His Favorite Mistress (39 page)

A
LIGHT BREEZE
wafted through the open sitting-room window of Gabriella’s townhouse, the air surprisingly warm for a late March day. Seated at her rosewood escritoire, she watched an orange-bellied robin hop across the greening grass in the small rear garden below, and knew spring was definitely upon them.

The new Season was as well, London abuzz as members of the Ton descended upon the city in force. With their arrival came parties and balls, and a steadily increasing selection of invitations that began to arrive daily at the house requesting her presence at one event or another. Despite the ceaseless gossip regarding her separation from Tony—if one could call what they presently had a
separation
—such chatter was not proving a hindrance to her social success. As the new Duchess of Wyvern she seemed to be more popular than ever, clearly more so than she had been as plain Miss Gabriella St. George.

After sifting through the small stack of vellum cards that had arrived only that morning, she set them aside and returned to penning her letter to Maude. Choosing her words with some care, she related most—though not all—of what was now happening in her life. To be truthful, even Gabriella didn’t always feel as if she knew what was going on in her life lately, taking each day as it came, without expectation or plan. She was Tony’s wife, and yet in many of the ways that counted, she wasn’t. She was his mistress, though she wasn’t actually that either—her days and nights passing in a strange, almost contradictory duality of roles.

Since that first memorable evening—and morning—two months ago when Tony returned to her bed, she’d given up any further attempts to deny him. He’d more than proven his mastery over her when it came to all things sexual, her passion for him simply too strong to resist.
And what is the point,
she found herself asking, when I adore all the deliciously wicked things he does to my body?

As for the rest, including her continuing one-sided love for him, she refused to let herself dwell on such difficulties. There would be plenty of time later to repine, she decided, months and years to come in which she could wish for what she did not have and would never be able to find.

Still, in spite of her total capitulation in the bedroom, she was adamant about maintaining her independence when it came to her living arrangements. More than once, Tony had asked her to give up her stubborn ways, as he called them, and return with him to Black House. But always she refused. She might give him her body. She might give him a child. She might even give him her heart, but she would not let him claim her free will or what scraps remained of her pride, knowing how much she would one day need those small dignities in order to survive. And so she went on day by day, not allowing herself to think much beyond the moment or the activity at hand.

She had finished her letter and was sealing it with a few drops of hot red wax when her cat, Hamlet, leapt onto the desk. With his orange tail held high, he paused and gave a loud meow before weaving dangerously close to her open bottle of ink and the candle she’d lighted to melt the wax. Quickly she replaced the stopper and blew out the wick, doubly glad she had done so when his black-furred brother, Othello, joined them.

True to his word, Tony had sent immediately for her kittens after she’d asked him to do so, the lively pair arriving only two days later, rushed down to London by a footman. In the weeks that followed, the growing cats had settled in, claiming their spots on all the best furniture and providing excellent company during those times when she found herself alone.

Rescuing her letter from stray paw prints, she watched the pair leap down again and race playfully across the room, nearly crashing into Tony’s legs as he appeared in the doorway.

He laughed as they ran past, out into the hallway. “Considering the antics of those two miscreants, I am surprised you have any breakables left,” he remarked, strolling into the room.

“They’re amazingly nimble, although they did break a plate in the kitchen last week. Anyway, I’m glad you’ve come,” she said, turning slightly on her chair. “You can frank this letter for me.”

Stopping next to her, he shot her a look. “Glad to know I can be of some service,” he said, quirking a brow that conveyed his amusement and sarcasm. Leaning across her desk, he took up her pen, dipped it into her inkwell, and inscribed his name on the upper corner. “There, that should suffice. I will, however, expect a proper show of appreciation.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

“You can do better than that.”

She paused, sending him a teasing smile. “Thank you very much.”

“Minx,” he said on a laugh. Drawing her out of her chair, he wrapped her inside his arms. “Now, madam, you may begin displaying your gratitude.”

