The Accidental Mistress (5 page)

She swallowed against the sudden knot lodged at the base of her throat, wondering how many miles yet they were from London.

"Rose."

His voice, silky and robust as a tot of heated rum, interrupted her musings.

"What?" she murmured.

"Your name. Is it Rose? You said it was ordinary and easy to pronounce and yet I am sure it is lovely as well. As lovely as you."

Her heart thudded.

What a providential guess,
she thought,
and one far too close for comfort.
If he proceeded along the logical path and continued listing flower names, he would surely come across her own.

"It is not Rose," she stated in a dismissive voice. "Good try, however. And now, if you would not mind terribly, I find myself rather tired and would like to sleep for a while."

He inclined his head. "Of course, please rest. I promise to wake you when we reach the city."

Giving him a shallow smile, she angled her shoulder into the nearest corner and closed her eyes.

Five minutes later, though, she was still awake, unable to find just the right spot despite the plush accommodations.

"Why don't you stretch out?" he suggested, obviously aware of her dilemma. "If you lie on your side, you should fit quite comfortably across the seat."

Had she been in a dress, she would never have even considered the idea, forcing herself to sleep upright regardless of the circumstances. But over the past few days she had come to enjoy the freedom of wearing trousers, understanding the unique range of motion they could provide.

Why not take advantage of my male attire?
she reasoned.

Tomorrow, after she settled into a hotel, she would be forced to make her transformation back into a woman. No more tailcoat and trousers for her.

Deciding she had long since passed the point of attempting any sort of formality with the marquis, she nodded her thanks. Sliding to the middle of the seat, she leaned over and curled onto her side. An instant sensation of relaxation enveloped her, the swaying motion of the coach rocking away her every concern.

Scant seconds later, she fell asleep.

Ethan watched her, tracing the fine bones of her face and the sprinkling of tiny freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose.
Adorable freckles,
he thought,
for an equally adorable young woman.
How she had been able to travel in the guise of a man still had the power to amaze him.

People, he decided, were obviously blind.

He wished he knew who she was. So far she'd been doing an excellent job refusing to tell him much of anything about herself, although he had to confess he'd been enjoying their name-guessing game despite its probable futility. When she awakened, he might try one more time. After all, how could he allow her to leave without at least knowing her name?

The thought troubled him, as did the idea of letting her vanish totally from his life. Was he content to let her go, satisfied to remember her as nothing more than an outrageously bold and lovely young woman? An amusing adventuress who had come briefly into his life, then passed just as quickly out again? The notion rankled—far more, he realized, than it ought.

Slumbering deeply, she released a breathy little sigh, a sound that shot directly to his groin. Beneath his snug-fitting pantaloons, he grew stiff with arousal, aching as though she'd actually touched him rather than merely caressed his ears with the music of her sigh.

Deciding to ignore his blatant physical reaction, he gazed out the window at the passing countryside. The ploy did him no good. Soon his eyes were drawn back to her just as they had been at the inn, when he'd first spied her and had been helpless to look away.

He didn't fully understand the attraction, especially since her most obvious physical assets were concealed in men's clothing. Though not all of them, he had to confess, her legs displayed in what many would have deemed a shockingly salacious manner, the shape of her rounded derri�re revealed by the snug woolen cloth of her trousers.

As if her body read his thoughts and appreciated the attention, she shifted, rolling over onto her other side to expose that very portion of her anatomy to his view.

Under his breath, he groaned.

His erection stiffened further at the sight of her lush bottom, which his hands were itching to touch.

And this,
he thought,
is why women should not wear trousers. Far too much temptation for any man's sanity.

Leaning his head back against the upholstered seat, Ethan closed his eyes and willed himself to think boring thoughts. Crop rotation. Latin declensions. Golf.

