His Secret Mistress

by Cathy Maxwell

  “I was wrong.”

  Kate didn’t even shift her seat on the saddle, and he knew he was losing her but he didn’t understand why. “What do you want from me? I will give up everything for you.”

  “I don’t want you to give up anything. Don’t you understand? I’m not a cross to be borne. I’ve never accepted anyone’s pity—”

  “You are willfully misunderstanding me,” he started, his temper beginning to rise.

  Calmly, she responded, “I understand you very well. Perhaps better than you understand yourself. Come, let’s find this nephew of yours.” She set her horse off.

  “Kate,” he called, wanting the matter settled, wanting his resolution where she fell into his arms and forgave him for any and all past transgressions.

  Instead, she kept riding.

  They rode for two more hours. They checked every posting house along the way for word of a young couple matching Winderton’s and Jess’s descriptions.

  Kate didn’t engage Brandon in conversation. She’d said her piece. In truth, she was heartbroken.

  Years ago, he had broken her heart because of her mistaken belief that he had been in league with Hemling. Now, he’d done it all on his own.

  There had been nothing kind or loving in his accusations. He’d wanted to hurt her, and he had.

  Offering her everything he owned? Why, he’d kept it a secret from her. He’d probably feared that if he told her his wealth she would have schemed to take it from him.

  And it was bitterly disappointing to discover that he wasn’t the noble man she had imagined. He was like all the rest—only happy if he kept her in her place.

  No, she reminded herself, not all men were that way. Her sisters’ husbands weren’t. Her brother acted as if his wife was the sun in his life. When he wrote about her, the words he used to describe her glowed with his love for her.

  Kate wanted what they had. She wanted a man who didn’t wish to possess her as if she was something to be owned. She wanted someone whom she could trust. She’d been convinced Brandon was such a man . . . until his fit of spite and jealousy.

  Her sister Alice would tell her to be thankful that she learned this now about him instead of later, but Kate could not feel gratitude. Because of Brandon, she had started to believe there was someone in the world who loved her for her intelligence, her creative spirit, and her unique gifts. Someone who would encourage her in her ambitions as well, who didn’t see her as “dear” Kate—too bold, too brash, too independent.

  There was no sin in trusting, she told herself, only in not heeding warning signs when they raised their vicious dragon heads—and yet, she’d thought Brandon was the one person who saw her clearly and accepted her for how she was, not how he would remake her. She’d believed that the designs he’d given her of the set pieces had been his blessing on her dreams.

  She was proud of herself for not breaking down in tears now. She kept her head high and focused on the business at hand, just as she always did.

  Finally, when she feared she could not remain stoic in his presence a moment longer, they stopped at a wayside inn called The Traveler’s Rest.

  “We should eat something,” he said. “And the horses could use a rest.”

  He was right. She answered with a tired nod. The swirl of her emotions was draining. Seeing that he had dismounted and was coming around to help her, she kicked her foot from the stirrup and slid down. She handed her reins to the stable lad who had come out to greet them.

  Brandon was not pleased that she didn’t wait. His jaw hardened as if he was swallowing a comment. When he spoke, it was to tell the lad to rub down the horses and give them grain. He offered him several coins for his trouble.

  Kate lifted the hem of her riding habit and headed for the inn’s front door. Brandon’s long legs caught up with her. She braced herself, ready for his chiding about her going off without him.

  He surprised her by not speaking.

  And that annoyed her as well. In truth, Kate didn’t know what she wanted except to find some time to think—

  The inn’s front door flew open, and, to both Kate and Brandon’s surprise, Jess came storming out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jess’s face could have been a picture of feminine pouting—until she realized who stood before her.

  She raised her hand to the loose blonde hair around her shoulders. “Kate—I, uh . . .”

  “Yes, you what?” Kate said, drawing out the last word. “You are surprised to see me?” She had to laugh. “Did you truly believe you could elope with a duke and everyone would say, ‘please go on, good for you,’ and not try to find you?”

