Temporary Mistress Page 3

  “How finite?” She felt as though she were bargaining for the future of the universe. Or her universe at least.

  “We could discuss it with the client.”

  Isabella’s voice turned brisk. “A night, a week, a fortnight? Tell me, what is the usual commitment?”

  “No more than a fortnight. Probably more likely a day or so.”

  “A day or so …” The price of her freedom suddenly looked more affordable. She cared little for her virginity if losing it meant thwarting her relatives’ plans. Not that they’d care whether she was a virgin or not if they could get their hands on her fortune. But the pregnancy suggested by Mrs. Crocker was ingenious. If she was ruined, ostensibly pregnant and publicly exposed—or threatened with the possibility—they’d be forced to give up any thought of Harold marrying her. Their position in society was already insecure with the stench of trade in their backgrounds. It would be untenable should the scandal surrounding her sojourn in Mrs. Crocker’s house become known. Particularly with Amelia and Caroline in the market for husbands.

  “My options are limited, aren’t they?”

  Molly tipped her head in acknowledgment. Lifting the plate of cakes, she offered it to Isabella. “Should you agree, your independence would be assured.”

  “Is that chocolate?” Isabella pointed at a diamond-shaped petit four glazed with pink icing.

  “Chocolate with raspberry crème filling.”

  She smiled and picked up the small cake. “This is ever so bizarre, Mrs. Crocker.”

  “But of benefit to us both.”

  Isabella took a bite of the cake and shut her eyes against the sublime taste. When she opened her eyes a moment later, she indelicately spoke through a mouthful of chocolate and raspberry. “I’d be rid of them once and for all, wouldn’t I?”

  “I’d bet a large sum on that eventuality.”

  “A pleasant thought.” Isabella gazed into the dancing flames for a contemplative moment, and when she turned back to Mrs. Crocker, a new determination shone in her eyes. “Very well, I’ll do it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Considering the alternative …” Isabella softly drawled.

  Molly smiled. “A wise choice.”

  And so the bargain was made.

  Dermott’s head rested against the rim of the marble tub, the steam rising around him, a pleasant sense of lassitude permeating his senses. He’d been up for days, thanks to Olivia’s sexual demands, the race had taken its toll on his energy levels, and after a half dozen brandies downstairs, the warm water was putting him to sleep.

  “You’re not allowed.” Kate’s voice was playful and very close.

  His long, dark lashes slowly lifted. Her lithe, curvaceous form, and then her smiling face, met his gaze. “Am I on call?” he teasingly inquired.

  “Consider, darling, I haven’t seen you for a week.” Stepping into the tub large enough to accommodate two comfortably, she eased herself down until she was straddling his thighs. “And you have to stay awake long enough to allow me my pleasure.”

  “Have to?” One brow rose in sardonic query.

  “Have to, darling. I’m ravenous for you. And if I weren’t so polite, I would have jumped you immediately you entered the room.”

  “So you should be commended for restraint.”

  “You should reward me handsomely for my restraint.” She grasped his penis and squeezed gently.

  “What did you have in mind?” he murmured softly, suddenly fully awake.

  “Something large and stiff and capable of—um … darling, is it only that I haven’t seen this for a week, or is he really larger than usual tonight?”

  “We could better tell,” Dermott replied in a throaty growl, “if you’d let him measure the limits of that sweet pussy of yours.”

  “You’re not too tired? You don’t mind?”

  “Have I ever?”

  She feigned a moment of contemplation and then grinned. “Not since you turned fifteen, rumor has it.”

  “Fourteen, thanks to Harvey Nicols’s very attractive mother, who liked to seduce her son’s school chums.”

  “She still has an eye for the men, gossip attests.”

  “She’s distinctly a woman of passion. Like you, darling Kate. Now, come here and I’ll show you how much I missed you.”

