His Secret Mistress

by Cathy Maxwell

  Brandon came up over her. “Kate, stop this.” His voice was stern. “Your mother was ill. Your family in desperation. You can’t hold on to the words she said during that time.”

  “She knew what she was saying—”

  “Yes, but did you tell her Hemling had forced you?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Kate, you must listen to me, you were not at fault for what happened. Do you understand?”

  “I should have left immediately. You even thought that—”

  “Because I was jealous and jumped to a conclusion that wasn’t true. I was wrong, Kate. I was holding you to a different standard than I would have held myself. Hemling was evil. You were not at fault.”

  Kate stared at him in disbelief. “I could have left. I did leave—”

  “The man held you emotionally, if not physically, hostage. It was not your fault,” he repeated the last as if wanting to imprint the idea in her brain.

  She started to protest again, and once more, he denied her. “You coped the best you could. You survived. You found yourself again. Can you forgive yourself, Kate? Hemling was wrong. He should have been lashed and quartered for what he did to you. And I am to blame as well. I left. I should have had more faith in you.”

  Something that had been tightly wound inside her began to loosen. “I was not at fault.”

  “No. You were trying to do the best you could. The world is a confusing place and sometimes, we don’t know the right answers immediately. Look what I did when I thought you chose another. I left the country. I upended my life.”

  “No, Hemling upended your life, just as he did mine.”

  “But now, we have a chance to reclaim what we once thought lost. You are on your way to London . . . and I’m holding you again.” He pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

  “I hate the thought that she died believing what she did about me.”

  “She knows the truth now. She probably knew it the moment she passed.”

  At the doubtful look Kate gave him, he said, “Come now, have you not ever felt your mother’s presence in your life after her death?”

  “She is gone, Brandon.”

  “Don’t close your mind, Kate. Do you truly not ever feel her spirit?”

  Kate looked at him with new eyes. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “When I am about to step out on stage, I’ll be nervous and I’ll say a quick prayer . . . and then I pretend I can sense her. Actually, what I’m really doing is being superstitious.”

  “Because?”

  “Because ghosts aren’t real.”

  “I’m not claiming she is a ghost. That is superstitious. But don’t you feel her influence?”

  That was true. Kate rolled onto her side to face him. “Are you going to tell me a story that explains this?”

  “I could. The world has many of them. In India, there is a sense that our ancestors are always with us. That people we love or respect and admire never die but live within us. I can see you don’t quite believe me, so think of it this way—if you were your mother and you knew the full truth of what had happened to your daughter, would you blame your child?”

  His reasoning astonished her even as the sense of his words settled inside her. He was right.

  He was right.

  Over a decade of recrimination and regret, of holding herself to a standard she believed she had failed, evaporated.

  “She wouldn’t have blamed me. My sister Alice knows the story and doesn’t hold it against me. I’ve not heard a word from my other siblings. And if I did, well, we have all learned such hard lessons in life that I don’t believe they would accuse me of being wanton. They haven’t.”

  “Says the woman who is naked in my bed,” Brandon answered, and Kate laughed at his parroting her words back to her.

  “I am naked in your bed,” she answered, pointedly. She moved toward him. “I am naked, and it has been a long time, Brandon.”

  “Too long,” he answered and started to bring his lips down on hers in a kiss—however, before he could, she stopped him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I needed someone to help me understand. I—”

  He cut her off. “No more recriminations, Kate. Never apologize for surviving. Or wanting to live life to its fullest.”

  His lips found hers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  To all the world they were both strong souls—a grand lie, Bran realized.

  He was as guilty as Kate of protecting his heart by not letting anyone close. Suddenly, he was tired of the pretense.

  He had Kate in his bed. It was all he’d ever wanted.

  Bran leaned her back onto the mattress, his lips finding hers. Her arms wrapped around him. Her legs opened, welcoming him.

  He slid his arm beneath her, lifting her hips. He kissed her ear, her cheek, her neck. Her skin was velvet soft and tasted of rose petals and promise. He settled against her core, gently nudging to let her know he was there. Her hand smoothed over his buttocks, pressing him to her.

  Their kiss became hungry and demanding.

  Years ago, he’d not been an experienced lover. He’d been clumsy at best and overwhelmed by his own pleasure. It was a miracle that Kate remembered their time together with any fondness at all.

  Now, he was going to make up for it. He slid into her. She was tight. Those muscles threatened to unman him. He caught his breath, holding himself as he felt her ease around him. She rocked her hips up, letting him sink deeper. Her quiet shudder of pleasure let him know he was exactly where she wanted him.

  He began moving, and he was surprised to realize that his memory had not been wrong. There was something special about Kate. She was like no other.

  She matched his rhythm. She was no practiced courtesan. Her movements were instinctive and yet, they drove him harder than he could drive himself.

  Conscious thought left him. Primal need focused on the beautiful woman he held in his arms.

  This was Kate. His Kate.

  She had one arm around his shoulders. The fingers of her other hand curled in his hair as if she’d not let him escape.

