Temporary Mistress (16 page)

"That will be enough of such ridiculous gossip," Pomeroy ordered. "An heiress indeed. A female dressed in such a fashion is far from an heiress. Now, I want everyone downstairs immediately, or you won't see a shilling of that bonus. The master doesn't wish to be disturbed—you heard him. And if a word gets out about his visitor tonight," he warned, "I'll sack you all."

Everyone nodded respectfully, but everyone also knew the story would be about town by breakfast the next day, the tittle-tattle of society's indiscretions the lifeblood of daily conversation. From the breakfast rooms of dukes to the penny sheets sold on the street to the common man, gossip was adored, dissected, embellished, and passed on. And the Earl of Bathurst did more than his share to fuel the salacious flames of scandal.

"I SOMETIMES THINK I have too damned many servants," Dermott grumbled, walking toward the bed. "You can come out, darling," he added, glancing at the shape under the coverlet. "They're all gone."

Isabella's blond curls first appeared, then her flushed face, and last her creamy shoulders. "You
do
have too many servants," she agreed, the coverlet clutched to her chest, wary still of visitors. "I suppose they heard everything."

"No, not at all," he lied. "I told them I'd bring in the trays myself. So you needn't see anyone. I'll bring in bathwater as well. I have a pool and steam room downstairs along the lines of the Roman ones at Bath, but I don't suppose you wish to go down there."

She looked alarmed. "And have everyone see me?"

He nodded. "I thought not. You should probably stay in bed… with—that is, until you feel better… and can bathe. I'll bring the trays to you."

She sat up and he placed the first tray on her lap. "I suppose… it hurts," he gently said, looking apologetic. "I feel like hell about—well, about what I did."

"I'm not very sore… really," she appeased. He looked so uncomfortable. "You were very kind."

He grimaced, feeling awkward in his role of despoiler. "I don't know how… there are men who have a proclivity for virgins. I've never understood it."

"In this case, you did me a real service. Don't feel guilty."

"Lie down and I'll take the sponge out. Thanks to Molly, I've a good supply." And as she lay down, he slipped his fingers inside and drew out the sponge, tossing it onto the bloodied sheet he'd pulled from the bed. "Should I have the housekeeper find some salve or balm?"

"I'd be terribly embarrassed," she answered, reaching for the hand he held out for her, easing into a seated position.

"You might need it."

"Let's wait until after the bath. Do stop apologizing though. I'm very pleased, not only that the deed is accomplished but that there was so much pleasure in it. You are very talented, my lord," she teased.

That he knew, but he was pleased she was in such good humor. "I'll get the rest of the food."

"Then join me, darling. You must be hungry, too, after all your work." Her grin was infectious.

He was smiling as he walked from the room, the word
darling
having a particularly intoxicating sound when she uttered it. He began re-counting his drinks, wondering if he was that drunk or just that happy.

Isabella
knew
she was happy. But then, every woman he made love to felt that way, she suspected. A shame he was so unavailable.

Knowing better than to dwell on the unattainable though, she lifted the silver covers from the plates before her and took note of a luscious array of tiny shellfish on a bed of aromatic chutney, a compote of tropical fruit obviously greenhouse grown, and scallop-shaped buttered toast. Picking up a steaming shrimp with her fingers, she dipped it into the chutney and popped it into her mouth. Reality was quite pleasant enough without further contemplation of the earl's inconstancy. The mingled flavors were delectable on her tongue, she was about to be fed with a degree of luxury that matched the splendor of Bathurst House, the delicious heat of her recent orgasm was still shimmering through her senses, and in short order the beautiful Dermott Ramsay would return to entertain her.

If this wasn't paradise, it was verifiably close.

Bearing a second tray, the earl reentered the room. "You like the food."

Her warm gaze met his. "I could be smiling for other reasons."

"I'm reassured, then."

"That you haven't lost your touch?"

"That whatever pain I caused you has diminished."

"Rest assured, I'm feeling no pain, my lord.
Au contraire
." She waved a hand over her tray. "Your sous-chefs are outstanding."

He set the tray down on a small table, then lifted the table nearer the bed so she could easily reach the food. "I hope you're hungry. There are three more trays."

"Then I hope you like plump women."

He looked at her propped up against his pillows, pink and flushed from lovemaking, her nudity only half covered by the disarray of bedclothes. "I like you any way at all."

"How charming you are. I almost feel as though you mean it."

"I do."

A small silence fell while the earl speculated on his novel honesty and Isabella wondered if she could allow herself to believe so graceful a rogue.

He glanced away first, uncomfortable with such frankness when his liaisons of late had studiously avoided sincerity. "I'd better get the remaining food."

"Of course."

Her cool murmur brought his gaze back. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're angry."

"No." She had no right to take offense. They both had agreed to what they'd agreed.

"You're not angry?"

"I'm not angry."

