The Accidental Mistress (7 page)

"Ah, here we are. Already drawn up in anticipation of your one day claiming the funds." He paused briefly to scan the document. "Everything seems in order, although your maiden name is still listed for the signature." His gray brows drew together. "Perhaps I should have this redrawn?"

A lump tightened in her stomach. "Is that strictly necessary?"

Good heavens, what will I do if he insists that I sign my "married name"?

He placed a finger against his lower lip in consideration before pulling it away. "No, I suppose not strictly."

Her stomach pitched like a small boat on a high sea. "You see, I would much rather sign today. As indelicate as it is to say, my … um … husband was an infantry officer, and as much as such things do not matter when one is in love, I must confess that we were never financially well off. Can we not proceed now? I am in rather urgent need of funds, if you must know."

The older man pursed his lips and scowled. "Hmm? There is no question that you are the rightful beneficiary, maiden name or married. Yes, I believe it will be all right." Sliding the paper forward, he handed her a pen. "Sign at the bottom."

Fingers trembling, she steadied herself before dipping the nib in ink and affixing her name. Only when the solicitor blotted the ink from the paper and placed it back in the file did the tension ease from her stiff muscles.

He smiled. "If you do not mind waiting, I will have a voucher drawn for you. We have the funds invested in a very reputable bank. I assume you will not wish to withdraw the entire amount from their accounts?"

"No, I do not suppose I will have immediate need of all ten thousand pounds."

"Ten thousand? Oh, I believe it is far more than that." Shuffling some more papers, he pulled another one from the stack. "Here is the latest statement of account. Yes, just as I thought. The current balance is forty-eight thousand nine hundred seventy-three pounds, eleven shillings, and six pence. Your grandfather set this money aside nearly two decades ago. It has since grown considerably in value."

Lily's heart thumped.
Forty-eight thousand pounds. Stars above, I am rich!

"Will five hundred do for today?" Mr. Pennyroyal asked.

Lily couldn't help the smile that spread like a sunrise over her face. "Mercy, yes!"

The solicitor laughed, and called again for his clerk.

"One more thing," he said, once he'd sent a different young man than the first off to draft Lily's check. "You said you are new to London. I know of an excellent townhouse that might be of interest to you. Shall I tell you about it?"

A townhouse?
She hadn't thought that far into the future, but she certainly didn't wish to continue living in a hotel, even if she could now afford to stay somewhere as elegant as Grillons or Claridge's.

A townhouse might indeed be just the thing.

"Yes," she agreed, "please do."

* * * * *

Conversation and laughter flowed like a meandering river through the Bascoms' drawing room, the elegant chamber set aside for those who preferred not to dance in the crowded ballroom nor congregate around its equally noisy perimeter.

"Your play, Vessey," Tony Black, Duke of Wyvern, said.

Ethan glanced up to find the other three men at the card table waiting, expectant expressions on their faces.

"What?" he murmured.

"It is your turn," prompted Viscount Howard, an amiable Corinthian who had sought out the card room earlier and agreed to make up a fourth.

"Oh, right." Ethan nodded and scowled down at his cards. Relying on instinct alone, he chose a jack of clubs and tossed it down.

The other men gave soft grunts of dissatisfaction.

"Count on Ethan to take the trick, even when he's not paying attention," Rafe, Baron Pendragon, commented as he reached for his glass of port.

"Lucky in cards, as they say," Tony quipped as he waited for Ethan to lead out the next hand.

Ethan laid down another club. The others played in turn, Ethan again taking the trick. On the next hand, though, his thoughts began to drift once more. By the third, he had to be reminded yet again when his turn came around.

Tony quirked a brow. "So, who is she?"

"Who is who?" he countered in a nonchalant tone as he considered which card to play.

"The woman who has your mind tied up in knots, that's who."

Ethan laid down a heart, the only suit left in his hand. "I don't know what you mean."

The duke rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. Distraction such as yours can only come from two sources, money or women. You'd be drunk and ready to shoot yourself by now had you wagered your massive fortune at some gaming hell last night and lost. Meaning that the source of your current lack of attention is a female. So, who is she?"