  Jess shot a look behind her before announcing, “Well, we are not going to elope, I can tell you that. He’s the most boring man I have ever met. He doesn’t do anything but drink.”

  “Where is he?” Brandon asked.

  “In the taproom,” Jess answered as if it should be obvious.

  Bran passed her to go inside. Kate took Jess’s arm and brought her outside, allowing the door to shut.

  “Well.” Kate let the single word linger in the air. “You appear to be fine. Not a mark on you. Did the duke do anything wicked?” Kate had to reassure herself.

  “How I wish he had. I’ll be honest with you, I tried to rouse something in him.” Jess spoke as if they were confidantes, cohorts in seduction. “I’ve never had to work so hard in my life for so little. He was too busy playing the mooncalf about you. I don’t know how you tolerate him.”

  “I don’t try to use him for what he might give me.”

  That earned her a pouty lip and the heavy sigh of the vastly annoyed. “Well, you can’t blame me for the attempt. He said he’d marry me, that he had to marry an actress one way or the other to save face. I didn’t realize at the time how drunk he was. He has no intention of marriage.”

  “And you were certainly going to take him up on his offer? Whether you knew him or not?”

  Jess shrugged. “I had to try. It’s difficult for a woman to make her way in this world. You know that.”

  Before Kate could answer, there came a loud sound, almost like furniture being thrown. Men began shouting.

  Kate and Jess both rushed inside to see what was going on. There was a short entrance and then a doorway that opened into the taproom. The other patrons, mostly men, had gathered there. Kate pushed her way to the front with Jess on her heels.

  A table and a few chairs had been overturned. Brandon stood against a rough-hewn rock wall. He ducked when Winderton threw a wild fist at him that breezed the air and landed squarely into stone and mortar.

  The duke’s howl of pain was almost frightening.

  “Do you see what I mean?” Jess said without an ounce of sympathy. “How do you put your own fist into a wall?”

  Neither Bran nor the witnesses were particularly concerned. Of those in the inn, some snickered, one cringed, and the rest appeared irritated for having their evening disturbed.

  Overhearing Kate and Jess, a gentleman explained, “I was sitting at my table eating a good stew when that drunkard threw table, bowl, stew, and all at that man there.” He pointed to Brandon who was busy handling his nephew.

  “My hand,” the duke complained. He looked as foul as Kate was certain he smelled. His hair was mussed, his jaw unshaven, and the sleeves of his jacket were torn at the seams. She knew that when he had approached her earlier in the day to make his declaration, he’d already been well into his cups. Now he was even worse.

  “We will have Thurlowe look at it when we return home,” Brandon answered calmly.

  “It hurts.”

  “Broken bones do,” was the crisp reply.

  “Broken?” Winderton’s eyes widened with alarm. “Will I lose the use of it? Can I ride? What will happen?”

  Brandon looked down at his nephew with long-suffering disgust. “What will happen? You will heal and hopefully not be so ridiculous again.”

  “I will be fine?” The duke’s words we
re a bit slurry.

  “Well, you might have a crooked finger or two,” Brandon answered.

  That information threw Winderton into a lather and Kate had to smile. There was so much to love about Brandon. She would have handled the duke in the same manner.

  Meanwhile, Brandon singled out the inn’s owner. “We need food—” He looked to Kate and then to Jess. “For the four of us. I will pay for that gentleman’s meal to be replaced as well.” He indicated the one who had complained of having his meal interrupted.

  “And my ale?” the man demanded.

  To the innkeeper, Brandon patiently said, “And his ale. In fact I will pay for ale for everyone in the room with the exception of this one.” He pointed to Winderton who held his injured hand gingerly in his other, a horrified and dazed expression on his face.

  “I am thirsty,” the duke said.

  “Bring him water,” Brandon answered.

  “Men don’t drink water,” his nephew countered.

  “You do now.”

