My Fair Mistress (30 page)

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat at the preposterous idea.
As if I could ever forget Rafe.

A pair of hot tears escaped, racing over her cheeks. “I’m not quite myself today, Daisy. My head…” She heard her voice quaver, high-pitched and trembling, and knew she might give way if she said so much as another word.

“Poor ma’am, you must be coming down ill. Perhaps it’s a summer cold. Let me get you out of your things and into bed. I’ll bring you a nice lavender compress for your head, and something soothing to help you rest.”

She wished Daisy could bring her something to take away her pain, but she supposed her heart would have to heal on its own. If it ever did. She very much feared even time would fail to repair the rent Rafe Pendragon had torn in her soul.

As she let Daisy tend to her, she realized she hadn’t lied—she really did feel unwell. Her head throbbed as if a knife were lodged between her temples, and when she swallowed, her throat burned, raw and strained from the strength of her earlier sobs.

Quick and efficient, her maid helped her out of her dress and into a soft lawn nightgown, freeing Julianna’s hair from its pins before giving her tresses a few light strokes with a brush.

On a grateful sigh, Julianna slid between the sheets. Tucking her in with the care she would have used for a child, Daisy closed the drapes to darken the room.

Only when her maid was gone did Julianna give herself permission to break down, bitter tears scalding her eyes, wracking cries muffled by the pillow she held to her mouth.
How could I have so mistaken matters?
she berated herself.
Why did I think he wanted me, when what he actually wanted was to be rid of me?

His words repeated in an endless loop inside her head, taunting her, tormenting her for having been such a simpleton.

When Daisy returned, she let the other woman think she’d been crying because of her headache. After blowing her stuffy nose, Julianna drank the offered sleeping draught, then lay back with the compress on her forehead. The scent of lavender drifted soothingly around her, but did nothing to ease her misery.

At length, she drifted off to sleep.

But sleep offered little comfort, her dreams filled with Rafe, changing from images of him as the tender, passionate lover she’d known to nightmares of him at their last meeting, his cool eyes filled with rejection and pity.

She spent the next three days in bed, refusing to get up, refusing company. She even sent Maris and Harry away when they called, the pair of them justifiably concerned about her health.

Daisy fussed despite Julianna’s orders to leave her be. As the days progressed, her maid finally threatened to call the doctor. Julianna prevented her, using the excuse that her “illness” was just a passing malaise brought on by exhaustion from her hectic social schedule. She would be better soon, she assured her.

The following morning she awoke to the knowledge that she couldn’t continue to hide away from the world forever. Whether or not she wished, she was going to have to climb out of bed and get on with her life.

All was not a loss. She had achieved the goal she’d originally set out to accomplish. Harry and the estate were secure. Maris had enjoyed her Season and found herself a wonderful man to love and marry as well. Those were the things that mattered. The fact that Julianna had traded her body and lost her heart in the process were of scant regard.

For a brief while, she tried to hate Rafe, attempted to revile him for using and manipulating her for his own selfish purposes.

But she could not. She had come to him freely, and he had in no way deceived her.

Six months as his mistress. Six months’ use of her body in repayment of her brother’s debt. And in the end he had released her early, even going so far as to waive the last of her obligation when he’d decided he no longer wished for her company.

Another man might have demanded the money still owed. A blackguard would have enjoyed her body, then tossed her aside and still foreclosed on her brother’s estate.

But not Rafe. He was in all ways an honorable man.

It wasn’t his fault she’d wanted more. It wasn’t Rafe’s fault she had fallen in love, while he had not.

Well, she would repine no more. Her life had been a happy one before, and it would be again.

At least that is what I will tell myself,
she vowed, as she reached out and rang for Daisy.

Not long after, her maid tapped on the door and came inside. “Yes, my lady?”

Julianna swung her legs out of bed. “Good morning, Daisy. Would you draw a bath for me please, then set out my apricot walking dress? I’ve decided to call on my sister and see if she would like to go shopping today. There is much to be done for her wedding.”

A relieved smile lighted the younger woman’s face. She curtseyed. “Yes, my lady. Right away, my lady.”

Julianna stood and took her first steps back into her life.

Seven weeks later, Rafe sat at his desk and reviewed a recent list of acquisitions, including a stud farm that contained one Derby winner and several other prime blooded stallions. He’d already decided to put all but two of the thoroughbreds up for sale at Tattersalls next week, where he knew he would turn a handsome profit on his investment.

A quick knock came at his office door. Without waiting for permission to enter, Hannibal stepped inside.

“We’ve found him. He’s in Lancashire.”

Rafe set down his pen. “Lancashire? I wouldn’t have thought St. George would decide to go to ground there. He hates the countryside.”

Soon after St. George left the city, Rafe had sent Hannibal and a couple of other men off in search of the viscount. For a time their hunt had proven unsuccessful, as if St. George had quite literally vanished. Meanwhile, they had also set out in search of Hurst, his departure suspicious since it conveniently coincided with the viscount’s, both men having left London on the same day.

“You were right about Hurst,” Hannibal said as he lumbered further into the room. “The two of them are holed up in his hunting box. Seems nobody knew he had it. Won the house off a rich merchant at the gaming tables about six months afore. He finally contacted his man here in the city in need of ‘civilized’ provisions. Seems he’s to gather up a number of items at the house and shops, and ship them north.”