Nearly an hour later, the city gates appeared on the horizon, traffic steadily increasing as the metropolis began to rise around them. The noise level increased as well, people filling the streets, horses' hooves ringing out against the cobbles, with an occasional shout or the bark of a dog punctuating the fray. Time to wake his still slumbering companion, he decided. She'd moved again in her sleep and was now lying on her back, one leg angled beneath her at the knee, the other dangling half off the seat in yet another unknowingly provocative pose.

"Jack," he called.

No response.

"Jack," he repeated, raising the volume of his voice.

She gave no sign of having heard.
And why should she,
he thought,
since "Jack" is not her name.

Rather than shout and possibly frighten her half to death, he climbed to his feet, balancing himself against the sway of the vehicle as he bent over her recumbent form. Reaching out a hand, he touched her shoulder, giving it a light shake.

"Miss Bain," he said, doubtful her last name was any more honest than her first. "It is time to wake up."

She groaned and muttered something under her breath, her eyelids fluttering faintly.

"We are almost there. Awaken, my unconventional sleeping beauty."

* * * * *

Rich and steamy as a cup of simmering chocolate, a deep male voice cut into Lily's slumber. Opening her eyes, she looked up into the arresting face of the man with whom she'd just been dream-dancing, his eyes even more brilliantly hued than they'd been in her imagination. Her lips parted on a silent gasp, her breasts rising and falling beneath the finely woven cotton of her shirt.

A gleam darkened his eyes, his lids drooping as his gaze slid over her face, pausing at her lips before moving lower.

Suddenly realizing how disheveled she must appear, she drew the edges of her coat closer and slowly sat up, the last of her sleepy haze falling away. "Have we arrived?"

"Very nearly," he said, retaking his seat across from her. "I suppose the answer depends upon our destination. Where does your friend live? Shall I take you there?"

For a second she stared, not immediately understanding. Then it came to her. The supposed bet and her "friend."

"No," she retorted. "That is, it would look most odd if I arrived on her front step in my present attire, especially accompanied by you, my lord. Anyway, you must realize I cannot reveal her address."

"Nor your own, I suppose, though it would be a great deal simpler if you just told me where you live. To protect your reputation, I would be willing to have my driver stop a block or two distant and let you walk the rest of the way."

"If I am unwilling to give you my name, my lord, I am hardly likely to share my address."

Even if I had one,
she thought,
which I presently do not.

"You could remedy that, you know," he said in a warm tone. "I do not know the particulars of your situation, but I should like to see you again. Why do you not tell me who you are?"

His statement seemed to surprise him as much as it did her.

Longing beat in tandem with panic inside her breast. "That is impossible."

"Why?"

Because I already know you are too much.
Too dangerous. Too debonair. And far too intelligent to be satisfied with the half-answers she would be forced to provide.

Besides, she couldn't afford to let down her guard. She had a plan for her future—her
independent
future—and that plan had no room in it for a roguish nobleman who made her pulse flutter like the last leaf on a windswept branch. Besides, he couldn't really be serious. Likely he was merely intrigued by her evasions and only wanted to have his curiosity satisfied.

She shook her head. "Giving you my address is out of the question. You had best tell your coachman to stop ahead and set me down."

A frown collected like storm clouds on his brow. "I cannot just drop you off on the odd street corner. We are hardly in a part of town were I would leave anyone, not even a man."

"A hackney, then, once we reach a more amenable location. I will be fine from there."

She could tell he wanted to argue, knew by the martial gleam in his gaze that his temper was frayed. After a long minute, he gave a curt nod and leaned up to rap against the wall above her head. A small hatch that connected the coach interior with the driver's seat slid open.

"Hyde Park," the marquis ordered, the coachman murmuring his confirmation. With a click, the hatch closed again.

Vessey had just taken his seat when the coach jerked hard, sending her forward so that she nearly toppled to the floor. Instead, he caught her, tugging her into his arms.

A pair of shouts erupted in the street, obviously the result of an accident that had stopped traffic in its path. Yet Lily barely heard the commotion, every sense focused on the strong pair of arms at her back, the hard muscled thighs tangled with her own. Shifting, he lifted her up and set her onto his lap. She gasped at the novel sensation and gazed into his eyes.