"I'm glad you're here."

She inhaled faintly and smiled. "Me too."

"Friends?" Strangely, it mattered.

"Of course." Her voice was different now, warm, not cool, pleased.

He felt relieved, when he hadn't cared about much for a very long time. "Good." Grinning, he dipped her a small bow.

"I'm glad we had this talk," she teased, lifting a scallop of buttered toast from the tray.

He laughed. "You're a demanding woman."

She flung the toast at him.

He caught it midair, his reflexes superb. "If you want to fight
that
way, darling," he murmured, "I'd be happy to accommodate you…"

"I warn you, I'm very strong…"

"Really." He slipped the morsel of toast into his mouth.

"I unload freight in our warehouses."

He chewed briefly and then swallowed. "Do you now."

"You won't find it easy to wrestle me down."

"But a pleasure, I warrant…"

"After I eat and bathe, I may allow you to try."

His smile warmed his eyes. "How nice."

"You needn't sound so smug. I've arm-wrestled some of my grandfather's sailors and won."

"I see."

"They were powerful men, I assure you."

"I'm sure they were."

"You're beginning to annoy me, Bathurst."

He dipped his head infinitesimally. "When I'm trying my utmost to be agreeable."

She snorted softly. "Men aren't always strongest."

He'd fought guerrilla troops for months on end in the foothills of the Himalayas, and while he agreed with her in principle, they were far from evenly matched. "I understand," he pleasantly said.

"Go and get the damned food."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll deal with you later."

Bending low, he ran his fingertip over her lush lower lip. "I can hardly wait."

But the food took center stage once it was all brought in and arranged within reach, the splendid assortment beautiful to the eye, delectable to the palate, and delicious. Dermott sat opposite her while she lounged on the bed, and they ate for some time in a companionable silence broken only by agreeable comments on the food or Dermott's selection of wines.

"You have a remarkable appetite," Isabella observed after Dermott had demolished two plates of steak with oyster sauce and an entire bottle of claret.

He glanced up. "I forgot to eat today. Anticipation, I suppose." His smile was cordial. "Were you able to eat?"

"Actually, no. So you don't do this every day either?"

"Not every day. Not ever."

"I'm the first?" she flirtatiously inquired, knowing full well she wasn't the first in anything with the prodigal earl.

"The first to share my bed in Bathurst House. You see how enamored I am."

"I am wonderful, am I not?" she playfully agreed, spreading her arms wide.

"No argument there." He lifted his wineglass to her in salute.

The sound of a door closing, followed by footsteps and the splashing of water, interrupted their solitude.

"Sounds like your bath." Dermott nodded toward a small door in the corner of the room. Pushing away from the table, he stood. "I'll check on their progress."

The hum of conversation resonated through the door for a time, as did continuing footfalls and the sound of water being poured. Until a final thud of a door closing was followed by Dermott's reappearance. "Would you like me to carry you?" he asked, moving toward the bed.

She smiled at him. "I'm not an invalid."

He frowned briefly. "I wasn't cut out to be a despoiler of maidens."

"Soon I shall be a consummate courtesan and you need no longer castigate yourself."

"We'll see about that," he gruffly replied, the thought of her as a consummate courtesan no less deplorable.

"
We
won't, darling." Throwing the coverlet aside, she slid her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm quite capable of making my own decisions."

"We'll see." His voice was low, scarcely audible, an odd possessiveness overcoming him.

Her brows rose.

He smiled and offered her his hand. "I said, you're right, of course."

"And don't forget it, my darling Bathurst. What I've just done was specifically intended to maintain my independence. I'm not likely to relinquish it to someone else."

"Yes, ma'am," he dulcetly replied, drawing her to her feet.

"You're much too glib."

He grinned. "A failing, I'm told. I shall endeavor to improve."

She stuck out her tongue. "Insolent rogue."

"A bath might soothe your temper, my lady." He was blatantly unctuous.

"But not your insolence."

"A shamelessly intractable trait, I believe." He spoke with unabashed cheekiness. "Perhaps you could school me in manners."

"I doubt you'd comply."

"If the reward was sufficient, my lady, I might be persuaded."

"A sexual reward, no doubt."

"Unless you find poetry as intriguing as I."

She laughed at his outrageous mummery. "You'd settle for poetry?"

"If the conditions were ideal, of course."

"Meaning?"

"After your bath, I'll tell you."

"Now
I'm
intrigued, Bathurst."

"On that common note, my dear, might I suggest you take advantage of the bath while the water's still warm."

He sat well away from her while she bathed, resisting the impulse to ravage her bounteous charms with an unaccustomed self-denial maintained with only the greatest effort. If he were a gentleman, he'd refrain from making love to her again tonight, he reflected, and allow her to recover from her denouement. But he wasn't capable of such chivalry when she was so alluring. In fact, he was hard pressed to remain in his chair.