Love's Promise (16 page)

“No. Have you done this before—taken a mistress and reveled with her in this house?”

He had, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“No,” he fibbed.

“I’m the first?”

“Yes.”

“I’m flattered.”

She smiled, and by all outward appearances, it seemed genuine, but he was left with the distinct impression that she didn’t mean what she was saying and his every remark was being misconstrued.

“Let me get this straight,” she mused. “I’ll be hidden away from your family and friends. I will live as your paid concubine, and if I keep you happy, I’ll walk away with a fat purse?”

When she explained it like that, his behavior sounded cold and calculated, but his every decision had been made with her welfare in mind.

“I guess you could look at it that way.”

“And how would
you
look at it?” she asked.

“Fanny, you are—“

“Would you call me Miss Carrington?”

He wasn’t about to revert to a more proper mode of address. Not after they’d fornicated. There was no need for formality.

“Fanny,” he started again, “this is a good plan for you.”

“Is it?”

“Of course or I wouldn’t have proposed it.” He gazed into her pretty green eyes. They were poignant, fathomless. “Let me take care of you for awhile. What alternative do you have?”

“What alternative, indeed?” she murmured.

“You’re fretting over nothing. Men of my station do this all the time.”

“Do they?”

“It’s very common.”

“And how about the women of
my
station. Do they do it often?”

“It depends on their circumstances. But it happens more frequently than you might imagine.”

She was quiet, ruminating, then she said, “May I see Thomas?”

“Not today.”

“When, then?”

“Soon,” he lied.

It was a bad idea for her to speak with Thomas, and Michael wasn’t about to arrange a reunion. He’d consulted with the premier physicians and nannies in London, and they all insisted that there should be no contact. Thomas would forget more quickly, would acclimate with less discord and friction.

“How long is
soon
?” she inquired. “Is any meeting with him a prize I must earn? If so, how many sexual acts will I have to perform in order to be blessed with a visit?”

She scrutinized him, digging deep, her astute regard unnerving and irritating, and ultimately, she sighed.

“He’s not here, is he?”

“No.”

“He’s still in London,” she hotly charged. “He was in London all along.”

Michael shrugged, refusing to confirm or deny her accusation.

“You have no intention of letting me see him, do you?”

She spit the words at him, her disgust at her gullibility rolling off her in waves.

“I’ll let you—eventually,” he claimed, hating to continue deceiving her, but knowing he had to do what was best for Thomas. “After he’s more settled in his new surroundings.”

“It’s been over three months since you took him away!” Her eyes blazed with fury. “How much
time
would you say he needs?”

“More than he has had,” he curtly replied.

“Does he miss me?”

“Yes, he misses you. How could he not? But things have changed, and he recognizes that they have.”

“He’s eight years old!” she snapped, trembling. “How could he know the true consequences of our separation? How could he know that you meant forever?”

He had no defense, so he didn’t respond, and neither did she. She tamped down her spurt of temper, gazing at her lap, her fingers working at the blankets as she steadied her breathing.

“Yes,” she finally said, “I accept your terms. I’ll continue on as your mistress—although I don’t believe I can service you this morning, if that’s what you’re hoping. I’m rather sore.” She shifted away from him, moving to the far side of the mattress. “Could I have a few days before we recommence?”

“Certainly. I haven’t been to Henley Hall in ages, and I have many matters to attend there. I’ll return on Wednesday to have supper.”

“I’ll be expecting you.”

“I have some clothes coming for you. From London. They’ll be delivered over the next week or so.”

“I’m sure they’ll be lovely. Thank you.”

Was that sarcasm he heard? Was it derision?

Her expression was guileless, innocent as hell. What was she thinking? Bloody woman! The only gown she owned was the green one in which she’d arrived, and he was prepared to be extremely generous. Didn’t she want new dresses?

He cleared his throat, rattled by how she’d discomfited him.

“If you don’t like what I’ve purchased”—he scowled at the thought that she might not—“there’s a seamstress in the village. She’s competent to assist you in selecting other things.”

“The items you picked will be fine.”

“The servants are aware that you’re here. Peggy has met everyone. She can introduce you.”

“Marvelous.”

“It’s a small house, so there are just a handful of them, but they’re very efficient.”

She was being very courteous, but he couldn’t shake the impression that she was fuming over what he’d offered to provide. If she wanted to ask for a bigger wardrobe, or discuss the size of her allowance, he was perfectly amenable. Why didn’t she speak up? In the past, she’d never been shy about stating her opinion.

“I left some cash for you,” he advised, feeling clumsy and inept. “It’s in an envelope in the writing desk in the front parlor. In case you need anything, send a footman into the village to buy it for you.”

“You’re too kind.”

He paused. “You understand that this is for the best, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I want you to use this period to rest and relax and get back on your feet.”

“Absolutely.”

“And while you’re here, I’ll be good to you. I swear it. When we’re through, you won’t even remember all the terrible things that have happened.”

“You’re correct; I won’t.”

Every comment she uttered seemed sincere, but there was an undercurrent that had him wondering if she was really listening. He was accustomed to women falling all over themselves in their attempts to please him, to do as he’d suggested, and he couldn’t imagine that she might have a different point of view, that she might assume he was being an ass.

“I’d better be going,” he mumbled. “Will you be all right here alone?”

“Definitely.”

“Would you like me to send Peggy to you?”

“Yes.”

He stood, dawdling like an imbecile. “Until Wednesday, then.”

“Until Wednesday.”

If he hadn’t botched their initial sexual encounter, he might have kissed her goodbye, but any further intimacy would have to wait.

