An Experienced Mistress (18 page)

Even if he could think of any reasons, which he couldn’t.

“Come now, Will,” Coventry said. “There must be some reason why you’re suddenly acting so grim. If it’s not love, what is it?”

Will wanted to think about the whole thing on his own. He couldn’t quite piece it together while he still talked to his friend. “I’m not grim. I’ve had too much to drink.”

Coventry gave him a skeptical look as Will took his leave. And no wonder: Coventry had seen him drink much more than that, on countless occasions, while remaining in a fine mood.

When he arrived home, Will found a lamp and went upstairs. More and more lately, he noticed how disagreeably empty the house felt. He undressed and sat on the side of the bed, thinking.

Genevieve, said Coventry, had stopped exhibiting. But she herself told him that she had painted for years. She had complained of not being able to sell her work, and he knew she was not a slow worker. Yet she had only a handful of completed canvasses, not the dozens one might expect.

Visser, her former student, had continued to exhibit...even though the man’s drug habit had been a serious problem for some time.

He considered again what Coventry said:
From what I heard, Visser owed most of his style to Miss Bell.

Was it possible that Visser had bought Genevieve’s paintings and sold them for a profit as his own?

Yes. It was absolutely possible.

It even made sense when he considered the argument he overheard between Genevieve and Micajah Visser. She’d said that she knew what he’d been paid for that painting, and that all she wanted was fifteen more pounds. He’d said she couldn’t expect more than what she had received.

Oh, God. Maybe Genevieve was Cage’s lover but not his kept mistress.

Or: maybe she hadn’t been his lover at all.

Either way, it didn’t make sense. When Will had showed up at her door proposing that she become his mistress, why hadn’t she been offended? Why hadn’t she slapped him?

Perhaps, having just fought with Visser, she was desperate for the money. He’d caught her at a weak moment.

Will felt horrible. Before him, had she remained an honest woman?

Well, not entirely. It wasn’t as though she had been an untouched virgin. If she’d had any pain, or blood, he didn’t see how it could have escaped his attention. Besides, he’d have felt it, wouldn’t he? No, someone already plucked that rose. Whether that someone was Visser, he didn’t know or care.

What he did care about was that she’d tricked him. Will felt tricked enough for one lifetime: tricked into believing war was a glorious endeavor, tricked into believing that a fiancée waited for him at home...

Will’s mood swung from remorse to anger. What a fool she must have believed him to be. Had she secretly laughed at him? After all, how many men would pay for a mistress who didn’t even have sex with them right away?

Since her worldly demeanor was assumed, he couldn’t help but wonder what else was an act? When she asked if he really cared about her, had that been a sham as well?

It couldn’t be. She was a painter, not an actress, and no one was that good of an actress, were they?

When he thought about her simultaneous strength and fragility, and the passion that flared between them every time they were together...

He wanted that to be true. And now he didn’t even know.

His resentment and guilt condensed into a dull, sour ache in his chest. He needed to sleep, or at least try. As early in the morning as he could rouse the coachman, he would go to Hertfordshire.

Chapter Fourteen

When Genevieve heard the knocking at the door, she knew it was Will. The knowledge gave her a secret satisfaction. After their last time together, he couldn’t stay away for a whole week. Well, that was just fine with her.

“I’ll answer the door,” she called out to Flory, then remembered that the maid had gone to see an old friend in Town. Genevieve had been sweeping floors, and wore a pinafore over her frock, but no matter. Will didn’t care about those things.

She opened the door and beamed at him. “Well, hello.”

He didn’t smile back. “May I come in?”

“Of course you can.” Something bothered him. Whatever it was, she felt much inclined to find a way to make him forget all about it. She stood back to let him enter.

“I’ll sit down, if you don’t mind,” he said as she shut the door behind him.

“Of course,” she said again, now unnerved by his seriousness and formality.

Perhaps he was ending their arrangement.

Her mind raced. Maybe he was marrying that little blonde girl after all. Or maybe he’d realized there was too much potential of embarrassing his family.

What if he’d found a mistress he liked better? Oh, that she couldn’t bear.

She sat down. Whatever the reason, she’d known he would break it off sooner or later. She reminded herself of that fact often, so it wouldn’t be too much of a shock when he did.

But if that’s what he came about, this was definitely sooner rather than later. And she was still shocked.

Genevieve’s throat felt tight. She swallowed and broke the silence that had gone on for too long. “You have something to say. What is it?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. “I understand that you gave Micajah Visser art lessons. Is that true?”

“Yes, I did, as it happens. A long time ago. What of it?”

His face was set in concentrated, controlled lines: straight dark brows, slightly compressed mouth. “Art lessons,” he repeated. “Not lessons of a different kind.”

