Rules for Being a Mistress (12 page)

“My father gave me that watch,” he said furiously. “That was his ring.”

“Then it’s a good thing I took them for safekeeping!”

“It does not say a thousand pounds,” he pointed out. “It says: sizeable.”

“I’d say a thousand pounds is sizeable, wouldn’t you?”

“You could have had more than a thousand pounds, you know,” Benedict said. “You had the winning hand, but you frittered it away for a mere thousand pounds.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“If your mother knew everything, Miss Vaughn, I would have to marry you to avoid a scandal. You would have had considerably more than a thousand pounds at your disposal.”

“Oh!” she said. “Now you want to marry me? You were singing a different tune in my kitchen, as I recall. I wouldn’t consent to be your mistress for a thousand pounds,” she reminded him. “What makes you think I’d
ever
consent to be shackled to you for life?”

“I don’t want to marry you,” he said angrily. “I consider that I’ve had a lucky escape.”

“You don’t want to marry me?” she said in amazement.

“No!”

“I suppose you don’t want to shag me either.”

“I don’t,” he said airily, “even know what that word means.”

“But…what about the sweet love you made to me on the stairs?” she protested. “I felt something there. Were you only trifling with me,
caro mio
Ben?”

He glared at her. “Miss Vaughn,” he said coldly. “I am perfectly aware that you are mocking me.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she said softly, moving closer to him. “
It tuo fedel sospira ognor,
” she murmured in Italian. “
Cessa crudel tanto rigor.
” She sighed. “You’re not a cruel man, are you, I hope? You won’t leave me suffering, surely?”

She took his face in both hands and kissed his mouth hard.

“Do you still think I’m mocking you?” she asked softly. Her eyes were half-closed.

He slipped his hand behind her neck and kissed her mouth softly. Cosima was startled. Men usually attacked her if given half a chance. This was not an attack, but a lingering caress, and she didn’t quite know how to take it. He seemed to be savoring her mouth slowly and gently.
Now why would he do that?
she wondered. As far as she knew, men only kissed women to distract them from what their hands were trying to do lower down.
He
seemed to be in no hurry to get on with it at all.

“I could kiss you all day,” he murmured. “You taste like apples. Green apples.”

“I made a tart this morning,” she explained.

He kissed her again in the same style. His tongue felt clean and cool in her mouth. Her senses began to stir and quicken as she breathed in his scent. It really was as if he meant to go on kissing her all day, slowly and steadily.

“I think,” he said slowly, “we should be married at once.”

She blinked at him. “Who said anything about marriage?” she said.

“What?” Benedict said sharply. He controlled his temper with difficulty. “You kissed me, Miss Vaughn. It is the height of impropriety for a woman to kiss a man she does not mean to marry.”

“It was only a kiss. Nothing to get excited about. We do it all the time in Ireland,” she lied. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t mean anything!”

“It wasn’t even that good of a kiss, I’m afraid. It was sort of like kissing a newel post.”

“I see,” he said quietly. “You were mocking me, of course.”

She shrugged. “Of course.”

His gray eyes suddenly blazed. “You, Miss Vaughn, are a nasty piece of work!”

“I’m sorry you think so,” she answered. “As you know, I think the world of you.”

“There was a thousand pounds in my wallet,” he said after a pause.

“Then there still is,” she said coldly. “I’m not a thief.”

“No; a blackmailer!” he retorted. “Take it. I’ll send a servant for my bag. I’d like my watch and my ring now, if you don’t mind.”

“Here.” She took his watch and his ring out of her pocket and gave them to him.

“Good-bye, Miss Vaughn.”

“Not good-bye, surely, but
au revoir,
” she said sweetly, opening the door for him.

He looked at her incredulously.

“I’ll be seeing you Tuesday evening for the concert, right?” she said.

He looked at her incredulously. “The concert!”

“You are a man of your word, are you not?”

Benedict eyed her with loathing. Miss Vaughn smiled angelically.

“Until Tuesday, madam!” he snapped. “Enjoy your ill-gotten gains!”

“I will, Sir Benedict,” she replied.

Benedict had never been so angry in his life.

Lady Serena took one look at his face and ordered her butler to leave the room. The baronet strode up and down for a moment, his face dark with fury.

“What on earth is the matter, Sir Benedict?”

“I have met Miss Vaughn!”

“Is it as bad as that?”

Benedict ground to a halt. “I don’t want to talk about Miss Vaughn, if you don’t mind. Miss Vaughn is the most insolent, unscrupulous, vulgar female I have ever had the misfortune to know. She is an ill-mannered, insufferable brute!”

Serena clutched her pearls. “Poor Felix! I must do all I can to keep them apart.”

Benedict laughed harshly. “On the contrary, the sooner they meet the better! Believe me, twenty minutes in the company of
that female
will be enough to cure your cousin of his ridiculous infatuation. I will be bringing her to the concert on Tuesday,” he added. “By Wednesday morning, I assure you, everyone in Bath will have a disgust for her.”

“But is she beautiful?” Serena inquired eagerly.

