by Jenny Brown
Besides, Aunt Celestina was dead, and she had no one now to turn to for protection but the father who had abandoned her shortly after her birth, who had greeted her arrival in London with happiness, to be sure, but only because it meant he could gamble away the small inheritance her aunt had bequeathed her. So she stood before Lord Hartwood and chewed her lower lip like a schoolgirl as she pondered her next step. At last she spoke. “If I should wish to stay, my lord? What then?”
What then indeed? Edward sighed. He should have known after the events of the previous night that nothing involving the little fortune-teller would be easy.
“Yesterday you spoke repeatedly of the importance you placed on finding a mistress to accompany you to Brighton to claim your inheritance,” she reminded him.
“I did.”
“Might I not be that woman still?”
Not likely! He would not go through another night like the last one. If she put herself in his power again, he would take her. “I assure you,” he said curtly, “I no longer have any desire to make you my mistress.”
“Was it my freckles?” she asked sadly. “Did it appall you to discover I was so completely covered with them?”
Freckles? What had they to do with anything?
“Or was it because I didn’t know what I was doing?”
Suddenly it struck him what she was asking. “Your freckles make you surprisingly attractive,” he lied nobly. “And besides, virgins aren’t supposed to know what they’re doing.”
“Then why do you no longer want me? You said it was important that you take a mistress with you to Brighton.”
He frowned. He should have known he would not be left to savor his one good deed. Like all women, she would not leave without first making a scene.
Testily, he explained, “I do not want you, Miss Farrell, because, as much as I wished to take a mistress with me on this accursed visit, I realized, just before it was too late, that I couldn’t afford to make you that mistress.”
“But I asked so little! You said yourself, I asked less than the price of your last mistress’s earbobs.”
“Indeed. And that proves my point. Had you not been so utterly unsuited to the role of mistress, you’d have asked for a great deal more.” He saw her flinch, embarrassed at his words. “Miss Farrell, do you realize that I might have given you a baby had things gone to their natural conclusion last night?”
“But surely it takes much more than one such experience for that to happen,” Eliza replied. “It must be quite difficult, or why would so many wives have come to Aunt Celestina for advice when they were unable to conceive?”
“It takes but a single moment to conceive a child.”
The look of shock on Eliza’s face made him thank whatever restless spirits still watched over him that he had not taken her last night.
“Eliza,” he said gently. “I’m not used to the society of women like yourself. The women of my world are hard and calculating. I’d come to think all women were like that, so by being as you are, frank and open, you’ve taught me something new about women that I’m glad to know.” Though she’d also taught him that in the future he must give women like herself a wide berth. Given another scene like last night’s, he knew what the outcome would be. It was only one of his famous unpredictable quirks that had saved her.
Still, he felt a moment of regret at the thought of having to give up all contact with her. There was something so novel about being with a woman who had not sought him out because of his blackened reputation or the size of his purse. Nor could he deny that it had given him an odd sort of pleasure to hear the glowing terms with which she had described his character, even though she was, of course, completely wrong. But that reminded him how impossible it was that she should stay.
He cleared his throat. “You spoke last night, as you looked at your horoscopes, of love. Had I truly made you my mistress, it’s likely you now would think yourself in love with me. If that had happened, I would have had no choice but to dismiss you immediately—to protect you from yourself.” He saw her poised to make some reply but did not give her a chance to contradict him. “The touch of a woman’s body, no matter how intimate, does not open my heart to love. I cannot love. Were you to love me, I could only damage you.”
“But surely, my lord, you could learn to love?”
“It’s unlikely.” He glanced at the heavy signet ring on his third finger. “My father, Black Neville, was a notorious rake who nearly ruined our family to satisfy a mistress’s demands. My brother was even worse. He seduced a gentlewoman, and when she fell pregnant, he abandoned her. Attempting to bear his child sent her to her grave.” He pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. “That is the nature I inherited. I am my father’s son and my brother’s brother. You would be wise to believe what I tell you, rather than become another of my victims. Believe me, I cannot love.”
Eliza felt her heart go out to him. A Leo who couldn’t love! And yet, the words he spoke so bleakly were so completely at odds with the life and warmth she sensed imprisoned behind his harsh façade. He must be wrong. But even if he was not, whatever had hitherto been his experience in life, the chart she had examined the previous evening told her he stood on the brink of a great change. If ever he was to be able to break free and open up his heart, it was now. But to make the most of it, he would need her help.
He had turned away from her, and all she could see of him was his tousled pale curls. There was something so vulnerable about the sight. She yearned to reach out and comfort him. But as she leaned toward him he snapped to attention and swiveled back, fixing her with a look that seemed to strip her clothing off her body and made her quiver to her very bones.
No, she could not be his mistress. He was right about that.
