The Counterfeit Mistress

by Madeline Hunter

  He paced its deck, waiting. He had been here since the hour before dawn and every passing minute increased his concern. It had perhaps been a mistake to put Mr. Travis in charge of the scouting party. Once on French soil, he might abandon them to go off on his own again, to seek his own justice. He had the most experience, however, and he had given his word as a gentleman to fulfill this mission. Since he still bore the signs of that thrashing he had received, and since he had not left them after regaining consciousness, Kendale believed him.

  Shutters were drawn on the two cabins above deck, one fore and one aft. Stanton slept in one, but would be up very soon. Marielle slept in the other.

  He had resisted the urge to go to her there. He stayed below with the men, spending the nights on a hammock strung below the floor of her cabin. He judged his nose to be no more than four feet from her back and he could hear her turn in her sleep. On two nights he had listened to her soft footfalls as she paced the boards.

  She had not upbraided him again for lack of affection. If she chafed at there being no more than the rare embrace or kiss, she did not display resentment. He did it in the name of discretion and because he needed to concentrate on the task at hand, but he admitted that he also did not need any of these men accusing him of having his judgment twisted by the kind of intense lust that turned many men into idiots.

  So he suffered it. She knew he did. She would catch him watching her while she looked at the sea, and her eyes said she knew what he had been thinking. He hoped that she suffered too. It would be a hell of a thing if denial only affected him.

  Morning desire was always the worst, and now it taunted him, urging him to stride to that cabin even though it was already too late to do so. He had no choice except to burn with hunger while he looked at the trees into which Travis and the others had disappeared the last evening.

  It appeared the lowest tree branches moved. Either that or the fading night created an illusion. He moved and looked harder. While he did a blond head charged into view, followed by four more men at a run. Travis came last.

  They waded into the water with muskets and pistols held high and sloshed toward the rowboat that had brought them to the shore. While they climbed in and began rowing, Mr. Stanton emerged from his cabin as if he sensed their arrival. He lowered a rope ladder. He called other men, who came to help the party board.

  Travis handed up his pistol, then climbed the ropes. He drank some of the ale being passed, then presented himself to Kendale.

  “Was farther than she said,” he explained. “That manor is a good three miles north of the town, not one. We circled through the country coming back. There’s army on the roads. We were hugging ditches twice as they passed.”

  “Could you find your way back without using the roads?”

  Travis shrugged. “Young Angus there stayed alert to landmarks. Maybe we could do it.”

  Maybe was not what he wanted to hear. “And the château itself. How many soldiers guard it?”

  “There are guards, but not army as such, and not many that we saw. Two at the entrance. None on the roof. There’s a walk up there and if an army was lodged there I’d expect to see some on watch up there, armies liking to keep men busy and all. It appears to be a private residence, though. The army is in the town.”

  This part of the report was better than he had hoped. This château served as the home of a tax collector, not an army colonel. It could be hard to bribe soldiers. Servants were another matter.

  “Get some food and some rest. We will leave at five, and take our positions before sundown.”

  Travis left him. Angus sidled over and looked at the cabin at the other end of the deck. “Have you told her yet?”

  Kendale looked over his shoulder. The shutters of one small window had opened. Marielle’s pale face looked out. “I will now.”

  “She is not going to like it.”

  “She will obey me anyway. I hope you are not doubting my ability to command one small woman.”

  “Not at all, sir.”

  Kendale left the men to their business and strode to the cabin. As he let himself in, he heard the shutters closing.

  Marielle stood, wrapped in a blanket. The commotion of the party’s return had woken her and pulled her out of bed.

  He told her the information that the scouting party had brought back, while he tried to ignore how that blanket conjured up memories, many of them erotic.

  “So, we will go soon?” she asked. “We will do this today?”

  “This evening.”

  She sat on the edge of the narrow bed. “It is hard for me to believe that finally—it feels odd, and unreal. To know it will happen, but to have to wait all day—I will go mad.”

  “We will need to prepare most of that time.” Most of the preparation would be so the men did not go mad too. Waiting for action affected one’s nerves. It was best to keep busy.

  “So you will be with the men, and I will be pacing these boards. I have no guns to clean. Perhaps I will sharpen my knife, then decide which of my clothes makes me look most like a woman of the Vendée.”

  “Do you mean a blanket will not do?”

  She looked down at her current garment and laughed. “Perhaps I should spend the day washing clothes. I did not bring enough.”

  Relieved to see her humor improve, he took his leave and went to the door. He had other things to explain to her, but decided it would not hurt to wait until later in the day.

  “Do not go yet.”

  Her words reached him as he pressed the latch. He looked back at her.

  “Lock the door.” She opened the blanket and let it fall around her hips. Her nakedness glowed in the pale light finding its way into the cabin. “We will have no time before this danger today. Lock the door and come here. Please. I won’t make a sound. If they know what we are doing anyway, I do not care.”