“Oh, an angel!” he replied. “She is the most beautiful girl I ever saw. But underneath all that beauty beats the heart of a ruthless buccaneer!”

Bejeweled rings flashed on Serena’s fingers as she massaged her temples. “She will not show that side of her character to Felix. He will see only her beauty.”

Benedict smiled grimly. “Miss Vaughn is so vain she won’t even
try
to conceal her less amiable qualities. She thinks her beauty conquers all, I daresay!”

“Do please sit down, Sir Benedict,” she said graciously. “I was just about to have tea.” He took the seat she offered. “I did not come here to talk about Miss Vaughn,” he said presently. “My task is much more agreeable. I have come to make you an offer of marriage. I daresay, you must have known my intentions the moment I walked into your drawing-room.”

“I did not suspect you were trifling with me,” she admitted.

“No, indeed! Serena, will you marry me?”

Serena put his brusqueness down to nerves. She chose her words carefully. “It would be my honor to consider your proposal, Sir Benedict. At my age, I had all but given up hope of marrying.”

“At
my
age, I would be a fool to marry out of the schoolroom.”

“Quite,” said Serena. “In light of your declaration, I do not think it would be improper for us to be seen together in public. You will not find Bath lacking in entertainment, I assure you. If you would bespeak a box at the theater tomorrow, I should be pleased to see the play.”

“Certainly.”

“There will be other members to our party, of course,” she said demurely. “It would not do for us to be seen as a
couple
so soon after your arrival in Bath. It would look so particular. You know how people love to talk. They might even say you had pursued me here.”

“Invite anyone you please,” he said carelessly. “I believe you have a fair idea of my income…. My position in society. You have seen my estate in Surrey, and I believe you visited my aunt in the London house. I should be happy to send you any other information you might require as you consider the matter.”

“Thank you, Sir Benedict,” said Serena gratefully. “It is an important decision. Indeed, it is the most important decision of a woman’s life. I would be remiss if I did not consider the matter very carefully before I agreed to become engaged to you. I shall need time.”

He bit back his annoyance. “How much time?”

“Oh, not long,” she assured him. “Perhaps a month or two. Three, at most. One wishes to be certain before one commits oneself, naturally.”

“Naturally!”

“Do you think me unreasonable?” asked the lady. “I mean to be conscientious.”

“I should think three days would be conscientious enough for anyone.”

“Three days?” she repeated incredulously. “That is scarcely enough time for me to choose a new gown!”

“Indeed,” he said. “However! Three months seems a trifle…ungenerous.”

“You men are so impatient,” Serena chided him. Her voice was low and teasing. “Do not think to bullock me into giving you an answer before I have had time to think, Sir Benedict! I am only asking for the opportunity to know you better,” she pointed out gently.

Benedict was silent.

“Come now, Sir Benedict! You have asked me to be your wife. You can have no objection, surely, to
knowing
me a little better?”

“No.”

Lady Serena consulted her engagement book. “It’s Friday. I usually play cards on Friday evening. Tonight, I see that Lady Matlock has the honor of hosting us at whist. May I expect you to partner me, Sir Benedict?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Saturday is the theater, of course. Sunday I attend services at the Octagon Chapel. Monday is the dress-ball in the Upper Rooms. Tuesdays we have our concerts. Wednesdays…”

As she recited this unexciting schedule, Benedict saw his days stretching out before him, days of boredom with no relief in sight but a Tuesday night musicale or a Friday night card game.
This was not courtship,
he thought angrily.
This was indentured servitude. This was limbo.

The only thing worse would be having to start all over with some other woman.

“A veritable whirlwind of activity!” he said, forcing a smile. “I quite look forward to it.”

After cards at Lady Matlock’s, he walked up to Beechen Cliff and sat for half an hour, enjoying a taste of solitude and freedom. The night was clear, cold, and fine. He lay on his back and looked up at the stars. It was well after midnight when he returned to Camden Place.

Pickering was waiting at the door to take his coat and hat. “I trust you had a pleasant evening, Sir Benedict.”

“No, Pickering, I did not,” Benedict replied. It was his first opportunity of the night to be honest with a fellow human being, and he took full advantage of it. “I had a damned boring evening. I played cards with a bunch of damned boring hypocrites and cheats, and I wasn’t even allowed to keep my winnings because my partner was a
lady.
”

“I am very sorry to hear that, Sir Benedict,” Pickering said soothingly. “However, the night is still young, and there is someone here to see you.”

Benedict frowned. “It’s late, Pickering. Who is it?”

“She did not give a name, sir, and I did not inquire.”

“She!”

“Mrs. Price sent her,” Pickering explained. “I put her in the study.”

“WHAT?” Benedict thundered but, then, thinking better of the noise, he began again in a whisper. “What? Pickering, are you telling me that there is a
woman
in my study?”

“There is indeed, sir,” Pickering said proudly. “A
femme de nuit.
A
fille de joie.
A woman of pleasure.”

“Good God! I certainly hope she’s not sitting on the furniture,” said Benedict, revolted. “The furniture doesn’t even belong to me. Get rid of her, Pickering.”