Heat rushed to Genevieve’s face. She felt shaky. She was too afraid to deny what he said. Afraid that he would mention specific examples of her ineptitude as a tutor—or as a lover.

“That is true.”

Will’s fist pounded the arm of the chair in frustration. “Then why did you mislead me?”

“I didn’t!”

“You did. From the first.”

“No.” She managed to steady her voice. “You said you wanted lessons. At first I thought you wanted art lessons.”

Will stared at her in disbelief.

“You thought I wanted to be a painter?” he said at last.

“It’s not such a dreadful thing to be,” she said.

“Still...”

“It was only when you left, and said something about ‘the art of love’ or what have you, that I knew what you wanted. And then you were already gone.”

“So this arrangement with Visser, which you said you had just ended. Were you selling your paintings to him? So that he could present them as his own?”

“Well...essentially, yes.”

Will’s gaze bore into her, as if to ascertain any other secrets that might lurk in her soul. Genevieve folded her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking.

“Were you Visser’s lover?” Will demanded.

The force of his voice made her flinch.

“That is none of your business.” Was he trying to intimidate her now?

“The hell it isn’t.”

“Do not curse at me.”

Will snorted. “I hardly think it’ll offend your virgin ears.”

To her horror, Genevieve’s eyes misted at this.

This made her even angrier. He had no right to judge her, to come in here and make her cry.

“I wasn’t his lover,” she snapped. “Not that it
is
any of your affair. When I was growing up he was almost like a brother.”

“Oh.” This seemed to momentarily subdue him. “But you’ve been with someone before...”

“Yes. When I was eighteen I thought I was in love with a painter. He bedded me and left me. And that’s why I’m a spinster. Because after that no one else would want me.” She glared back at him. “Happy?”

“I’m sorry.” Will tapped his hand restlessly against the arm of the chair, then stood and began to pace. “I...you know I didn’t mean anything about that ‘virgin ears’ comment. It was only an expression.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking about all this,” she continued, her bitterness undiluted by his apology. “If you don’t want me, you have only to say so.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Do you feel cheated?” she demanded. “Do you want your money back? You can have it. Last month’s, at any rate. I didn’t even spend it.” She got up and grabbed a box out of the side table and snatched out the bank notes rolled inside. “Here, take it.” She tossed the cash on the table.

He didn’t even look at it. “I don’t give a damn about money.”

“That’s lucky for you. The only reason I got into this situation in the first place was because I needed some.”

“The only reason?” he pressed.

Genevieve didn’t know what to say. She lied even now. The money, as badly as she needed it, had been a small thing compared to the enticement of Will himself. But what good would it do to say this now, when he was furious with her?

“If you had told me the truth, I would have helped you,” he said, his voice still hard.

She folded her arms where she stood. “What, you would have given me charity?”

“I would not have taken advantage of someone in an unfortunate position.”

“And it never occurred to you that this might be the case with any mistress?”

“No,” he said, after a moment. “It did not.”

“I saw no reason not to do what I did. After all, you and everyone else already thought I was a whore.”

He looked down, his jaw tightening. “Don’t say that,” he said in a low tone.

“Why not?”

“I never thought of you in only that way. At least, not once I met you.”

Genevieve felt a hot tear leak onto her cheek. She brushed it away, pretending as though she rubbed her eye, as if it had suddenly gotten dust in it.

Will wasn’t fooled. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Gen,” he said. “I have hardly slept all night. I feel so guilty...”

“Guilty?” She laughed, but with a catch in her throat. “Why should you feel guilty? You are the one who’s been lied to.”

“Yes, I was angry, too. I don’t like to be tricked. I like it less than you can imagine.”

Genevieve nearly cringed at the bitter edge of his voice. “I know,” she said. “I...it was all so stupid. I’m so sorry.”

He gave a curt nod. “You know I never would have wanted to take someone to bed who was—who was at all reluctant. Never.”

Genevieve sighed. “Well, the truth is...I never did anything I didn’t want to do.”

He didn’t seem relieved. A straight, fine line appeared between his brows, a furrow Genevieve never noticed before. “Last night I kept thinking how you might have been pretending to like it, maybe, just because you needed the money...it made me feel like such a bastard.”

Genevieve would have laughed again if she hadn’t felt so shaky. He was so good. Even though his loneliness and desire led him to seek out a mistress, he was a decent man, decent to the core. “I never pretended
that
. How could you think I was pretending?”

She remembered how horrified she’d been at her wanton behavior after that first truly intimate lesson. The idea of pretending to carry on in that fashion seemed absurd. “I’m not very experienced. And I never felt anything like what I felt with you before, so it’s hardly as though I could playact.”