  While Dermott and Kate renewed their friendship, Isabella was shown into a pretty bedchamber in Molly’s apartments. Two servant girls bustled about, bringing in bathwater and towels, scented soaps, and a tray of food that smelled delicious.

  Isabella stood in the center of the room while her bath was arranged, feeling as though she were watching a stage play. As though the sprigged-muslin curtains and bedding, the créme-colored French furniture, the crystal chandeliers, were beautiful props, and the only reason she could smell the scented beeswax candles with such vividness was that she had a front row seat. The servant girls bobbed and bowed to her but didn’t speak, and only when the last bucket of hot water was poured into the painted porcelain tub did a voice break into her reverie.

  “Would you like a maid to help you with your bath?”

  Molly had come in at the last, carrying a robe, and when Isabella spun around at the sound of her voice, it took her a moment to merge the apparent fantasy with stark reality. “Thank you, but I’d prefer to be alone.”

  “I thought as much, so I had our chef make you a tray you can enjoy by the fire later. I thought this would warm you after your bath,” she added, handing over a delicate cashmere robe.

  “I appreciate your”—Isabella lifted her hand in a sweeping gesture—“kindness and—”

  “You’re welcome to change your mind at any time.” Molly recognized Isabella’s hesitation.

  “You’re extremely benevolent.”

  “Just sensible. My ladies are here by choice. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Although many are here for reasons that bear a resemblance in one form or another to your situation. Their options, too, were limited; they often are for women in this man’s world.” Her voice took on an amiable briskness. “Now, make yourself as comfortable as you may tonight, and we’ll talk some more in the morning. Nothing is cast in stone. Perhaps you’ll think of someone who will serve as advocate for you, and all your despicable relatives can go hang themselves,” she finished with a smile.

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful,” Isabella replied, buoyed by her benefactor’s optimism. “I shall rack my brain tonight.”

  “Don’t forget to eat, now. Guillaume pouts when his food comes back to the kitchen untasted.”

  “You needn’t worry on that count.” Isabella’s smile held a genuine warmth, her mood much improved by Mrs. Crocker’s candor. “I’m famished.”

  “I’ll see you at breakfast, then.”

  The door softly closed a moment later, and Isabella found herself alone.

  In London’s finest brothel.

  And if someone would have told her a day before that she would be so placed tonight, she would have thought them mad.

  As Mrs. Crocker noted, she still had time to consider alternatives. But the savory aroma of her supper was causing her to salivate, and even if she hadn’t been damp and dirty from her flight through the rain, the hot, scented bath would have been potent lure. She had the entire night to consider solutions to her dilemma. Just then both her supper and bath were getting cold.

  Short moments later, she was seated in the luxurious warmth of the bath, the supper tray balanced on the rim of the tub, her mouth full of dover sole that was as near to heaven as culinary art allowed. Guillaume needn’t worry about his food coming back untasted. She intended to eat every morsel and perhaps lick the plate as well. She’d eaten very little in the days past with her grandfather’s life slipping away, and for the first time she’d become aware of her hunger.

  Not until the last fragment of the lemon genoise was gone did she look up with a satisfied sigh and set the tray on the floor. A half bottle of very good champagne had come with th
e meal, and whether it was the food or wine or the soothing warmth of the bath, she felt lulled and appeased.

  After a time, she dried herself, and wrapping the luxurious white cashmere robe around her, rested on a chaise conveniently placed near the fire. Her grandfather’s long illness had taken its toll on her stamina. She’d not slept through the night for almost a month. And within minutes, she’d fallen asleep.

  Molly quietly came in to check on her some hours later and covered Isabella with a blanket where she lay. The firelight gilded her pale skin and golden hair, the white robe clothed her in softness, the picture of innocence so breathtaking, even Greuze couldn’t have improved on it.

  3

  THE SUN WAS SHINING brightly through the lace-and-muslin curtains when Isabella woke with a start.

  Her grandfather’s funeral!

