Tempting His Mistress (2 page)

“Is all well, Miss Claremont? Do you need some air before dinner? I am sure Lady Stanley wouldn’t object. You know she is not one for formality.”

“I am quite well, I assure you,” she snapped.

What was wrong with her? This man had ordered the death of her father. Why would she imagine such a thing? Yet something about him made her forget her purpose for wishing to meet him.

One eyebrow arched but that was his only acknowledgement of her snappish tone. “You look quite flushed.”

“Please don’t concern yourself, my lord. I am not the sort of woman to swoon from getting a little warm.”

“Quite so,” he remarked as he led her into the dining room. “I didn’t think you the sort to be swooning at every possible chance, Miss Claremont. You do not seem the type to thrive on attention. Which is why I asked. I suspect even if you were unwell, you would do your best to disguise it.”

Lord Hawksley waited for her to be seated before seating himself. The glow from the gas lamps reflected off the gold frames on the walls, and the dark red colour of the walls failed to make the room appear any smaller. Though she had dined at Oakholm Hall many times, the long table and heavy chandeliers never failed to remind her of her insignificance.

An insignificance that Lord Hawksley seemed determined to ignore. Indeed, he treated her as if she were of great interest to him. Why, she could not fathom. While she expected little formality at a house party, she didn’t expect his oddly flirtatious manner.

If that was what it could be called. She believed him to be teasing—he smiled so rarely, it was hard to tell.

“You do propose to know me very well,” she prodded once she had drawn off her gloves. Her purpose as to her visit niggled in her mind. She had to keep the lord talking and find out more about his relationship with her father.

“I only know what acquaintances have told me and what I have observed.”

“And what have you observed, my lord?”

“That you are forthright to a point but you blush easily.”

Lilly almost groaned when the blush he referred to made itself known once more. Any response was prevented by the arrival of the soup. Grateful for a respite, she turned her attention wholeheartedly to the course, all the while aware of the marquess’s hawk-like gaze on her as the other guests offered only titbits of chatter.

A hawk indeed. That was how she would think of him, but he toyed with his prey—teasing it until the time was right to swoop. For surely any attention he gave her had to be for his own amusement. Perhaps he gained some sick pleasure over tormenting the woman whose father he had taken from her. She clenched her spoon until her knuckles whitened. Whatever game he played, she would not fall for it.

Evan observed the whitening of those delicate hands. He had her riled, and he was not entirely sure why. But as surely as he had aggravated her, she aggravated him. He had known of Lilly Claremont through her father and Lady Stanley. Of course, neither of those sources were to be trusted. An unusually doting father and a close friend were always likely to exaggerate the truth. Mr Claremont, a man of great business acumen, had loved Miss Claremont’s mother—his mistress—with deep affection. So his tales of her beauty and intelligence could be taken with a pinch.

And, yes, the talk of her looks had been as he had expected. Though she was pleasing to the eye and that delicate stain on her cheeks charmed him in ways he had not thought possible, her light brown hair was nothing exceptional and her pretty features couldn’t compete with some of the beauties he had known in his time.

So, why then did this unexceptional woman interest him so? He had little time for the foibles of society; he held no stock in the gossip of idle women and hearing that Claremont’s illegitimate daughter was to be at Oakholm Hall interested him about as much as the latest fashions in Paris. He’d planned to be courteous but as indifferent as he could get away with.

Tension twisted in Evan’s gut and he sneaked another glance at her. She was aware of him—he could tell by the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

Shoulders that were so creamy, they made his mouth water.

Of its own accord, his gaze traced the ruffles of her gown to the rounded curves peeking over the top of them. If he was not careful, he was going to make a damned fool of himself.

Perhaps Claremont had been right about her intelligence. Maybe that was what captured his attention. Her bold tongue had already caught him off guard several times. Few women traded words with him so quickly, but the riddle of her character intrigued him most. Those lips pursed on occasion as if holding back further truths. Miss Claremont swung between tight-lipped propriety and bold audacity at a moment’s notice it seemed.

Intriguing indeed.

