His Favorite Mistress (37 page)

Never one to mope, she’d thrown herself into as many activities as possible over the past several days, striving to stay busy and keep her mind off a certain man she was doing her best to forget. But forgetting Tony was proving impossible, as was any attempt on her part to stop loving him. He was in her heart, she realized, and no amount of wishing was going to change that fact.
I may have cut him out of my life with this separation, but I can’t cut him out of myself.

With a sigh, she plucked off another feather and then took up a pair of scissors to snip away a piece of frayed velvet trim. She was gathering up the scraps when a knock came at the door.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” said her new butler. “But His Grace, the Duke of Wyvern, is here to see you. Shall I show him up?”

Discarded trim burst from her hand, stray bits of cloth and ribbon cascading onto the floor. “His Grace! Here? Yes, yes, of course, send him up.” She’d barely had time to tidy the mess and take a proper seat in an armchair when her butler returned, Tony at his heels.

“I believe we can dispense with the formalities,” Tony informed the man before he had a chance to speak. “The duchess and I are already acquainted, seeing she is my wife.”

Taking the hint, the butler gave a respectful bow and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“There is no need to be cross with Ford,” Gabriella said as soon as the servant departed. “He is only doing his job.”

“And so he is.” Tony stalked across the sitting room toward a window and peered out. A long moment later, he turned to survey the room, his gaze sweeping over the furnishings. “The house appears comfortable enough.”

“It is quite pleasant. Lily chose well when she purchased this home.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing further, striding over to the next set of windows to once again look out.

Gabriella restrained a sigh, the tension between them palpable. “Have you come then to inspect my new quarters?”

He turned, his midnight-blue gaze steady. “No. I am here for another reason entirely. This situation has gone on long enough. I want you back at Black House. Actually, I insist on it.”

This time she did sigh aloud. “And I am afraid I must refuse. Nothing between us has changed and I see no reason to return. I shall stay right where I am.”

He strode forward. “You are my wife, and that is reason enough. I should never have allowed you to leave in the first place.”

“I don’t believe it was up to you to
allow
me or not. Now, if that is all—”

“No, it is not. It has recently occurred to me that I have certain rights—marital rights—that you are not fulfilling at present.”

Her eyes widened. “Pardon me?”

“As you well know, I am a man of hearty appetites and you cannot expect me to simply put those needs aside because you choose to live elsewhere. At least not if you still have some expectation that I remain faithful.”

A flush rose into her cheeks.

He pinned her with a look. “Even if you do not care and would see me take my pleasure with another woman, there is a separate matter that requires your specific attention.”

“Oh,” she said, crossing her arms. “And what might that be, pray?”

“A child.” He set a fist against the back of the sofa opposite her. “I have a right to an heir and you, as my spouse, have a duty to provide me with one. I believe a second son would not be unreasonable as well, come to that. And, of course, any female children produced would not count, so we would perforce have to keep trying should you fail to present me with sons after the first two successful pregnancies are brought to term.”

A chill swept through her. His words were calm and matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing a business arrangement. And perhaps for him that was all it was—a means of seeing that both his physical and familial needs were satisfied.
How absurd of me!
she thought. For a fleeting instant when he’d first walked through the door, a tiny part of her had hoped he’d come to tell her how miserable he’d been since she’d left, how much he missed her, and to ask—not order—her to come home. She had hoped as well that he might say his feelings for her had changed, and that he realized he loved her, after all. But such ideas were no more than a fanciful dream. All he wanted—and would ever want, she reminded herself—was her body. And now a child, too.

“So you expect me to perform duties that fall somewhere between a courtesan and a brood mare?” she observed.

His brows narrowed at a dangerous slant as though he didn’t much care for her description regardless of its apparent accuracy. “I want a
wife
willing to accommodate me in bed and provide me with children—a combination that naturally goes together. Given that, I see no difficulty in the arrangement. Unless you are increasing already? If so, then it would seem one of my requirements is satisfied before we even begin.”