Cupping his face between her palms, she urged him to bend his head and kiss her, opening her mouth to share a warm, wet side of tongue and lips that was long and bold enough to elicit a growl from deep in his throat. “Acceptable?” she asked as she eased away.

“Not bad.” His palms slid downward to cup her bottom, giving her pliable flesh a light squeeze. “Although I can think of other methods you might exercise.”

She looped her arms around his waist. “Hmm, well, those methods will have to wait until later. I have an engagement this afternoon.”

“Break it,” he said, planting his lips against her neck for a drawing kiss.

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “In fact I need to dress if I’m to leave on time.”

“Let me help you
undress.
” He kissed her again, stroking his hands over her posterior in a most possessive, insistent manner. “You can be late.”

“It’s a lecture. If I’m late, I’ll miss it entirely.”

“Then miss it. Lectures are notoriously boring. Let someone else take notes.” From behind, he began to gather her skirt into his hands, distracting her with a kiss that made her pulse skitter at a crazy pace.

“The servants might come in,” she warned, breath growing shallow in her lungs.

“They won’t. Not after your footman caught me tupping you against the dining-room wall last week. I think they know now to stay away unless they’re called for—at least when I’m around.”

Color pinked her cheeks to remember, recalling the servant’s astonished expression before she’d hidden her face against Tony’s shoulder and blocked out the view. For his part, Tony had barked out a harsh command for the young man to get the hell out and shut the door; then he’d gone on thrusting inside her, reawakening her passion until she’d come in a violent, spasming rush—the rapture too intense to be denied despite any future embarrassment.

“Maybe I can be a little late,” she said. “Why don’t we go to my room.”

“We can, but—wait now, what is this?”

God, how could I have forgotten?
“Nothing,” she squirmed, suddenly not wanting him to know. But already it was too late, his hands delving beneath her skirts.

“Are you wearing the pantalettes?” he ventured, one palm sliding over the silk before roving inside the garment to find her bare skin.

She’d worn them before as he’d asked, but only in bed. She didn’t know what naughty imp had gotten into her today to put them on under her clothes. Beneath his trousers, his shaft leapt to life, straining like a length of steel that threatened to rend the cloth. Suddenly, she realized they’d never make it to her bed. “At least close the door,” she whispered.

Lifting her off her feet, one of his hands positioned on her naked bottom beneath the slit in her little silk pants, he strode across and kicked the door. It closed with a slam she was sure everyone in the house heard. But suddenly, she didn’t care as his mouth came down on her own, his other hand joining the first to explore her nether flesh.

A thrill went through her as he set her in the armchair where she’d once fantasized about just such a scenario. Shoving her skirts high, he revealed the undergarments, then spread her legs open to reveal her. Dropping to his knees just as she had envisioned, he slid her forward. But instead of taking her as she expected, he claimed her with his mouth, using his lips and tongue in such a way that she couldn’t contain her cries of ecstasy, quaking as he brought her to several forceful peaks. Then it was his turn, freeing his trousers to thrust inside.

They ended up on the floor with her on top, Tony working her until she was so limp and languorous with pleasure that she couldn’t form a coherent sentence. She was so dazed, in fact, that she forgot all about her lecture, snuggling happily inside his arms. At length, he carried her to bed, where they slept and made love throughout the afternoon and on into the night.

Tony stretched an arm behind his head, lying comfortably against a pair of feather pillows while he watched Gabriella dress. He’d sent her maid away, agreeing to help her with any buttons or laces that might need fastening. At the moment, she was rolling one of a pair of white silk stockings up the length of her shapely leg, the sight doing things to his body he’d frankly assumed impossible at the moment.

“If you keep that up,” he drawled, “I may just need you back in this bed.”

She shot him a look. “I don’t know where you can find the strength.” Returning to her grooming, she secured the first stocking with a ribboned garter before reaching for the next. “You are insatiable, Your Grace.”

“And so I am,” he grinned, feeling well satisfied after their morning tryst. He’d spent the night—an occurrence that was starting to take on the trappings of a routine. Rarely now did an evening go by that he wasn’t here, preferring to sleep in her bed far more than he ever did his own.

