His Secret Mistress

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Brandon, this is wonderful.” She could do this. Her troupe could copy these designs. They were made only of painted wood; the brilliance came from his fanciful drawings, which could be easily copied.

  “Excellent,” he said and gave her a smile that said he was both pleased and modest about his work. He rolled the drawings up and tied them with ribbon. He offered them to her.

  Kate was humbled. “Thank you. This is an incredible gift.”

  “I’m glad you like them. I had some worries.”

  “I more than like them. They are brilliant. I wasn’t certain what I was going to do in London. I can afford the pillars you designed. Your talent is wasted drawing bridges and roadways. So is your imagination.”

  “Really?” He made a face as if he was a bit surprised at himself.

  “Yes, really.”

  “And exactly, how much do you like my drawings?”

  Kate laughed and walked around the table to him. She put her arms around him. He pressed against her and she felt the length of his arousal. He’d left the top button of his breeches unbuttoned. She undid the second one, feeling the smooth skin of his head. “I like them very much.”

  “Very?” He lifted her up to sit on the table and took a stance between her open legs.

  Kate wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. “Let me show you how much.” She undid another button and he leaned her back.

  There was no coyness between them, just a blazing desire—

  A strong premonition that something was wrong gripped her. It was a warning, a sense that they might not be alone.

  He immediately noticed her distraction. He stopped, their bodies joined. “Is something wrong?”

  She glanced around the room. There were no drapes on the windows. The outside world was dark. She listened to the quiet. “Are we alone?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned. “Do you sense anything? Such as perhaps we are not? I feel as if someone is watching us.”

  His response was to blow out the candles, plunging them into darkness. He’d stepped back, their lovemaking forgotten, and pulled up his breeches. “Wait here.”

  He went outside. When he returned, he said, “I could find no one. Would you rather go upstairs?”

  “I believe so,” Kate admitted. And shortly, she put the whole thing out of her mind as Brandon and she resumed the activity that was her very favorite.

  Later, as he escorted her back to the tents, she tried to look deep into the darkness of the woods. No one jumped out at them. Still, she was unsettled with a sense of foreboding that she couldn’t quite shake.

  They had reached the line of trees. He kissed her. She put a protective hand over the designs she held in her arms, not wanting him to crush them. Her action made him smile, and then he gave her arms a squeeze as if wanting to hold on to her before saying, “I want to be open about us. I don’t want to hide you.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean, Brandon?”

  “Mean?”

  She took a step away from him. “What are you offering?”

  “To tell Winderton about us.”

  “Oh, yes.” Of course he was talking about letting the duke know. And what would Brandon say? That she was his mistress? Kate experienced a surprising stab of disappointment. “Don’t tell Winderton anything—not unless—” She paused.

  “Unless what, Kate?”

  You wish to marry me.

  The unconscious thought startled her. She wasn’t the kind of woman a gentleman married. Men like her father were rare. Even her mother had said as much. And yet, there it was, her deepest desire. An impossible one.

  “Unless the time is right,” she answered. She was tired, she realized. Overwhelmed actually . . . and felt deflated. “Thank you for the drawings.” She began moving toward the tents.

  “I’ll see you this evening?” he asked.

  She nodded without turning around.

  Inside her tent, Mary and Jess were sleeping. Kate quickly undressed and climbed into her cot. She glanced over at the other women. Mary appeared relaxed while Jess was sleeping on her side, something she didn’t do very often—or were Kate’s nerves stretched so thin she truly was looking for beasties everywhere?

  She turned onto her side and ignored the tear that ran down her cheek. No good was going to come from her liaison with Brandon. At least, she was honest enough with herself to admit it. For a bit, she’d let herself believe all would be right. She knew now she wanted more than he could give. He was too proud a man to take on a wife he couldn’t support . . . or one who, well, who would bring very little to a marriage.

  And if he made an offer to keep her as his mistress? If he’d put such an offer into words?

  She was no longer certain of her answer.

  Something was bothering Kate. Bran blamed himself. Why had he even started that conversation?

  It was because of the drawings. The set pieces were his gift to her. He’d been pleased that she’d liked them. However, it was only when she was looking at them that he realized she was going to leave Maidenshop. She was going to leave him.

  Bran raked a hand through his hair. Something was not right between them, and he didn’t know what it was save that he was desperate to resolve it.

  Should he not have done the drawings?

  She had walked off to the tents without looking back. Always before she’d at least give him a glance and would often return for one more kiss. Not this morning.

  Or was she tired? They didn’t sleep much. And he wouldn’t apologize for his gift. She had been pleased. Kate could not have faked her reaction.

  In fact, after seeing how happy she was, his mind began working on new sets. The blank stage she was working with for her Aesop’s Fables was serviceable . . . but what if he designed some pieces that would convey a sense of Ancient Greece? Village crowds would like that, especially if it was something no other acting troupe had.

  He also could do something about the costumes. In India, he’d been fascinated by some of the dances he’d seen, where the performers often wore masks to convey the characters they portrayed.