Her fingers curled against her hip, the cold spreading outward to the tips so that even her nails felt chilled.

“Well, are you?” he questioned.

She raised her chin and met his gaze. “Am I what?”

“With child? It’s been some weeks since we had relations. Have you discovered yourself in a family way during that time?”

Since she had just finished her monthly, she knew for certain there was no child. “No, I am not expecting.”

A spark of anticipation flared in his eyes. “Then the matter is settled. You will come home.”

“No,” she said in a low, flat tone.

“What? Of course you will return. I’ll have your things moved back to Black House today. Though perhaps we should go to Rosemeade again for the next month or two as we had originally planned. We will need to be together often, since we are trying for a child.”

And wouldn’t that make everything perfect—for him?
she mused. For her, she would be back at the beginning, utterly dependent upon his wishes, left with nothing—not her heart nor her pride. She supposed she could not rightly deny him a child, and truth be known she did not want to. She deeply longed for children and ached that she had not yet conceived. To remain estranged from him would mean giving up all hope of ever having a family, and that she did not want.

As for the other…the sex…well, as he said, the two matters did go hand in hand. She couldn’t have babies without sharing her body with him, and it wasn’t as if that would be such an onus. After all, he was a consummate lover, never once failing to bring her anything but the most exquisite pleasure. Still, she had to keep something for herself, retain some bit of independence that he could not touch.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied her resolve. “I am willing to give you a child, but as for living together again, it is out of the question.”

He leaned a hip against the sofa and crossed his arms. “Then I fail to see how this child will ever come into being, since I will require access to your body.”

“You can have access. Here.”

“What?”

“Yes,” she said, warming suddenly to the idea. “You can visit me here at this townhouse. We’ll have relations, then you can leave when we’re done.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” he scoffed.

“How so? It seems an eminently workable plan to me and certainly no more inconvenient than keeping a mistress. Surely your former light o’ loves didn’t come to live with you at your townhouse while you were partaking of their favors? Ours can be of a similar nature, the only difference in our case being that we need not worry about my becoming enceinte, since that is the ultimate objective.”

“It’s unfeasible,” he blustered. “Not to mention the fact that my
visiting
you will only cause more talk. And believe me, there is quite enough of that already.”

“Let them talk. You were never worried about the Ton’s good opinion before; why should you be now? Besides, if it becomes an issue, you can tell everyone that we are attempting to repair our relationship. The fact that we’re meeting to procreate is no one’s business but our own.”

He glared at her, paced to the window, then swung back. “I don’t like it.”

She shrugged, her pulse beating in her throat like the wings of a wild bird. “Those are my terms. You may agree or not as you choose.”

His jaw worked, his teeth clenched, fists locked at his sides. “So, you want to play at being my mistress, do you?” he drawled in a smoothly menacing tone.

“I want to continue living separately from you,” she stated, refusing to yield. “If that requires me to play a part, then yes, I will.”

Crossing to her, he planted his arms on either side of her chair, then leaned down so she was trapped by his powerful frame. “If we do this your way, I will give you fair warning that the restraints are off. I’ll want you when I want you, and as often as I like. No once a night and no conveniently timed headaches.”

Color warmed her skin. “I will see I make myself available. Though I would remind you that I may still have social engagements to keep. I cannot lie abed all day, you know.”

His lambent gaze dropped to her breasts, openly tracing their shape. “Don’t worry. I won’t keep you exclusively in bed. I’ll find other places to take you as well.”

She swallowed, viscerally aware of him and the images he created. The traitorous woman’s flesh between her legs grew abruptly moist. “So, we’re agreed then? I will continue to reside here while you live at Black House. You’ll come visit me for sex.”

His gaze remained fixed upon hers for a long moment, then his expression grew shuttered. “Yes, we are agreed.”

“Very well. When shall we begin?”

