More than a Mistress/No Man's Mistress (50 page)

“Viola Thornhill,” she told him. “And I have never seen you before yesterday. I would have remembered.”

He nodded, but his brows were still knitted in thought. He was obviously trying to remember where it was he had seen her before, if anywhere. She could have offered a few suggestions, though it was true she had never seen him before yesterday.

“Well,” he said briskly, shaking his head, “I will take myself off back to Trellick, Miss Thornhill. It is Miss, not Mrs.?” She inclined her head. “For seven nights, though I must beg leave to intrude upon you here in the daytime. If you need my assistance in planning your journey, feel free to ask for it.”

He strode past her across the room, all masculine arrogance and energy and power. Yesterday’s dream transformed into today’s nightmare. She looked after him with intense hatred.

“Lord Ferdinand,” she said as his hand closed about the doorknob, “I do not believe you heard me a moment ago. Until I have seen that will, I am going nowhere. I will be remaining here in my own house and my own home. I will not give in to bluster and bullying. If you were a gentleman, you would not even ask it of me.”

When he turned, she could see that she had angered him. His eyes looked very black. His brows had drawn together. His nostrils were flared, making his nose look sharper, almost hooked, and his lips were set in a grim line. He looked altogether more formidable than he had a moment before. Viola glared defiantly at him.

“If I were a
gentleman
?” he said, so softly that despite herself she felt a shiver of apprehension curl about her spine. “If you were a
lady
, ma’am, you would accept with grace what has happened through no fault of mine. I am
not answerable for the failure of the late earl to keep his promise to you, or for his son’s choosing to bet an estate instead of money on the outcome of a card game. The simple fact is that Pinewood Manor is
mine
. It was my plan a moment ago to inconvenience myself out of deference to your sensibilities and the awkwardness of your situation. It is no longer my plan. I will be taking up residence here immediately. It is
you
who will stay at the Boar’s Head tonight. But as a
gentleman
, I will send a maid with you and have the bill sent to me.”

“I will be sleeping here, in my own house, in my own bed,” she told him, holding his gaze.

The air fairly crackled with the clashing of their wills.

His eyes narrowed. “Then you must share the house with me,” he told her. “With someone you have accused of being less than a gentleman. Perhaps, as well as being a dissolute gamer, I am also possessed of unbridled sexual appetites. Perhaps last evening gave you only the glimmering of a hint of what I am capable of when my passions are aroused. Are you sure you wish to put your person and your reputation at such risk?”

She might have laughed if she had not been so incensed.

She took long, angry strides toward him until she was close enough to point a finger at him and jab it against his chest, like a blunt dagger, as she spoke. Her voice shook with fury.

“If you so much as attempt to lay one lascivious finger on me,” she told him, “you may be surprised to discover that your sexual appetites will die an ignominious death and remain dead for all time. Be warned. I am no man’s mistress. I am no man’s abject victim, to be threatened and coerced into whimpering submission. I
am my own mistress,
my lord
, and I am mistress of Pinewood. I will remain here tonight and every night for the rest of my life. If you truly believe you have a claim to the house, then I daresay you will stay here too. But I can guarantee that soon you will be glad enough to leave. You are a rake and a town fop and would be quite incapable of living more than a week in the country without expiring of boredom. I will endure you for that week. But I will not be bullied or threatened sexually without retaliating in ways you would not enjoy. And I will not be removed from my rightful home.” She stabbed at his chest one more time—it was a remarkably solid chest. “And now, if you please, I wish to leave the room in order to resume my interrupted plan of walking out and taking the air.”

He stared at her with the same angry expression—with perhaps also a suggestion of shock?—for several moments before standing aside, whisking open the drawing room door, and gesturing with a flourish toward the landing beyond it, while sketching her a mocking bow.

“Far be it from me to hold you against your will,” he said. “But I in my turn can guarantee that within a week, or two at the most, you will be forced to abandon your rash determination to share a bachelor establishment with a rake. I will send for that damned will.”

Viola ignored the blasphemy with cold civility and swept from the room. He had the deed of Pinewood, she thought as she climbed the stairs to her room. Something was terribly wrong. She had no written proof, only the word of a man long dead. But strangely, foolishly, the thought that crowded all else from her mind
was that he—Lord Ferdinand Dudley, that is—had not known she lived here. He had made no attempt to discover who she was. He had not cared enough. Yesterday had meant nothing to him.

Well, it had not meant anything to her either!

IOLA DID NOT, AFTER ALL, GO OUT WALKING
. She sat for a long time on the window seat in her bedchamber. Hers was fortunately not the master bedchamber—at least they were not to fight over that and perhaps insist upon sharing the same bed. She had always preferred her present room, with its cheerful Chinese wallpaper and draperies and screens and its view over the back of the house rather than the front, over the kitchen garden and greenhouses, over the long avenue beyond them, culminating in the tree-dotted hill half a mile away.

Pinewood was hers. No one else had even been interested in it until it had become the subject of a card game. Lord Ferdinand Dudley would not be interested either once he recovered from the novelty of having won it. He was a city man, a dandy, a fop, a gamer, a rake—and probably many more nasty things. Once he went back to London, he would forget all about Pinewood again.

Once he went back to London …

Viola got to her feet, smoothed out her dress, straightened her shoulders, and left her room, bound for the kitchen.

“Yes, it is true,” she said in answer to all the anxious, inquiring looks turned her way as soon as she walked in. They were all there—Mr. Jarvey; Mr. Paxton, the steward; Jeb Hardinge, the head groom; Samuel Dey, the
footman; Hannah; Mrs. Walsh, the cook; Rose, the parlormaid; Tom Abbott, the head gardener. They must have been holding a meeting. “Though I do not believe it for a minute. Lord Ferdinand Dudley claims to be the new owner of Pinewood. But I have no intention of leaving. Indeed, I have every intention of persuading Lord Ferdinand to go away again.”

