His Favorite Mistress (23 page)

“Such as?”

“A good bit of groveling to start. Literally on your knees for a while, I believe. Although I can think of many other ways you can pleasure me while you’re on your knees, can’t you, Your Grace?” she purred, quite clearly enjoying the moment. “And there would be a few other rules as well. For instance, I would decide when and where and how often we meet.”

“Would you?”

“Hmm-hmm. And most important of all, I will be the one to end the affair. You will be mine until
I
decide we’re through. And when I have had enough and want to kick you out, it will be done in public so everyone can see me toss
you
aside. I’ll expect you to grovel then, too, and beg me not to end things between us. I might even insist on tears. You can jab a needle into your palm if you can’t conjure them up on your own.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time thinking this out, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea,” she spat, her repressed anger suddenly showing.

“Then again,” he said, “if you had considered all the angles, you would realize that I am not a man who begs—not for you, not for anyone.”

“Not even for the sake of that poor, innocent girl you’ve led astray? And what of yourself? After all, think of your reputation should word get out. Since I am sure the last thing you’d ever want to do would be to actually sacrifice your freedom and marry her. Compromised as she is, there would be no other honorable way to rescue her.”

He drew in a long, deep breath and held his tongue.

“No, I know you, Tony, and you’d rather be branded a cad than saddled for life with some debutante, however intriguing she might presently be. Although given that you’re a rake already, the scandal would likely do nothing but add to your cache. Yet what of your friends, Rafe and Julianna? How would they feel, knowing you had brought shame and dishonor upon them and theirs? Why Rafe Pendragon might even feel the necessity to call you out! A tragedy to end a decades-old friendship over a girl. And you do not have to,” she purred, leaning across to slide her hand over his thigh. “Just come back to me on my terms, and my silence is yours.”

Her hand glided higher. He brought his palm down hard on top and stopped her progress. Restraining the urge to fling aside her touch, he curled his hand around her own, wondering in that moment how he could ever have wanted her. With a Machiavellian determination, he hid his disgust and raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her perfumed skin.

“You’re very clever, my dear,” he murmured. “But then you always were.”

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“And it would seem you have me at your mercy.”

She showed her teeth, gleaming white even in the dim night shadows. “Just the way I like my men.”

“It is late, however, and in case you were not aware, we have arrived at Black House.”

She tossed a surprised glance out the window. “So we have. Perhaps I should come inside?”

“Not tonight,” he said on a shake of his head. “After all, I could never be brought to grovel properly in my own home.”

She laughed. “I suppose not. So we are agreed then?”

He stroked his thumb over her hand, then made himself kiss the inside of her palm again as if he savored the act. “We shall talk more on the morrow…but wait, I have an engagement tomorrow evening that I cannot break. Would the day after be agreeable? That way I can make certain arrangements to see to your pleasure.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your aren’t trying to deceive me, are you?”

“To what end? As you pointed out, you leave me no other options.”

He watched as she considered his statement, the smile returning to her lips. “The day after tomorrow will be acceptable. But be sure whatever it is you have planned for us will be creative enough to surprise even me.”

“That, dear lady, I can safely guarantee.”

Chapter Twelve

F
ROM HER PLACE
on the divan in her bedchamber, Gabriella turned a page of the novel she was reading, a volume from the Minerva Press that Lily Andarton had lent her the last time she’d called here at the house. Rain drizzled in rivulets against the windows, the day a gloomy one that seemed to suit everyone’s subdued mood.

After last night’s troubles in the park, she and Julianna had decided to cancel their engagements and remain indoors for the rest of the day, the weather only reinforcing the wisdom of their decision. At present, Rafe was out on business while Julianna had gone upstairs to the nursery to feed baby Stephanie and play for a while with her precocious two-year-old son, Campbell, whose new favorite word was “no.”

Turning her attention back to her book, Gabriella tried to focus, but despite the heroine’s perilous situation, her thoughts soon began to drift again. Although Rafe and Julianna hadn’t said anything further about her and Tony becoming separated from the group last night, she couldn’t help but think there might still be repercussions from the event.

Her uncle’s words had certainly carried an uncharacteristic edge to them, while the pointed looks he’d given Tony had been impossible to miss. For her part, Julianna had clearly been relieved by their safe return. This morning, however, Gabriella had caught a faintly worried expression on her friend’s brow—an expression that disappeared the moment she’d noticed Gabriella looking.

And then there was Lady Hewitt.

On the surface, her offer to take Gabriella and the duke in her coach had been a generous one, her conversation during the journey congenial and often amusing. Yet the more Gabriella considered, the more she wondered if there might have been some other, underlying motivation at work. And although many of Society’s rules still eluded her, she knew enough to realize that she and Tony should not have been alone together—at least not
discovered
alone together. Still, any reasonable person would surely understand that there had been extenuating circumstances. They’d been caught in a riot, for heavens sake!

Besides,
she silently shrugged to herself,
what is the worst that could happen?
If anything were said, the talk would blow over in a few days’ time. With her mind a bit easier, she returned to her book. Five minutes later, a knock came at the door.

“Come in,” she called, marking her page with a finger.

“Pardon me, miss,” said one of the housemaids. “His Grace is here and has asked if you would join him in the drawing room.”

Tony is here?
Setting the novel aside, she rose to her feet. “Of course. Tell him I shall be along shortly.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and withdrew.

