A Proper Mistress (16 page)

She allowed her stare to fix on his portly belly. And she looked up at his face again with a challenge.

Eyes glimmering, his scowl darkened, but he threw back his head and gave a laugh. The dogs all stood, their tails wagging. The squire ignored them. Sobering, he stared at her.

What in perdition had Theo been thinking to bring home such a brazen wench? Oh, she was toothsome enough, as any man could see. But, by gads, this was a respectable house. Had been for generations. Had the boy been foxed? If so, he ought to have come to his senses when he sobered and taken the girl away.

Simpson had been muttering on about something to do with the wench, but he hadn't been attending. He'd ridden hard through the night and what he wanted was dry clothes, a thick sirloin, and his pipe. His bad ankle ached from the wet, his back tooth hurt, and his trip to Suffolk had been a waste for Sir Charles would not come to terms on a price for that mare.

Gads, but that still rankled. She'd had just the bloodlines he'd wanted. Out of Young Giantess by the underrated Diomed, who came by Sorcerer from the great Matchem himself. A mare certain to produce a Derby winner if ever. But he'd not go a shilling over a thousand for her—by gads, he would not. No, he had been taken once, spending too much for a brute of a stallion that he had been lucky to sell. He would not be gulled a second time.

It rankled, of course, that that stallion now looked to mend his ways. But if he found the right mare to breed to him, he'd still come off best where it mattered.

Thinking now on that, he eased his weight from his bad leg—broken on a hunt years ago—and he glared at the wench. Cesar nudged his hand for a pet, and that reminded him, too, that he had the dogs to see dried and fed.

He did not want to be dealing with shipping off his son's mistress just now, no matter how round a figure she sported. Gads, had Theo left her here just for him to deal with? It would be like the lad to be just so careless. Damn, but he would have a talk to him about this. Time he grew up a bit, now that Terrance...

The squire cut off that thought, and frowned even more at this pert strumpet. He did not want to be thinking of his eldest—no, he corrected himself. He had only one son now.

"Not much size, eh, but plenty of sauce. Only it won't do for Theo to have his fancy piece here. Simpson's packing your things to send you back to wherever he found you."

"I'm not his fancy piece. I'm Miss Molly Sweet, and I'm—"

"She's my bride."

Molly swung around, and the squire turned his attention from her to his son, who had stepped in through the open front door, rain dripping from his hat and darkening his coat and breeches. The dogs bounded forward at once to greet him with barks and whines, and Theo absently stroked wet heads as he slanted Molly a hint of a smile.

Letting out a breath, she stepped aside as he came in and she shut the front door behind him.

Father and son faced each other, and Molly watched. Like her, the dogs settled down, almost as if they, too, sensed the tension gathering. The scene, Molly thought, had the same compelling fascination of two carriages bowling along a London street and about to collide—disaster pending. And which of them, if any, would come out unscathed?

The squire's voice rose first, rumbling into the hall with indignant outrage, "Bride?"

Theo pulled off his hat and tossed it onto a side table. "Yes, bride. And I've just got a ring for you, my sweet Sweet." Fumbling with his coat tail pockets, he pulled out two velvet pouches. The slight agitation in his movements was the only betrayal of his feelings, for his manner otherwise seemed untroubled.

Eyes narrowing, the squire glared at his son. The whip had stopped tapping. "A ring is it?"

With a forced smile, Theo pulled out an emerald and diamond ring. Molly could not help but gasp, and the most appalling greed swept through her—gracious, but to have such a thing as her very own. This must indeed be how girls were tempted into making unwise decisions.

But oh, what a fine bit of flash.

She did not have to pretend in order to thrust out her hand with eager interest. "Coo, ducks—for me?"

The dogs, too, seemed eager to see the trifle, though they looked disappointed after a quick sniff of her hand and strolled back to the squire's side.

"Just a trifle, my sweet Sweet. I've a bracelet for you as well." With a grim smile that seemed a parody of his usual one, Theo put the ring on her finger and spilled diamonds into his gloved palm.

Molly's eyes bulged. She shot a worried glance at Theo's father—lord knew, if she were Theo's parent just now, she'd be ready to box his ears for such reckless extravagance.

The squire stood still, his face red as flame, his expression as fixed as that of a stone gargoyle, and Molly glanced at Theo. She had never thought of family as anything but an asset, only now she saw that having relations brought its own difficulties—such as getting along with each other.

These two seemed to be doing their best to do the opposite and antagonize each other.

"There!" Theo said, fastening the bracelet around Molly's wrist. It felt like an iron manacle and weighed almost as much. Still, she put on a smile and held it up to admire how it blazed like a hundred-candle chandelier.

"Coo, ducks..." she said, unable to think what else might be in character. "It fair takes my breath."

"I supposed you've a Special License to wed in your pocket, too," the squire grumbled. The dogs all shifted their focus to Theo, as if copying the squire's interest.

Theo frowned and hesitated for an instant, and the squire's eyes narrowed a touch more. An unpleasant sensation swept into Molly that Theo had misjudged his own father—the man looked as canny to her as any vendor in Covent Garden, and perhaps Theo had been mistaken to think he could fool his father about anything.

Still, she was here to play a part—and her fifty pounds depended on this going well. She straightened and set her hand on her hip again—that seemed as defiant a pose as any.

"Special License! A proper wedding's what he promised me—ain't it, ducks," she added, throwing him what she hoped appeared to be a beguiling smile.