“What do you have in mind, Miss Vi?” Hannah asked. “Oh, I
knew
that man was trouble the minute I set eyes on him. Too handsome for his own good, he is.”

“How difficult can it be,” Viola asked, “to convince a town tulip that the life of a country squire is not for him?”

“I can think of a few ways without even taxing my brains, Miss Thornhill,” Jeb Hardinge said.

“So can I,” Mrs. Walsh agreed grimly.

“Let’s hear some of these ideas, then,” Mr. Paxton suggested, “and see if we can come up with a plan.”

Viola sat down at the kitchen table and invited everyone to join her.

A short while later, Viola was walking into the village. She was far too restless to sit still in any vehicle when she might be striding along, trying to keep up with the pace of her teeming thoughts.

How very different two days could be. Yesterday’s dream had been very pleasant while it had lasted—more than pleasant. She had lain awake half the night reliving the dance about the maypole, when she had felt more vigorously alive than she had since she did not know when. And reliving his kiss and the feel of his lean man’s body against her own.

More fool her, for allowing herself to indulge in dreams, she thought, lengthening her stride. Maybe that
gypsy fortune-teller had not been so far off the mark, after all. She should have taken more heed. She should have been more wary.

She stopped first at the vicarage and found both the Reverend and Mrs. Prewitt at home.

“My dear Miss Thornhill,” Mrs. Prewitt said when her housekeeper had ushered Viola into the parlor, “what a delightful surprise. I fully expected that you would remain at home, exhausted, today.”

The vicar beamed at her. “Miss Thornhill,” he said. “I have just now finished adding the proceeds from the fête. You will be delighted to know that we surpassed last year’s total by almost exactly twenty pounds. Is that not significant? So you see, my dear, your daisies were sacrificed to a good cause.”

He and his wife laughed over his joke as Viola took her seat.

“It was an extremely generous donation,” Mrs. Prewitt said, “especially when one remembers that the gentleman was a stranger.”

“He called on me this morning,” Viola told them.

“Ah.” The vicar rubbed his hands together. “Did he indeed?”

“He claims to be the rightful owner of Pinewood.” Viola clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Most provoking, is it not?”

Both her listeners stared blankly at her for a moment.

“But I was under the impression that Pinewood was yours,” Mrs. Prewitt said.

“It
is,
” Viola assured them both. “When the late Earl of Bamber sent me here almost two years ago, he changed his will so that it would be mine for the rest of my life. However, the present earl had the deed and chose to
wager away the property in a
card
game at a
gaming hell
a short while ago, and lost it.” She did not know where the card game had been played, but she chose to assume it had been at the shabbiest, most notorious hell.

“Oh, dear me,” the vicar commented, looking down in some concern at his visitor. “But his lordship could not wager away property that does not belong to him, Miss Thornhill. I hope the gentleman was not too disappointed to learn how he had been deceived. He seemed pleasant enough.”

“In a
card
game?” Mrs. Prewitt was more satisfyingly shocked than her husband. “We were deceived in him yesterday, then. I did think it very forward of him, I must confess, Miss Thornhill, to make you dance with him about the maypole when he had not been formally presented to you. What a dreadful turn you must have had when he called on you with his claim this morning.”

“Oh, I have not allowed him to upset me greatly,” Viola assured them. “Indeed I have a plan to persuade him that he would find life at Pinewood vastly uncomfortable. You may both help me if you will …”

A short while later she was outdoors again and continuing the round of visits she had planned. Fortunately everyone was at home, perhaps understandably so after such a busy day yesterday.

Her final call was at the cottage of the Misses Merrywether, who listened to her story with growing amazement and indignation.
She
had disliked Lord Ferdinand Dudley from the moment she first set eyes on him, Miss Faith Merrywether declared. His manners had been far too easy. And no true gentleman removed his coat in the presence of ladies, even when he was engaged in some sport on a hot day.

He was extremely handsome, Miss Prudence Merrywether conceded, blushing, and of course he had that charming smile, but one knew from experience that handsome, charming gentlemen were never up to any good. Lord Ferdinand Dudley was certainly not up to any if his intention was to drive their dear Miss Thornhill away destitute from Pinewood.

“Oh, he will not drive me away,” Viola assured both ladies. “It will be the other way around.
I
shall get rid of
him.
”

“The vicar and Mr. Claypole will see what can be done on your behalf, I am sure,” Miss Merrywether said. “In the meantime, Miss Thornhill, you must come and live here. You will not be at all in the way.”

“That is extremely kind of you, ma’am, but I have no intention of leaving Pinewood,” Viola said. “Indeed, it is my plan to—”

But the description of her plan had to be deferred to a more convenient moment. Miss Prudence was so shocked at the mere idea of her returning to the house when there was a single gentleman in residence there that Miss Merrywether, made of sterner stuff herself, had to send in a hurry for their young maid to fetch burned feathers and hartshorn in order to prevent her sister from swooning dead away. Viola meanwhile chafed her wrists.

“There is no telling what such a libertine might attempt,” Miss Merrywether warned Viola after the crisis had passed and a still-pale Miss Prudence was propped against cushions sipping weak, sweet tea, “if he were to get you alone with no servants in attendance. He might even attempt to
kiss
you. No, no, Prudence, you must not go off again; Miss Thornhill will not return to
Pinewood. She will remain here. We will have her things sent for. And we will lock all our doors from now on, even during the daytime. And bolt them too.”