His Favorite Mistress (7 page)

Abruptly, his amusement turned to surprise as she tipped back her head—because the eyes that met his own weren’t the brown he’d been expecting, but rather a stunning shade of violet.

Chapter Four

“
Y
OU!” HE SAID.

Raising a hand to shield her eyes against the bright sunlight, Gabriella peered up at Wyvern towering above her. Even crouched beneath a bush as she’d been moments ago, she had instantly recognized his voice, the rich timbre and deep, whiskied cadence sending a warm tingle through her that fought the cold breeze tugging at her cloak.

As she knelt before him now, her pulse gave a funny little hop, an appreciative sigh rising to her lips that she managed to repress only by sheer dint of will.
I don’t know how it’s possible, she marveled, but I do believe he’s even handsomer in the daylight than he was in the darkness that evening in Rafe’s study
. His hair was still a dark, almost satiny black, and yet in the sunshine she detected strands of red that glinted like a simmering, secret fire. His midnight-blue eyes were mesmerizing, more vibrant and intense than before, while his classic, patrician features made her spin fancies, wondering if he might have stepped out of some great masterwork highlighting the gods. And though she knew it was likely just a trick of her present, awkward angle, he appeared taller than her memory of him, his shoulders seeming wide as a doorway beneath the fine, black wool of his greatcoat, his long feet and legs planted sturdy as a pair of oaks inside his polished leather Hessians.

“Yes,” she replied, finding her voice. “Though you might do better to call me Gabriella or Miss St. George rather than ‘you’ during your visit here. I assume you have come for the christening.” She had known a great many people would be arriving for the event, but hadn’t realized, until now, that Wyvern would be among their number.

“Quite correct,” he said, “I have come to witness the baptism. But pray allow me to begin again and greet you properly this time.” He paused and executed a bow. “Good day, Miss St. George. May I say it is an unexpected pleasure to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mr…. I mean, Wyvern—or should I perhaps call you my lord?”

A curious expression passed over his handsome face. “No, Wyvern will do at present. I must say I am surprised to find you here. I was not aware you had changed your mind and decided to take Rafe up on his offer after all.”

She glanced downward at her hands. “Yes, my…um…circumstances changed and I decided this would be best.” Her gaze rose once more to meet his own. “Rafe and Julianna have been very kind, more than I ever imagined or likely deserve.”

A slow smile crossed his mouth. “Oh, I am sure you are quite deserving if for no other reason than you arrived unarmed this time. At least I am assuming you did,” he teased.

“Hmm, yes. As I recall, someone confiscated my weapon. Although I am sure I could find a suitable firearm or two inside the house should such be required. Might I be requiring protection, Wyvern?”

A laugh burst from his sensuous lips. “Not at the moment, no, but if you do acquire another pistol, I could always be persuaded to disarm you again.”

At his comment, she remembered how it had felt to be pressed against his body, as well as the heated, delectable slide of his mouth against her own. Suddenly too warm beneath her cloak, she pushed away such thoughts. “So, do I surmise that you came in search of Lady Pendragon? She took Cam upstairs to the nursery a couple of minutes ago.”

“While you stayed here.”

“Of course. I couldn’t leave, not after finding these kittens. That’s what persuaded Julianna to take Cam inside. He wanted to crawl under and get them.” As if on cue, a round of high-pitched mews sounded from beneath the bush.

Wyvern bent slightly at the waist in an attempt to see, but the little cats were well concealed inside their thicket of greenery. “Surely their mother will return to care for them.”

“I am sure she will, but I heard she took a fright this morning after one of the kittens was nearly trampled by a horse. That’s when she moved them out of the stables and apparently stuck them here.”

“If she’s with them, they will be fine.”

“Not if it snows this evening as Cook predicts,” she pronounced with a firm shake of her head. “They must be moved where it is warm and safe. Now, hold out your arms.”

He gave her an arch look. “For what purpose, might I inquire?”

“You will see. Arms, please,” she persisted.

He raised an arrogant brow as if unused to being given orders, then with a slight twist of his lips, he stuck his arms straight out toward her.

“No, not like that,” she corrected. “Fold them a bit.” Still on her knees, she demonstrated the shape with her own arms.

“Ah, I begin to see.” Repeating the motion, he formed a kind of cradle against his chest. “Might I proffer a suggestion, however? Rather than use me as a basket, why do we not go inside the house and find a real one?”

Before Tony had a chance to say more, Gabriella ducked beneath the bush again and stretched out onto her stomach. In amazement, he watched her, unable to resist leaning closer to get a better view of her very attractive bottom as it wiggled beneath the folds of her cloak.

I suppose I ought not to notice such things,
he mused,
since she is Rafe’s niece and all. But how is a man expected to ignore such a fine show when the performance is going on right before his eyes?

Agile as a cat herself, Gabriella emerged a few moments later, a trio of crying kittens tucked against her chest. “Here,” she said, rising smoothly to her knees, then onto her feet. “Take them. There are more.” Gently depositing the squirming noisemakers into his arms, she dove downward again.

“Good God!” he commented aloud, wondering how many more there might be. Holding the kittens, he hoped none of his little charges would try to escape. But the black-and-white balls of fluff simply meowed, terror shining in their small, round green eyes. “Hush, now,” he murmured, “I’ve got you and there is nothing to fear.”

“These are the last,” she declared in a triumphant if faintly winded voice, when she reemerged a minute later. Cradled in her arms were two more kittens—one with bright orange stripes, the other gray with patches of white. Following their siblings’ lead, they added to the chorus of high-pitched meows.

“Shall I take those as well?” he asked over the racket.

“Five seems rather much. I’ll carry my two.”

“And where is it we are headed? Back to the stables?”