“A fresh supply of liquor, most likely. I doubt the local vintages are to Hurst’s liking, or St. George’s either. Good thing Hurst’s man is our man as well.”

Hannibal nodded in agreement and settled his large frame into a chair. “After we lost Rogers, it were tricky going fer a time. But Appleby’s safe. That mutton-brained willy, Hurst, don’t suspect him a bit.”

“Not so mutton-brained he wasn’t able to spot you and Rogers together in that pub,” Rafe reminded him. “He may be a drunkard and a lout, but don’t underestimate Hurst. He has the kind of cunning that keeps rats like him alive. He knows when to run and when to fight back, and he’s fully capable of using whatever tactic does him the most good.”

“Yer right, Dragon, we got sloppy. Won’t happen again.”

Rafe knew Hannibal well enough to be assured it would not.

“So what do you want us to do now?” Hannibal inquired.

Rafe leaned back in his chair. “Just keep an eye on them. I want to know if St. George or Hurst leaves Lancashire. If either of them decides to come back to the city.”

He didn’t think St. George would make any further attempts against Julianna’s sister now that she was engaged to be married. But with St. George, you could never be too sure.

A surge of bittersweet longing swept through him at the thought of Julianna. Only this morning he’d congratulated himself on going an entire hour without having a single thought about her. Of course, once he’d reminded himself of the fact, he’d done nothing else
but
think of her, entirely undoing any progress he’d made.

Really, he didn’t know what was wrong with him. By now he should have been able to put Julianna Hawthorne firmly in his past. Yet she haunted him—by day, and most especially by night. In the dark, quiet hours, he would often awaken from dreams of her, his body hard and aching, his need for her acute.

But more than that, he missed her. The melodic cadence of her voice, the effervescent sunshine of her smile, the graceful, animated way she moved and gestured. He missed their conversations and even their silences, the moments when the world slowed and it felt as if they were the only two people on the planet.

On impulse one afternoon, he’d bought a bouquet of roses from a passing flower girl. Lifting them to his nose, he’d found himself hoping to catch a hint of Julianna’s scent. But sweet as the roses were, they were only flowers and smelled nothing like her at all. Disgusted with himself, he’d tossed the bouquet in the rubbish and walked on, calling himself ten times a fool.

Still, try as he might, he couldn’t help but wonder about her.

How is she?

What is she doing?

And worst of all—who is she doing it with?

His fingers brushed across the silver letter opener on his desk, the coolness of the metal enough to snap him out of his musings. Glancing up, he discovered Hannibal watching him, a knowing expression in his black eyes.

Ignoring the look, Rafe continued their discussion. “What else did you find out?”

“Our man Appleby says that since Hurst’s been gone, he’s had more of a chance to poke around his townhouse. Says he found some journals he thinks you’ll want to take a look at.”

“Journals? I most definitely want to see them. You never know what delicious details Hurst might have decided to jot down.”

“I’ll get them from him next time we meet.”

Rafe nodded.

Their conversation moved on to other matters for a few more minutes before Hannibal stood and walked from the room, his footsteps amazingly silent.

Rafe returned to his work, or at least made the attempt to do so. After five minutes, though, he gave up, reaching for his copy of the
Morning Post
in hopes the newspaper would take his mind off a certain distracting female.

Starting with word of the latest fighting on the Peninsula, he read an account of the British victory at Salamanca, which had occurred a couple of weeks ago, at the end of July. The battle had given Wellington and his forces a tremendous boost over the French, and yet success had come at a price, the lives of thousands of soldiers lost on both sides.

Next, he moved on to the financial pages, checking the latest prices for gold and silver currency before perusing a discussion of the British government’s latest efforts to finance the war. Most of those mentioned, as he well knew, barely scraped the surface of England’s real dealings. He was currently in negotiations to offer additional bonds to the government himself.

Flipping at random, he was about to set the paper aside when he caught sight of several familiar names in the Society column. Folding back the page, he scanned the article…

Rafe broke off and skimmed downward through the copy.

Rafe’s stomach lurched, his hand crushing the paper.

Summersfield.
Who else could Lord S possibly be?

Is Julianna seeing Summersfield?

Certainly he knew Julianna and the earl received invitations to the same balls, so their dancing together might mean nothing. Then again…

Surely she wasn’t actually considering marrying the man? He couldn’t believe it, not so soon after their affair. And not when she’d sworn she had no interest in marriage, including to Summersfield.

Still, women were well known for changing their minds.

Has Julianna
?

Rafe’s gut burned, a vein throbbing in his temple. Smoothing out the paper, he read on.

So Julianna would be leaving for the country soon, he thought. He’d known she would go eventually. Still, up to now he’d enjoyed an odd sense of comfort knowing she was still just across Town in Mayfair. With her departure, that would end.

Perhaps her leaving London was for the best, though. Maybe with her gone, he would at last be able to forget. Despite her tears that last day in Queens Square, maybe she had recovered and chased thoughts of him from her mind, bounced back so well she was even now considering marriage.