  He tried to hold back. He wanted this to be about Kate, and it was damned hard to keep his need at bay—

  He felt the quickening in her. She tightened, arched. “Bran.”

  Her release was powerful. It radiated through her like ripples of water, carrying him with it. He was lost in the shimmering warmth until his own desire eclipsed it. With a hard thrust, reaching as deep in her as he could, he found his release.

  Time halted. The force of life flowed between them.

  He had no idea where he ended and she began. They had truly melded into one being. The whole world came down to this woman in his arms, and nothing else mattered. He held her as long as he could before the world intruded once again.

  The chill of the night air skittered across his skin. Bran collapsed. Her legs were hooked around his hips, holding him to her. He could spend his life right here, and yet reality always had its way. He had to be crushing Kate. He eased off her, pulling her with him onto her side. He reached for the coverlet and flipped it over them.

  She lay where he had left her. She appeared serene and peaceful, her lashes forming dark half-moons against her cheeks. He watched, thinking she was completely perfect.

  Her eyes opened. Her gaze met his. “Dear Lord,” she whispered reverently.

  Bran grinned, pleased with himself. “We are good together, aren’t we?”

  “I’d forgotten.”

  “I had as well,” he confessed.

  In the haven of the coverlet, she turned to him, her hand resting on his chest. She wet her lips. Her every movement was fascinating to him.

  And then she kissed him. Deeply, fully. Her telling kiss a ringing hosanna of praise.

  With Kate in his arms, he fell asleep.

  Kate’s body hadn’t stopped humming from their lovemaking. She was unwilling to move or do anything to destroy her perfect sense of well-being.

  It was
as wonderful as she remembered. More so.

  Hemling had almost destroyed her memories of that night in Brandon’s bed. In truth, the aging marquis had rarely touched her after the rape. He had preferred parading her around as if she was some pet.

  She ran her hand down over Brandon’s arm. Her leg rested on top of his and she reveled in the intimacy of their position. She’d never felt shame being with him.

  Brandon’s large body took up most of the space on the bed. Her heart filled with tenderness as she watched him sleep. She would adore nothing more than to sleep beside him, and yet the time had come to leave.

  She didn’t want her actors to know of this. They would tease her unmercifully—they would see this as weakness. A man could take on lovers. A woman was held to a higher standard if she wanted respect.

  Over the years, Kate had witnessed many independent-minded women who set their own rules, and there was always a price. Those who pretended to be widows usually fared well in the long run, even if they had many lovers.

  Then there were others—never married—who didn’t give two snaps of their fingers what people thought. Some acted in secret and others boldly, almost defying anyone to judge them. The bold ones always struck Kate as coarse. The secret ones made her wince at their weakness.

  She had chosen a different path, an honest one to her way of thinking. She’d been celibate. She had never wanted to be seen as weak or coarse or to be pitied.

  Of course there was speculation and gossip, but Kate lived in her own truth.

  Nuzzling up against Brandon’s warmth, she accepted that this was a new truth with which she must live.

  Then there was the problem of the duke. She had no doubt he wouldn’t take her choosing his uncle over him well. Perhaps the best course was to say nothing to Winderton, at least until she and Brandon could sort out what truly was happening between them. If he found out, he might impetuously throw his uncle out of these quarters and, while Kate had no doubt that Brandon could fend for himself, she didn’t want to be the one to cause problems.

  She leaned forward and kissed his cheek at the corner of his mouth. His lips curved into a sleepy smile. His arm draped around her waist, keeping her close to his body heat. She was tempted to stay right here forever, except she was a realist.

  Gingerly, Kate slid out from under his arm, inching to the edge of the bed. She put a foot on the cold hardwood floor. They had thrown their clothes here and there. Fortunately she had not worn much. Still, it did take her a few precious minutes to locate her shoe from under the bed. She was thankful for the candle.

  Brandon rolled over, gathering a pillow to him as if holding her. His sleep was deep and peaceful. She fought the urge to give him one last kiss.

  She left the room. She did not look back.

  The hall was very dark. With one hand on the wall, she felt her way to the staircase. Downstairs was as sparsely furnished as the upstairs. It was as if no one was living here. She passed a dining room with a table and chairs and yet there was nothing as a centerpiece. She wondered if that meant that Brandon wasn’t here very often. She would have to ask him the next time she had an opportunity. She let herself out the back door.

  The walk back to the tents did not take long. There was maybe an hour left before dawn although Kate was far from tired. In fact, she felt like dancing. She could have performed a reel right there in the middle of the forest and managed a few steps to prove her boast—

  “It isn’t like you to sneak around, Kate.”

  Silas’s voice made her jump. She had just passed the line of trees and her tent was in sight. She slapped her mouth to keep from screaming. Kate whirled on him, her voice low. “You gave me a terrible fright. Why, I must have passed right by you without seeing you. What are you doing up?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Not after Jess woke me to tell me you were missing.” He kept his voice equally low. “Apparently she discovered you were not in your bed.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I assume in the tent, but she is probably listening for you. Thought you should be warned. She’ll want to know where you have been.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  She started to turn except Silas asked, “Where have you been?”