Theo brightened, turned just enough to slip her a wink and faced his father again, "That's right. I brought her home so the bans could be called."

Folding his arms, the squire dropped his chin so it almost rested on his chest. "Then you've talked to the vicar, have you?"

"Well...not yet. Blazes, we only just got here!"

Molly stepped closer to Theo and tucked her arm into his. His sodden coat smelled of wet wool, but she found a measure of reassurance from his warmth and size. "My Theo's had other things to think of," she said, and she fluttered her lashes up at him.

For a moment, he glanced down at her, as if distracted, and Molly stared up at him, caught for an instant by the sweep of black lashes against his skin and the depth of blue in his eyes. They were far deeper in color than his father's really.

The squire's voice made her jump, and jerked Theo's stare from her. "Then I'll just go talk to the vicar myself, shall I? You're not the first man to marry his mistress—and gads, while she's not what I'd have picked for you, it's about time one of my...it's about time my son gave me grandsons!"

At the squire's tone, the dogs began to pace, restless and agitated. Theo's face darkened into a scowl, but the squire's mouth twisted up.

Molly shivered. Wasn't the squire supposed to be thundering about and disowning Theo? Why this sudden acceptance of her?

She stared at him, wondering if he had guessed their deception, or if he was merely trying to see if Theo bluffed. She glanced at Theo. Would he give in now and admit defeat?

Jaw set, Theo glared at his father. "I can talk to the vicar on my own, thank you!"

The squire's eyes glimmered. "Best do so. It's four weeks to call 'em, so why delay?"

 Four weeks!
Molly almost uttered the words. But Theo reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. The squire turned away and stomped up the stairs, his dogs standing to shake the water from their coats before they bounded after their master.

Molly glanced at Theo, her lips parted to ask him what they did now, but he only shook his head. He gave her hand a kiss. "I've the vicar to see. We'll talk later, my sweet Sweet."

With that, he picked up his hat and slammed out the front door.

Molly glanced up at the stairs—now empty—and to the front door—now shut. The only thing left in the hall was herself and the puddles.

With a shake of her head, she started up the stairs.

Maybe she had really been blessed all these years not having family. A nice thought, that, but even with all this fuss, not one she could quite bring her heart to accept.

#

She had no chance to speak to Theo alone before dinner. And the squire and his dogs dined with them, making for strained conversation over the meal.

Stubborn as two pigs in the same holding pen, Molly decided, glancing from one to the other. The squire kept his attention on his food, making a good meal. Occasionally, he tossed scraps from the table to his dogs, addressing his comments to them—Cesar, Marcus, and Plato, though she could not tell which dog wore what name.

Theo ignored the dogs and his father, picking over the items on his plate as if he could not summon any interest in much of anything.

Deciding that a brazen woman would not give tuppence about the subtleties of atmosphere, Molly chattered about the bad weather, praised the dishes set out, and tried to do what she could to make herself seem a bad bargain. She turned over the china to note its maker, tested the crystal for the true ring of leaded, and drained her glass every time a footman filled it.

And I might have saved myself the effort for all the notice I'm getting
, she thought, as both men continued their silent battle of wills and ignored her.

She had worn the peacock-blue paisley patterned gown, the bracelet, and her ring. But she might as well have shown up in her white muslin with flour dusted across it, with her apron and cook's cap on. Only she wasn't supposed to be a cook, she was supposed to be a harlot.

What she felt like was a stick of furniture. Even the dogs got more attention.

At last the meal ended and she used the excuse of the call of nature to make a hasty exit and take herself to her room. Fifty pounds did not include having to endure any more of this evening, she decided.

After changing her dress for a muslin wrapper and the short chemise that she liked to sleep in, she sat down on her bed to brush out her hair.

Her childhood in India had given her a taste for sleeping in just a linen chemise. While England lacked the heat that had led to such a habit, the custom gave her the comfort of keeping something from that long-ago life. She had also hated the way her legs used to tangle in the angle-length, itchy woolen nightgown she had been made to wear at St. Marylebone's, when she'd had to sleep with six other girls, usually on nothing more than mats on the floor.

When she had left, her first act of defiance had been to start sleeping in the chemise usually worn during the day under a gown. And to make certain she only ever had to sleep two to a proper bed.

As she brushed her hair, a quite rap sounded the door. It opened and Theo came into her rooms. Sitting up, she started to protested, "Here now, what—!"

Theo put a finger to his lips and glanced out into the darkened hallway.

He had his coat off, replaced by a gold and black dressing gown that swept down to his ankles, but which he had not bothered to button. From underneath it, she glimpsed his buff breeches and white stockings. His shirt lay open at the neck, and it looked as if he had taken off his waistcoat as well as his cravat.

As usual, his black locks lay in disorder, so that he looked like he had just risen from his bed rather than that he would soon seek it.

She watched him, her pulse quickening. Oh, but didn't he look wickedly tempting, and even more tasty than an almond cake.

Turning toward her, he hissed, "You're supposed to be delighted to see me."

Remembering her role—but disagreeing with his interpretation of it—she gave a nod and lifted her voice into a harsh shrill, "It's a wedding you promised me—so don't you go thinkin' I'll settle for those trinkets. It's a proper missus I'm looking to be, Mr. Theodore Winslow, and mistress here! I'll not settle for anything less, so don't you think you're going to fob me off!"