His Secret Mistress

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” Her low, very angry voice came from behind him as if he had conjured her to this place.

  Still stooped, Bran looked up. She stood no more than three feet from him, her head high, her shoulders back, the lines of her mouth tight. She had a pert cap on her head and her graceful day dress extenuated every important line of her figure.

  And he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly.

  She took a step toward him. “Were you married that night we were together?”

  He rose so abruptly in surprise at her question, he almost bumped his head on the wagon. Kate had never been one to mince words.

  “Answer me, Brandon, or I swear—” Her voice stopped as if what she had in mind for him was too terrible to say aloud.

  And his own temper ignited.

  She charged in out of nowhere to accuse him of unfaithfulness? Him? The man who had pined for her all these years and was now doing all he could to let her go?

  “What? What will you swear?” he challenged. “And why would you even care? Everything between us was in the past. You were very clear the other night on where we stood with each other.”

  “As it should be,” she snapped. “So answer me. Did you marry? And when?”

  Her impertinence annoyed him. “I do not believe I have to answer. Good day, Miss Addison.” He would have grandly walked away but she practically jumped into his path, a gloved hand raised to block his way.

  “I trusted you,” she said. “And I must know if I was wrong. I gave so much.”

  “Kate, I have never given you cause to distrust me. I thought we cleared the air between us the other night.”

  “Then answer the question.”

  “Why is it so important?”

  “Because I believed you were different from other men.”

  “I was not married when we knew each other in London. And what if I married after we parted? What gives you the right to have a say?”

  She blinked as if surprised by his reason, and then demanded softly, “Did you?”

  A part of him was unreasonably angry. They hadn’t spoken since the other night when she had let him know she was done with him. What was this attack about?

  Another part of him was overjoyed. Kate had come to him. Every membrane, every fiber of his being honed in on this moment. Even the air around them seemed to change and insulate them from the world.

  “There was no wife. I’ve never had one.”

  Kate looked away, troubled.

  “You don’t believe me?” Bran shook his head. “Who told you I had married?”

  A flash of fire came to her eye. “Mrs. Warbler. She is a good friend of the dowager duchess.”

  “You don’t have to explain who Elizabeth Warbler is to me. I know exactly whom she is, and a bigger gossip has never existed in all of time.”

  “She wouldn’t make up that you married.”

  “You haven’t been in Maidenshop long. There are all sorts of stories circulating about me. Very few of them true.”

  “Then you should correct the record.” She sounded charmingly prim.

  “I don’t have time for that. And I thought you were more intelligent than to believe secondhand tales. Besides, I ask again, what is it to you if I had been married?”

  Her brows came together. Her gaze slipped away. She looked around, as if uncomfortable and then asked, “Why were you looking at my wagon?”

  “Curiosity. Nothing more and nothing less, Kate.”

  “I would prefer that you not interest yourself in my affairs.”

  “Well, then, I shall hide my gaze from your wagon.” He held up a hand, mocking her presumptuous attitude.

  Her hands curled into fists. “Stop that, Brandon.”

  “No, you stop it, Kate.” And then, in the abrupt silence, in frustration, he added, “Damn it all,” because this conversation was not going in the direction he wanted. He looked over to where Fred was working on Orion. No one appeared to be paying attention to them, but just in case, Bran took her arm and guided her to the other side of the wagon, away from view.

  To her credit, she did not fight him.

  Once he felt they were safe, he let go of her arm, but he did not step back. “What is going on here? Did you honestly track me down because of something Mrs. Warbler said?”

  Her lips pressed together and then she said, “I had to. We barely knew anything about each other back then. Not really. You could have been married.”

  “And then?”

  “Then what?” she challenged stubbornly.

  “We would go back to relive those days? I was not married, but if I had been, well, the damage would have been done.”

  She did not like his common sense, so of course, he had to press the matter further. “And while you claim to recall little of that time, you did remember the stories I told you. You made them into your plays.”

  “Aesop’s Fables are popular stories.”

  “Some are. And some I shared with you were not well-known at all. They are part of your performances.”

  She hadn’t moved away from him. Her troubled gaze met his as if she was just recognizing the connection of her plays to him.

  “As for the Maidenshop gossip,” he said, “I have no doubt that Lucy probably spread some story of my having married. She cares about what people think and likes to speculate. She has drilled me several times over whether I was hiding a wife back in India. It’s her flair for drama coupled with her nosiness.” He frowned. “Did Mrs. Warbler say what happened to my ‘wife’?”

  “She died.” Her words were barely a whisper.

  “Ah, how convenient.”

  They stood very close to each other without touching and the world around them could go to hell as far as he was concerned. She was beautiful in her gown of soft green and her dark curls beneath her velvet cap framing her face. There were tiny flowers in the pattern of her dress and when she moved, he caught the scent of violets. Lovely.

  He leaned closer. “I’ve given you no reason not to trust me, Kate. Others conspired against us. It wasn’t me. I would have killed Hemling for what he did to you, if I had been aware. Instead, I thought leaving you alone was what you wanted.”