  In fact, as he walked back to the Dower House, his imagination was alive with ideas. This was more fun than designing bridges and roads. He’d sketch a few of his thoughts and show them to her tonight. Masks would take up very little room in the theater wagon and could add so much more to their performances.

  Then Kate would understand he was committed to her. He supported what she was doing. He wanted her to be happy—

  A weight plowed into him, almost knocking him to the ground and crashing him into a tree.

  Stunned, Bran was shocked to see that Winderton had attacked him. His nephew stood in front of him, his face outlined in fury. His hands went for Bran’s throat.

  “You bloody bastard. I saw you on the table with Kate Addison. How dare you put your hands on her.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christopher was young and strong. However, Bran was heavier and more experienced. He brought his arms up, breaking his nephew’s attempt to choke him. Bran then shoved the duke away from him. Winderton’s heel caught on a tree root and he went sprawling onto the ground.

  Doubling his fist, Bran stood over him. “Don’t dare get up, not until you tell me what this is about.” His head and back hurt from being slammed against the tree. He was willing to give his nephew a schooling he’d not soon forget.

  “I saw you with her,” Winderton shot out, half rising as if in defiance.

  “Saw what?”

  “You and Kate Addison, in the Dower House, on the table. I saw you. Or don’t you remember?”

  So, Kate’s sense that they were being watched was not wrong.

  “You damned weasel,” Bran answered. “You were creeping around where I live.”

  “No, I was finding the truth about you.”

  “The truth about me?” Bran could have laughed, and then realized that perhaps this was good. The time had come to le
t Christopher know that his pursuit of Kate was over. Bran lowered his fists. “Well, now you know. And you’d best not say anything about it. After all, a lady’s reputation is at stake.” Kate would be deeply embarrassed if she learned they had been seen.

  Winderton scrambled up to his feet. “Lady?” He spat the word out, poised to attack again.

  Bran raised his fists. “Go ahead,” he said to his ward. “You do remember that I’m known around boxing saloons as a good fighter. Insult Kate and I’ll enjoy hitting you.”

  The duke seemed to weigh his odds and then pulled back, his face pinched and pale. “I want you gone from Smythson. You are no longer welcome under my roof. You will leave immediately. And you will have nothing to do with Miss Addison.”

  “Ah, there you are wrong.” Bran lowered his fists and decided that now was as good a time as any to deliver some home truths. “If you were peeping in the window—”

  “I was not peeping.”

  “What word would you like? Does spying sound better?”

  “I was . . .” Christopher’s voice trailed off.

  “What? What were you doing?”

  “I love her. She is mine.” He thumped his chest on the last word and Bran had to keep himself from laughing. Apparently Christopher was as dramatic as his mother.

  “Yours? You don’t own her. She makes her own choices.”

  “I tell you, I love her.” He sounded ridiculously noble.

  Bran made an impatient sound. “You can love her . . . but she decides who she loves in return.”

  “Which would be me if you hadn’t interfered.”

  “There, see? You know she doesn’t return your affections.”

  The duke did not like that comment. “I know nothing of the sort.”

  “You must, Christopher, or you wouldn’t be so bloody angry with me. I knew Kate years ago, back when I was as young as you. We have a history between us.” He didn’t speak unkindly. He understood heartache.

  “You are such—” The duke broke off his sneer as if he couldn’t think of a suitable epithet to call Bran.

  “Yes, I am,” was Bran’s agreeable answer. “And I actually understand quite well the pain you are in right now. You will recover and how we continue forward will depend a great deal on your maturity. After all, I am your uncle, and for a few months more, still your guardian.”

  “I will have nothing to do with you.”

  “That is not in your control, Your Grace. We are family.”

  “Family doesn’t do what you’ve done to me.”

  That barb hit its mark. “You are right,” Bran said soberly. “And yet, Kate is free to choose her lovers.”

  For a second, it appeared as if Winderton would charge him again, and then his manner changed. “All this time, you and she were laughing at me.”

  “No, not that, Christopher. We were going to tell you.” Eventually, possibly.

  Winderton drew himself up. He appeared almost ducal. “I meant what I said. I want you gone from Smythson. You will leave the Dower House immediately.”

  Bran sighed. This was the moment when things would grow truly uncomfortable. He would not keep the secret any longer. The time had arrived. “I will not leave, Your Grace.”

  “You don’t have a choice. I ordered you.”

  “Actually, I do have a choice. I own Smythson. You can’t throw me off the property.”

  “You what?”

  “I own Smythson. I purchased the estate right after I arrived from India to assume my role as your guardian.”

  “You couldn’t have purchased it. I would have known that.”

  “The house was not properly entailed and your father had accumulated crippling financial obligations. After his death, Her Grace had no choice but to sell or the estate would have gone to the debtors. The title is yours, but the property is not.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I wish I was. I bought up the notes against the house that your father had signed. If I had not, Dervil was after them.”

  “I didn’t own my house?”

  Bran nodded. “Or any of the lands around it. Your father was a terrible manager of his affairs.”