She hadn’t understood the words he’d muttered last night about opening his purse in the case of unexpected consequences. Her heart contracted at the thought that she might have borne him a bastard child! She remembered, too, the feeling of wrongness that had swept over her even as her body had begun to respond so unexpectedly to his touch. Though his body had been in the grip of something irresistible, it had not been love, and even as she had responded to it, she had sensed that his passion had disturbed him as much as it frightened her.
But even so, her instincts told her that she must stay with him, at least a little longer. He needed her help, this Leo who could not love. But how to get him to allow her to stay?
Lord Hartwood picked up the banknotes from his desk, rose, and began to walk slowly over to where she stood. He was back in character again, all Byronic hero. His brooding eyes expressed the agony of his own existence as they swept over her, filled with bleak regret. He sighed deeply, until it seemed his entire being must echo with the cry of his empty soul. She doubted anything she said could reach him now, he was so totally one with the role. But what a role it was, and how well he portrayed it! First Lovelace and now Lord Byron’s haunted Corsair. That last sigh of his would have been heard clearly in the cheapest seats. But what a shame it was, in view of his own needs, that he kept choosing such unrewarding roles. Lovelace and The Corsair would not teach him how to love. But as that thought flickered through her mind she saw all at once how she might use his love of theater to reach out to him without exciting his fears.
“Would your purpose be accomplished,” she asked, “if I were to pretend to be your mistress?”
“What do you mean?”
“I might go with you to Brighton and act the part of your mistress, though only when we were with others. You would not have to treat me like a mistress when we were in private.”
***
The woman was mad. He could think of no other explanation. But at the same time, the boldness of her suggestion intrigued him. Others rarely matched him in his ability to come up with outrageous schemes, but Miss Farrell was making a habit of astonishing him.
“What would be the point of pretending?” he asked.
“Well, it depends,
of course, on what you want a mistress for. If it were only to satisfy your lust, I can see that the arrangement wouldn’t suit.”
“Indeed it wouldn’t.”
“But I doubt lust was your reason for selecting me as a mistress. I am not a woman who inspires lust in men.”
He could have argued the point with her, remembering the unexpected strength of the passion that had filled him when he had dallied with her the previous night, but he thought better of it. And besides, whatever had called out his surprising response to her, it was gone now. Perhaps it had just been the effect of the brandy.
“So,” she continued in the same calm tone, “since your reason for wishing to bring along a mistress did not spring from carnal need, it is likely you had some theatrical purpose in mind. Leos are known for their love of theater.” She paused in her discourse and gazed up at him through ginger lashes. “If it was indeed the theatrical aspect of having a mistress that motivates you, I believe I can fill the role to your satisfaction.”
“Based on what?” he asked, fascinated.
“On the fact that I have always been accounted a very good actress.”
He mentally compared the earnest little soothsayer with Violet and the other actresses of his acquaintance and again suppressed a smile. “I should hardly have thought that your life would’ve offered many opportunities for acting.”
“But that is where you’re wrong. My Aunt Celestina was a great lover of the theater, so we spent many happy evenings acting out together the various parts in her favorite plays. At times, she would invite other gentlefolk from our neighborhood to take part in our performances. The vicar, who had attended the theater in London several times, told her I was quite the best Lady Teazle he’d ever seen.”
“So you would act my mistress, with some help from Mr. Sheridan and the vicar?” he asked, unable to suppress his smile this time.
“With pleasure, my lord.”
Really, he should make her take the money and get rid of her now, before some sentimental maggot in his head—some relative no doubt of the one that had bitten him the previous night—made him accept her crazy offer. But it was too late. It was a very speedy maggot and had already taken a good nip. As much as he wanted to, he could not bring himself to dismiss her.
Mad as it was, her suggestion had a kind of lunatic appeal. It would be a relief to have a mistress with whom he did not have to pretend to feel passion. Nor could he deny that he would find her company entertaining. She was such an original; he would never know what she might say or do next. And the truth was he felt a certain regret at the thought of never seeing her again—though that would soon wear off, as he knew very well he was incapable of feeling anything for a woman. It was only the novelty of her belief that he might be loving and loveable that intrigued him.
Still if he were to send her away now, she might continue on in the belief that he had, tucked away somewhere, a loving heart. How better to dispel that fantasy than to take her with him. A few weeks with him would destroy any illusions she might have about his goodness, and without them she would lose her power to interest him.
And besides, if he agreed to go ahead with her ridiculous scheme, he would have a mistress to flaunt in his mother’s face. It wouldn’t matter whether he actually had sexual congress with her. Just to force his mother to dine with a woman she believed to be his mistress would be enough.
And if the scheme failed? He would dismiss her. There was little to lose in attempting it, and who knew? Perhaps the little fortune-teller could pull it off.
Chapter 5
I am tempted to try your scheme,” Lord Hartwood announced. He stood at the window, his pale curls shining like an aura in the shaft of light that illuminated him from behind. “I do need to bring a mistress with me to claim my inheritance, even if she be only a simulated mistress.”
