My Fair Mistress (20 page)

“And I’m done with gambling,” he continued, looking very earnest, though a bit uncomfortable, as if his cravat were tied too tight. “I…um…I believe I’ve finally come to my senses on that score. A man can come to a bad end if he isn’t careful. A very bad end.”

His skin blanched faintly for a moment before his natural color returned. Reaching out, he took one of her hands and gave it a lingering squeeze before letting go. “And I wanted to thank you again for bailing me out as you did. I do not deserve having a sister as wonderful as you. I don’t want you to worry ever again. I swear I won’t give you cause for disappointment.”

“I know, dear. And you’re welcome. For everything.”

Yes, everything,
she thought.

Harry would be appalled if he knew the truth, that even now she was paying his debt by being Rafe Pendragon’s mistress. Yet even if she could turn back the clock, she knew she would not. How could she want such a thing when it would mean she would never have met Rafe? Never lain in his arms? Never shared secret moments and intimate thoughts with him, divulging things about herself that no one else knew?

And he did know her, more deeply than her closest friends. Her heart clenched at the realization.

Seconds later, female voices sounded in the hallway.

Harry gave her a smile before standing to greet Maris and Henrietta. Glad of the interruption, Julianna stood as well.

Warm May sunshine streamed through the bedroom windows, flowing in a gilded wash across the carpet, and over the coverlet that had been kicked into a heap at the foot of the bed. Draped in nothing but a sheet, Julianna snuggled against Rafe, her head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder.

“…So it turns out the salt had been switched for the sugar,” she said, continuing the story she was telling. “Never in my life have I witnessed a more miserable group of diners. And poor Lady Milton, I thought she was going to have some kind of seizure after she and her one hundred guests, including the Prince, all tried her prized dessert of cream puffs.”

“Salt puffs, don’t you mean?” Rafe chuckled. “That must have been a sight.”

“Oh, it was. Every fork at the table went down in unison and every single person reached for their wineglass at the same time. What a flurry of coughing and choking there was! For a moment, the dining room sounded like a plague house full of consumptives.”

He laughed again. “I wish I’d been there.”

“I wish you had been too. It’s not fair I’m the only one of us to still have that miserable taste in my mouth.
Bah!
”

Grinning, he angled his head and captured her lips. Eyelids fluttering closed, she let him take her deep.

“Mmm, I think you taste wonderful,” he murmured against her mouth. “Sweet as candy.”

She smiled and slid her fingers into his hair. “And you taste like sin. I believe, sir, that I will have some more.”

Barking out another laugh, he wrapped her close and did his best to comply.

A long while later, Julianna stretched, her body lazy and relaxed and very satisfied. “Oh lord, I don’t ever want to get up.”

“Then don’t.” He stroked a languid palm over her bare back. “Stay exactly where you are.”

How lovely that would be,
she thought.
How glorious if both of us could just laze the rest of the day away, and the rest of the night as well.

Instead, she heaved out a sigh. “I can’t. I promised Maris I would accompany her to the theater tonight. Sheridan’s
The School for Scandal
is playing at Drury Lane.”

“Good play.” He shifted against the sheets and bent to dust his lips across her forehead. “Perhaps I’ll buy a seat in the gallery and entertain myself by gazing up at you in your box.”

“Don’t you dare,” she admonished, giving him a light tap. “I’d spend the entire evening trying not to look back at you and get caught in the process. Please do not tempt me.”

He gave a playful growl. “I like tempting you. It’s so much fun.”

She buried her fingers in his thick, wavy hair and welcomed his kiss, ripe and warm and delicious. When she knew she’d reached her safety limit, Julianna broke away on a regretful groan. “Oh, we must stop, or I never will have the strength to leave. What time is it, do you imagine?”

“I have no idea. Shall I check my watch?”

“No, I’ll do it. Stay there.” Pressing a palm against his sturdy chest, she levered herself into a sitting position and crawled out of the bed.

Not bothering to cover her nakedness, she crossed the room and reached to retrieve his waistcoat from the back of a chair, where he’d discarded it earlier. Drawing the timepiece from its silken hiding place, she nestled the smooth golden case inside her palm, finding it faintly warm to the touch. Clicking open the cover, she checked the position of the hands.

Three seventeen. Not as late as she’d thought, but definitely time to begin dressing and start for home.

She was about to snap the watch cover closed when her gaze fell upon the inscription engraved on its inner face. Curious, she read the words.

Time passes, but love lasts forever.

Yours Eternally, Pamela.

Her heart gave a sharp, hard squeeze.

Flicking a quick glance toward Rafe to make sure he wasn’t watching, she turned her back and read the words again.

Who is Pamela?
she thought.

Clearly not a sister or his mother. He’d never mentioned having siblings, and she knew for a fact that his mother was dead. Besides, a watch wasn’t the kind of gift a female relation would normally give a man. And the inscription—well, it was far too personal, too intimate to be mistaken for anything other than a love token.

A buzzing pulse raced down her spine.
Does he have another lover? Worse yet, does he have a wife?

Her stomach clenched, a faint rush of bile rising into her throat. Dear God, in all the time they’d been together, she had never thought to ask him if he was married!

The idea was so terrible, so devastating, she swung around to confront him, anxiety sharpening her words. “Who is Pamela?”

“Hmm?” He rolled his head and gazed sleepily at her from beneath hooded lids. “Did you find out the time?”

“Never mind about the time.” She strode forward, the watch extended in her hand. “Who is Pamela?”

Rafe stared for a long moment, his drowsiness vanishing in an instant as his gaze fell upon the timepiece she held. Sitting upright, he tossed back the sheet and stood, crossing to reach for his pantaloons. He said nothing as he dressed, needing the extra few moments to deal with his uncertain emotions.