  She sat bolt upright, threw off the blanket, and leaped to her feet. Running to the bellpull, she yanked on it and then nervously paced until a servant responded.

  “I must see Mrs. Crocker at once. Which room is hers?”

  Agitation rang through her voice, and the maid, wide-eyed and nervous, pointed through the open portal across the sitting room toward a closed door. “She be havin’ breakfast, miss.”

  “Thank you,” Isabella briskly replied, already moving in the indicated direction. Reaching the door, she knocked firmly and without waiting for an answer, turned the latch and walked into the room.

  She came to an abrupt standstill and flushed to a bright shade of pink. A shockingly handsome man, barefoot and shirtless, was seated across from Mrs. Crocker, having breakfast.

  Good God, Dermott thought, his gaze on the woman he’d glimpsed the previous night. She was even more beautiful at close range. And barely clothed, he pleasantly noted. His body instantly responded to the opulent vision, the lady’s sumptuous breasts, narrow waist, the soft curve of her hips, and slender legs conspicuous beneath the fragile fabric of her robe.

  “Come in, my dear,” Molly invited Isabella. “Join us for breakfast.”

  “No thank you—that is—I need”—she tried not to look at his half-naked body—“I mean, I’d like to talk to you immediately.”

  “Let me excuse myself.” Dermott began to rise.

  “No need.” Molly waved him back down. “I’ll come to your room,” she said, smiling at Isabella, who had taken startling note of the muscles rippling across the man’s shoulders when he moved. Coming to her feet, Mrs. Crocker spoke to her companion affectionately. “You eat. I know how you need food in the morning.” With a smile for the earl, she ushered Isabella out of the room, followed her into her bedchamber, and shut the door. “Now, tell me what I can do for you.”

  The few moments it had taken to reach her room had given Isabella time to compose herself—Mrs. Crocker’s breakfast companion had nothing to do with her. “I came to tell you I must see to the arrangements for my grandfather’s funeral,” she explained. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten last night!”

  “It’s completely understandable with your life in jeopardy. Surely you’re not thinking of attending his funeral?” Mrs. Crocker quickly interjected. “You’d be whisked away and married off, with certainty.”

  “I know.” Isabella’s nervousness was apparent. “But I must see that the arrangements are en train. Or at least contact Mr. Lampert so he can handle things in my stead. Although,” she said in a near whisper, “how can I not be there to put my grandfather to rest?”

  “Once the danger is past, you can pay your respects. If anyone would allow you that latitude, I’m sure your grandfather would. Let me send a servant to Mr. Lampert with a note from you.”

  “Anonymously,” Isabella’s said, her trepidation plain.

  “Of course.”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked embarrassed. “How rude of me after all you’ve done.”

  “No need to apologize, my dear. I well understand society’s strictures. Mr. Lampert will be contacted with the utmost discretion. Now, write your instructions to him while I see that some breakfast is brought up for you. Or, if you wish, you’re more than welcome to join Bathurst and me.”

  Isabella colored. “I couldn’t.”

  “Then one of the maids will bring your breakfast to you here,” Molly affably replied. “And whenever your letter is ready, I’ll see that it’s sent. With luck,” she cordially added, “you’ll be delivered from your relatives’ malice in short order.”

  “I pray you’re right, Mrs. Crocker.” Heartfelt emotion accompanied the simple phrase.

  “Where did she come from?” Dermott’s query greeted Molly’s return.

  “I’m not sure. Pursued and terrified, she stumbled on us by accident last night. Apparently, she was being forced into a repugnant marriage.” Molly took her seat at the table.

  “That takes a certain boldness. To run into the night.”

  “Or rank terror. She’s quite without connections, and those she has are after her fortune.” Molly poured herself a fresh cup of tea.

  “A fortune and no partisans? She might as well put a target on her back.”

  “So she quickly came to understand last night. Her grandfather wasn’t an hour dead when they hurried her before a minister.”

