A Mistress To Remember (Birds of Paradise Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Mark, I love you. Why would I leave you unless I had to? My sons are the only things I love more, and Peter threatened to take them from me.”

  “The bastard. How could you not have trusted me enough to help?”

  “I thought we were just engaged in a tryst, not anything permanent, even though that is what I wanted. I know it’s different for men, but I knew right away I was going to love you. That I was lost.”

  “What are the terms of his guardianship?”

  Katrina explained her small bit of knowledge. “I do understand Peter’s concern.”

  “His interference in your life is quite inappropriate, you must know that.”

  “But how was I to stop it?”

  “Indeed. Let’s request the tea and biscuits. We’ll decide what to do soon enough.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Katrina, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but this is one thing in which I can help. Being married to an earl is no small thing. For that matter, being a countess isn’t either. A barrister and a proper court will have his guardianship amended in no time.” He caressed her knee. “Do not worry for another moment. I’ll have you and your title and your husband back to England before you know it, and your sons happily reunited with you.”

  Someone rattled the doorknob. “Katrina? Can I get you anything, dear?” her aunt asked.

  “Under the covers! Now!” Katrina whispered.

  “I think you aunt isn’t so opposed to naked flesh as you might think.” She hit him with a pillow, then pressed a finger to her lips.

  Katrina fussed with her hair again, pulled her robe tight, then clutched a square handkerchief and pressed it to her nose. She peeked out through the small crack of her door. She braced her foot against the bottom so her aunt wouldn’t inadvertently burst in.

  “Will you join us for breakfast? Stephan returned with us. He appears most anxious to press his suit.”

  “He’s a flirt.” She pretended a sneeze. “He’s here to dazzle you just as much as he thinks I’ll blush and stammer at his witticisms. Auntie, I cannot see him today of all days. Because I’m still ill,” she added quickly.

  “He’s worried, you know, about your English lord.” Raisa glanced around Katrina, so she closed the door a few inches more.

  Mark had gotten out of bed and came in behind Katrina. He was busy lifting her robe’s swath of material from her backside. The soft crinkle of skirts sounded like cannon blast to Katrina. She kicked back and connected with some part of his body.

  “Maybe my English lord should be worried about Stephan.”

  Raisa laughed. “I’ll have Nannette bring up a tray for you. And for Mark, too?”

  “Auntie! Mind your own business,” Katrina whispered.

  “I’m Russian. All business in my house is my business.”

  * * * * *

  The wedding was a surprisingly lavish affair given that Katrina and Aunt Raisa had only a week to prepare. In the coldest part of winter, ice sculptures were a de rigueur and Raisa had several made, including a brown bear, a carriage, and Cupid with his arrows.

  A seamstress had arrived on the day after their announcement, and every morning since, cutting and measuring and fitting this trim and adding this flounce. The silk was glorious, the lace expensive. The Russian artic fox fur was an extravagance but something Raisa had insisted on, as her own mother had worn it on her wedding day.

  Katrina’s grandmother? She had no real recollection of the woman, but being in Russia again caused many of her memories to stir, especially as she walked toward Mark standing at the royal doors in the middle of the nave.

  Mark had even learned the vows in Russian, which brought tears to her eyes because he had not told her before the ceremony. The crowning, a tradition in Russia where crowns were held over Katrina’s and Mark’s head while the priest recited prayers and blessings, was solemn and beautiful. The moment the crown was over Mark’s head, she grew teary again and thankful they had decided to marry here and now. Then he kissed both her cheeks before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

  That part wasn’t traditional, but it was perfect.

  The snow prevented any lengthy travel, so they stayed at Mark’s lodgings for a few weeks, loving by firelight and rarely coming out of their private cocoon except to eat.

  Furs were piled near the hearth, and lying naked beneath them and next to Mark was a luxury she’d not soon forget.

  Outside, the wind howled, but they lay entwined, hands clasped, Katrina’s head nestled against his shoulder and neck.

  “Tell me about your family. Your life. Everything. Before, we never talked about such things,” she said.

  “I feel like you know everything about me. All that’s important, anyway.”

  “But it’s those small things that paint the true picture. Did you have a dog when you were a boy?”

  “Two of them. Dale and Blackie. The sweetest Staffies a boy could ask for. They were family dogs, of course, so I couldn’t claim they were completely mine. I took them everywhere in London. And when we went to the country for holiday, we’d swim in the lake and fish and climb hills. It was a grand boyhood.”

  “Maybe we will need a Staffie in our home.”

  “Your boys will love them.”

  “They’re our boys now,” she said.

  “Will they mind this sudden change? A new stepfather? A man about the house to frown at their antics and scold their misbehaviors?”

  “I do enough scolding. But maybe they will enjoy the swimming, the fishing and the climbing with you.”

  “And the dog?”

  “Of course.”

  The fire snapped and an ember flew across the room to land near the foot of the bed.

  “I don’t want ours to be just a glowing ember, Mark,” she said. “A bright flame that burns itself out.”

  “And what do you suggest? It is a rather common problem amongst the ton set.”

  “It happened with me and Samuel. I gather it happened with you and Susannah.”