  She swallowed hard at the mention of her attacker. He could feel the heat between their two bodies. Her gaze dropped to his neck cloth. “And yet our lives have gone on,” she said. “You could have married.”

  “I meant to. I thought I would. However, the truth is, you spoiled me for other women, Kate. I kept comparing them to you.” Always you.

  Her lips parted in surprise, her brows drawing together as if she didn’t quite believe him, and he had an insane desire to kiss her until she trusted him. All he had to do was lower his head—

  “Ah, there you are, Mr. Balfour,” Fred’s hearty voice interjected. “Your horse is ready . . .” He trailed off as he realized that he might have interrupted something. Both Bran and Kate stepped back as if his voice had made them aware of how close they stood. “Beg your pardon, sir.”

  “It is fine. Thank you, Fred.” Bran looked to Kate. Should he have been as honest as he had been?

  Her color was high. She didn’t look at him. In fact, it was obvious she was trying to look everywhere but at him . . . and there was his answer.

  However, he’d had his say. She might hold the past against him forever, and how could he stop her? Kate had an iron will and apparently knew how to nurse a grudge.

  “Goodbye, Miss Addison.”

  She didn’t respond.

  He turned on his heel and went to collect his horse.

  Others conspired against us. You spoiled me for other women.

  The words trailed in the air behind him.

  Kate placed her hand against her belly, trying to steady herself. There had been a moment between them just now when she’d wanted his arms around her. Had needed to feel his body against hers. Her mind, her reason could argue and yet, her body remembered. Everything deep wi
thin her responded to him.

  “This is not what I want,” she whispered as if saying the words aloud could make them true. She was going to London. She planned to reclaim her place in the world.

  Kate did not need the complication of Brandon Balfour in her life. Or any other man, she quickly reminded herself. Men mucked things up. She’d lived it and witnessed it in other women’s lives. She liked her life uncomplicated. Her sights were set on her future.

  So, why did she feel overheated and completely discomfited?

  Why had she reacted so strongly to Mrs. Warbler’s gossip? If Brandon had married or not wasn’t her business, as he’d pointed out.

  She had been making her own decisions for quite some time. She knew what was best for her—and Brandon Balfour was not necessary to her life. Especially right now when she had a performance to give in an hour’s time.

  The last thought moved her forward. She tried to ignore the glances of the smithy and his workers. They were obviously curious about what she and Brandon had been doing behind the wagon. She smiled, nodded, and kept moving.

  However, something had changed about the day. Every step she took seemed to be on unsteady ground. Brandon’s words, the information that he might still care, rattled her.

  Mary noticed that something was not quite right with Kate. They had just finished dressing in their costumes. Half the benches outside were already filled. There were clouds in the sky but they did not promise rain, at least, not anytime soon.

  Actors were running back and forth, either to don costumes or to carry out their duties in preparing the audience. Robbie was an excellent juggler and Jess had taken to pretending to make him lose his concentration with her saucy ways. The crowd loved it.

  “We are going to have another full till,” Mary predicted.

  “Yes,” Kate said, giving her only half an ear.

  “We will still be leaving soon, no?”

  “Yes . . . I just saw the wagon. The wainwright promises it in six more days. Possibly five.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Ah, there it was—a question of trust. “Of course,” Kate answered a bit too brightly. “He wants to be paid.” She piled her hair up on top of her head and began poking pins into her curls to hold them in place.

  Mary watched her a moment before taking the pins from Kate’s hand. “Let me do this.”

  Gratefully, Kate did. She felt tired. And a touch annoyed at the responsibility of everything.

  “What is it?” Mary asked.

  “It?”

  “You are distracted.” Mary pushed the last pin into Kate’s hair. “Is it the duke?”

  “The duke?” Lord, Kate had barely given him a thought. “Has he been around today?”

  “He is out there right now. He was most put out that you were gone when he arrived a few hours ago. He actually stomped around.”

  “Oh dear.” She closed her eyes, willing herself to keep everything in perspective.

  “Jess teased him and he brightened a bit.”

  Kate rose and shook out the skirts of her Juno costume. “Perhaps it is a good thing she did. I’m trying to discourage him but he is remarkably persistent.”

  “You might talk to him.”

  “Do you mean be blunt? And how do you believe that will play out, Mary? I’ve suggested every polite way possible that we aren’t suited.” She shook her head. “One does not offend a duke. Even such a young one. Hopefully, we will be leaving shortly and then that will be that. I just have to fend him off as best as I am able.”

  “So, you don’t mind that Jess has been doing a bit of flirting with him?”

  That gave Kate pause. “Is it a problem?”

  “What she does flatters him.”

  Kate shrugged. “If his attention is on her, then he will leave me alone.” Besides, Jess had once been a simple milkmaid. She couldn’t possibly keep Winderton’s attention for long.

  With that thought, she turned her focus on the play and her performance—except, things felt different. Kate truly hadn’t made a connection between her use of Aesop’s Fables and the charming stories Brandon had once told her.

