His Favorite Mistress (33 page)

The rest of the evening passed; then it was time for bed.

With a silent dread, she let her maid assist her into her nightgown despite the fact that she rarely ended up leaving it on. Tonight, however, she did, burrowing under the covers on her side, hoping he would not seek her out.

But of course, he did, the mattress dipping as it took his weight. Sliding between the sheets, he moved close, placing his lips against the nape of her neck to claim a warm kiss, while he reached to cup one of her breasts inside his palm. Normally, she would have stretched against him and turned to receive his embrace. Tonight, she could not, her muscles stiff, her body for once unresponsive to his touch.

Apparently recognizing her lack of enthusiasm, he stopped and leaned up on an elbow at her back. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Yes, everything,
she cried silently.
Everything is wrong now that you have broken my heart.

“No,” she said. “I am just tired.”

She sensed his frown. “Has your headache returned?”

“Yes,” she told him, seizing on the excuse. “I don’t feel at all well. I…I’m sorry.”

He stroked his palm over her hair, then kissed her temple. “No need to be sorry. You can’t help being ill. Shall I get your maid? Would a compress help?”

“No…I just need to sleep.”

“All right, then, that’s what we’ll do.” Lying back, he settled his head against his pillow. When he reached to turn her into his arms, though, she resisted.

“Tony…I…don’t,” she said. “My head aches too much. In fact, would you mind going to your room? I think I would sleep better tonight if I were alone.”

A long pause followed, his body suddenly tense with what she might have assumed to be hurt had she not known better. She refused to meet his gaze, curling in on herself as she waited to find out what he would do.

“All right,” he said in a thick tone. “If that is what you wish. I shall see you in the morning, then.”

“Yes. Good night.”

“Sleep well, Gabriella.”

But as he let himself out of her bedchamber, closing the door softly at his back, she knew she wouldn’t sleep at all. Hot tears stung her eyes, a terrible pressure welling up inside her chest. Rolling over, she buried her face in her pillow and gave way to the sobs.

Chapter Eighteen

S
OMETHING ISN’T RIGHT
with Gabriella,
Tony decided three days later as he drove his carriage toward Newmarket. Though for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what was amiss.

At first he’d assumed she was ill from the headache that had been plaguing her, though she’d certainly seemed well enough when she’d come downstairs that first morning to see Lily and Ethan on their way. After giving each of them a wide smile and a warm, exuberant hug, she’d stood waving fiercely as their coach rolled down the drive. But afterward she’d withdrawn again, murmuring some excuse about not wishing to keep him from his work.

At nuncheon, and then again at dinner, she’d been polite but reserved, not at all her usual bright self. When he’d tried to question her about her unusual mood, she’d told him she still wasn’t feeling well and that she wished to retire early. Her tone had clearly implied she also preferred to retire
alone.

Despite wanting to query her further, he’d respected her wishes and spent a second night in a row alone in his own bed. He didn’t sleep as deeply as usual that night, missing her warmth at his side. He told himself she was still recovering from the after-effects of her headache, but he sensed something more was involved. Given Lily’s recent news, it occurred to him that perhaps Gabriella was in the same state.
Is she with child?
he wondered, a glimmer of excitement flaring inside him at the idea.

But when he broached the subject later that evening, she gave him a stare and shook her head. “No, Your Grace, I am not carrying your baby.”

“Then what is it, Gabriella? What is wrong?”

Her eyes flashed like a pair of polished amethysts and for a moment he thought she was going to tell him. Instead she lowered her gaze, then pitched her dinner napkin onto her plate and pushed back her chair. “My head hurts again,” she murmured. “I am going to bed.”

He scowled. “Your head seems to hurt a lot of late.”

“Yes, you are right. It does.” Turning, she hurried from the room.

He nearly went after her but stayed himself, uncertain of his temper. Striving for calm, he forced himself to finish his meal.

Nearly three hours later, he went upstairs, debating whether or not to join her. Deciding he had every right to be in her bed, he thrust open the connecting door and strode through her sitting room and into her bedchamber. And there she was curled on her side under the covers, the room lighted only by the pale, flickering glow of the logs burning in the fireplace. He hesitated, then pulled off his robe and climbed in beside her. Curving an arm around her body, he pulled her close, kissing her neck and shoulder.

Warm and drowsy, she turned. “Tony?”

“Hmm-hmm. Go back to sleep.” But despite his words, he wasn’t able to keep himself from slipping his hand beneath the bodice of her nightgown to cup one of her soft, pliant breasts.

She arched, her body responding of its own volition to his familiar touch, her nipples tightening as if seeking the attention of his questing fingers. He complied, fondling her as he took her mouth with a deep, drugging, fervid hunger that made her moan. Muttering her name, he pushed her nightgown up and off her body. As he did, she began to wake, her body stiffening momentarily in his embrace as if only then realizing what she was doing.

But he bent his head and began to suckle her breasts, drawing upon her while he played his hands over her in ways he knew she loved, ways designed to bring her the most intense kind of pleasure. Breath soughed from her lips in quick pants as she writhed against him, returning his touch with bold, erotic caresses of her own.