Pleased when the soup course was over, Evan turned his attention to serving the woman at his side as the kickshaws were brought out. Platters of shrimp, oysters and various other appetizers filled the gaps on the table. She said little and he felt the urge to provoke her further.

Instead—and unusually for him—he made an attempt at being gallant. Probably, he decided, to see how she would react to that. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”

Her attention snapped away from her plate and that delightful pale blue gaze locked onto him. “Were you?”

He scowled. “Of course. He was a wise business man. Your father, Miss Claremont, made me a rich man.”

Well, a rich
er
man anyhow.

She gave him a thin smile. “I know little of my father’s business dealings, only that he came from little and my mother credited him with being extremely shrewd in his transactions. But” —she paused and put a fingertip to her mouth. He eyed it avidly and imagined taking that tip and nibbling on it— “I had heard your last deal with him didn’t go so well.”

How did the little chit know anything of her father’s dealings? As far as Evan knew, Claremont’s estate had gone to a cousin somewhere—his wife being dead and having sired no legitimate heirs. The poor girl probably begrudged Evan for such financial success. Truth be told, he dabbled in many speculations, some successful and some not so much. Claremont’s advice had generally been sound with the exception of the last speculation.

“It did not,” he confirmed. “But that is the nature of speculation. One shouldn’t dabble, if one is not willing to lose it all.”

Miss Claremont jabbed a shrimp with her fork. “You make it sound like gambling.”

“It is gambling of a sort, I suppose.”

“Yet I imagine you gain or lose a lot more than could be lost at a game of cards.”

“Clearly, you have not met many gamblers. But for the light-hearted gambler, speculation might seem too steep a risk, yes.”

“I have not met many gamblers, you’re right. I prefer the company of more stalwart characters,” she replied haughtily.

“Miss Claremont, you think me inconstant?”

“I think nothing of the sort. I know only what you tell me and unlike you, I don’t claim to know anything of your character yet.”

Evan could not resist smiling then. The way she spoke, passion bright in her eyes, even as uncertainty haunted her posture, delighted him at every turn. “I hope, Miss Claremont, that I shall have the chance to prove you wrong and that you may get to know my character more… fully.”

He dropped his voice unintentionally. The woman seemed to have that effect on him. She loosened his tongue too. He rarely indulged in flirtations, particularly not with an innocent of insignificant birth. However, he couldn’t deny the thought of getting to know her more intimately held great appeal.

Blast, this would not do. Here he was trying his damndest to see through the thick material of her gown and praying for it to slip a little further down to give him a better look at those beautiful breasts, when he should be paying attention to his hostess and concentrating on his plans after his two week stay at Oakholm was over.

The thought of what the next few months in his life likely held weighed like a stone in his stomach. Forceful mothers pushing their daughters onto him and simpering women interested in nothing more than his title. Though he still had his doubts as to whether that was a good idea or not. He refused to end up like his father. But it had to be done. At his time in life, he needed a wife.

And
not
an infatuation with a woman like Miss Claremont, no matter how fascinating she was. Evan scowled. Infatuation? No, not infatuation. A passing interest, that was all. He had never been fixed on a woman.

His brother had been and look where that had got him. His wife might still be considered a beauty but there was little underneath that façade. Thomas had fallen too quickly for Harriet and was paying the price for it now—being lumbered with a vacuous, demanding wife.

Miss Claremont kept her gaze on the appetizers but the colour in her cheeks had spread to the tips of her ears. His fingers twitched with the need to brush a curl behind them and toy with the delicate earrings in her lobes. He too jerked his attention back to the food before he did something foolish like drag her away from the table and nibble her ears until she begged for more.

Thankfully his imaginings were interrupted by Lady Stanley as she turned her attention from his brother to them. “Miss Claremont, you are exceptionally quiet this evening. I hope yesterday’s journey did not tire you.”

Miss Claremont offered a weak smile. “Not at all, Lady Stanley.”

“Tell me, did you pass Upton Hall on your way here?”

“I did.” Miss Claremont narrowed her eyes at Lady Stanley.

Evan couldn’t decipher why the remark caused such a reaction, but Lady Stanley appeared to have a purpose.

