Mistress by Mistake

“Pooh. I have a hundred dresses, not that my husband has bought them for me. I have a little sideline that keeps me in pin money. But do tell me-what has upset you today?”

“S-sir Michael has left. Gone to France.” Charlotte hiccupped.

“Well, that’s a good thing, is it not? You won’t have to service his needs in your sister’s place. Although-” Lady Christie raised an elegant copper brow-“it’s my understanding that Sir Michael is more than adequate in the bedchamber.”

Charlotte felt her crimson flush. Was there no privacy of any kind on Jane Street? All this garden-door hopping made it easy for the courtesans to confide in each other, not that Lady Christie was a courtesan. Charlotte wondered if Lady Christie’s Thursday teas were another source of information for her. Perhaps the mistresses brought rulers and anatomically correct drawings with them to compare notes. That thought was quite shocking and compelling at the same time, and Charlotte giggled.

“There, that’s better, although I don’t know what brought it on.” Lady Christie stared hard at her, but Charlotte was not going to confess.

“I am-I am to go home once Sir Michael completes his mission in France.”

“My dear, surely you’ve been told, the war is over.”

Charlotte snorted. “Not Bay’s. He’ll have to wrestle a valuable necklace away from my sister. She’s apt to give him a scratch or two. She’s very fond of a bit of sparkle.”

Lady Christie’s hand flew to the pansy-shaped diamond and enamel pin on her bodice. The stone in the center was large and brilliant, the purple petals each lined with tiny diamonds. “As am I. There’s no point to jewelry sitting in a dark safe the year long. Edward used to argue with me over it. Now, thank goodness, I don’t have to listen to him drone on and on. He was such a bore. Tell me, how did your sister come by this necklace?”

“It was on loan from Bay. Sir Michael, you know. She packed it with her in haste-oh, who am I kidding? She took it and Bay wants it back. It was his grandmother’s. At first he thought I was in league with Deb, but I feel sure now he knows I had nothing to do with her taking it. We began on a very bad footing. But I have come to-to care about him. It’s only been a few days, and I’m angry with myself for letting my guard down so easily.”

Lady Christie sighed. “Poor thing. No matter how we resist, there are men in this world who manage to worm their way into our hearts. Bastards, all of them. Shall I ask about for another protector for you? Sir Michael will be sorry he let you go.”

“Oh no!” The very idea made Charlotte go hot all over again. “I am not that sort of woman. If you only knew how boring I am. I live in a tiny cottage in a tiny village. I tat.”

Lady Christie patted her hand. “Then you definitely must come to tea. It will do you a world of good. The Janes will perk you up.”

That was the second time Charlotte had heard the women of Jane Street referred to as “the Janes.” Such a plain name for a group of exotic, erotic women. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I’d love to come.”

“Excellent!” Lady Christie rose, shaking her soggy skirt. “I believe I’ll have to change. The blue with the sapphire choker will be just the thing. See you tomorrow, my dear.”

“Thank you, Lady Christie.”

“Please, please call me Caroline. We are to be great friends while you are here.”

She swept through the wooden door, her exit made a little less regal by the sodden patch on her backside. Charlotte needed to change herself, then figure out a way to spend her days waiting for Bay to come back.

Could she persuade him to keep her on Jane Street? Charlotte knew she wasn’t the usual run of mistress. She hadn’t heard of half the things on Bay’s to-do list, although they had proved very pleasant. She was a fast learner. The raspberry fool was proof of that. Her mama would be appalled, but Charlotte hoped Bay would change his mind. She was perfectly content to remain in Bay’s bed, or against a wall, or on a carpet, or in that wicked tub. She was completely fallen into folly and felt fine, if a bit alliterative.

Bay jerked awake hearing footsteps beyond the door, although they were not the heavy thud of boots like his captors had been wearing. He stilled his body as a jingle of keys preceded the turning of the lock. The room was still gray and dim, but he had every intention of showing Charlie Fallon just what he thought of her by the contempt in his eyes. Although perhaps the contempt could wait-he had an imperative need to relieve himself. How that was to be managed if she refused to untie him didn’t bear thinking on.

The door edged open slowly and a veiled female figure, garbed head-to-toe in black, glided in, stopping just short of the bed. Bay took a deep breath. No whiff of oranges, Charlie’s signature scent. Instead, he detected roses. My God. Anne. It was Anne who had arranged for him to be beaten and secured to this bed. Anne, who did not want to take no for an answer. Anne, who had obviously lost her mind.

His own mind raced, reevaluating every thought he’d had since midnight. Of course it was Anne, who had a substantial widow’s jointure from her husband, arranged in the marriage settlements long before Whitley discovered Anne had been unfaithful. She had the money to hire the thugs. To rent a house in which to keep him imprisoned. He most certainly was not at Whitley House, or anywhere near Mayfair if his reliable nose still worked. The roses blended with cabbages and sewer. He grunted around the gag. She lifted her veil, looked him up and down, gave him what he knew to be a well-practiced smile.

“I’m sorry to be so late. I only just got word of last night’s success.”

Anne held her black-gloved hands primly before her. There was no attempt to remove the rag from his mouth or untie his bonds. Certainly no attempt to clothe him or cover him with a blanket. He lay naked, feeling himself flush in anger and embarrassment.

“You were not especially amenable to my proposal the last time we spoke. I thought I’d take this opportunity to change your mind.” She reached for him with her black kid gloves, enveloping his cock in their warmth. Despite his every effort, he responded to her expert touch.

“How gratifying.” She bent, teasing her lips against him for a fraction of a second, then set to work with her hands.

He screwed his eyes up, thinking of Spanish ditches and cold rain. That week he spent truly imprisoned by a small group of renegade French soldiers. Maggoty bread. Lying in his own piss and shit. Getting cleaned up only to be beaten and bloodied as the men took turns holding him down. His grandmother’s funeral and old Mrs. Poole, who brought her smelly, snappish dog into the church. The winter morning he had to shoot his favorite horse as he lay heaving in snow, his eyes so trusting as Bay stood shaking over him. Learning of the loss of his child. It was useless. Anne stroked him until he spent onto the filthy sheets.

“I will send one of the men up to assist you. Or maybe several. They told me you put up quite a fight last night.”

He had no recollection of it, just the humiliation of being bested on the street by some brutes. All his years of fighting, of killing, and his instincts had gone soft. It seemed his instincts were the only soft thing-to his horror his manhood had been rigid as he allowed Anne to manipulate him to ejaculation.

“I will be back tomorrow. And I’ll speak to someone about tidying up this room. Its condition is not ideal in which to conceive our child. Just a month, Bay. That’s all I’m asking. If we cannot accomplish the thing, then I’ll let you go back to your little whore on Jane Street.” She left the room, the key turning with finality in the lock.

A month. A month tied to this bed. Charlie thought he was in France, and would never question his whereabouts. Frazier might, if Charlie encountered him belowstairs and asked about his trip. His batman would know not so much as a shaving brush had been packed. Bay’s fate depended upon the accidental meeting of his mistress and his manservant. It was not good enough. With a muffled howl of frustration, he waited for what was to come next.

Chapter 13

Charlotte wondered what one wore to a Courtesan Tea. Probably not one of her gray