  Kate straightened. So, now the lying begins. “I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk. However, now, I find myself very tired. I’m for my bed. And you?”

  He answered, “Kate, do you know what you are doing?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Silas took a step closer to her. “You do. I don’t know where you’ve been. However, I have an idea of what you’ve been up to. Young men take on crazy ideas. They don’t know boundaries. You are usually careful about such things.”

  He thought she’d been with Winderton. Kate decided not to correct him. Brandon was her secret.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Silas. It was that what she had experienced tonight with Brandon was very new and fraught with many potential hazards. Kate was a master at the art of being wary.

  “I went for a walk, Silas. I appreciate you and Jess being concerned.” She silently dared him to challenge her.

  Seconds passed like minutes and then he stepped back. “Very well. As you say. A walk. I beg pardon.”

  “Thank you. You also need your sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  “Aye.” There was a pause and then he said, “We will be going to London soon, won’t we?”

  “Of course.”

  He nodded and his features relaxed slightly.

  “Come, let’s go to bed.” She spoke quietly and his shoulders suddenly sagged as if he, too, carried a great deal of worry.

  Chances were he did. Silas was ever present. She didn’t know how she could have made it over the past years without him. She tucked her hand in his arm and walked with him to the tents. At the door of the women’s tent, she gave him a peck on his furrowed forehead. “We both worry too much, Silas. The plans have not changed. There is no duke in my future. And I am grateful for your care and concern.” Those were the right words. He gave a short bow of his head and made his way to the men’s quarters.

  Kate went inside her tent. A cave could not be darker. Mary snuffled softly in her sleep. Jess appeared asleep, although who knew? Kate removed the cloak and pulled the dress over her nightgown. She climbed into her cot. It was a far cry from Brandon’s mattress.

  Her skin smelled of him. She stretched, recalling how it felt to have his body against hers, indentations that matched her own . . . the feel of him inside her.

  And that was when she knew Jess was not asleep. She could feel the girl staring at her.

  Her response was to turn on her side, giving Jess her back. In a blink, she fell into an easy sleep.

  Bran woke surprised to see his bedroom was full of light. Usually he was up before dawn to give Orion a workout.

  In truth, for the first time in what seemed ages, he felt fully rested—and then he remembered. Kate.

  He was alone in his bed. There was even an indent in the mattress where she’d been.

  Bran jumped up. His clothes were still on the floor; hers were gone.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Who is it?”

  “Randall, sir. Her Grace would like for you to come at your earliest convenience.”

  “Oh, bother,” Bran said under his breath.

  “Also, I brought over hot buns that Cook served at breakfast. You were missed this morning.”

  “Thank you,” he said to the door. “Tell Her Grace, I will be over in the hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Bran wasn’t interested in what his sister had to say or the buns. He wanted to see Kate. Now that he was waking, he worried that she was upset with what had happened. After all, who knew the minds of women?

  It didn’t take long for him to dress. Chewing on a hot bun, he made his way to the main house by way of the stables where he asked for Orion to be made ready. This would give him a reason to excu
se himself from Lucy.

  His sister was waiting for him in her private quarters. He’d barely shut the door before she launched into him. “Christopher was out very late last night. Brandon, I’m worried. He seems more enamored of this actress than before. She has her talons in him. Worse, my friends, including Mrs. Warbler, have taken a liking to her.”

  “You needn’t worry about Miss Addison and Christopher. There isn’t anything there.”

  “Then where was he last night?”

  “I don’t know.” Bran shrugged. “Perhaps at The Garland? There are usually lads over there.”

  “He is so secretive.”

  “Lucy, if you had been my mother, I would have been secretive as well.”

  “You sound as if I am doing something wrong. He is my son. He is the duke,” she blustered. “He has responsibilities—”

  “He is a young man. He will go after young men’s pursuits.”

  “As long as it isn’t that actress. You act as if you think me silly for my worries. Let me tell you, these things can become very messy. I’d rather have the matter under control now than deal with a by-blow later. We’d have to find someone to raise the child and, well, it is untidy. You know how bastards are.”

  “Not having had one, I will take your word for it.”

  “All you need do is look at Miss Taylor.”

  “Lucy, be kind. However, I can tell you with complete assurance that Christopher is not dallying with Miss Addison.”

  She pursed her lips at him, her brows rising. “I trust you, Brandon, except every one of my mother’s instincts warns me that my son is in trouble.”

  “Then why don’t you take him to London? He should be there this time of year. Let’s utilize a geographic cure. Take him to the city as part of his duties and separate him from your concerns.”

  The purple ribbons on Lucy’s black lace bonnet bounced as she shook her head. “Neither of us will go. I don’t know if I can stand London anymore. Christopher is very much like me. He prefers the country.”

  It was on the tip of Bran’s tongue to tell his sister to throw off her mourning, wear color, and move back into the stream of life. He also knew his words would set her off into a tirade about how unfeeling he was, and he did not want to put up with that this morning.