He gazed back, tightening his hold. "It appears we are stuck."

"Yes."

"But nothing stands still in London for long. We shall be on our way soon, leaving us little time together. Tell me your name."

Heart throbbing in the base of her throat, she shook her head.

"Is it Diana?"

Her lips parted on a shivery sigh. "No."

"What about Anna?"

"That name is lovely, but not mine."

"Mary, then. Am I even close?"

"No."

His jaw tightened. "Well, then, since you insist upon leaving me with nothing more of yourself than a memory, I suppose I had best make that memory one neither of us shall ever forget."

Before she could draw her next breath, his lips claimed hers, moving over her own with a skill and passion that sent her thoughts whirling away at the speed of a shooting star. Dark and demanding, his kiss sizzled through her, firing her blood and leaving her dizzy and trembling in his arms.

She had been kissed once before at sixteen, and had quite enjoyed the brief interlude with the visiting cousin of a neighbor. To his clear disappointment, she'd never asked for a repetition, however, and now she knew why. If that boy had been able to kiss like the marquis, she wouldn't have been able to keep herself from him.

Then again, Lord Vessey was a man—debonair and experienced, his every touch speaking of a confident mastery and an elegance of persuasion. Even in her na�vet�, she could sense his innate abilities, recognizing he had a talent for pleasure that few men possessed, a deftness in the amorous arts that could very possibly make a woman beg.

Suddenly the coach began to move forward again.

Had he not been holding her, she knew she surely would have toppled to the floor in a heap. But she had no fear of such a fate, not when he slid her closer and angled his mouth more fully across hers.

She gasped as he ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, then again as he slipped inside, filling her mouth in a way she would never have imagined she could like. But she did, the sensations both hot and sweet, delicious as candy. Letting instinct lead, she licked him back, swirling her tongue around his before stroking over his teeth and the velvety smoothness of his inner cheeks.

A growl of pleasure rumbled low in his throat, his fingers tunneling into her short hair to cradle her head. Holding her steady, he took her deeper, making her toes curl inside her boots as she whimpered with delight.

Utterly adrift, she felt his hand slip inside her coat to stroke over her chest. With unerring dexterity, he found one breast, cupping her inside his palm through the cloth of her shirt. The rapid pace of her breathing pushed her more fully into his clasp, a wild shiver rippling through her as he stroked a thumb over her nipple. Once, then twice, then yet again until she lost count, too drowned in the pleasure to think.

An ache settled between her thighs, along with a disturbing restlessness. Claiming her mouth with ardent intent, he urged her to match him, to surrender herself to each of his kisses and return them with ever more passionate ones of her own.

In thrall, she lay trembling as his fingers went to work on the buttons of her shirt, cool air wafting faintly over her flesh as he peeled away the layer of cloth to expose her naked breast to his sight.

His eyes glittered with hunger as he arched her back over one arm and buried his face against the curve of her neck. Stringing a line of kisses along the column of her throat, he played there for a brief time, tormenting her with a series of drawing, openmouthed kisses that made her skin throb as if she had more than one pulse. Continuing across her collarbone, then over her sternum, he trailed lower.

A jolt as fierce as lightning arced through her when he fastened his lips to one of her breasts. Never in her life had she felt a sensation that even came close, his mouth warm and wet, his tongue like a sweep of fire against her tightly beaded nipple.

She swallowed, unable to contain the moan that rose from deep inside her throat. Barely recognizing her own actions, she threaded her fingers into the wavy silk of his hair, caressing the strong shape of his head as she silently urged him on.

Just then he nipped her, a light scrape of his teeth that sent her winging upward. He soothed her with a lick, then another, until she thought she might go quite mad.

He was turning his head, presumably to lavish the same devilish torture upon her other breast, when the connecting hatch suddenly opened.