Good heavens!
she thought.
What if he says now?
She would have to let him, would she not? What if he refused to allow her out of this chair? Deciding instead to lift her skirts to touch her before dropping to his knees and sliding her forward so he could take her right here? Her nipples tightened beneath her shift.

“Tonight,” he said instead. “Unfortunately, I have an appointment this afternoon I can’t break. Otherwise, I’d stay and do whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“I’m not
thinking
anything,” she lied, struggling to regulate her features. “And you can quit crowding me now and be on your way.”

His mouth curved in a humorless smile as he straightened to his full height and took a step back. “As you wish, madam. I’ll be back to
crowd
you quite a bit more in a few hours’ time.”

“Until then,” she said, striving to sound bored. “I have this bonnet to finish trimming and a pair of calls to make now that Society is beginning to return to Town.”

“Enjoy your afternoon,” he told her. “Oh, and have a key sent over for me. I don’t want the bother of having to knock every time I decide to pay you a visit, whether it be day or night.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

With a nod, he turned and strode from the room. Only after he was gone did she allow herself to react, her muscles trembling, her knees far too weak for her to stand.
Stars above,
she thought, laying a hand across her chest,
what is it I have done?

Gabriella didn’t go out to pay calls, nor did she finish refurbishing her bonnet, stuffing it and the trimmings into a hat box and putting them both away. She tried to take a nap, but couldn’t sleep, instead ringing for her maid and asking the girl to draw her a warm bath.

As she was lying in the tub, it occurred to her that perhaps Tony would want dinner. Then again, he hadn’t said what time he expected to arrive, so planning a meal around him might turn out to be nothing but a waste. Besides, he wasn’t coming here for food and conversation, she reminded herself. He was coming for sex—intent on slaking his pent-up passions and begetting his heir, nothing more. She was a convenience, just another female out of many with whom he had enjoyed carnal knowledge. The only difference was that she wore his ring—though even that apparently meant little now. His mistress and his brood mare, she mused on an increasingly sour note. That is all she was supposed to be.

By evening, she had worked herself into a temper, especially when ten o’clock came and he had not arrived. Then eleven. At midnight, she decided he must have changed his mind, and so she went upstairs to bed.

She was lying between the sheets at one o’clock, about to blow out the small branch of lighted candles on her night table, when her bedroom door opened. She glanced up to find Tony silhouetted in the entrance, his athletic, masculine physique looking even taller and more powerful than usual.

Abruptly, her weariness fell away, her blood thrumming with a disturbing combination of annoyance and simmering desire—a reaction that only increased her pique over the substantial list of grievances she held against him, as well as with herself for her undeniable weakness where he was concerned.

As though he slept with her here in this room every night, he strolled inside and closed the door with a quiet snick of the lock. Approaching slowly, he began to disrobe, hanging his coat and waistcoat over the back of a chair before tugging open his cravat. He freed his cuff buttons, then kicked off his dress shoes. Next came his shirt and stockings before he reached down to unfasten his falls.

She didn’t say a word, and neither did he, as she watched him strip to the skin, his arousal a blatant announcement of his hunger for her. His erection twitched beneath her gaze and stiffened even more. Barefoot, he padded across the carpet, pulled back the sheet, and climbed into bed.

“You’re late,” she remonstrated as he reached for her.

He paused for a second before lowering his lips to her neck. “I don’t believe we agreed on a time,” he stated, moving up to nuzzle her earlobe. “As I recall, I said I will visit when it suits me.” He ran his tongue along the edge of her ear, then blew gently inside. “Earlier did not suit.”

She suppressed an answering shiver, his touch as magical as ever. Peeved with him, however, she fought to resist. “Even so, you might have sent a note. I assumed you weren’t coming.”

“Couldn’t wait for me, hmm?”

“Oh no, I could wait,” she drawled in a cool tone. “I just do not like being kept waiting, especially when I’m tired. Why don’t we get to it then, so you can go home and I can go to sleep.”