Marrying the Mistress (16 page)

I would have said yes, spit on my palm and shook hands on it as farmers do at market, signed something, exchanged some small token. But in the blink of an eye his mouth was upon mine, taking my breath away with a kiss as fierce as any I'd ever received, a kiss of victory and possession that I was helpless to soften in any way. His arms encircled my waist and shoulders, pushing my arm up to hold his head against me, cheek to cheek, and I heard his breathy whisper past my ear. ‘Mine.
Mine
. You belong to
me
, Helene Follet. Me alone. I have you at last, woman.'

It was the talk of envy, jealousy, rivalry, not the words
of love or desire. It seemed to be repayment time. Collecting the winnings after an all-night game and a too-long wait. Though he had mentioned my needs, I could not expect him to dwell on them when his own were so great.

If my mind began to seek provisos, it was too late, but I had made no mention of the business, or my need to supplement what Linas had once provided. Presumably there would be no need for that in the future. So I did not mention it. One thing at a time, my common sense told me. Surprisingly, what my heart told me was very similar.
Comfort him
, it said.
He needs your
comfort, for his pain is just as great as yours. It's up to
you to find out why
.

Without a shred of understanding, I cradled his head inside the garland of my arms and rocked him gently like a mother, fondling his cheek and earlobe with my lips as if I knew where all this was coming from. We had both done our best to give, and to take what we believed was our due, and now the time had come to comfort each other for the price we had agreed. There was still so much explaining to be done, so much that I did not know about this business, long-held misconceptions about the relationship between two brothers. He had accepted my offer without demur, but I could sense the pain. Perhaps he felt an improper urgency so soon after his twin's demise. Or was there something else? Now was not the time to ask, for we were both tired, especially me.

In more normal circumstances, I would have gone early to bed and slept like a child, but this was not normal, nor could I imagine being held in his arms
without wanting to belong to him in every sense, exhausted or not. It was not that I wished to reward him for coming to my rescue, for agreeing to help my family, or for offering me lifelong security. Nothing like that. He would have sensed the difference between a payment and a demand, I know. So while I aroused him with my lips, my hands delved beneath his tailcoat to find the hard muscle-bound valley of his back and to pull his shirt out of his breeches for a more intimate contact with his skin. Shamelessly demanding, I was, flaunting my honesty.

There was no pretence with him, either. No mock surprise or prudish rebuke of my brazenness, but a deep gasp of excitement from his throat as he bent to pick me up and swing me into his arms, dipping me at the door so that I could open it. Across the hall and up the stairs with no one to witness the abduction, only Debbie emerged from somewhere to open and then to close my bedroom door behind us without a word.

Then, since I had initiated the undressing, he allowed me to act as his valet, though with more haste and less reverence than he was used to, and punctuated by my kisses to every newly exposed area I could reach. How can one describe the soft tang of male skin, the scent of masculine intentions, or the air that breathes sexuality, anticipation and mastery? I had not managed to disguise my love from his father, and apparently I had not done so from him, either. Yet while I indulged myself in this way, exploring and fondling his body by the light of the fire, even down to his toes, I sensed no complacency or conceit in him that the affair had gone so soon in his favour, but rather an ap
preciation of the gentle ministrations after my earlier indignation.

My own garments were loose and easily undone, quickly slipped off my shoulders as I unbuckled, unbuttoned and untied him from complicated flaps and folds. I think I was bared before he was, kissed at intervals and caressed constantly until, at last, we could no longer delay the pleasure of the full-length contact our bodies demanded. Lifting me again, he carried me across to the bed where, with my arms still around his neck, he repeated the words he'd spoken earlier. ‘Mine.
Mine
. No going back, sweetheart.'

I had carried my own version of that sentiment, though now it was already too late to put it into practice. In my dreams of retribution, I had thought to withhold myself, to blow hot and cold, to confuse him with my inconsistency. That was before the reality of our last night together, and now this—it would take more strength than I had to play the coquette with him.