  Her outstretched hand coaxed him. He secured the door and went to her.

  She wrapped him with her arms and pressed her cheek against his stomach. Then she looked up at him with a naughty smile. “If anyone suspects, they will think Mademoiselle Lyon is showing her gratitude to Lord Kendale. They will not be wrong.”

  When her fingers went to work on the buttons of his pantaloons, any lingering considerations of discretion vanished. The day was long. There would be enough time to prepare for evening.

  She took his cock in her hands, surrounding him in warmth. She stroked with her fingertips and his arousal roared in his head. He watched her hands move, then closed his eyes and let the sensations do their worst. Moist heat surrounded him. He looked down while she used her mouth to create unbearable pleasure.

  “No.” He did not know how he managed to say it. His body already felt release within reach.

  She looked up, confused and surprised. He pushed her back and lifted her legs. “Not this time. Not now.”

  Her back barely fit across the narrow bed. Her shoulders and head rested on the wall. He bent her legs so her feet were on the bed too, and pushed her knees apart.

  She was beautiful. All of her, but especially the soft, delicate part of her that only he knew. He caressed carefully, watching how her whole body reacted. She struggled to swallow her cries, and finally covered her mouth with her hand. He lifted her hips, bent, and used his tongue along the soft folds, and finally circling the sensitive nub.

  She became frantic. Tremors shook her and wetness flowed. She clawed at the bedclothes, the mattress, his hair. His mind narrowed to a single, sharp awareness of only wanting to claim her.

  He flipped her so she knelt. She raised her bottom high and parted her legs. Barely audible pleas floated on her short breaths. He entered her slowly and somehow found the control not to come at once.

  Sensations more profound than mere pleasure owned him. A primitive contentment with utter possession joined the sublime pleasure. He
brought her to a convulsive climax, then found his own while he ravished her.

  Voices. Bootsteps. Men moved all around the outside of the cabin. Marielle lay on her side, sated and dazed. Kendale sat beside her with his back against the wall. He looked to be sleeping.

  An argument of some kind broke out down the deck. His eyes opened and he listened. He swung off the bed, fixed his garments, and raked his hair with his fingers. He looked down at her with a warmth that meant more to her than any pleasure or any words. He hooked his finger into the blanket and dragged it over her nakedness.

  “I must go. There are things to do.”

  “Of course. I need to prepare too.”

  He sat again, and leaned on one arm, hovering over her. “You do not have to do anything. It might be best if you stayed here, out of the way.”

  “I need to at least dress properly. We will be walking some distance. I brought some low boots, and a warm wrap. The nights are cool near the coast here even now.”

  He watched his hand as he pushed some errant strands of hair away from her face. “You will not be walking. You are not coming.”

  She peered at him, to see if he meant it. He met her gaze. He did mean it.

  She sat up. “I have to come. You will not know where to go. What if you are stopped? None of you speaks French well enough to fool anyone. You all sound like the Englishmen you are.”

  “All that will save us in not being stopped in the first place. That will be easier if you do not come.”

  She scrambled off the bed. “This is a bad decision and I do not accept it. You are being sentimental. I am not one of your delicate ladies. I crawled my way out and I can find my way back, and I have planned and saved for this for years, and I am going.”

  “No, Marielle, you are not.”

  He said it so calmly. So confidently. He had decided, and that was that. She wanted to hit him. She turned away while she lined up her furious thoughts, looking for one that would sway him.

  “Marielle, all that you remember of the château is in your drawings. You are not needed. We will do it without you. I will find him, I will bring him back, we will sail away, and you will not be endangered unnecessarily.” He embraced her from behind. “You gave your word to obey me and now you must.”

  “And if I do not?”

  “I will see that you do.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. She thought her head would burst from the rage building in it.

  “The drawing I made is rough and incomplete. When I enter that château, I will remember more than I do now. I will remember all of it.”

  “The drawing will be sufficient.”

  “You are impossible! Without me to speak the local language, those who guard it will kill some of you as soon as you utter one word. Is protecting me worth that blood, if it might be done another way if I am there?”

  “At least if someone dies, it will be a man and a soldier.”

  “They are not real soldiers. They are a private army and this is a private war. Only you forget that it is my war.” She turned and faced him. “You were willing to have a woman guide you once before, and if it were anyone but me, you would be again. You must forget I am your lover when you consider which way has the better chance of success.”

  He released her and walked to the door. “I have already considered and decided. I will let you know when we are leaving. Stay here until then.”

  A thought came to her in a rush, slicing through her frustration and anger, stunning her. “This is not only about protecting me, is it? It is also about her.”

  He turned, exasperated. “You are not making sense.”

  “Aren’t I? You let a woman guide you before and she led you into a trap.” Astonished and hurt, she walked over to him and looked in his eyes, searching for signs that she was wrong. “You are not really sure that I will not do the same thing, are you? You are still not completely sure of me at all.”