The valet blinked. “But, sir! She’s just what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” Benedict repeated, aghast. “I don’t want anything. After the day I’ve had, I’m off women forever. I certainly don’t want a
prostitute.
The last the thing I need is to contract syphilis. That would certainly put a period to my hopes of marrying well!”

Pickering drew upon his reservoirs of patience. “Sir Benedict, I realize how nervous you must be, but you
did
ask me to find you an Irish girl with tangled red hair, green eyes, a small, high bosom, perfect skin, and so forth. I did not, of course, inspect her skin—I leave that to you—but she did sing me a pretty little Italian song.”

“I’ll bet she did! Get rid of her,” Benedict said harshly. “Get rid of her now.”

Pickering coughed gently. “You will hurt her feelings, Sir Benedict. Just because men pay her to pleasure them doesn’t mean the poor girl has no feelings. And, may I point out, you will have to pay her even if you don’t use her. Time is money in the skin trade.”

“Did you learn that from your friend the constable?”

“Yes, sir.”

Benedict strode across the hall and placed his hand on the study door handle. “I am going to get rid of this doxy, Pickering, and then I am going to kill you.”

“I’m only trying to help you, sir!” Pickering said, hurt.

Benedict went into the study and closed the door sharply. A girl with an unruly nest of bright red hair was sitting with her feet up on his desk. She was wearing a dark cloak over her clothes, but this had parted at the bottom to reveal the high-heeled black slippers on her feet and white silk stockings on her long shapely legs. Her slim ankles were crossed.

“Kindly get your feet off my desk,” he snapped.

“Sorry,” she answered, not moving. “I thought you might want to look at my legs.”

She was Irish.

“I’m not sure I can afford it,” he answered coldly. “Look here, miss! There’s been an awful mistake. I’ve had a long hard day, and I’m not in the mood for…
this.
You’ll have to go.”

Slowly the girl uncrossed her ankles, then crossed them again, this time with the other ankle on top. “What sort of an awful mistake?” she asked curiously.

“Damn,” he murmured in dismay. To his chagrin, he was experiencing the first stirring of male excitement. Rationally, he knew that this was not his fault. It was merely a physical response to being alone with a disreputable female, a female who had come here to pleasure him.

She stood up and pulled the strings of her cloak and let it fall to the ground. He stared at her, unable to help himself. The simple white garment she wore fitted her tightly in the bodice but hung loosely about her legs. His eyes made the pleasant journey from her shapely ankles to her heart-shaped face. Incredibly, Pickering had got it exactly right. Then his whole body recoiled in shock as he recognized the cool green eyes of Miss Vaughn.

She had taken great pains to disguise herself. She had painted her face with white lead and put on a long, tangled red wig. He guessed it was her mother’s. Her lips and cheeks were heavily rouged. Her eyelashes and brows had been darkened inexpertly with kohl. She looked like a badly painted doll, but it was not enough of a disguise to fool him. He would have known those green eyes anywhere.

“What are you doing here, Miss Vaughn?” he said angrily. “Have you lost your reason?”

Cosima’s heart skipped a beat. He could not
possibly
recognize her! The last time she had looked in the mirror, she had not recognized herself. Evidently, she looked more like herself than she had realized. Sobering thought!

“Do you need money as badly as this?” he said a little more calmly.

“I’m not Miss Vaughn,” she said, scowling. “I’m her sister. But I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, so I’m not acknowledged in the eyes of the world. They keep me locked in the attic by day. I’m the dark secret of the family.”

He didn’t seem to give her story any credence, however.

“I see,” he said. “You’re the illegitimate half-sister. Of course you are.”

“I prefer the term
love child,
if you don’t mind.”

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Benedict went to the door and opened it so unexpectedly that Pickering almost fell into the room. “Pickering, you may retire for the evening,” his master said coldly. “I shan’t need you anymore tonight.”

He closed the door in Pickering’s face. After pausing to collect himself, he turned to face his uninvited guest. The right thing to do, of course, would be to end this ridiculous charade at once, snatch that repulsive wig from her head, spank her, and send her home with tears carving lines into her painted cheeks. To do anything else would be stupid and irrational, not to mention immoral and illegal.

“I’m afraid I’m not being much of a host,” he said clearly. “Please, sit down. May I offer you a little brandy? Or sherry, perhaps?” He was already walking toward the liquor cabinet.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked suspiciously.

“Certainly not,” he said, pouring out the brandy for himself with a steady hand that belied his jumping nerves. He downed it in one gulp and quickly poured out another.

“Please, sit down, Miss—?”

“Cherry,” she answered promptly.

“What an unusual name,” he said. “Short for Charity, I suppose?”

“No,” she said impatiently. “It’s because of my hair.”

“Of course. Please sit down, Miss Cherry.”

She thought about it. After a moment, she walked around to the front of the sofa, flounced her skirts, and seated herself with her ankles crossed and her knees clamped together. He sat down in one of the chairs and took a sip of brandy.