"Yes, divulge all, Vessey," Lord Howard encouraged. "Is she a lady or a light o' love? I'm rather hoping for the latter, since Cyprians provide far more interesting tales."

"There is no one and nothing to tell."

"Hmm, I wonder what this
nothing
's name could be?" Tony mused.

Lily.

Her lovely heart-shaped face appeared before his mind's eye just as it had with regular frequency since he'd watched her drive away three nights ago.

"Camilla," Tony suggested.

"Aurora," Howard offered, playing a card.

Rafe took a sip of wine. "Joan, mayhap."

Their teasing antics reminded him of his own recent guessing game in the coach, his loins stirring at the heated memory of what had happened between him and Lily. "Her name is of no importance," he said.

Especially since that is all of her I know.

"Ah-ha!"
Tony declared. "So there
is
a woman."

"Ignore them," Rafe said. "Though if you are in a confiding mood, you know you can always tell me," he added with a good-humored smile.

Ethan shook his head. "Thank you, but no."

Although maybe he should tell Rafe, since the man had a knack for knowing everything worth learning and a little more besides. A wealthy financier who had ascended to the ranks of the aristocracy only last year, Rafe had ways of locating information and people that none of the rest of them could even hope to rival. If anyone could locate Lily, it would be Rafe.
Lord knows I've certainly had no luck,
Ethan mused.

As soon as her hackney had departed, he'd sent one of his footmen to trail her. When his man returned later that evening, he reported, much to Ethan's surprise, that the cab had let her out at a hotel, and not a private residence as Ethan had assumed.

Up at first light the next morning, he'd skipped breakfast and gone to the hotel to inquire after her. The desk clerk said a Jack Bain had stayed the night but had departed less than an hour earlier, leaving no forwarding address.

Ethan spent the next hour driving his phaeton around the area in the dim hope he might spot her, but to no avail. What he had planned to say or do if he'd found her, he didn't know.

Returning to his townhouse, he'd told himself to forget her. Their chance meeting had provided an interesting interlude, but now it was over. She would go on with her life and he with his own.

Still, he couldn't stop thinking about her, puzzling over her real identity, worrying about her welfare.

Is she safe?
he kept wondering.
Is she well?

Perhaps he should not have allowed her to leave in that hack, insisting instead that he take her to her home regardless of her wishes. Why had she gone to a hotel? Had it been yet another part of what she'd termed "a lark"? Or was there another explanation? Did she even have a home in London? Or a female friend who made outrageous, irresponsible wagers?

When it came to Lily, he couldn't be sure of much. All he knew for certain was that he'd never met a more vibrant, intelligent, independent young woman in all his years. She alternately exasperated, amused, and amazed him. She also made his blood burn like fire, leaving his body stiff and aching with the kind of arousal he hadn't felt since he'd been a randy youth just discovering the glorious delights to be found inside a woman's soft embrace.

Try as he might, he couldn't get her out of his head—or his senses, it would seem. Three days later and he could still taste the delectable sweetness of her kiss, smell the clean vanilla scent of her skin, feel the beauty of her gentle touch that was both bold and remarkably innocent.

How could I have lost her already when I barely had her to start?

"There he goes again. She must indeed be unique."

He heard Tony's remark and glanced up to meet his friend's interested gaze.

"Whatever she may or may not be, it scarcely signifies since I will not be seeing her again." Ethan fanned out the cards in his hand. "Now, are we going to play or not?"

* * * * *

Three weeks later, Lily alighted from her brand-new landau, her footmen assisting her to the sidewalk while her coachman held her new team of matched bays steady. Subtly adjusting the skirts of her elegantly made black silk day dress, she gazed upward at the townhouse of her friend Davina Finch—or rather Davina Coates since she was now a married woman.

Despite a friendly exchange of letters over the past week, Lily wasn't certain what to expect. After all, what did you say to a friend you haven't seen nor spoken with in the last eight years?

She certainly had fond memories of Davina, the pair of them best friends the entire two years they had been boarding students at Miss Tweedmont's Academy for Genteel Young Ladies. From the moment of their introduction, she and Davina had bonded, drawn together by their mutual apprehension and misery over having been sent away from home.