Crossing to the pier glass, she checked her hair and smoothed a crease from the skirt of her apricot-and-cream-sprigged muslin gown. Deciding she looked presentable, she walked from the room.

She expected to find him already talking with Julianna, but instead he was alone. He turned as she entered the room.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said, crossing to him. “I had not expected to see you so early and on such a dreary day. Why, it isn’t even ten o’clock yet.”

“Miss St. George.” He executed a polite bow, looking even more urbane than usual in a dark green cutaway coat and fawn-hued trousers. A few errant droplets of rain glistened in his thick, night-dark hair, his eyes startlingly blue against the natural tan of his complexion.

“If you’ve come to see Rafe,” she offered, “I am afraid you have missed him. Julianna is upstairs with the children. Why do I not send for her—”

“No,” he interrupted. “Let her remain where she is. Actually, it is you I have come to see.”

“Oh,” she declared, tucking her hands at her back. “Have you really?”

An intense expression flickered in his gaze. “Yes.”

She trembled, thinking of his kisses and caresses, including the ones they had shared only last night. Despite their increased intimacy of late, he had never before approached her here at home, as if the townhouse were forbidden territory—which, in a way, she supposed it was.

Striding past her, he went to the door and closed it with a nearly silent click of the lock. Then he returned to take up a position directly before her.

What is he about this morning?
she wondered.
Why has he come to see me in such a seemingly clandestine fashion?
An uncharacteristic wave of shyness ran through her as she met his penetrating gaze.

“Miss St. George…Gabriella, I have come to ask you a rather important question.”

“Oh? And what might that be? This doesn’t have to do with last night, does it?”

He raised a brow. “In a way, but that no longer matters. Gabriella…” He paused, leaning forward to take her hand, which he enfolded securely inside his own. “Forgive me if I do not have precisely the right words at my disposal. I have never done this before, so I hope you will excuse me if I fail to say everything you might wish to hear.”

And what would that be? How could I possibly know when I can’t even fathom the question?

“This may seem unexpected,” he continued, “but I assure you I have given this matter a great deal of thought and believe it to be the best thing for us both. You and I get along well, do we not?”

She stared for a moment at his query. “Of course, but then you know that already.”

“And physically, we are extremely compatible.” Moving closer, he stroked his free hand over the curve of her hip, letting his palm rest against her waist. “I don’t think I am wrong to say that you would welcome me into your bed.”

The air rushed from her lungs, her pulse throbbing in a mad rhythm at the base of her throat. “Y-Your Grace, I…I,” she began, her words sounding strangled.

“A simple yes or no will suffice.” He stroked his thumb against the underside of her palm, sending hot and cold shivers racing across her flesh, her nipples puckering beneath her bodice.

I should not tell him,
she thought.
I should not admit to having such wanton, impassioned emotions inside me.
And yet, he already knew her answer, particularly since she had made no effort to deny his touch over the past couple of weeks. Under his steady gaze, she gave in to his silent demand. “Yes,” she whispered, only then realizing the enormity of what she had confessed.

“Good. We’ll do well together.”

What is he saying? Surely…Good God, surely he isn’t asking me to be his mistress?
She didn’t want to be any man’s mistress and yet…

“Gabriella St. George,” he said in a deep, velvety tone. “Will you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?”

Air left her lungs in a great
whoosh,
as if she’d hit the ground hard. She blinked against the dizzying sensation. “Did you say
wife
?”

“I did.”

“But you don’t want a wife! Everyone in the Ton knows that.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “It would seem, then, that everyone is wrong.”

For a long moment she could barely think as she tried to digest what he’d just said, wondering if he was truly serious. Over the past weeks, her emotions had been jumbled and unsure, setting her caution aside as she let herself drift day-to-day on the sea of excitement and pleasure she felt when she was with him.

Yet deep inside her had dwelled a secret wish, a hidden hope that he might one day ask her to be his bride. Still, she’d never really thought he would propose. Now here he was, asking her to be his wife. Had she, Gabriella St. George, really brought England’s most elusive and sought-after bachelor up to scratch? So it would appear. Despite everything that had happened between them, though, his conquest somehow seemed too easy.

“So, what do you say?” he coaxed.

Say?
She wanted to say “yes,” she realized, but something held her back. A tiny frown furrowed her brows. “Why?”

He scowled back as if he had been expecting her unquestioning agreement. “Have I not just said? We are well suited. And in case you haven’t noticed, I desire you. Badly.” He drew her closer so their bodies were pressed together, his arousal plain.

His bold display left her in no doubt of his truthfulness on that score. But did he desire her so desperately he was willing to marry her in order to have her in his bed? And what of love? He’d said nothing of such tender emotions.

Her heart clenched at the thought, a flood of awareness washing through her, along with a realization she had denied until this very moment.
Good heavens, I love him! Truly love him. And with only a single word, he can be mine.

Even so, she hesitated. “This isn’t about last night, is it? You aren’t proposing because we were seen together? Because if it is, then—”

“Then what? Then our getting married makes even more sense.” He slid his hand along her back, circling his palm in gentle, soothing strokes that made her long to arch against him like a contented cat. “Let me make you happy, Gabriella. I can, you know, if you’ll give me the chance. Let me make both of us happy.”

Cradling her as close as nature and their clothing would allow, he bent and took her mouth, his lips moving over her own in a heated, seductive glide. Her mind turned fuzzy, as it always did at his touch, her breath thinning into shallow, unsteady puffs.