out for the squire to tear into. Instead, he said, "Yes—we wanted to tell you that Terrance is home." Instead of being surprised, the squire nodded and Theo's eyes narrowed. "You expected him, sir?"

  The squire glanced at Molly. Turning to Theo, he said, his tone belligerent, "Course I did. I wrote him of your wedding—and that I've decided to forgive him!"

  Eyes wide, Molly stared at the squire, and then at Theo. Why hadn't he told his father yet that she was a cook? The question seemed of no importance now, however. The squire had taken his eldest back in, and without Theo having had to get himself thrown out.

  It seemed her use here was done entirely.

  And Theo knew she was just a cook. She glanced at him—he had been shocked and wounded, she suspected. Pride—these Winslow men seemed to have pounds of the stuff. She would have done better, she knew now, to have told him at once and to have had him present her as such to his father. That would have done the trick at once, for the squire was as proud a man as his sons.

  But here she was in "if only's" again, and the truth was that she had been enjoying her play acting far too much. She hadn't wanted Theo to think badly of her. She had wanted to go on pretending to be his mistress.

  Now she was nothing to him.

  "Forgive him?" Theo said, his voice dull as he repeated his father's word. He snapped his fingers. "Just like that? He's no longer a son, but now he is again. We all dance to your tune, just because you want to call it on a whim!"

  "You're impertinent, lad!"

  "I'm bloody fed up, is what I am! How long do we wait until the next time you decide you don't like what we do or how we do it? When is the next time you crack the whip of your good will and approval to make us jump through your hoops!"

  The squire's face reddened. "Don't try me, boy!"

  "It's about time someone did! Blazes, but you do try to bully, just as Molly said."

  Turning on Molly, the squire glared at her. "Making trouble, are you, you—"

  Theo interrupted, stepping between his father and Molly. "Leave her out of this—this is between us!"

  But a voice from the doorway drawled, "So where does that leave me fitting in?"

  Everyone turned to stare at Terrance, who lounged in the doorway now, looking amused.

  The squire's frown deepened, Theo glared at his brother and Molly glanced from one Winslow to the other, blinking and lost.

  Terrance strolled into the room, accusations flew, voices rose, interrupting each other and Molly watched as the Winslows began to argue in earnest.

  The squire's voice finally rose loud enough to cut through the noise, sending the dogs to hide behind the couch. "That's enough! This is my house, by gads, and you're my son, if I say you are!" The squire glared at his eldest, who stared back at him. "And since you came home, as I wrote you...."

  "Wrote me? I came to see Theo's mistress." He glanced at Molly, a warm gleam in his eyes. "And she's been worth the trip."

  The squire glared at him. "What—you've not come here to beg my pardon?"

  "For what? Though I may well have to beg Theo's pardon, for if he doesn't want his little cook, I'll—"

  "Cook!" the squire thundered. Turning, he glared at Molly now. "You're a cook?"

  She started to nod and answer, but Theo said, "Blazes, that's not to the point. And you—" he thrust out a finger at his brother. "Are to keep your hands off her. You don't have to run off with every female you see just to prove you can, for you only end up leaving them someplace anyway."

  "Only the ones that bore me."

  "Which ones don't? You're a worse jade than any I've met in London!"

  Terrance scowled at his brother. "Do you want to finish what you started in the stable yard?"

  "Anytime!"

  The squire stepped forward, his voice raised. "You're not brawling in my house. I'll thrash the two of you, if you try it. And now what's all this about no letter and her being a cook?"

  For a moment the room remained silent. Then Theo folded his arms and said, voice calm. "I wanted to get disinherited so you'd have to take Terrance back. So I hired a...a cook to act like a strumpet and make a fool of you."

  "Only you didn't know she was a cook 'till today, did you?" Terrance said.

  Theo shot him a smoldering look, but it was the squire who demanded, "And you, sir, what do you mean you had no letter? How'd you know about her otherwise?"

  Terrance shrugged. "There were plenty in London keen to tell me about Theo being seen driving out of town with her—and with my bays," he added, voice dropping to a threatening tone.

  The squire threw his arm out and pointed to the doorway. "Well, then take your damn horses and go if you've not come home to reform your disgraceful behavior."

  Terrance stiffened, but Theo stepped forward. "We are not all going to go through this again. Father, you know full well that you want to disown him about as much as you wish to cut off your foot. And Terrance, if you turn sullen and walk out, I swear I'll follow you and hound you until you turn and face your responsibilities!"

  The squire and Terrance both turned to stare at Theo as if he had broken out in green spots and a tail. Molly gave a silent cheer. Finally, someone in this family talking sense instead of yelling.

  Mouth opening and closing, the squire's face reddened, and he sputtered, "And you, you—bringing home a...a...a whatever she is, playing your May games! You may consider yourself no longer part of this family either!"

  Theo's mouth thinned, Terrance turned on his father and looked ready to do him physical harm, and Molly's temper snapped. She had had enough.

  Stepping into the middle of the three Winslows, she put her hands on her hips and glared at them. They all seemed surprised to have her in the midst of them, almost as if they had forgotten her presence.

  "Look at yourselves. Just stop a moment and look! A father throwing his sons away—brothers who'd as s
oon pummel each other as draw a breath—and all of you, tearing what ought to be a family into no more than ill-feelings that are just hateful. I'm an orphan, and you make me glad of it! For when I came here, I thought this a fine house and those inside it rich. But you live in poverty, the lot of you. For there's more love to be squeezed from sour lemon than from any of you."

  The squire started to mutter, but Molly rounded on him before he could say anything, coming up to him and standing before him, her face pushed close to his.

  "You—if you want your sons' respect, then show them some. They aren't boys. They aren't lads. They're grown men. And they have feelings that can be hurt—worse by you than by anyone. So isn't it time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself for how you were left alone—for you're not. You've two sons who need and love you."

  That drew a snort from Terrance, so she turned on him, her face still hot and her veins singing. He held his ground as she advanced toward him, but his chin dropped and he gave her a sullen look.

  "And don't you think yourself better than your father," she said. "You're just like him in that you think only of yourself. Only that's not made you happy, now has it?"

  He started to answer, but she cut him off, ruthless and furious still. "Of course it hasn't—happiness isn't about drinking 'till you rot your guts with it, and you won't find it by taking everything and giving nothing. No, you learn fast on the lowest of London's streets that taking leaves a hole inside you that only makes you want to take more—only this life is about giving. Even a beggar in India knows that much!"

  Breathing fast now, she turned to stare at Theo. What did she say to him? That it should not matter if she was a prostitute or a cook for a house of them? That what ought to matter was that she loved him.

  Yes, that truth was out before her now, stark and bare.

  But there was only one hope for it. One faint hope. It was a slim one, and a risk to try this cold dash of truth over their heads, but if they couldn't see that truth…well, that wouldn't be her fault. And maybe she'd be best off with her own eyes open wide.