Mistress by Mistake

rain spattered on the windows, and the wind-driven ocean roared. This was no ordinary mild June afternoon. It mirrored the war he was having within himself.

He kissed her quickly on her nose. There was a freckle there he hadn’t noticed before, and a few more strands of silver shooting through her midnight hair. He pictured her in twenty years, one of her ghastly caps concealing pearl-white curls. She would age well, he thought, the cushion of her womanly body softening any wrinkle that would dare to appear. He wondered where she’d be in two decades, and with whom. Surely she was meant to be a wife and mother; her housewifery was apparent in her neat little cottage.

And where would he be? Likely right here. London would soon lose its allure-it was doing so already. There were several improvement projects at Bayard Court that he had been putting off, not wishing to disturb his grandmother. He knew he could sell the Jane Street property at a tidy profit. A mile of gentlemen were lined up waiting to purchase one of the dozen houses if it came on the market. And if his grumpy little Charlie was not there waiting for him upstairs, it was too annoying and arduous by half to have to replace her.

He didn’t think he could push his luck and coax her back to Jane Street on any terms. She really was a vexingly upright citizen after all, despite her undeniably sinful body. He hoped she wouldn’t ask to attend church while she was here-her presence would attract unwelcome attention. He was known not to have any female cousins. A man of his class did not have female “friends” who visited unchaperoned. Even if he passed her off as the widow of an army comrade, there would be talk. Charlie would not be safe. The fewer people who knew he was back, the better.

“You look dreadfully serious all of a sudden.”

Her eyes were bright, but the tears had dried up. He smiled at her, pushing his concerns away. “It’s this blasted weather. How am I to take you for a moonlit sail when we’re likely to be blown all the way to France?”

“One can do nothing about the weather. I’m sure we’ll find other amusements.” She wiggled into him playfully. This was the Charlie he loved.

He kissed her again, savoring the taste of her. He could kiss her for hours, but the chiming hall clock had other ideas.

“I think, my dear, that we should help each other get dressed and help each other get undressed to change for dinner. If I know Mrs. Kelly, she’s been slaving away in the kitchen with something tempting for us.”

She sighed in relaxation in his arms. “I am beyond temptation. For food, at any rate.”

“Minx. You hardly ate anything at tea. Don’t be foolish and go on some sort of slimming regimen. I like your womanly curves.” He brushed a hand across her belly for emphasis. She was round in all the right places. He’d never been one to admire a bony or waiflike female.

She slapped his hand away. “No tickling. Not again.”

“Spoilsport.” With a groan, he raised them both up to a sitting position on the divan. Her nipples pebbled against his chest. “Cold?”

“It’s supposed to be summer. How can I be?” She reached for a stocking on the carpet. “You’ve thrown my pins everywhere. Just how am I to do my hair up so I can pass the servants without them smirking?”

“All this sex has made me stupid. I completely forgot. We’ll go up the secret stairs. There will be no need to even dress.”

Charlie blinked. “There are secret stairs? Next you’ll tell me there’s a ghost.”

“Nothing so predictable. But there is a passage leading from this room to one of the bedrooms upstairs. Not yours or mine, but I doubt we’ll bump into anyone.” He got off the sofa and scooped up the bundle of their clothes.

“I will not go upstairs naked.”

“All right.” He tossed her shift to her. “Put this on, Miss Prim. Now, if I can find the right panel…”

“Please, please put your trousers on at least.”

“You’re right. There might be spiders.” He enjoyed her shudder as he stepped into his pants and boots. She sat back down and put her slippers on sans stockings. “This house is very old, you know, and it wasn’t always in my family. My grandfather bought it when he made his fortune and changed its name.”

“That’s unlucky, isn’t it?”

“It may well be, but my grandfather didn’t believe in luck but hard work.” He walked to a corner and started rapping. Charlie glided after him, interested.

“You’re quite serious, aren’t you. Will a door pop open?”

“If I get lucky. It’s been years since I’ve been exploring here. The house was built by a family that was always in trouble with the church or the law. Hence a bolt-hole. There are stairs and a passage that leads to the beach. My father showed me when I was a boy, but then my grandmother absolutely forbid me to use them once he died. She thought I’d disappear.”

“And you were obedient.”

Bay grinned. “When I had to be. I don’t think I’ve used the stairs since my school days. It was always amusing to jump out at my friends in the middle of the night.”

“I suppose you were wearing a sheet.”

“On occasion. Ah!” He gave a shove with his shoulder and a narrow strip of aged wood creaked open.

Charlie peered into the cavity. “It’s dark.”

“Well, yes. Shall I light a candle, or do you want to parade before the staff in your chemise with your hair down your back? Not that you don’t look very fetching.”

“H-how long will it take us?”

“Not long. It’s just a few dozen steps. I’ll hold your hand and keep you safe.” He lit a candle stub from the sputtering flames in the hearth and stuck it back in the candleholder. “You’ll have to hold our clothes, though.”

Charlotte clutched the assorted clothing to her chest. She was freezing now, the dampness between her legs adding to the chill. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a ray of sunshine. She most certainly did not want to be trapped in a dark cobwebby corridor. But Bay held her fast and pulled her up the well-worn wooden stairs. She screamed only once when something fluttered on her cheek.

“Hush. People will really believe the house is haunted,” Bay teased. “Here we are.”

There was an actual door with an actual knob. Bay turned it and led her into a room whose furniture was covered in dust sheets. She sniffed and sneezed.

“Mice,” she said.

“No doubt. This wing has been closed off since before I went to war. The mice have probably evolved into rats by now.”

“Urk.” Charlotte felt invisible teeth nibbling at her ankles. The room was dim, the shutters closed. She scampered to the door and burst out into the hall. “Which way?”

“Turn right.” She was almost running now, Bay chuckling a few steps behind her. “Right again. Here we are.”

Charlotte was at her own door. “Would it be too much trouble for the household if I ordered a bath before supper?” She was convinced an army of spiders was weaving an elaborate web in her hair.

“My dear, we live to serve you. I’ll take care of it. Wrap up in your wretched gray elephant robe and wait patiently.”

She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him. “Thank you, Bay. I haven’t anything grand to dress in for dinner, you know.”

“If I had my way, we’d dine naked in bed. You know how fond I am of that particular activity.” He held up a hand to stop her complaint. “But not tonight. Tonight we’ll be proper. But I can’t promise propriety for the rest of our holiday.”

Charlotte shut the door on his grinning face, grabbed a hairbrush, and tore it furiously through her hair. Every inch of her itched, ached, throbbed. And she supposed she would be subjected to more lovemaking tonight in Bay’s enormous bed.

She took her robe out of the wardrobe and wrapped her arms around herself. A clap of thunder startled her, but she had already been struck by lightning.

Chapter 20