  The duke snarled as if to protest, and then a new insult hit him. “Why was I not told?”

  “Now, that is a fair question. For the answer, you will need to talk to your mother. I can only explain my part.”

  “Which is?” The bark in the young duke’s voice was quickly becoming annoying.

  “Which is that your mother asked me to keep it quiet. I believe she wished to save face. She’s a proud woman. Too proud,” Bran had to admit. “I agreed because you were young and you had been close to your father. It was hard losing him.” And Bran had remembered how he’d felt when his own father had died. He’d been about the same age as Christopher. “Also, London is full of shallow people. Knowledge of the state of your finances could have had repercussions that Lucy and I both wished to avoid.”

  The duke shook his head. “We didn’t have money?” he repeated in disbelief.

  “Not when compared to your debts.”

  “I remember there was some rumor going around school that my school fees weren’t paid. Did you pay them?”

  Bran did not like the challenge in his ward’s voice but he did not back away from the truth. He was done with it. “I paid them.” Bran took a step toward him. “I also believe you need to know the whole. As your guardian, I have been managing your affairs. I meant to sit down with you to explain matters before your birth date. Then again, this is a good time to share the gist of what I’ve done.”

  “Which is?”

  “Smythson is a profitable estate. Mr. Hamlin has proven himself to be an excellent manager. You have money now invested in the funds and your renters are paying in a timely manner, something they weren’t doing before I hired Mr. Hamlin. They also act pleased with his management. In time, with careful and frugal consideration, you will restore your family’s fortunes.”

  The duke considered his words a moment, his brows drawn down in a frown. “As long as I do what you say, correct?”

  Sensing the tension in the question, Bran answered neutrally, “You may do as you wish. Soon it will all be under your control.”

  “But I can’t throw you off of my estates?”

  “Well, you will be able to do so after you reimburse me for what I’ve spent. I would be happy to return Smythson back to you. I have no need of it.” Besides, he had not saved Smythson for an investment. He’d purchased the notes because the duke was family.

  “I see.” Christopher stood still a moment, a young man processing his future. “And you are telling me I can’t have Miss Addison?”

  Steel came to Bran’s voice. “I have no control over Kate. Neither do you.”

  His nephew’s nostrils flared and Bran realized he’d made an enemy. “I have no doubt that you are angry with me,” he told Winderton. “You might even hate me.” The duke made no comment. “I made decisions to protect you. All were discussed with Her Grace.”

  “But not with me.”

  Bran wouldn’t have liked being treated in such a manner either. Too late, he saw the error he and Lucy had made. “As I said, you may not believe this, or agree with the decisions, Your Grace, but I’ve had only your best interests at heart.”

  “Including about Kate?” This was the first time Bran had heard Winderton use Kate’s given name.

  “Definitely about Kate.”

  “I loved her.” The young man’s words hung in the air.

  Bran met his eye. “I can understand why. And now, I’m going to leave. I’m tired—”

  “I imagine so after what I saw—”

  In one single beat, Bran’s hand shot out and closed around the duke’s shirt front. He dragged his nephew forward. “You will not hurt Kate and you will say nothing of what you saw to anyone. If you do, Winderton, then I will wash my hands of you and expose all the secrets that your mother has so carefully guarded.”

&nb
sp; To his credit, Winderton didn’t back down. “I love her. Can you say the same?”

  Bran released his hold. He took a step back, and then walked away without looking back.

  However, at the Dower House, he found himself irritable over the confrontation. He should have gone to bed, but his mind would not turn off.

  In truth, Bran had no regrets over informing Christopher of his inheritance. For too long the lad had been kept in the dark. Well, now he knew the truth of things and if he had any pride at all, he’d be rightly humbled.

  And the duke wasn’t wrong in asking what Bran’s intentions were toward Kate.

  He wondered about them himself. What did he want? What did she expect of him?

  He found a bowl of apples in the kitchen next to yesterday’s leftover buns. He munched on a piece of fruit as he walked toward the front room. The candlesticks were still on the table where he’d done his drawings, right where they had left them the night before.

  He thought of Kate sitting on the table wearing nothing but his shirt. He could offer her everything her heart desired—and she’d throw it in his face.

  Unless he offered marriage? For the first time, Bran wondered what would happen if he married an actress?

  Lucy would scream. He could live with that.

  He’d lose his membership in the Logical Men’s Society, although he believed Mars and Thurlowe would wish him well. He could still turn up at The Garland for pints of ale when the mood struck him or for the lectures of scientific interest Ned was determined to arrange for the village. Actually, he was beginning to think the premise behind the Society was faulty. Standing in the middle of an empty house, he realized he wanted Kate in his life.

  If he married her, not only was he honoring her with his name, he’d have her forever.

  Forever. The word pleased him. They had already wasted fifteen years—and he didn’t wish to waste any more.

  The sound of a horse and carriage interrupted his thoughts. He looked outside and saw the brougham pull up with Lucy inside. She was dressed in her black and purple. The liveried driver jumped down to open the door for her.