  When her part was finished and she was watching backstage . . . she found herself remembering the warmth of his skin, even the scent of it. She’d nestled against him after their lovemaking. She’d been a virgin. Shy, awkward, and amazed. His body had taught hers what it meant to be fully alive. What had happened between them had seemed preordained.

  There had been one second when she’d been almost overwhelmed by regret. That was when she’d thought of her mother—who had warned her to be wary, to guard against just this sort of thing. They will ruin you, if you aren’t careful . . . and Kate had assured her she was made of sterner stuff. She could resist temptation—and she had, until she met Brandon.

  Then, all of her fine promises of chastity had crumbled. She’d wanted him as much as he had her. She’d been drawn to him from the first moment their gazes had met. He’d made her laugh. He told her stories. She’d experienced no shame in giving herself to him or making that leap outside of marriage. Well, not until Hemling had ruined her life.

  Now, every vignette on stage had a deeper meaning. Others had fought for her attention with flowers and gifts . . . but Brandon had offered his imagination. She found herself thinking about what might have been.

  The performance went well. Afterward, Winderton pouted, apparently offended by her casual disregard for him. She was unable to keep up even a pretense of interest in his babble. He left shortly after the performance, and Kate was relieved.

  She organized for the next day and joined her troupe for a meal she barely tasted. Her mind was on other things—

  No, her mind was on one man.

  Others conspired against us. You spoiled me for other women. She wanted to forget his words, and could not.

  Feeling a stranger in her own life, Kate went to her tent early. She lay in the dark thinking until Mary and Jess came to bed. Only then did she manage to sleep an hour or two.

  Her dreams woke her. She was surprised she was on her cot. Her dream had been very real. In it, she’d been back in Brandon’s tiny room—a student’s quarters. There had been the table and the chair, the bookshelves, and even the dingy curtains. In her dream, she’d wanted to be in the bed but the sheets seemed glued together. She couldn’t pull them down no matter how hard she tried. He was coming, she told herself. She wanted to be in his bed before he arrived, and yet, she was afraid for him to find her there. She could even hear him outside the door just before she woke with a start—

  Kate lay in her cot, her heart pounding. She understood the dream. There was so much left unresolved between herself and Brandon. She’d find no peace until she came to terms with whatever it was churning inside her.

  Kate had learned to go after what she wanted. She had discipline and was willing to sacrifice what she must to see her way clear. She also did as she wished and what she wanted right now was to see Brandon. Until she did, she would have no rest.

  Others conspired against us. You spoiled me for other women. She needed to hear him say those words again.

  Mary and Jess were sleeping deeply when she rose from her cot. Kate put on the dress she had worn that day and covered it with a cloak. Her hair was in a loose braid and she didn’t bother to pin it up or to put on a bonnet.

  She left the tent. The embers of the fire were dying. The snoring from the men’s tent could have woken the dead. No one was roaming around. She wasn’t certain where the Dower House was, but she had an idea. After all, they’d already spent the good part of a week on the Winderton estate.

  What moonlight there was lit her way and the paths were well marked. She knew where the main house was. Without too much trouble, Kate came upon a broad lawn around a whitewashed, two-story, brick manor house. It had a domed roof and a broad portico.

  The main house had a torch burning by the front door all night according to the duke.

  Not so here
. No light shone from its windows. She could almost imagine that the place was abandoned.

  She also didn’t feel comfortable going to the front door. A servant could be posted there and she definitely didn’t wish to be seen—and that was the gist of it, wasn’t it? Kate’s parents had been poor but genteel. She knew what was expected of a lady, even though she broke the rules at will when they didn’t serve her purpose. That attitude was what her mother had feared, what had disappointed her.

  Kate walked around to the back, her feet sinking into the thick grass. All was dark here, too.

  Surveying the back of the house, she wondered which window might lead her to Bran. How had he woken her that night? Had it been just the force of his presence? Could she do the same?

  Kate focused on the house and closed her eyes. She summoned all that was in her and reached out to him. If it didn’t work, she’d have to knock on a door—

  “What are you doing here?”

  At the sound of his quiet voice, she popped open her eyes, except the sound had not come from the house. No, it came from behind where she stood.

  She whirled around.

  Brandon was several feet away from her. He walked toward her until he was almost as close as they had been earlier that afternoon by the wagon.

  He held his hands out as if he could not believe she was here. “Kate?”

  Suddenly, the past did not matter.

  There was only here and now. This moment.

  “I’m tired of being alone. So tired.” And then she cupped his face in her hands, his whiskers rough beneath her palms, and kissed him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kate was kissing him.

  Brandon had never realized what a kiss could communicate.

  There was anger in her kiss—and disappointment, resentment . . . and a sweet, sweet plea for him to understand. For him to be here for her.

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the haven of his body. He didn’t hold her as close as he wanted. He would crush her to him if he could. His every base impulse had already come to life. He wanted to take her to the ground, to bury himself in her—and he knew that would be wrong.