In deference to my nightmarish day and extreme tiredness, his loving was exquisitely tender and undemanding, full of sweetness when his lips brushed across my eyelids, when he told me I was all a man could desire and how I was all
he
had ever desired enough to want to marry. Which, of course, I had difficulty believing, since he had not desired me enough to pursue me all those years ago, but had let his brother take up the hunt. I let it go, for his lips and hands lured me into other more immediate responses, and I was discovering a new kind of enjoyment in being dog-tired and being made love to by a sympathetic lover. He knew exactly how to comfort me better than I knew how to
comfort him, how to bring me with patience to a star-bursting climax before taking his own pleasure as the stars fell earthwards. He knew to wipe me down and attend to the ease of my weary frame and, in his arms, I fell asleep almost immediately while thinking how different again this was from any previous experience. I ought not to have compared them, I know, for therein lay the root of unfairness. But I did.

* * *

It was still pitch dark when we woke, simultaneously stirring in each other's embrace, entwining, hungry for more sensation, our mouths seeking through a screen of my hair. Full length I lay upon him with my tresses making a tent over his face. His hands cupped my behind, pulling me into position, then rolling with me so that, in one quick flip, I was beneath him, possessed again, mindless with excitement and still only half-awake. There was no long languorous preparation this time, more like that first unreal night at Abbots Mere when no word was spoken, when we came together countless times, insatiable and desperate for consolation. It was like that now, as if making up for time lost, as if to remind ourselves and each other, even in half-sleep, that we had made a pact that could not be broken. He was powerful and purposeful and I matched him, urging him with my hands and lifting my hips to him, revelling in the knowledge that he would still be with me in the morning, and every morning to come.

Afterwards, comforted, I wondered whether that would be the right time to confirm his father's opinion that I was in love with him. But he had not spoken of love, only desire, and my pride was, as he had said, still
in good working order. Time enough for talk of love, I decided. There would be as many difficult days ahead as there had been in the past, and some riddles to be solved about the exact nature of Lord Winterson's conquest. About my family's future, I was not half so sure.

Our breakfast together, taken well before Jamie was astir, was served by my footman as if Lord Winterson's presence there was now a foregone conclusion.

‘I shall not be taking you with me,' he said, scraping up the last crumb of scrambled egg from his plate.

‘Was that to your satisfaction?' I said. ‘Not quite the way your Mrs Adamson does it.'

‘The company more than makes up for it. Did you hear what I said?'

‘I heard. But I don't see how you can do it without me. My mother is hardly going to deliver herself into the hands of complete strangers with all her goods and chattels. I wouldn't.'

‘No, I dare say you would not. But she's had time to prepare herself, and I'm not exactly a complete stranger. You must have mentioned me from time to time, and your brothers will surely persuade her to trust me. Anyway, you said she was ailing.'

‘So you think she'll quit like a lamb? It would not do to underestimate my mother's fighting spirit, my lord.'

‘Like mother, like daughter, then.' Even passing his coffee cup to me for a refill was done gracefully, with a slide of his eyes over me as I poured.

‘Please let me come,' I said. ‘The shop will look after itself.'

His hand closed softly over mine. ‘I know,' he said. ‘You are a model of efficiency, but how will you prepare to receive guests if you're not here? They'll need places to put their things, places to sleep, bedding, food, whatever. You're needed here, sweetheart. Give Jamie some jobs to do.'

‘Jamie? What can
he
do?'

‘More than you think. Let him help. He enjoys it.'

I frowned, not best pleased to be told how to mother the child I'd reared more or less alone for three years.

Ignoring the stony response, he continued. ‘I've sent to Abbots Mere for all the men and carts, and a boat to get them across the water. They'll bring all we need to do the job. And a carriage for the ladies. I shall pick up your phaeton, too.'

‘And check that the supplies are still in it, if you please.'

‘I'll bring them back. Now, just trust me, will you? I have to go. I expect it will take all day. You'd better clear out some of those storerooms at the back of the house. We shall need them.'

‘You'll be dining here, too?'