  He grunted in the affirmative, but pulled her closer.

  “Maybe if we had a child of our own,” she suggested. Haltingly.

  “Hm. I just assumed you were no longer interested in bearing a child at your age, with your sons.”

  “I am not so old,” she said. “For you, I would. Most certainly.”

  “And would that keep the flame bright?”

  “Maybe. The effort to make a child won’t hurt.”

  “I want a child, Katrina, but not at the risk of your life. Seeing you fall through that ice terrified me. I got to see what my life would be like without you, and I don’t want to experience that again.”

  “Let’s stay here forever,” she said. “Just like this.”

  “If we don’t move soon, they are going to find our bones.”

  “Yes, but we’ll be locked in an embrace, and they’ll encase us at the British Museum as an example for all the world, such as those excavations at Pompeii.”

  “You don’t have high expectations at all.” She glanced up at him. “All right, I admit I do too,” Mark said.

  “Good.” Katrina rolled and reached for the bottle of wine. “In Russia, there is no better way to seal a promise than with a drink. To us. Forever.” She drank back a swig then handed the bottle to Mark.

  “To us. Forever.” He swallowed a drink and then said, “You have my heart and it is full of love, only for you.” He took another drink then dribbled the wine over her chest. Setting the wine aside, he bent over her and sipped from her breasts, her stomach and the lovely expanse of her skin.

  But spring eventually arrived, icicles melted from the overhangs and fences, with the drip, drip plopping against wood, stone and metal. The snow turned to slush and great heaping piles of dirt and flotsam gathered at street corners and alleys where it had collected all winter. And large drays, pulling heavy carts shot dirty, icy water in every direction, angering passersby.

  Mark and Katrina, bun
dled in their heaviest coats, journeyed toward home. She had turned to look back at her homeland as the ship left port, tears pooling in her eyes and sliding down her cheeks.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back. And maybe everyone I know will be gone by then.”

  “Maybe. But you’ll still have me, and I’ll still be burning for you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “It’s a scandal, that’s what it is.” Peter Klee tossed the newspaper he was reading and scattered the pages across the floor. He threw himself against the back of his chair, petulant. Fisting one hand, he tapped his knuckle against his teeth.

  Katrina was prepared for Peter’s anger. Mark had given her advice, saying it was unwise to poke this bear just now, even insisting on accompanying her. She’d convinced him that she should see Peter alone and explain what would happen. She had to do this herself, so Mark took time to visit Susannah’s family instead, to softly break the news of their marriage, which seemed appropriate given that the family mourning was not complete.

  “What is scandalous about a wedding announcement and reading of the banns?” Katrina asked.

  “Everyone knows he went after you like a hound chasing a hare. To St. Petersburg, for the love of—”

  “Everyone doesn’t know! They never do. They speculate and gossip and, where it concerns me, you are quick to believe every falsehood.”

  “So, you are saying he wasn’t in St. Petersburg with you? Samuel would be very disappointed by your behavior. He did everything he could to elevate you in society. And you forget your sons.”

  “And I am doing more for them by marrying an earl.”

  “An earl. One who barely has a pot to piss in.”

  “Peter!”

  “My apologies,” he said without real repentance and with little thought. “You understand how this has caught me off guard.”

  “It is none of your business. And you had to know I would eventually marry,” she said. Had she made a mistake coming alone?

  “The boys will, of course, be staying with me for the foreseeable future.”

  Katrina stared hard. “You have no right to them. I am doing what is honorable, marrying into a noble family.”

  “You had that with the Klees.”

  “Are you trying to punish me because I would not marry you?”

  “I am not so petty as that.”

  “Where I am concerned, I am not so sure.” She drew a deep breath. “There is more. While Mark and I were in St. Petersburg, we married. There, with my family at my side.”

  At the news, Peter pushed to his feet and walked to the mantle. He fingered the finial of a delicate silver urn.

  “I plan to wed here in London also. You may join us as part of the family or you may sulk.”

  “Who you marry is not my concern. The wreckage you seem to enjoy strewing in my path, and your sons, is. The children will stay with me.”

  “That is not what Samuel wanted.”

  “In your rush to another man’s bed, how would you know what Samuel really wanted?”

  “The guardianship was only a formality. He meant that I would take responsibility for them and he left me the funds to do so.”

  “They’ve had enough Russian learning. It is time they were brought up as proper English lads. You’ve forfeited any right you have to them or to influence them.”

  “I want my sons, Peter.”

  “It’s too late. You must now lie in the bed you’ve made.”

  * * * * *

  “Come to bed, Katrina.”

  She tried to hide her worry and sadness across the room, her shoulder braced near the jamb and the heavy curtains acting as a veil at her back. Mark had finished stoking the fire with a few strongly scented rowan logs and now reclined on the bed watching her, knowing the grief she bore.

  Only once before in his life had Mark felt more like killing a man. The first had been when Lucian Conover, the Marquess of Dane, had compromised his sister and practically blackmailed her into continuing the potential scandalous and dark affair. Mark was ready to end Dane’s life, except the blighter ended up marrying his sister, and she was dotty in love with him now.