“You have heard, Lord Hawksley, that it has been turned into a women’s college, have you not?” Lady Stanley prompted.

Evan let slip a thin smile. Now he saw her purpose. She wished to bring some debate to the table. The old woman never failed to enjoy a lively talk, even if politics were not considered a proper topic of conversation for a dinner party.

“I had heard that, Lady Stanley,” he offered with a noncommittal lift of his shoulders.

“A waste of a fine home, if you ask me,” his brother put in.

Evan almost groaned as Thomas rose to the bait. Lady Stanley was a well-known supporter of women’s rights and Thomas should have known that.

But Lady Stanley remained quiet. Instead Miss Claremont surprised him by snapping to attention. “A waste, Lord Richdale. How so?”

Thomas’s brows dipped slightly at the challenge, and his wife darted a wild look between them. Tension hung in the air. Evan tried not to smile.

“Women shall never be able to grasp subjects such as the sciences. I believe it to be a waste of time.”

“A waste of time?” Miss Claremont exclaimed. “How can wanting to better oneself ever be considered a waste of time? And if we don’t give women the chance to study such subjects, how shall we know if they are capable of grasping them?”

Thomas floundered at this and Evan stepped in. “My brother is right. While women can gain no qualifications, it is indeed a waste of time.”

It was believed women would never be able to take the same examinations as men so while they might study the same subjects, none would ever gain from their education like men did. Until colleges like Cambridge allowed women to become qualified, he did, indeed, deem it a waste.

Miss Claremont turned her wise eyes on him. “I suppose you think we are better placed in the home, ready to serve our husbands without question.”

“I did not say that, Miss Claremont.”

“You did not need to.”

“I suppose you think women should be able to vote, and divorce their husbands, and gallivant all over this country doing whatever they please too?” By some miracle, he managed to keep a straight face as indignation crossed her expression.

“Of course. Any man has such freedoms, so too should a woman. Are we not citizens of this country? Should we not have some say in our future?”

“A woman’s place is in the home,” Lady Richdale put in. “If we should all start doing our own thing, who would raise the children?”

“The help, no doubt,” Miss Claremont uttered so quietly only Evan heard it. He resisted a chuckle.

“The fact is, Miss Claremont,” his brother said, “and I mean no offence by this, women are soft creatures in need of protection. Husbands offer this, and in return women should continue doing what they have done best for hundreds of years. Stay at home, tend the house and raise the children. I see no need for change.”

“And what of the women who are forced to suffer whatever their husbands might put upon them, whether that be a beating or worse? Where is their protection?”

Evan gripped his fork. Thomas was too young to remember much of what had happened those many years ago, but Evan remembered it all too clearly. “An education will not offer those women protection,” he said tersely.

“No, but an education will pave the way for change. Of course, men have always been fearful of change.”

“I agree, Miss Claremont, men fear change more than anything.” Indeed, at this very moment, his heart beat rapid and his palms grew clammy. This bold woman had wrought a change in him—one he did not want or need. Desire had taken hold and he feared it wouldn’t release him until it was quenched.

“Ah, and here is the pheasant.” Lady Stanley announced brightly, though her smug smile indicated she had enjoyed the debate immensely.

“Miss Claremont,” he murmured as she turned away from him. The rise and fall of her shoulders told him she was quite riled. “While I believe we are leaping too early into the education of women, let me assure you, I do not think any woman should have to suffer a beating merely because the man doing it is her husband.”

She whirled her head around and stared at him for some time as if trying to decipher whether he spoke the truth. Her lips parted and she shut them again before turning back to her meal. Evan fought the animalistic sound rising in his throat at the sight of those petal pink lips moving in such a way that it only brought to mind the ways in which he could kiss them into submission.

Jaw clenched, he reached for his wine. This would not do. He was either going to have to get truly foxed to try to forget her or do something drastic like steal a kiss from her and hope it satisfied his need. He snuck a glance at her again as she put her wine glass to her mouth. Damnation, one kiss would never do it. He had no other choice—he would simply have to force the woman from his mind.

Evan drained his wine.