‘Probably not. My parents are still at Abbots Mere, so I'd better go back. Will you miss me?'

‘Yes,' I said, before I could think about it.

His hand squeezed and released me, sliding down my fingers and changing the direction of my breath. He could have taken me on the floor. Anywhere. I argued no more, for he was quite right. I was needed here. Jamie needed me, after a day apart. Prue needed me, particularly.

The rain had stopped in favour of blue sky and fluffy
clouds pushed by a stiff breeze, bringing some colour back into the day. Our bargain had changed me too, though it was hard to say how except that I had reached another turning point, this time more permanent than any before it. My mother would think it was love at last, and she'd be delighted. And I dare say we'd be able, without too much effort, to convince her that she was right.

* * *

What had happened, however, was too important to be filed tidily away in a back drawer of my mind while I took on the day's duties, and there were times when I ought not to have been staring blankly out of the bedroom window, or trying to part Jamie's thick waves on the wrong side of his head.

‘Mama!' he protested, clutching at the comb. ‘What on
earth
are you doing with me?'

Mrs Goode, watching the process, tipped her head to indicate the problem, but her smile caught Jamie's eye and their indulgence was like a warm hug. After that, there appeared to be a mutual understanding that the whole messy business of too many guests was rather beyond me and that they ought, out of kindness, to send me off on some less mind-taxing mission. Nana Damzell, said Jamie, should have his room, and he would sleep with Goody. And since the sacrifice meant so much to him, neither of us denied him. After a talk with Mrs Carson and Mrs Neape, my housekeeper and cook, I left to visit Prue whom I'd not seen since Monday.

* * *

Prue was not a demonstrative lady, but on this occasion she wept in my arms as I smoothed her back
and tried to find some comforting words to say, which turned out to be very unoriginal. ‘Dear…dear Prue,' I said. ‘I'm so sorry. So very sorry. Is there anything I can do? There must be something?'

‘No, you've done more than enough, Helene. But thank you,' she said, drawing away. ‘They were both very peaceful at the end, thanks to your help. They're at rest now, thank God.'

‘Still together, Prue,' I said, feeling the sting of conscience that I had not sent for the doctor sooner, when I ought to have done. Would it have made any difference? That was something we would never know.

‘Mother first, then Pop. Within the hour. After forty-four years.'

‘When will you…they…?'

‘Day after tomorrow. St Thomas's at Osbaldwick. They were born in that village, christened and married there too. Always went to St Thomas's.'

‘I didn't know that. Did Mr Monkton visit them, Prue?'

‘Nay,' she said with a huff of disapproval. ‘Not him. I sent a message, but he never came to see them. Too busy, I reckon. It's only two miles beyond Walmgate, but young curates have more interesting things to do than visit their dying parishoners, these days. The undertakers are making all the arrangements for me.'

‘Let me pay for it, Prue. Please. I shall be there with you, and the staff, and I shall close the shop on Friday.'

‘Yes, I'd like that. They'll be very proud, will Ma and Pop.' She blew her nose and straightened her white lace cap. ‘They were so weak, you know.'

‘Yes, love. Quite a few others have been taken in the same way.'

‘Aye. It's been a wicked winter so far.'

* * *

I went straight from Lop Lane to the shop to inform the staff, and to warn them that on Friday we would all be attending the funeral. I stayed for an hour to design some morning gowns for Lady Mirfield's seventeen-year-old overweight daughter, then returned home to find the place in the process of being rearranged, adjusted and turned upside down to find enough basic requirements for the invasion. What I had just heard about Medworth Monkton's indifference to Prue's request had both puzzled and shocked me, having always believed him to be the most diligent of curates. Could it have been Claude's birthday party that had prevented him? If not that, then what?

I had not been home above half an hour, spent stuffing pillows into cotton cases, when my footman came to say that Mr Medworth Monkton was downstairs in the drawing room, hoping for a few words with me. Which rather amazed me, considering that, in my mind, I had just been having a few well-chosen words with
him
about his parochial duties.