  And now Peter Klee, who deserved a special spot in hell.

  What man would deprive a loving and devoted mother of her children?

  When he’d arrived home, he’d found her ensconced in her bedroom, weeping inconsolably. He had no patience for tears, except Katrina’s, and he’d tried to comfort her in between bouts of muddled sobbing and angry denunciations of Peter Klee’s character. She had not seen her sons since Katrina and Mark had returned from St. Petersburg.

  But she had contained herself, though her eyes were red from shed tears.

  Katrina turned from the window, strolled toward him, and reached for his open hand. “I cannot sleep. Not tonight.”

  “I would comfort you with assuring words, but I don’t know how guardianships work, more specifically what Lord Klee intended. A man such as Peter Klee can be reasoned with, especially now that you are married to an earl. If not, there is a legal solution, that much I do know.”

  She sat beside him. “I don’t understand his vehemence.”

  The fresh scent of lilacs and roses engulfed her and tempted him.

  “Do you not? Katrina, the man is in love with you. And he is punishing you.”

  “Using my sons to do so? That is not love.”

  “Maybe he just needs to think about his actions. Calm himself.” He caressed her hand. “Can we give him a few days? The news of our marriage probably shattered the last of his hopes.” Mark prayed the man had some honor and would see the pettishness of his ways.

  “Why are you so calm about this?”

  “They may not be my blood, nor know me as their stepfather, but that doesn’t mean I am calm. In fact, I am itching for a confrontation, but not until we have ample weaponry. Our public marriage will be the first step.”

  “Being the voice of reason is not endearing you to your wife at this moment.”

  “Not even a little?”

  She heaved a sigh. “The worst part is that Samuel never mentioned Peter would be their guardian. And once I knew, I never imagined he would be so difficult. We never talked about it. But we also never planned for Samuel to die so young. Oh, Mark, what if he takes the boys away and I only see them once a year?”

  Mark wrapped his arm about her waist and pulled her into the bed beside him. “They were fine while you were in St. Petersburg. They’ll be fine over the next few days until I pay Mr. Klee a visit.”

  “Will he listen to you?”

  He tapped her nose. “Of course he will. I know people.”

  Mark pressed a kiss to her lips. Her response was tepid; he could see she hadn’t stopped thinking about her loss. He didn’t blame her. He was surprised she wasn’t supine in grief. Did her sons even know she was back in London? Had Klee told them?

  “I know you can help, but…”

  “But?”

  “This is my responsibility. They are my sons. If my actions caused me to lose them, then I should be the one to set it right.”

  “I do not doubt your determination, but there are things better accomplished with subtle force than charming persuasion.”

  “Hm. Because you’re a man?”

  “Well, I am a man of my times. And speaking of husbands…”

  “We weren’t speaking of husbands,” she said.

  “I found something for you. I didn’t have time to wrap it properly.” He grabbed the wooden box from the bed stand and handed it to her. The box was square and simply made except for an outline of finely grained decorative ebony and mahogany inlay along the outside edge.

  “Can I guess?” She shook the box next to her ear. There was a pleasant rattle.

  “It has the Angerstein mark, but I didn’t realize they made crafts aside from jewelry. Go on, open it.”

  He watched her face as she opened the lid.

  “Oh my.” She smiled, then pressed her fingers
to her lips for a moment. “Silver napkin rings. Sixteen of them,” she whispered.

  They were laid out in four rows of four, the silver shined to a brilliant luster. There were two things she had not noticed yet.

  “Look at the engraving,” he hinted.

  She plucked up one of the rings and held it to the light. “An A.”

  “The jeweler who found them thought they belonged to your family, not just a trinket they sold.”

  “That’s…that’s amazing. Really,” she said.

  “But look here.” He pointed to the sliver intaglio with the date and initials. “It looks like it was too old to be your parents, but maybe it belonged to your grandparents.”

  “Can that be?” She squinted and looked closer. She handed him the box. “Wait, I have an old family history. I think I know where it is.” She scurried from the bed and departed the room, her rail billowing behind her. She was only gone a few minutes and returned to the room with the same hurried footsteps. The book was already open, her hand holding it in place. “Look,” she said.

  She tilted the book so he could read. “It’s the same. The initials of my father’s parents. I wonder who made them. What if it was my great-grandfather? He would have had to make them while in Russia. Oh, Mark.” She tucked the book under her arm and reached for the box again, fingering the fine silverwork. “They are beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you like them.” He took the book and set it aside. Then the box. She looked into his eyes, her gaze misty and loving.

  He slid his hand over her hip and along her other curves before she was once again in their bed. He kissed her again, a soft, urgent touch to which she finally responded. He rucked up her silky nightdress until her legs were exposed. Distress could sometimes be alleviated with a proper shagging. Or so he had heard. And now there was an overflowing well of gratitude and surprise.

  He leaned over her, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Do you mind?” he asked. She shifted her leg and opened for him. The aroma of roses and lilacs was replaced by the earthy fragrance of woman.

  Katrina had closed her eyes, reposed and peaceful for the moment. If she was thinking of her sons, he planned to make her forget everything, including her name.