“Well?” she repeated. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Not,
Rafe wanted to answer.
Plague take it,
he swore to himself,
what is wrong with me, letting Julianna look at my watch?
Usually, he was more vigilant about that sort of thing, since Pamela was the last person he wished to discuss with anyone, even Julianna.

Especially Julianna.

Cursing himself, he fastened the buttons on his falls. How could he have been so careless? Comfort, he supposed. He was comfortable with her, relaxed and at his ease in a way he was with no one else. Familiarity had made him sloppy and forgetful.

He yanked his shirt over his head. “She’s no one, all right?”

Her pretty brows drew together. “Since when does
no one
go to the trouble of inscribing a love poem inside your pocket watch? Who is she, Rafe?” She paused, vulnerability shadowing her expression. “Is she your wife?”

Surprised, he glanced up. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think, especially given your reaction.”

He stared at the watch in her hand—his blessing and his curse. He should have disposed of the piece long ago, he knew. Sold it to a jeweler. Had the case melted down and recast. Stood at the bank of the Thames one morning and tossed the whole damned thing into the river where it could sink into a cold, watery grave.

But he couldn’t. The watch had been Pamela’s gift to him. Destroying it would be like destroying her, defiling her memory and all she had meant to those who had loved her. Perhaps the timepiece and the words inside served as cruel reminders, but such was the penance he felt honor bound to bear.

He remembered the day she’d given him the watch, how her cornflower blue eyes had danced with nerves and happy anticipation, her pert blond curls bouncing around her rosy cheeks. She’d been so pretty and so young. Too bloody young, only two months into her seventeenth year.

Her father had been a watchmaker and she’d talked him into letting her have the piece, a fine new design with a sweep hand that could monitor the time down to the second. A pampered only daughter, Rafe knew she’d had her parents twisted around her little finger. But there hadn’t been a mean bone in her body. A kinder, more generous spirit had never been born. Everyone loved her; the neighborhood men tipping their hats to her in admiring respect when she passed, the women smiling as they remarked what a darling, good-natured girl she was, what a blessing to her family.

She had known a bit about watchmaking, having spent time in her father’s shop over the years. Wanting no one else but her and Rafe to read her words, she’d told him how she’d engraved the message herself. Her heart had outpaced her skill, though, her unsteady hand forming a slight wobble on the word
forever.
But to him, the minor flaw only made the piece more precious.

He’d loved it on sight, the way he’d loved her.

He met Julianna’s dark, velvety gaze and realized he had to tell her something. She deserved that much, and probably more.

“You can put aside your affront. She is not my wife,” he said.

Her shoulders lowered, tension draining visibly from her body. “Still, she is someone important to you.”

“She
was
important.” He shrugged into his waistcoat, fastening the golden buttons with impatient fingers. “Pamela was an artisan’s daughter from Cheapside, where I lived many years ago. We were engaged to be married.”

“Engaged? What happened?”

“She died, that is what happened. Now, if you don’t mind, I would prefer not to discuss the details. Hopefully I’ve managed to allay your fears.”

“My fears, yes, but not my curiosity.” She held out the watch, letting him lift it from her palm and return it to his waistcoat pocket. “Rafe, I am sorry.”

“Do not be. She died many years ago. There is no need for pity.”

She walked to him and laid her palms against his cheeks, her touch like warm satin against the faint roughness of his skin. “What of comfort, then?” she murmured. “Would you accept a measure of that?”

Drawing his head downward, she settled her lips against his own. Feather light, she kissed him. Softly, slowly, she wrapped him inside her embrace, one that was as gentle as a whisper, as tempting as the apple offered by Eve.

For a moment he tried to resist, but such attempts were purely senseless. Surrendering, he hauled her naked body close and plastered her against him as he ravished her mouth.

Accepting, she let him use her, let him focus upon her all the raw emotion boiling up inside him. Hunger raked him like a claw, demanding release, demanding the relief and oblivion he knew Julianna could provide.

Before he was able to sweep her up in his arms, though, and carry her back to the bed, her fingers went to work on his pantaloons. With an amazing deftness, she opened the front flap and slid her hand inside.

His belly muscles clenched as she wrapped her small, cool fingers around the hot length of his tumescence, his shaft hardening and thickening as if it truly did have a mind of its own. Stroking him, she made him moan, made his brain empty of everything but her and the exquisite sensation of her touch.

Playing with the sacs between his legs for long seconds, she explored their shape, their size, before gliding out along his throbbing erection. Reaching the tip, she rubbed it briefly, then flicked her fingernail ever so lightly across. He shook and nearly came, barely holding on to the last of his withering control.

Suddenly desperate, he urged her toward the bed, needing to plant himself between her thighs in the worst way. But she refused to lie down, coaxing him into a reclining position against the sheets. She often liked to be astride and he waited, expecting her to throw a leg over his hips and mount him, take him into her silky warmth from above.

But she surprised him again by kneeling at his side and taking him into her mouth. Eyes glazed, he raised his head to watch, noting the way her long, dark hair fanned over his thighs while her lips and tongue moved like wet silk upon him.

The sight and sensations brought him to the very brink of completion. Yet again, he somehow held back, wanting, needing to come inside her.

Roughly, he drew her up and over him, positioning her so he could plunge fully into her velvety depths. She cried out as he pumped inside her, leaning up to suckle her breasts, her nipples tight little nubs against his tongue. He bit her lightly and rotated her hips in a wild, circular grind, going deep, then deeper still. Gripping him like a fiery glove, her inner muscles clenched tight, spasming as she began to go over.