He frowned a bit at the thought, as well as the realization that Black House felt lonely these days without her in it. Curious, since she’d lived there only for a brief time before taking up residence here. “Are you going to the Hamiltons’ fete this afternoon?” he asked, pushing away his former thoughts as he stretched against the sheets.

She nodded. “Yes, I am supposed to meet Julianna and Lily there, so please don’t attempt to change my mind.”

“I wasn’t intending to. Actually,” he said, rolling onto his side to lean up on an elbow, “I thought I might escort you.”

Her head turned his way. “Escort me?”

These days, he didn’t escort her anywhere, the two of them tending to go their separate ways unless it was to meet here at her house.

“Yes. Why don’t I stop by around three?” he suggested.

“Oh well, it’s most kind of you to offer, but there’s no need. Dickey is taking me.”

He shot up into a sitting position, the sheets bunching at his waist. “Dickey? Milton, you mean?”

“Yes.” She wiggled into her shift. “He’s been escorting me to a few parties lately. Here,” she said, crossing to stand in front of him. “Help me with my stays.”

After she settled the cage of silk and whalebone around her torso, he reached for the laces and began pulling each one tight. “So, you’ve acquired a cicisbeo, have you?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of him that way,” she replied, sounding genuinely surprised. “Dickey and I are just friends.”

Friends, hmm? And is that how Milton feels?
Somehow Tony doubted it. Then again, the man was obsessed with gossip and fashion; maybe he was only amusing himself. But did he also plan to keep amusing himself by slowly luring Gabriella into his bed? Tony gave a fierce tug on a lace that elicited an exclamation from Gabriella.

“Careful,” she warned. “I like my corset snug, but not so tight I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, gentling his touch as he finished.

Undergarments now in place, she walked to her wardrobe and drew out a day dress, the lilac sprigged-muslin she selected draping in soft folds around her body as she slipped it over her head.

Climbing out of bed, he went to assist her with the buttons. Before he did, though, he caught and turned her into his arms. Bending his head, he claimed her mouth, pleasuring her with a thorough, infinitely tender kiss that left a dreamy smile on her lips once their embrace was done.

“What was that for?” she asked as he lifted his head.

“I just felt like it.” He played his fingers over her back. “As you know, I often feel like it. From now on,” he stated, “if you need an escort, you are to tell me. I’ll do my best to make myself available.”

Surprise shone in her gaze. “Well, I…all right. If that’s what you wish.”

“I do. Now, let me fasten those buttons.”

Several hours later, Tony leaned against a pillar on the far side of the Hamiltons’ spacious drawing room, a glass of canary in hand as he surreptitiously watched Gabriella. She was engaged in conversation with Julianna and Lily, whose figure was just beginning to show signs of her pregnancy, and a fourth woman whose name he couldn’t for the life of him recall. Laughing at some remark, Gabriella flashed a pretty smile, the sight warming the blood in his veins, making him think of the night to come. One of many nights for which he now waited with constant anticipation and pleasure.

But it was more than the nights, he realized, raising his glass to quaff a mouthful of wine. He enjoyed all the time they spent together, the reason perhaps why he was finding himself more and more in her company lately, even on those occasions when it wasn’t strictly required.

This afternoon, for instance, he could have used the time to visit his stables. He and his trainer needed to talk about several horses, including a likely mare he was thinking about running in the Derby. Instead, he’d decided to come here today. His offer this morning to escort her to the party had been an impulse, but after discovering she was coming with Dickey Milton, he’d made sure he didn’t miss the fete.

He could have insisted on escorting her, he supposed, but knew she would have wondered at his reaction. Frankly,
he
wondered at his reaction, since despite his remark about her having a cicisbeo, he knew she was faithful to him. He kept her so occupied sexually—often taking her multiple times a day—that she couldn’t possibly have the time or energy for anyone but him. Besides, he trusted her, knowing with a bone-deep certainty that she would never be dishonest enough to betray him with another man.