Without another word, he spun and departed.

He was experienced in amorous affairs, and he knew how to make love to a female. Fanny had a very passionate nature, and over the coming weeks, he would repeatedly demonstrate how adept he could be at satisfying her. She’d be showered with pleasure until she was outrageously happy, content in her choice to be with him, and he’d revel in every minute of her schooling.

As his footsteps receded, the house was quiet as an undertaker’s parlor, and Fanny threw an arm over her eyes. What must the servants think of her? How would she ever show her face among them?

She’d allowed herself to be seduced by him, and up until the very end, she’d enjoyed it, too, when she couldn’t comprehend why. He’d proven over and over that he couldn’t be trusted. Why was she so susceptible to his dubious charms?

Perhaps she had a depraved aspect to her character of which she’d been unaware. Or perhaps all women—herself included—were prone to carnal misconduct and that was why they were so carefully counseled and chaperoned.

Whatever the reason, she was appalled by her blatant participation, and she wondered if she shouldn’t just brand a
J
for Jezebel in the center of her forehead so that everyone would know how much she’d relished her fall from grace.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she murmured, glad that the dear man was no longer alive to see the predicament into which she’d landed herself.

Burrowing down, she snuggled under the covers, wishing she could go all the way to China. Lord Henley’s scent was in the sheets, the unique aroma of his skin reminding her of what they’d done.

She’d always hoped to marry, to have a home and children of her own, but now, she never would. For all eternity, she would be alone. With no family, no friends, no husband, no place. She studied the bedchamber, taking in the expensive paintings and ornate furniture, and she started to laugh with a sort of mad misery.

“Oh Lord, oh Lord, what am I to do?”

Henley had been so smug in his certainty that she would jump at the chance to ally herself with him. No doubt, he’d entertained a lengthy string of partners who’d been ecstatic to wallow in any salacious behavior he requested.

There were plenty of such females in the world, her sister Camilla being one of them, but Fanny wasn’t loose. She had never been anything but a vicar’s daughter, a humble, modest, and pleasant person who wanted only the normal things that all women wanted.

She couldn’t remain where she was. She’d been raised to know right from wrong, to know that men and women shouldn’t fornicate unless they were married. Despite what Lord Henley presumed, Fanny wouldn’t agree to his ridiculous scheme.

She’d consented in order to have access to Thomas, and he wasn’t even in the area, which set her temper on a slow boil.

He was most likely still at the Duke’s mansion, so she had to return to the city. She would find a job and a room to let, and she’d begin watching for him. The Wainwrights couldn’t hide him forever.

From the moment she’d met Henley, she’d acted like a victim. No wonder he treated her like one! With Thomas as his bait, he’d tricked her again, had deceived and misled, and she’d swallowed every lie he’d told.

Well, those days were over. She wasn’t helpless. She was smart, she was a hard worker, and she could fend for herself.

He’d left her some money, and she would take it and she wouldn’t feel guilty about the theft. She’d sneak to the village, would purchase a fare on the next mail coach to London. She’d vanish before he was aware that she’d fled.

A knock sounded on the door, and Peggy bustled in. She was holding Fanny’s laundered clothes, and she had a box, so it looked as if more had arrived. She gaped at Fanny, almost as if she was imagining Fanny might have been murdered in the night.

“How are you, Miss?” she asked.

“I’m fine. A tad overwhelmed, but fine.”

“I’m having a bath brought up.”

“Thank you. I’d like one.”

“It’ll be nice and hot.” She deposited her load on a chair, then located Fanny’s robe and assisted her in putting it on.

“Do the servants know why I’m here?” Fanny inquired. “Have they been informed of my position?”

Peggy blushed and spun away. “Yes, Miss, but I wouldn’t fret over it. They’re well-trained, and they recognize that Lord Henley fancies you. They won’t think less of you for it.”

“How many other women has he invited here over the years?”

“If he’s had any prior guests, I haven’t been told about it.”

From Peggy’s pained expression, it was obvious that the number was quite high. The bounder!

Fanny’s fury surged, but she tamped it down and climbed from the bed, blanching with embarrassment as they both noticed the blood on the sheets. Peggy was horrified, but she struggled to conceal her reaction.

“I’ll have the maids up in a bit,” she said cheerily, “and we’ll have them washed in a snap.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Fanny went over to the window and stared outside, assessing the lane that wound through the trees.

“How far is it into the village?” she queried.

“Not far. Perhaps a thirty-minute walk.”

“Is it down this road that I see?”

“Yes.”

“And which way is Henley Hall?”

“In the opposite direction, Miss.”

Good
, Fanny thought. There’d be no chance of bumping into him as she slipped away.

“I’d like to take a walk later this morning.”

“It’s a lovely day for it, Miss. Let’s get you in the tub.”

Fanny stole a last glance outside, then followed Peggy, eager to hurry and dress so she could depart as quickly as possible.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Where is he?”

“They claim they aren’t sure, milady.”

Rebecca rose and advanced on her footman. She’d sent him to the Duke’s house to inquire after Michael, only to discover that they wouldn’t disclose his whereabouts. It was the ultimate insult. HHer jaws were clenched so tightly she was surprised she didn’t crack a tooth.

“Did you speak with the Duke as I commanded you?”

“His Grace was still abed, but I managed a conversation with Lady Anne.”

“And...?”

“She asked me to give you this note.”

He offered it, and she snatched it away.

“You’re excused.”

The imbecile slithered out, and Rebecca broke the seal and scanned the words.

“What does she say?” Her father chimed in from his perch on a sofa by the hearth. He was already drinking, and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning.