His Lady Mistress (14 page)

And if Max…
Lord Blakehurst
…had not the wit, or was too idiotishly chivalrous to see it, then she would have to make him see it. Before they reached the altar rails.

Half an hour later Verity trod up the steps of the Blakehurst mansion in Berkeley Square. Despite the warmth of the day she had kept her hood up, carefully avoiding the gaze of other pedestrians.

But when the door opened to reveal an austere-looking butler, she realised that her problems had just begun. Without a word he began to close the door in her face, far faster than he had opened it.

Quick as thought, Verity put her foot in the door. ‘No, please…you don’t understand. I must see his lordship. It is a matter of great urgency…please.’

The butler’s face would have curdled milk in the cow. ‘His lordship,’ he informed her, ‘does not entertain himself with women of your order here. Or anywhere else for that matter! Take yourself off at once, you brazen hussy!’ He tried again to shut the door, stamping on Verity’s foot in a most undignified way. She gasped as her slippered foot took the blow, but held her ground.

‘Please. I’ll wait in the kitchen, but tell him Miss Scott wishes to speak with him. I’m…I’m…’ She hesitated. What
was she? His mistress? His betrothed? All of the above? ‘I’m a guest of Lady Arnsworth.’

The butler eyed her dubiously. ‘Ah, would that be Miss
Verity
Scott?’

Heaving a sigh of relief, she nodded.

With all the air of a man damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, the butler opened the door enough to admit her. ‘If you would please to wait in the hall, I shall ascertain whether or not his lordship is at home.’

‘Th…thank you.’

As the butler stalked off, she looked about nervously. The hall was furnished with dainty, fussy elegance. Odd. It didn’t seem at all the sort of house she would imagine Max—
Lord Blakehurst
—to have. It reminded her of Lady Arnsworth’s house. Then she caught a sight of herself in a mirror hanging over a marble-topped console table and forgot all about the furniture. Except that she felt even more out of place.

No wonder his lordship’s butler had assumed her to be a denizen of the stews. Her hair had escaped its pins and to describe her cloak as threadbare would be charitable in the extreme. And it had somehow collected a splash of mud on the hem.

None of the fatly upholstered gilt chairs looked at all the sort of thing she ought to sit on. Verity had the impression that, if she moved towards one with the intent of resting her shabby person, they would all rise up in protest at the indignity.

Swift steps on the parquetry floor drew her attention. Nervously she turned, half-expecting the butler to be returning with a phalanx of footmen to evict her. But it was Max.

‘Miss Scott! What the devil are you doing here? Have you
no
discretion? Where is your escort?’

Ignoring the last two questions, since she had no acceptable answers, Verity said, ‘I must speak to you, sir. Please. It is very important.’

He ran one hand through his dark hair. ‘Very well, then,’
he snapped. ‘Come into the library. We may be private there. Clipstone!’ He turned to the butler. ‘I am not at home to anyone. Do you understand? Not to anyone.’

Verity thought the butler might expire with indignation. ‘I hope I know my duty, my lord,’ he said stiffly.

‘So do I,’ rejoined his lordship. ‘This way, Miss Scott.’

He ushered her into a large, comfortable library. It was by no means as elegant as the hall, but had all the appearance of a room much lived in. By men. Instead of fussy, gilt chairs, large, inviting leather chairs beckoned by the fireplace. Newspapers covered a writing table and two springer spaniels came bundling forward to greet the guest, one with a well-chewed slipper clutched in its jaws.

Delighted, Verity bent down to pet them and had her face enthusiastically washed, the spaniel with the slipper going so far as to lay it at her feet.

‘Down, Taffy! Sit, Gus!’ The spaniels took absolutely no notice of this command except to wiggle their tails all the faster.

‘It’s quite all right, my lord,’ Verity assured him, petting the dogs with trembling hands. ‘I…I love dogs.’ The unaffected delight of their greeting nearly overset her. Dogs didn’t care for wealth, or fashion. Or if you had totally disgraced yourself beyond all redemption. They accepted you as you were. Shabby clothes, scandal and all.

‘Miss Scott, may I present my brother, Richard Blakehurst?’