  The other patrons laughed their agreement.

  One young man, a shy one, sidled up to Jess and asked, “Are you all right, miss?”

  “She’s fine,” Kate answered before Jess could respond. That earned her an evil look from her actress. Kate almost chuckled. Yes, she and Brandon were very much of a like mind when it came to this runaway couple.

  Brandon was setting things to right in the room. Others helped him as they returned to their meals or their drinks. There were many curious glances as Kate took her place at one of the tables. “Jess, have you eaten?”

  “I have not.”

  “Then let us have a bite before we do anything else.”

  Dutifully, Jess sat beside her. “You are angry with me.”

  “Disappointed.” Looking to the innkeeper who had approached their table, she said, “I will take hot tea.”

  “I’ll have a cider,” Jess said pertly.

  Kate looked over at the duke. “Your Grace?” His neck snapped up at the address. Everyone else in the room seemed to freeze in place. “Will you join us?” Kate asked.

  She could see it was on the tip of his tongue to refuse and yet how could he when so many had witnessed his humiliation.

  Reluctantly, he came over and plopped his big body on the chair the farthest from Kate and Jess. Brandon joined them, sitting next to Kate.

  Winderton scowled. “Isn’t this cozy? The two of you together?”

  “Sod off, Christopher,” Brandon said evenly.

  A surprised look crossed the duke’s face and then his mouth closed. He fell into a glum silence.

  The innkeeper brought over their drinks. He returned with a platter of cheese, meats, and bread. Kate didn’t think she could eat, but the tea restored her spirits.

  Jess munched away as if nothing was wrong. Brandon was thoughtful.

  It was Kate who spoke first. “You will have to decide what you are going to do, Jess.”

  “Of course, I will return with you,” the milkmaid-turned-actress said as if her opinion was important.

  “You will not,” Kate answered.

  Jess’s brows rose. “You’ve changed your mind about London—?”

  “I haven’t, save that you will not be going.”

  “But I am a member of the company.”

  “Not any longer.” Kate was proud that she kept her voice calm and steady. “I will take you back to Maidenshop but not to London.” From the pocket of her habit, she pulled out a heavy leather purse. “Here are your wages I owed you and funds for the next two weeks. This should tide you over until you decide what you wish to do.”

  Immediately, Jess fell into wheedling. “Kate, you need me. I have a role. We’ve rehearsed. I’m one of the goddesses. You can’t perform The Tempest with just two actresses.”

  “You have destroyed the reputation of my company in Maidenshop. You took advantage of His Grace.”

  “I did not. He asked.”

  “You offered,” the belligerent duke shot back. “You came to me.”

  “Because you wanted someone,” Jess informed him. “I’m as good as she is.”

  “No, you’re not,” Winderton said decisively, weaving slightly in his chair. “You are a far cry from her.” His slurry speech robbed his words of any compliment.

  Jess leaned across the table as if to meet him. “You are the one who declared one actress was as good as another.”

  “Charming,” Kate said.

  The duke stared at Jess as if she was Medusa and then his head slowly turned to his uncle. “I believe I shall be quite ill.”

  Brandon almost bodily lifted his nephew up and hop-stepped him to the inn’s front door. After pushing him out, Brandon returned to the table.

  “Aren’t you worried about him?” Jess asked.

  “No,” was the reply. “For what he is doing, the fewer witnesses, the better.”

  Jess grunted her agreement and tried another tack—contrition. She had huge blue eyes that could project innocence. “I was wrong. Terribly wrong. I betrayed your trust. But can’t you see your way clear to giving me a second chance? I promise I will mind all the rules and I will not cause an ounce of trouble.”

  “Because you want to go to London?” Kate said, before cautioning, “Be careful, Jess. My question is a test of your honesty.”

  The milkmaid sat back in her chair. She eyed Kate for a second and then admitted, “London is the only reason I joined your troupe. I dream of going there.”

