The Secret Mistress

had to inherit the title.”

“What is your plan?” Miss Goddard asked after a short silence.

“Lord Windrow,” Angeline said.

“Lord Windrow?”

They had stopped walking again, but not to look at anything in particular. Just at each other. Miss Goddard’s eyebrows were arched above her eyes, and she looked nothing like a startled hare. Only like someone who did not understand what was being said to her.

“At the garden party,” Angeline said, “Lord Heyward came rushing up just as Lord Windrow rowed you out onto the river. He asked if Lord Windrow had been bothering me, but it was you he was concerned about. When I said I was quite safe and that you always seemed to be there to save me, he asked who would save you. And he did not take his eyes off you.”

“He was there waiting when we returned,” Miss Goddard said. “I was really rather annoyed, for I do not need Edward or any other man to rush to my defense every time another man pays me some attention—which is not often, you know. He took me up to the terrace for refreshments and we enjoyed half an hour of each other’s company.”

“I saw,” Angeline said. “When we were going home from the party I asked Cousin Rosalie to invite Lord Windrow here so that we can do it again. And again if necessary. Lure him into your company, that is, so that Lord Heyward will go wild with worry for your safety, though you will not be in any real danger, you know, as you will never be far from everyone else, and besides, I do not believe Lord Windrow is a real rogue. He likes to tease and he likes to flirt. But deep down he is a gentleman—not as honorable a one as Lord Heyward himself, perhaps, and he does have a tendency to want to settle arguments with his fists, but men are brought up to think that is a manly way to behave and so one cannot entirely blame them, can one? My brothers are just the same. We will … Will you do it?”

“Lure Lord Windrow into my lair and flirt with him?” Miss Goddard asked.

“Oh, not flirt,” Angeline said. “But appear to be … trapped in his company. Appear … oh, not unsafe exactly, but uncomfortable and a little anxious. Lord Heyward will then rush to your rescue as he did at the garden party, and he will realize, if he is not already realizing it, that the only way to keep you permanently safe is to marry you. And his family will see how he cares for you, and … Well.”

Miss Goddard looked gravely at her until a smile grew deep down in her eyes. It never arrived full-blown in the rest of her face, but it was definitely there.

“Lady Angeline,” she said softly. She tipped her head to one side. “Oh, Lady Angeline.”

And absurdly Angeline wanted to cry. Fortunately she did not do so.

“Will you?” she asked.

Miss Goddard nodded slowly.

“I will,” she said.

Experiencing contradictory feelings was nothing new to Angeline. She could feel pride and triumph over any of her brothers’ mad exploits at the same moment as she felt that every nerve in her body was vibrating with terror at what might have happened and fury that they would subject themselves so foolishly to such danger. But nothing compared with what she felt now.

Elation, yes, certainly.

And such a terrible despair that she bit her upper lip hard enough to draw blood.

EDWARD HAD FALLEN asleep late and woken up early. It was not a great combination, leaving him tired as it did. However, he had used the early morning hours to think a few things through and to make a few decisions, and he found himself facing the new day in a better frame of mind than he had been in yesterday.

For one thing he had made up his mind that he was going to forget about his antagonism toward Windrow. The man had behaved badly on the road to London, it was true, and Edward could not regret that he had called him to account for it. He would do the same if it happened again. But the man was no monster of depravity. He was something of a rake, that was all. At that inn he had mistaken Lady Angeline, not for a maid—there was really no way he could have done that since she had looked nothing like a servant—but for a woman traveler of careless enough behavior that perhaps she was also of loose morals. The bright, bold color of her dress had probably contributed to the impression. If she had taken him up on his offer of a shared meal and a shared chair, he doubtless would have pushed his advantage and tumbled her somewhere upstairs before going on his way.

But she would have had to be willing. He would not have forced her. Rakes were not necessarily rapists. They were very rarely so, in fact. They had no need to be. There were always enough willing women to give them satisfaction for a price—or sometimes even for no price but their own gratification.

When Windrow had realized his mistake, he had gone on his way after a careless apology and the suggestion of a threat to Edward in order to save face, all of which had appeared to amuse him. He would doubtless have enjoyed a bout of fisticuffs if his challenge had been accepted. He would certainly have enjoyed a tumble upstairs. But since neither had been forthcoming, he had probably forgotten the incident within the first few miles of his journey, as well as the two persons involved—until he encountered them again at the Tresham ball. Then he had chosen to behave with a certain impudent amusement at the colossal nature of the error he had made.

He had chosen to beg a set of dances from both Lady Angeline and Eunice. He had done the same thing at the Hicks ball. He had taken Eunice boating on the river at the Loverall garden party and would probably have taken Lady Angeline out too if he had not intervened and driven her away.

It was not admirable behavior. Neither was it dangerous. It had all been very public and very harmless.

And here he was a guest at a house party with Lady Angeline’s family, including his friend Tresham. His hostess was Lady Angeline’s chaperon. All the guests were highly respectable people. They even included a clergyman. Windrow had been invited because he was Lady Palmer’s neighbor and was in almost every way perfectly respectable.

It was true that he liked to flirt with Lady Angeline. But who did not? She seemed to attract men like moths to a flame. And it was true that Eunice appeared to have taken to heart what he had told her about Windrow and had, bless her heart, done all in her power to divert his attentions onto herself. He was not worried about Eunice. Windrow would have no lascivious intentions toward her. She was far too intelligent and sensible for his tastes. And though spending time with him must be tedious indeed for her, she was quite capable of extricating herself from his company whenever she wished.

Anyway, Edward was happy that she had been invited to this house party. He had feared a few times in the course of the Season that life must be rather dull for her. Dullness had not been an issue in the quiet, scholarly setting of Cambridge. In London it was more so. Lady Sanford did not take her to many ton entertainments, and even when she did, she made no effort to seek out young company for her. Although she seemed fond of Eunice, she did tend to treat her more like a companion than a young niece in need of friends and at least some form of amusement.

Edward made another decision during the early morning hours, as he lay on his back in bed, his hands laced behind his head. He was going to relax and let the house party unfold as it would. That meant ignoring Windrow, or at least ignoring him as a possible danger to Lady Angeline Dudley. It also meant making no deliberate effort to avoid Lady Angeline herself. For a whole month, if he was honest with himself, he had been irritated over the fact that he thought of her far more often than he thought of any of the six young ladies he had been halfheartedly courting. He had been irritated over the fact that he both disliked and disapproved of her and yet … did not.