Horrified, she tried to straighten up, only to sit down very suddenly as one of the spaniels leapt up at her again. She found herself gazing up at a gentleman who resembled Lord Blakehurst so closely her heart nearly stopped. The eyes were a deeper hazel and the hair not so dark, but the resemblance was staggering. Looking closer, she saw that Richard Blakehurst was thinner and that his face was worn, giving the impression that he was substantially older than his brother. Which was obviously impossible since Max was the Earl.

A strong hand under her elbow helped her to her feet. She didn’t bother dusting herself down, but held out her hand to Richard who took it gingerly and bowed infinitesimally.

‘Forgive me if I don’t kiss your hand, Miss Scott,’ he said coldly. ‘I fear Taffy and Gus have been before me.’

Verity blushed. Then, as she saw the cool appraisal in his eyes, felt all the blood drain from her face. Plainly he resented his brother’s bride.

I had no intention of ever marrying…

She swallowed hard. If he had counted on Max remaining single, then he would naturally dislike the marriage, but the way he looked her up and down…he must know there was something clandestine about the situation. ‘I…I am honoured to meet you, sir.’ She forced the words out, grateful that her voice didn’t wobble too much. This was terrible. She
had
to make his lordship listen!

‘Ricky, would you mind leaving us for a few moments? Miss Scott wishes to speak to me privately.’ The chill in Lord Blakehurst’s voice matched that in his brother’s eyes.

‘If you think it wise, Max,’ said Richard calmly. Verity winced at the implications of that. Clearly he had been told enough to believe that his brother had been trapped.

Her pride stung, she said, ‘I am come to put an end to this nonsense about marriage. You need have no fears for your brother or your expectations on my account! And I have no objection if you wish to remain.’

‘I, on the other hand, have several!’ interposed Lord Blakehurst. ‘
Au revoir
, brother. And if you wish to do me a favour, take Clipstone with you. Before his ear sticks to the keyhole!’

Richard gave a crack of laughter. His whole face eased as he replied, ‘Very well, Max. Good afternoon, Miss Scott.’

The moment the door shut behind him Lord Blakehurst turned on Verity and snapped, ‘What the devil did you mean by that?’

Chapter Seven

V
erity glared at him, lifting her chin. ‘Sir, this farce has gone far enough. I cannot possibly—’

‘Why on earth didn’t you send for me, if you wished to speak to me?’ He spoke straight over her. ‘Have you
no
discretion, or conduct? No well-bred young lady pays any call unescorted, let alone on a bachelor household!’

‘Good,’ retorted Verity. ‘If nothing else has worked, perhaps that may serve to convince you that we cannot possibly marry!’

He opened his mouth and shut it again. Stunned amber eyes burned into her and Verity fought to keep her gaze steady. ‘My God,’ he said softly. ‘You really mean it, don’t you? Why then?’

It was her turn to flounder. ‘
Why?
Isn’t that obvious, my lord? An earl does not marry his mistress! He does not marry a female whose relatives would prefer she did not exist. And I—’

‘No—’ he flung up one hand ‘—you misunderstand me. I meant why did you come to my bed if you did not intend to trap me into offering for you? Surely you must have known what my reaction would be when you told me your real name. You can’t have thought I wouldn’t remember it!’

This time her eyes fell before his as memories of that night
shivered through her body. Heat flooded her cheeks and lower. Her breasts ached at the thought of his mouth and hands.

Forcing her voice to a calm at odds with the tumult of her emotions, she said, ‘I never intended you to know my real name. Why would you ever realise? The night we…we…met, after we…after Papa was buried, it was dark. I was little more than a child. Why should you ever recognise me? You
didn’t
recognise me. If you hadn’t seen the campaign chest…’

‘I knew anyway.’

She went cold all over. ‘You
knew
?’

‘Not at first,’ he said quietly. ‘Did you ever wonder why I accepted the invitation to that house party? Not my usual milieu, I assure you.’

Mute, she shook her head.

‘I wanted to know if
you
were safe. If they were caring for you. When your aunt didn’t bring you up to town…’

Hysteria rose in Verity’s breast and what he was saying faded.
Aunt Faringdon? Bring her up to town? Was he mad?

‘So I came down to find you. But when I asked your uncle, he said that you had died.’

