Mistress by Mistake

Her blush deepened. “Yes.”

“The bastard.”

“I could not agree more, but Mr. and Mrs. Chase were in fact married.”

“Robert Chase?”

Charlotte shrank away into the headboard. “Do you know him?”

Bay’s fists bunched up. If Rob were standing in front of him now, he would not be standing long. “Dorset is not so large. We’ve run into each other a time or two.” He cupped her cheek. “I wonder how I could have missed the Fallon sisters.”

“We lived in a tiny village. Bexington. George’s father was the largest landowner, and an absentee landlord most of the time. There was very little in the way of social life. And my parents’ precarious financial position didn’t allow trips to Dorchester, let alone London at the end, when I might have made my debut. Anyway, I’ve not lived in Bexington for a decade.” He sensed her uneasiness talking about her home. She switched the topic. “How long have you been back in England?”

“I resigned my commission after Waterloo. Took the long way home by way of Italy.”

“Where you bought your naked ladies.”

Bay grinned. “You don’t approve of my taste in art?”

“I suppose it is easier to indulge in carnal pleasures surrounded by nudity rather than the martyrdom of saints.”

He looked around the room. “Or angels. I confess when Angel-when the statues first made their appearance, they had a depressing effect upon my ardor.”

“I doubt anything could depress you long, sir. In my limited experience, you seem randy as a goat.”

“A goat? A goat!” Bay put a hand over his heart. “I don’t know when I’ve been so insulted.”

“I believe it’s a classical reference to the god Pan, who was admired for his masculine attributes,” Charlotte said, her pursed mouth prim. He wanted to kiss her and make her un-pucker.

Bay leaned in toward her. “Do you admire my masculine attributes, Charlie?”

She blinked her eyes at his closeness, then gave him a clear blue gaze. “I believe I do. And that’s all the questions I’m willing to answer today.”

He traced her lush mouth with a fingertip. “That was a very good answer, Charlie. I may even forgive you for calling me a goat. If I remember my mythology correctly, Pan fucked every one of the maenads. Orgies left and right.”

“They were madwomen. Drunk,” whispered Charlotte, her lip trembling against his finger.

“Whereas you are so very sane and sober. Even more of a challenge, I expect. Let me drive you a little bit mad, Charlie.” He kissed the corner of her mouth as she turned it up in a rueful smile. They could help each other forget the past for a while.

Her hands brushed through the bristle of his short crop, circling gently. “What have you done with your horns?”

“Gone the way of my cloven hooves. Help me with my boots and you’ll see.”

Chapter 11

This was such a mistake. Bay was not only in lust with Deborah, but was still in love with his wife. Anne. Possibly Charlotte had supplanted Deborah, simply because she was present in his bed while Deb was who knows where. Charlotte was handy. Available. And absolutely aching for the friction of his fingers on her body. From the way his mouth was coaxing hers, Charlotte had every reason to believe he was as fully engaged in this exploration as she was. His lips and tongue were in concert, advancing and withdrawing with tender ferocity. Charlotte felt as if she was being eaten up, bite by bite. Soon she would disappear.

And then Bay could go back to his wife.

Bay’s wife didn’t need a friend. She needed this; every woman did. This skillful assault on all her senses. The taste of coffee on Bay’s tongue, his ragged inhalations, the hardness of his cock. The scent of lime and sweat on his skin. Watching as his dark eyes shut in blissful release. Any woman who had given herself to Bay would want to do so again and again. Charlotte was a prime example. No matter how successfully she argued with herself, as soon as he stepped across the threshold, she lost her wits and found her wantonness.

Anne had been married to Bay, had experienced his lovemaking innumerable times. How she must have suffered when she went back to her undead husband. How Charlotte would suffer when she went back to her old life.

Bay had guided himself in her, gliding in and out with a twist that drove her mad. He was Pan, her cloven- hoofed devil, playing her body’s music to a crescendo. Her nails dug into his back as she spiraled up off the bed, legs stretched taut. He collapsed on her, then rolled her to her side, still connected in the most elemental way. She quaked against him, her skin slick and burning. He kissed the perspiration from her hairline and the tears from the corner of her eyes.

“You aren’t unhappy with me?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No.” She would not tell him what she felt. She scarcely knew herself. Half the time she wanted to throttle him and the rest-well, they had just done the rest.

“I don’t want to, but I may have to go away for a few days.”

Her heartbeat slowed. “To find Deborah?”

“Yes. The man I hired has a lead. I don’t want to leave it to chance.”

Charlotte pulled back. “You’ve hired an investigator?”

“Several days ago. The sooner I get my necklace back, the sooner you can go back to Little Sickup. I know this has been wrong, Charlie. Keeping you here. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was angry at first. You’d agree I had some cause?”

Now he was asking her to condone what he had done to her. She could not. Worse than tying her up, he had turned her to mush with one touch, deconstructing all the barriers she’d thrown up since Robert. She was an idiot. She could remain his captive forever, wanted to stay on Jane Street as long as he’d let her. But it seemed she’d been handed her conge. Charlotte covered herself with the sheet.

“I’ll go with you. If you have difficulty with Deborah-”

He put a finger to her lips. “No. I’m sure she’ll see reason. Or Bannister will. It will be different being in France without any worry that my throat will be slit. I don’t suppose Deborah is handy with a knife?”

“I daresay Deborah’s weapon of choice is her body,” Charlotte said quietly. As was Bay’s. He’d tied her in knots using no rope at all.

He kissed her nose as if she were his niece. “I’m off then. I’ll write. If you don’t mind staying here another few days, I can escort you safely home when I get back.”

Charlotte couldn’t watch him get into his clothes. She stared instead at the angels on the ceiling, playing lutes and floating on clouds, their wings tipped in silver and gold. Heaven above looked very happy, but somehow Charlotte found herself in hell.

Bay marched with purpose in his step. He had a thousand things to do. Pack. Arrange for his passage. Look up Vouvray on a map. It was for the best. He hadn’t really made his mind up to go until he saw her tears. They could not go on this way. If he left, he could kill three birds with one stone. Charlie could get her life back, he’d find the rubies, and escape from Anne’s clutches all with one dash across the Channel. He didn’t believe for one minute that Anne would hang about Whitley House less than a mile away waiting for him to call on her. She was probably bullying Frazier right now to let her in the front door. And he wouldn’t put it past her to try the tradesmen’s entrance. Monsieur David had a Frenchman’s appreciation for a beautiful woman, toothache or no.

He stopped dead on the sidewalk. He was no coward. His years in the army had proved that, along with the jumble of medals he kept in his cuff link box. He didn’t need to run after Mr. Mulgrew’s associate-he might pass him en route and never know the necklace was in the man’s pocket. He was a total stranger. He certainly didn’t want to see the familiar face of Deborah again, although he would like to thank her for leaving Charlie in her place.