  “Ah, the lure of easy money.”

  “You’re one of few who can so casually disallow the phenomenon.”

  “I paid for my fortune with my blood, Molly. There’s nothing casual about my wealth.”

  “Or mine.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “We’ve both overcome obstacles, have we not?” His eyes went blank for a moment, and he reached for the porter he was drinking with his breakfast.

  “We can’t change our fathers’ inhumanity or the buffeting of fate.”

  “Only try to forget it,” he murmured, a harsh bitterness in his tone. Lifting the mug to his mouth, he drained it, set it down on the table, and smiling at Molly with a practiced nonchalance, said, “Surely we have better things to discuss on a bright sunny morning like this, with the smell of spring in the air.”

  “I believe we were talking of my newest houseguest.”

  “Much better. She’s very delicious.”

  “Yes, is she not.” Molly picked up a strawberry tart.

  “And?” One dark brow rose in query.

  “Her status is still in question.”

  “That sounds interesting. Might she be available?”

  “She might.”

  “You’re being very coy, Molly. Unlike you.”

  “While your habitual urges haven’t deserted you.”

  “Let’s hope they haven’t. I’m only twenty-nine. Now, tell me the percentages on ‘might.’”

  Molly explained the possible bargain made the previous night between herself and Isabella while she nibbled on the pastry. “Do you know of the Leslies—either her grandfather or the relatives who intend her harm?” she asked. “The name means nothing to me.”

  Dermott shook his head. “They don’t run in my circles, but then,” he noted with a grin, “my friends are decidedly scandalous. Not an arriviste banker in the lot.”

  Only the Prince of Wales and his set, Molly silently noted. Dermott moved in the highest society. “Regardless Isabella’s background, her innocence is real. So I’m not sure about percentages or the extent of my profit motive. Perhaps I may choose to be benevolent.”

  “Not necessarily a kindness to her,” he pointed out. “In terms of her future, she may prefer less innocence and ultimately more freedom. And don’t infer selfish motives on my part. Rather, I’m reminding you how the world views an untouched, undefended heiress. She’s fair game for every rogue, and you know it.”

  “So what am I to do?”

  “Wait for her decision. It’s not for you to decide.”

  “And should she ultimately agree to my offer? What do I do then?”

  His smile was warm and boyish and full of charm. “You let me outbid the other contenders.”

  “I do
n’t want her hurt.”

  “Have I ever harmed a woman in any way?”

  “No,” she grudgingly replied, knowing full well Dermott’s speciality was more in the nature of offering them the ultimate pleasures.

  “And are the women I know ever unhappy?”

  “You’re much too vain.” But her smile was affectionate. She’d known Dermott before he left for India and she’d helped him forget his painful memories on his return. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Let me bid last. That’s all I ask.”

  “It may not come to that.”

  “If it does, I’d be happy to help make you richer.”

  “The nabob speaking.”

  He shrugged, not about to argue. “I saw her last night, you know, when she first came in. She disturbed my sleep, and that doesn’t happen as a rule. I hope she decides to stay for a time.”

  “Since you’re so interested, I might ask a favor of you.” “Ask away.” Feeling decidedly content with the possibilities in his favor, he set to eating again, his appetite commensurate with his youth and level of physical activity.

  “This note that’s to be delivered to her lawyer. I might use your man rather than mine. To put anyone who might be watching off the scent.”

  “Be my guest.” He reached for another slice of ham.

  “No one will dare to interfere with you.”

  “True.” He didn’t argue his reputation for violence. Nor his record for surviving more duels than anyone in England. Glancing up from his plate, he cast her a quizzical look. “She really intrigues me. Tell me why?”

  “She’s very beautiful.”

  He resumed cutting his ham. “It’s not just that.”

  “Maybe the scent of innocence provokes you.”

  His gaze came up again and his dark eyes were strangely cool. “I don’t like innocence.”