He was going to let her stay! Eliza felt an unexpected bolt of fear.
“But I am not at all convinced that you could play the part.”
A second bolt: disappointment.
“How good an actress are you, really? Could you behave convincingly in such a role? Could you pretend to be a brazen woman? Could you carry on shamelessly in front of disapproving eyes? You will pardon me if I say I find it hard to believe you could carry off this particular role, no matter what success you may have had playing Lady Teazle with the vicar in your aunt’s parlor.”
Eliza’s pride was wounded. She was a very good actress and surely she had given him as yet no reason to doubt it. She advanced on him, her newfound resolution making her bold. “Try me. I shall show you what I am capable of.”
Lord Hartwood paced over to a sofa that stood by the wall. When he turned to face her, the corsair was gone; in his place was the theater director. “Very well. Pretend you are in my mother’s parlor. Lord Mumblethorpe is sitting over there. He’s very conservative in his views. Are you ready to put on a show for him?”
Eliza nodded. She strode over to the sofa and seized the lace antimacassar that lay on top of its cushions. She draped it around her like a shawl, letting the ends flutter down across her bosom, imagining it to be the fringe of the silken dressing gown Violet had worn. She spent a moment getting into the role, then with a delicate wiggle, she let her lashes drop seductively, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.
Lord Hartwood favored her with a moment of intense regard. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. But before she had time to react, he made his way over to her, swept her into his arms, pressed her against the hard length of his body, and planted a long and soulful kiss on her lips, while his other hand curved over her buttocks.
It took all Eliza’s self-discipline to keep from tearing herself out of his embrace. Instead she focused on his kiss. His lips were as warm as they’d been the night before, and when he parted them slightly to suck gently on her upper lip, she tasted the faint flavor of coffee. She opened her lips as well. Immediately she felt his tongue touch hers as he deepened the kiss. Her knees felt weak and she thought she might swoon from the sensation. But she knew that if she gave him any sign that she was disturbed by his simulated lovemaking, he would dismiss her instantly. So she tried as hard as possible to display the same kind of cool disregard with which she imagined a woman of the world like Violet would have responded to such a caress. She moved her lips against his, following his lead, and pressed her hips harder against his body. She hoped he couldn’t feel the frantic beating of her heart.
After what felt like a very long time, he let her go, and she stepped back, her heart still pounding.
“You did that surprisingly well,” he said. His lips quirked in something akin to amusement, though his eyes blazed with the same fire as the night before. “You did not scream or faint but kissed me in a most mistress-like manner. That bodes well for the scheme.”
Eliza nodded dumbly. Her heart was still racing, and she still felt the strange tingling somewhere deep in her belly, that his roving hands had awakened. It struck her that acting the role of his mistress might be as challenging as being a real one, and given the strength of her response to him, for a moment she questioned her own motives in continuing. But then she shook off her doubts. Her motive was only to help him get through a tricky period as his true character emerged. He would not really make her his mistress. She would not wish him to. This was only theater.
As if sensing her discomfort, Lord Hartwood announced mischievously, “I believe we must try that again, just to be sure,” and he moved toward her again, his dark eyes sparkling.
This time he drew her into a delicate Sheraton side chair upholstered in stripes of pale green and pink and, when she was seated, dropped his pale head onto her lap. Arching his back luxuriantly like the lion from which his sign got its name, he raised his head, letting it rest against her breasts and nuzzling her gently with his cheek. She could feel her nipples harden as he did so.
It was infuriating! She appeared to have no control at all over her reactions. She prepared her
self for the inevitable letdown she must feel when he became aware of her inability to carry off the role, but to her relief her body’s involuntary response did not seem overly to disturb him.
“Ah,” he said with a tone of contentment, letting his hand explore the underside of her breast. “I believe I could pursue this line of inquiry quite profitably for some time.” He exhaled gently. “Should you like me to continue?”
“I should not,” Eliza said as quellingly as possible. She struggled to compose herself. “I believe I have shown you that I can handle whatever is required.”
“Perhaps. Though I should hate to make such an important decision on so little information. If you were to go with me as my mistress, you would have to maintain the role for an entire fortnight. I must be sure you are up to the strain.”
His dark eyes again twinkled as his hand gently brushed against her peaked nipple. As he did so, he scrutinized her face closely, until she felt she couldn’t bear another second of this torment and must end it, if her failure meant leaving him. But just as she was about to leap up and free herself he removed his hand and said, “That is enough for now. I do not wish to put my own resolve to so fierce a test. I don’t know where you got the idea you aren’t attractive.”
She went limp with relief, but forced herself to respond to his question, keeping her voice playful to match his tone. “How could I be attractive with such a multitude of freckles? The boys used to make fun of them when I was young. My aunt tried every nostrum anyone ever recommended but nothing would make them go away. And I have red hair, too. Can anything be uglier?”