When the time came, he thrust deep into her body, her hips bucking as they arched to accept his penetration. Wrapping her legs high around his back, she urged him on. When keening cries issued from her throat, he knew she was close, savoring the sound and the sensations as he brought her to a powerful, shuddering peak. He claimed his own satisfaction moments later, closing his eyes as ecstasy ripped through him in a long, hot wave.

He gathered her close afterward, regaining his breath and his sanity in measured draughts. He was drifting off to sleep when he notice the damp on his bare shoulder. At first he didn’t understand what it was, then suddenly he did.

“Are you crying? Gabriella? What’s wrong?”

But instead of telling him, she shook her head and turned away, rolling onto her side with her back to him. When he tried to comfort her, she refused to let him, drawing more tightly into herself.

Abruptly he felt like a brute, though for what, he didn’t know, especially since he had no doubt she had enjoyed their lovemaking. In the end, he lay there on his back, listening until he could tell she had fallen asleep. Only then had he let himself do the same.

By the time he awakened, she was out of bed, dressed, and downstairs. If he hadn’t already made long-standing arrangements to meet with a horse breeder in Newmarket that afternoon, he would have spoken with her to demand, once and for all, that she tell him what was troubling her.

Instead, he kissed her briefly, noticing she would not meet his gaze. “Whatever this is, Gabriella,” he said, “you are going to tell me when I return. I’ll be back tonight and we’ll talk.” She said nothing.

Now as he neared Newmarket, he could only hope he would receive a different response tonight.

I have to leave!
Gabriella thought.
I cannot stay here a moment longer, especially not after last night.

She supposed she had the excuse that she had been asleep when she’d first roused to find Tony in her bed, kissing and fondling her with his usual mesmerizing skill. But even drowsy, deep down she had known what she was doing, aware she could have protested his touch and demanded that he stop. Only she hadn’t, nor had she wished to do so—his hands and mouth were far too wonderful to resist.

And therein lay her dilemma. Even knowing that he didn’t love her, even aching with a misery that went bone deep, she wanted him still. And she loved him, too, no matter how much she wished she could erase the emotion from her mind and heart. If she stayed, she knew a night like the one just past would happen again, and again. It was inevitable. Oh, she might try to deny him, but once he touched her, she would be lost. When that happened, what would she have left? Even her pride would be gone. He would have taken it all. Eventually, she feared such a circumstance might destroy her—especially when he decided he’d grown tired of her and moved on to another woman. If she left now, at least she might still manage to retain her dignity.

Desperate to keep something of herself, no matter how small, she realized she had to get away. Thank the stars for Tony’s day trip to Newmarket. Otherwise, she didn’t know when she would have had an opportunity to leave—at least not without a terrible confrontation first.

Though maybe he wouldn’t care,
she considered. He’d told Ethan Andarton he still desired her, but how much longer would that last? Maybe her departure would come as a relief.

Knowing she dare not waste a moment, she directed her startled maid to begin packing her belongings into her traveling valise and a trunk. Obviously, she couldn’t take everything, only the essentials. But she would make do. She’d certainly lived on far less in her life, and would manage quite well with what she took today.

Yet even as her clothes, toiletries, and other essentials were being gathered and laid inside her trunk, an alarming thought occurred.
I am running away, but where shall I go?

Rafe and Julianna would take her in—she knew they would show her sympathy and not turn her away. But they had been Tony’s friends far longer than they had been hers, and despite Rafe being her uncle, she did not want to put him and Julianna in the position of choosing sides. The same with Ethan and Lily, no matter how kind the both of them were.

Her parents were dead and she’d lost touch with most of the performance troupe with whom she’d once traveled. All except Maude Woodcraft.

Of course, Maude! How could she not have immediately thought of her old friend? Maude was as good as family, the two of them having once been that close. She could think of no better person to whom she could turn.

Sending down word that she wanted a coach prepared, though not yet revealing her destination, she readied herself for the journey.

“Good evening, Crump,” Tony said as he strode into the house just after dusk. Shrugging out of his heavy greatcoat, he handed it to a waiting footman. “It has been a long day. Please send word to Gull, would you, that I would like a bath prepared and my dinner clothes laid out. And then inform Her Grace that I have returned.” Tony paused, casting a glance up the stairs. “On second thought, perhaps I shall tell Her Grace myself. Where is she, do you know?”

The butler got a very peculiar look on his face, his mouth opening, then closing, then opening one more time as he struggled to form his words. “Her Grace is…um…Her Grace is not here.”

Tony frowned. “What’s that? What do you mean, she isn’t here?”

Crump swallowed visibly. “She ordered a coach and departed just before noon, Your Grace. She…um…left this for you.”

Glancing down, Tony stared at the note in the butler’s hand. Feeling his brows grow tight, he took the missive and broke open the wax seal. Gabriella’s fine, feminine hand leapt out at him from the page.

Your Grace,

Not Tony?
he thought.
What happened to Tony? Obviously, she’s far more upset than I realized.
Putting the issue aside for the moment, he read on:

Your Grace,

After much consideration, I have decided I can no longer remain at Rosemeade with you. I need some time away and have taken a coach—I shall send it back once I have reached my destination. I will be staying with a friend and shall be perfectly safe, so you have no need to worry—assuming you would worry, a circumstance of which I am no longer certain. Pray be so good as to not attempt to contact me. I shall be in touch when I am ready.