  He cupped her face with his hands. “That is not true. I trust you totally.”

  “Then let me come. I have a right to. You know I do. And you know that you need me there. Gavin Norwood, the army officer, knows it, even if Viscount Kendale, the protector of Marielle Lyon, does not.”

  His expression hardened. His eyes burned. He walked away and left, the door crashing open and closed with his departure.

  She pulled out her valise, to find her half boots.

  Mr. Stanton had the crew lower the small rowboat into the water again. One by one, the men went down the rope ladder. Kendale watched Travis descend, then four others. The rest would stay here. There was no point in having a dozen walk into trouble if it was waiting.

  They were as ready as they would ever be. He doubted that anything mattered more than the gold coins he had on him. Gold spoke to men as nothing else did. Despite what Marielle said, it was the only language that might make a difference tonight.

  Marielle emerged from her cabin, wearing boots and her faded fawn dress and a long knit shawl. She had braided her hair into a long plait and donned a white cap edged in a frill.

  Angus stood beside him, and watched her approach them. “You will have to explain to me again how easy it is to command a small woman, sir. I am trying to learn all I can from you, see, and you went into that cabin of one mind, with orders to give her, and emerged of another and with no such orders given.”

  “I explained all of that to all of you an hour ago, Angus.”

  “You did, sir. The change in strategy part at least. Even Mr. Travis came around on that. What I am longing to learn, in a student sort of way, is how one small woman changed your thinking so fast.”

  “The clarity of her argument could not be dismissed.”

  “It was logic then, was it? The two of you had a long, enlightened conversation on the question?”

  “Absolutely. Now, I advise you stop smirking.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marielle went to the rail and looked down. “They do not appear too English, I am relieved to see.”

  “I am glad you approve.”

  Her eyebrows rose at his tight tone. “Won’t all the weapons draw attention?”

  “We will not all walk together on the roads. We do know what we are about, Marielle.”

  “Of course. Well, should we join them in the boat?”

  “Not just yet.” He drew her aside. “I am of half a mind to still make you stay here. Should you join us, you will do nothing on your own initiative. Nothing at all. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” She said it in the clipped way Angus and the other men did. He chose not to hear it as mockery.

  “I am charging Angus with protecting you. He will fight to the death doing so, so do not make that necessary if it can be avoided.”

  “Why Angus? Won’t you be there?”

  “I may be otherwise engaged at times.”

  “Do we go now?” she asked impatiently.

  He brought her over to the rail and showed her how to climb down the ladder. She still did not do it correctly, it being her first time. Angus reached up and grabbed her lest she fall into the water. She sat down on one of the plank seats.

  Kendale began his own descent, wishing like hell that Marielle were still in that cabin.

  “This road will circle around to the west, then there is another that joins it and goes northeast.” Mr. Travis explained the roundabout route while drawing with a stick in the crossroad’s dirt. Marielle frowned down on the X that marked her town of Savenay, and the other showing the château to the north. “It is longer, of course, but avoids the town completely.”

  “Much longer,” Kendale said. “Hours longer.”

  Other than Kendale, no one else watched. Angus and the other four men were keeping their eyes on the four roads that joined here, in order to warn if anyone approached.

  “We can go a
cross country,” Mr. Travis said. “No roads at all then.”

  No roads and no light and slow going, Marielle thought. She looked to the northeast, and a forest in the distance beyond the farmland. She allowed memories to come to her. Some of them she had avoided for six years.

  She picked through them until she arrived at the ugly night she had fled to the coast, going the opposite way of what they now attempted. Her guide had known the region well.

  “There is a faster way.” She took the stick from Mr. Travis. Retracing her flight the night her mother died, she drew a wavy line through the forest, from the road near the château, then across farmland to that road which they had just walked, only inland a bit more. She pointed to what she had just drawn. “When I left, I came this way. It is not a proper road, just a rough broad path used by these farms along it.”

  Mr. Travis scowled at her wavy line. “You are sure of that?”

  “As sure as I can be.”

  “That is not sure enough for me.”

  “I was running for my life. It is not a night I will forget.”

  Mr. Travis did not mask his skepticism. “No telling what is in that forest, sir. It could be like Feversham described it was in America, being picked off by muskets firing out of the trees.”

  “There is no reason for any muskets to be in this forest,” Kendale said. “There is no way for anyone to know we are here.”

  “And if that path is not well marked? It will be dark by the time we get there.”

  “If it is used by farmers, their carts and livestock would keep it clear enough for us to follow it.”

  Mr. Travis began to say something but a hushed call from twenty feet away cut him off. The man watching east raised his arm in warning. Men flew into ditches and ducked behind brush. Kendale obliterated the drawing with his boot, then grabbed her arm and dragged her off the road and down into the high grasses that edged a stream along the road.