  “You are not alone. Half my actors are with me because they wish to appear on the London stage. Unfortunately, you have not worked hard at all. And let us continue to be honest—you have no intention of staying with my troupe once we reach London, do you?”

  The claim that Kate was wrong about her was on the tip of Jess’s tongue. Her protest was clear in her eyes, and then she slowly reconsidered, tilting her head and weighing the purse in her hand. “I’m bound for better things than your troupe.” She stood. “Good luck, Kate.” As simple as that, the girl walked away, sitting herself down at another table of rowdy men drinking.

  “I believe it is time to return to Maidenshop,” Kate said.

  An hour later, Bran was driving a hired wagon back to Maidenshop, Kate beside him on the front seat. They had decided this was the only way to take Winderton home. His nephew was in no shape to ride and the horses were spent.

  The duke now snored away in the wagon bed. He smelled worse than a pig. Even Orion and the gray tied to the back seemed to avoid catching a whiff of him.

  The quiet wagon ride through the night gave Bran a chance to think.

  They were almost back to Maidenshop when he decided he must try again. “I don’t want to lose the one person who means the most to me. Kate, I want you for my wife. I love you—”

  “No, you don’t, Brandon.”

  He started to contradict her but she quieted him with a shake of her head. “It isn’t time for us. Perhaps it never will be. We both have big dreams. You dream of building bridges—”

  “Not any longer. I was just going through the steps, pretending that I had some meaning to my life, except I don’t have any passion for it. In this week, I’ve felt more alive than I have over the past fifteen years.”

  She looked into his eyes. Hers were silver in the moonlight. Huge tears welled in them, and then she whispered, “I can’t.”

  “You can’t love me?”

  “Oh, you are very easy to love.”

  “Then why?” he demanded.

  “Because I’m not ready to give up my dreams yet. I’ve traveled a long way to reach this point and I must try.”

  “Did you feel that way yesterday?”

  “Before all of this? Yes, and I believed that you understood what returning to London’s stage meant to me when you gave me the set drawings.”

  “I do understand. I have a house in London. You can be in the theater. We can have a good life. Kate, what happened today will not repeat itself.”

  S
he faced him. “This isn’t about today. Or my love for you, and I do love you, Brandon. However, I am on a journey that I started years ago, even before I met you. I must continue.”

  “And there isn’t room for me?”

  “This isn’t about you,” she said quietly. “I’ve given up so much to reach this moment. It’s almost a calling. And if I don’t try this, my way, then I’ll always regret it. Even if I fail.”

  He studied her a moment and realized he had never loved her more. And, at last, he grasped what she meant about trust. About not being just attracted to the person but knowing her. Accepting her.

  “You won’t fail, Kate,” he assured her before lifting the reins. He urged the horse forward.

  They reached the tents. She didn’t wait for him to help her down. Instead, she swung from the seat and practically ran from him.

  And he let her go.

  Bran drove the wagon to the stables. He and a lad put up the horses and they left the duke sleeping in the wagon bed.

  The next morning, Bran shaved, dressed, and set off to see Kate. He had not slept well. He’d begun to doubt himself. There were things he should have said the night before. He believed he must try again. Years before, he hadn’t and she had needed him.

  Dreams change, he planned to say to her. That was what life was about—starting in one direction and then realizing something better, finer lay in another.

  Would he convince her? He didn’t know.

  In the end, it didn’t matter because when he reached the clearing, he discovered the actors were gone—wagon, tents, and stage.

  Standing in the empty field, he accepted this wasn’t the past repeating itself.

  And he let her go.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In a week’s time, Kate was in London and she discovered that many things were different about the workings of the theater world since she was last there.

  She barely knew any of the theater managers and even fewer of the actors. No one seemed to have memory of her. She was starting from the very bottom of the heap as far as recognition. She had done so time and time again. After all, every new village during her years traveling with a troupe demanded she introduce herself. That didn’t make it easier.