As Lily realized now, her mother had only wanted to provide her with a better education. Over the years, the succession of governesses hired had proven a dismal failure—particularly given Lily's propensity to spend her time running wild over the rocks and cliffs that lined Cornwall's majestic shoreline.

Davina, on the other hand, had studied to be a lady practically from the moment of her birth. Her father, a wealthy wool merchant from Leeds, had always harbored grand aspirations for his daughter. Davina, he had promised, would marry well—no less than an aristocrat if he had his way.

And it would seem her father had achieved his aim, Lily mused as she ascended the front steps and crossed into the refined Mayfair residence of Lord and Lady Coates. Their butler greeted her, then showed her into a drawing room to wait while he informed his mistress she had arrived.

Glancing around, Lily admired the red-and-blue flocked wallpaper and dark mahogany furnishings carved in the Egyptian style. Although the room was attractive, Lily found she preferred the cleaner, simpler lines that graced her own townhouse, as well as the more soothing pastel shades adorning its walls.

Located in an affluent section of Bloomsbury, her residence had everything she could want and more, boasting four stories and many comfortable, spacious rooms. She'd had no difficulty locating staff, a majority of the former owner's servants eager to remain in her service. The house even boasted a friendly feline resident—a large brown-and-black-striped tabby cat named Mouser.

Not long after moving in, however, Lily became aware of a growing problem—she was lonely. When she'd run away to London, her focus had been fixed solely on escape and gaining her freedom. But once she'd reached the city and achieved her initial goals, the reality of her new circumstances had quickly become apparent.

Just as she'd wished, she was living a self-sufficient life. But that did not mean she wanted to live a solitary one. After all, she wasn't a recluse. Yet without the support of family or friends, she had no links to Society and no easy means of gaining entr�e.

To her dismay, her thoughts had flown first to the Marquis of Vessey, her body growing warm at the mere notion of the man. In spite of the weeks that had passed since their meeting, he still crowded into her mind, especially her dreams.

What irony, she admitted to herself, that he was the only person she knew in London! But turning to him was completely out of the question. For one, no respectable woman would ask favors of a gentleman who was not a member of her own family. For another, she and Lord Vessey shared a brief but significant history that she would much prefer stay secret. She planned never to see him again, and that was the way circumstances must remain.

Then last week she'd happened upon a small
on-dit
in
The Morning Post
's society column that made mention of a party attended by several ladies including a "Davina Coates." With such an unusual first name, Lily couldn't help but wonder if that Davina might be
her
Davina, memories of her friend returning in a nostalgic wave.

Never one to hesitate, Lily had dashed off an inquiry. To her delight, she received a prompt reply from Davina saying she was the same girl and that of course she would be most pleased to renew their acquaintance.

Now, filled with too much anticipation to take a seat on the drawing-room couch, Lily waited to meet her old friend, wondering what she would do if Davina was not as she recalled. But the moment Davina entered the room, she realized her fears had been for naught, the years falling away as if they had never passed.

"Lily!"
exclaimed the ethereal blond. Hurrying across the room she enveloped Lily in an enthusiastic hug, one Lily returned with alacrity.

"Davina!" She laughed as she pulled away. "How wonderful it is to see you again!"

"I know. I could not believe my eyes when your note arrived, I was so glad." Davina, who was even more improbably beautiful than she'd been as a girl, pulled Lily over to the sofa and drew her down. "So, tell me everything."

Lily laughed again, a last coil of tension relaxing from her shoulders. "All eight years?"

"Yes, every one. I couldn't help but notice you signed your name 'Smythe.' Are you married now as well?"

Lily paused, guilt crawling over her skin like a small army of ants. She didn't want to lie. In fact, she hated the prospect. But if the adult Davina was like the child had been, she would never be able to do a credible job of maintaining Lily's fabrication. Not that Davina couldn't be trusted with such a secret—she could—but if she knew the truth, she would never be able to lie to others. Sweet and trusting, Davina was the type who simply could not tell an untruth, even to protect a greater good.