Her eyes widened. “Gracious no! Their mama will only move them out again. No, I’m taking them into the house.”

A laugh escaped him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? After all, with so many guests arriving, the staff isn’t going to appreciate having a litter of kittens underfoot, to say nothing of Rafe and Julianna.”

A momentarily wounded expression crossed her pretty face. “Rafe and Julianna like animals; Julianna told me so herself not twenty minutes ago. And the kittens won’t be underfoot, not in my bedroom. I’m sure they will disturb no one there.”

Her bedroom! He considered pointing out a few difficulties inherent in such an arrangement, but at her look decided he would be better off holding his tongue for now. “Lead on, then. I am yours to command.”

She flashed him a smile that made his blood heat—leaving him suddenly glad his arms were full of kittens—before she turned and started across the garden. Managing his furry cargo, he allowed her to precede him toward a rear garden doorway. Just as he reached out to turn the knob, a streak of orange and black caught his eye. Glancing to his left, he found a calico cat seated a few feet distant, keenly monitoring their progress.

“Our missing mama cat, I presume,” he observed in a low voice.

Gabriella nodded. “I knew Aggie would turn up. Leave the door open and we’ll see if she follows.”

Again, Tony held his tongue as they moved inside. He and Gabriella were halfway up the stairs when the cat darted in, trailing them at a run. She continued to follow a few paces behind all the way to Gabriella’s bedchamber.

Inside the room, Gabriella carefully placed her two kittens onto the plush Aubusson carpet, far enough from the fireplace to protect them yet close enough to still give them some warmth.

“There you go,” she cooed to the adult cat. “There are your babies.”

Tony crossed the room and stood silent as Gabriella plucked the kittens out of his arms and set them, one by one, next to their siblings. As soon as all five were reunited, their mother joined them, purring out her pleasure.

“I’ll find a basket and lay an old blanket inside for a bed,” she said. “And a wooden box with some gardening sand inside should do for their personal needs until they are all old enough to go outside with their mama.” Turning, she sent him another smile. “Thank you for helping me, Wyvern.”

He smiled back. “You are quite welcome. Though you may not be thanking me when you awaken tomorrow morning with six cats in your bed.”

“Oh, they won’t be. They’ll stay in their basket.”

I wouldn’t be too certain of that,
he decided, casting a glance toward the large tester bed with its elegant blue counterpane. Unbidden, he envisioned her lying there beneath the fine linen sheets, her long, dark hair spread over the pillows in glorious silken waves, while kittens played around her, making her laugh. His loins tightened at the image, and he became far too aware how very much he would like to be here in this room to see if such a tableau actually developed. Abruptly, he forced himself back to the moment. “I should be going.”

As if only then realizing the impropriety of being alone with him inside her bedroom, a light blush spread upward over her cheeks. “Yes, I suppose you ought.”

But instead of leaving, he let himself enjoy the sight of her lovely face, her translucent skin dusted with pink—and something else, now that he took a good look. “You’ve a smudge,” he remarked.

“Oh, do I? Where?” Raising a hand, she tried—and failed—to remove the mark.

“Here. Allow me,” he urged. Stepping closer, he placed the tips of two fingers ever so lightly against the curve of her right cheekbone and stroked the spot. Meeting her gaze, he watched her pupils dilate, her lips parting on a nearly inaudible sigh. Tracing their movement, he wondered if her mouth tasted even half as delicious as he remembered, like the sweetest, most satisfying delicacy ever made.

How easy it would be to find out!
he thought.
Only two inches closer and she would again be mine for the taking. But no, I cannot,
he sighed inwardly, forcing himself to recall his pledge to think of her as a little sister. Of course such a promise was the height of absurdity, since no matter how he tried, he knew he would never be able to think of Gabriella St. George as a sister. On the other hand, he supposed that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least make the attempt to treat her as such.

Dropping his hand he stepped back. “There you are,” he said in a brisk tone. “All gone.”

She blinked as if coming out of a momentary trance. “Oh…I…my thanks…Wyvern.”

He made her a bow. “Your servant, Miss St. George. I shall see you at dinner tonight, I expect.”

“Yes. Until then.”

With a nod, he allowed himself one last look, then turned and strode out of the room.

“We give her the name Stephanie Charlotte,” Julianna Pendragon declared, the maternal pride and happiness in her gentle voice ringing out through the parish church.

From her own seat on one of the wooden pews that held a number of invited guests, Gabriella observed the proceedings and the group clustered around the baptismal font. Among them were Rafe, Julianna, and their infant daughter, of course. On Julianna’s right stood her sister, Maris, and her friend Lily Andarton, the Marchioness of Vessey, both women having agreed to serve as godmothers. Although only one was required, little Stephanie Pendragon would have two godfathers as well, Ethan Andarton, the Marquis of Vessey, and Wyvern, who looked suave yet respectfully somber attired in a crisp black tailcoat and pantaloons, his linen a pristine white.

“I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen,” the minister recited as he gently anointed the infant’s head with water. Shocked at the wetting, the baby let out an indignant wail that echoed off the church’s stone walls. Smiles and a few laughs ensued, everyone saying amen.

As the service continued, Gabriella watched the members of the christening party, her lips tightening whenever her gaze happened upon Wyvern—or should she say the
Duke of Wyvern.
Even now, she cringed to remember what had happened after dinner last evening.

The meal had gone well—fifteen family members and friends gathered around the table to enjoy delicious food and drink amid smiles and laughter. Gabriella had found herself surprisingly relaxed, amazed once again at how thoroughly she had been accepted into the Pendragon family. Since her arrival two weeks before, the entire household had taken her under its collective wing, from Rafe and Julianna, who treated her as if she really was family whom they had known forever, to the servants, who were always ready to assist her, even when she told them she could manage for herself.