“It may be,” he said in a low tone, “that we were just a good match.”

Hope fluttered in Genevieve’s chest. From the beginning of the conversation, it seemed that this was their final encounter. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“So you’re not angry with me for lying to you?”

“I’m sorry it happened, but I’m not angry.”

“You’re sorry it happened?”

“No, I’m not that either,” he admitted. “God knows I ought to be, but I’m not. How could I be?”

Genevieve melted. Or very nearly. “Oh, Will.”

He crushed her to him and covered her mouth with his own. She trembled under his onslaught, opening to him. It was unfair, what he could do to her. As independent as she was, when it came to this one man, she had no resistance.

“It wasn’t just the money, you know,” she confessed when their lips parted and she caught her breath. “I liked you from the first.”

“Mmm.” A sensual rumble came from the back of his throat, like the purr of a lion, as hands came around to untie her apron. He lifted it over her head, then eased her loose frock off of one shoulder. “You liked me? Is that all?”

The feel of his hungry mouth on the bare curve of her shoulder made it impossible for her to answer. He kissed her on the mouth again, soul-deep. He remained hers. Genevieve buried her hands in his glossy dark hair. She savored the taste of him and the sensation of his strong, vital body pressed up against hers, the wool of his coat rough against her bared shoulder.

He surprised her by gripping a muscled arm around her waist and lifting her off the floor a bit, so he could gather up her skirts from beneath her with his other hand. He sat down in the chair and pulled her down so that she sat on his thighs. Although he was fully clothed, the hardness of his arousal pressed against her derriere.

“I think you more than liked me.” She felt as well as heard the heat of his whisper. His lips teased the outer curve and lobe of her ear so lightly her breath caught.

He reached down, his hands delving beneath the hem of her billowy dress. Then his hands moved all the way upwards, caressing the undersides of her breasts beneath the light fabric. The hem of her dress, pulled up as it was, tickled her thighs.

Almost involuntarily, Genevieve arched her back, thrusting her breasts more firmly against his hands, her rear pressing into his powerful erection. His mouth left a trail of light, burning kisses on the tender flesh of her neck and shoulder. One of his hands reached down, caressing her belly, skimming over her mound.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “I wanted you.”

“Mmm. That’s what I wanted to hear. Because I wanted you from the very first minute I laid eyes on you.” His other hand remained at her breasts, and he stroked and pinched one of her nipples into a hard, aching peak.

“Why?” she asked, looking up over her shoulder at him. She realized that in her aroused state, her question came out barely audible, so she added, “Why did you want me?”

He seemed to consider the question. His fingertips traced the insides of her thighs. “Because of your fire,” he said. “I heard you arguing with Visser.”

Genevieve was shocked. “You did?”

She felt him nod. “You were like a tigress.”

“I wonder that you weren’t scared off.”

“You are a strong woman, Gen. But I was pretty sure I could handle you.”

He gave her sex a luscious caress, and chuckled when a whimper escaped her lips. She supposed she ought to be embarrassed that she was already aroused, but she didn’t have any secrets from him.

No secrets at all, anymore. The thought was a small thrill of joy inside her.

“Will, I’m glad you know the truth about me. I wanted to tell you...”

He shushed her as he rubbed his palm ever so slowly across her slick heat.

Trying to rush his pace, Genevieve reached around, her fingers fumbling for his belt-buckle. He captured both her wrists in one hand. “No need to hurry.” She tried to free her hands, but they were caught tight. The heavy ache between her legs became sweeter and sharper, almost unbearable. The pad of his thumb teased her swollen bud.

“Will, you’re driving me mad.”

“Myself, too,” she barely heard his amused murmur. He released her hands. He urged her to her feet and, still behind her, helped ease her out of her gown. She could have sworn she felt the heat of his gaze on her naked body where she stood.

He picked up her hair and tossed it forward in front of one of her shoulders, as if to give him a better view of her unadorned form. He traced a sensuous curve from the nape of her neck down her spine to the cleft of her buttocks.

He was still fully dressed. Suddenly she grew shy under his intense scrutiny. Turning, she said, “Shall we go to bed?”

“No.” His strong arm wrapped around her middle and he urged her to the floor with him. She sensed that he undid his trousers as his mouth sank into a new place near her shoulder blade.

Still holding onto her, he leaned forward against her and her palms found the floor in front of her. Before she could think what he might be up to, he smoothly covered her body with his, and she felt the tip of his cock against her sex that was almost sore with unsatisfied need.

Ohhh. Realization dawned on her of what he had in mind. “All right?” he murmured.