The cold seeped into Verity’s heart. ‘He
said
that?’ No doubt he had wished it was the truth. And in some ways it had been.

‘Are you all right?’ The sudden concern in his voice startled her. She stared up at him and nodded automatically. That queer feeling she’d had of ceasing to exist…vanishing into the mist…that no one could see her any more…Suddenly she would have welcomed it, for his bright gaze saw too much. And he was too close. She retreated, but it was too late.

‘Come. Sit by the fire. You’re shivering.’ Strong fingers gripped her arm and she found herself being led towards the fireplace and pushed gently into a chair.

‘Umm…it’s not lit,’ she pointed out, dazed at the sudden pounding of her heart at his touch, the trembling of her hands.

Kneeling by the hearth, he commented, ‘I may be an earl now, but I assure you I perfectly recollect how to manage a tinderbox!’

In moments the fire was flickering brightly, doing very little to dispel the icy lump in her heart, the appalling realisation that her uncle had actually denied her very existence. So…how?

‘How did you know?’

‘My valet,’ he said, straightening up. ‘He found out from that maid—Sukey?—that you weren’t dead. So then I knew who “Selina Dering” really was. Why, Verity, why did you do it? You
can’t
have intended to be my mistress. What could you possibly have gained?’

Shock gripped her. All the fear and hurt of the last five years welled up, but she managed to say simply, ‘My freedom. When I thought about your offer, I realised that it was my chance to escape—if I did something so shocking that they would never take me back.’

He sat back on his heels, staring, horror in his face. ‘For God’s sake, girl! The risk you took!’

‘What risk?’ she asked quietly. ‘I had nothing to lose.’

His eyes glinted. ‘I beg to differ. You certainly did have something to lose! And
I
took it!’

She shut her eyes, fighting against a pounding tide of desire as her body quivered under the memory of the first instant when he had been deep inside her, part of her. His scorn hurt far more than the loss of her virginity.

When she managed to open her eyes she did not meet his furious gaze. ‘It is irrelevant—’

‘The hell it is!’ he exploded. ‘
You
may choose to think it—’

‘Totally irrelevant,’ she insisted, clenching her fists so hard the nails dug into her palms. ‘My cousin…’ She shuddered at the thought of losing her virginity to Godfrey. Controlling
herself, she whispered, ‘Rather than have it stripped from me forcibly, I chose to give myself to a man I…trusted.’

Max had to strain to hear those last halting words, but they hit him like a body blow. She had trusted him enough to surrender her body to him—but not enough to tell him who she was. She had used him. ‘Why didn’t you
tell
me?’ he asked, hating the harsh note in his voice, but the strain of not hauling her into his arms and proving how
un
trustworthy he was seemed likely to kill him.

‘That I was a…a virgin?’

‘That too,’ he said grimly. Knowing he had hurt her shamed him. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me who you were? Ask for my help.’

Her eyes flew wide. ‘Why didn’t I…? But you would never have taken me as your mistr—’

‘No! I damned well wouldn’t have!’

‘So I couldn’t have escaped!’

His conscience mocked. ‘You didn’t think I’d help you?’

‘How?’ The simple question floored him. ‘I’m under twenty-one. Lord Faringdon is my guardian. I have no money, no other relatives who might take me in. The Faringdons would have left me on the parish, I think, but apparently my grandmother vetoed the idea. Since they count on her leaving a substantial fortune to them, of course they kept me. Since I was saving the wages of at least a governess and one lady’s maid, my aunt refused to write me a reference. What could you have done if I had told you who I was? Once you were gone, my situation would have been even worse.’

‘And after our
liaison
ended? After I had taught you your trade?’ He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. God! He’d thought it funny at the time, endearing that she had no idea of her effect on him, that she’d never need another lover.

She flushed. ‘I…that
was
a lie. I never intended to become…to take another…I was going to purchase an annuity.’

‘A
what
?’ His brain grappled with that.

A puzzled frown creased her brow. ‘An annuity. You know. Consols, government bonds. You buy them and they pay you three per cent per year.’

Hell! He
knew
what an annuity was! He felt very slightly better. Not much, but a bit. At least she had not really wanted to be anyone’s mistress. But the inescapable fact remained: she
was
someone’s mistress. His.