His Mistress By Christmas (6 page)

“And yet you seem to have succeeded at it admirably.”

“Believe me, no one is more shocked by that than I am.”

She laughed. He offered his arm, and they started off again.

“The paths in life I was expected to take all seemed dreadfully dull. The idea of spending my days in any sort of profession that had no appeal was, to me, a fate worse than death. Existence rather than living. If that makes any sense.”

She nodded. “At least you had a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“As a man you could do whatever you wished, whether your family approved or not. Women have no such options.”

“And yet, as I understand,
you
do precisely as you please.”

“I am not typical of my gender.” She smiled. “I am fortunate in that I have a very progressively minded family. In addition, I have never had to be dependent upon others for my welfare. There is nothing more freeing from the strictures of society than having the financial resources to do as one wishes. Most women are not that lucky.”

“Luck should never be underestimated.” He chuckled. “I have learned that it is usually better to have luck on one’s side than skill. Luck is often what places you in the right place at the right time. Luck is what makes you bend to dislodge a pebble from your shoe and thus avoid an arrow whizzing by your head.”

“You wrote about that incident.” She clung tighter to his arm, merely in an effort to share his warmth. Nothing more than that. “I would say luck is something of an understatement.”

“And luck, Lady Smithson . . .” He met her gaze firmly.

“Luck is what makes your favorite cousin become fast friends with the lady who is going to change your life.”

Her heart leapt, which made no sense at all. This was not to be an affair of the heart. There would be affection, certainly, but nothing more. Apparently, her heart wasn’t aware of her plans. Odd, she’d never known it to be rebellious before.

She sniffed. “What utter nonsense.”

“I’m very good at utter nonsense,” he said in a sober manner. “As well as infernal nonsense, splendid nonsense, and that’s quite enough nonsense, if you please.”

“Then that’s quite enough nonsense, Sir Sebastian, if you please.” She tried and failed to hide a grin. The man was most amusing.

“Would you do me the honor of calling me Sebastian?”

“That would be most improper,” she said in a lofty manner.

“Ah, but neither you nor I am especially enamored of propriety.”

“Still . . .”

He leaned close in a conspiratorial manner. “It would scandalize Portia, you know.”

“Then there is no choice. Sebastian it is.” She paused. “And in turn, we shall dispense with Lady Smithson. I am simply Veronica.”

“There is nothing simple about you, Veronica.” His tone was casual. “I suspect I will discover you are the most complicated woman I have ever met. And that . . .” He covered her hand on his arm with his. “Is an exploration I fully intend to be successful.”

Again her treacherous heart fluttered. She ignored it and adopted a flippant tone. “Well, I am the lady who is going to change your life, after all.”

He smiled an altogether too satisfied smile.

She studied him curiously. “What exactly did you mean by that?”

“I should think it’s self-explanatory.”

“Apparently not.” She drew her brows together. This was not going entirely as she had planned. First, he had her agreeing, or at least not disagreeing about the weather, and she couldn’t recall the last time she had acquiesced to anyone else’s opinion on the weather or anything else. Then he had her walking, which she’d had no desire to do, as it was indeed bloody cold and her shoes, while quite fetching, were not conducive to long walks. She’d had no intention of walking and yet here she was. Admittedly, he was amusing and candid and undeniably charming. She had no idea how it happened, but somehow he had the upper hand with no more than the utterance of one enigmatic comment about her changing his life. What utter non—how absurd.

She stopped, unhooked her arm from his, and drew a deep breath. “Sebastian, I—” Without warning she sneezed.

“Good Lord, you’re cold, aren’t you?” Concern showed in his eyes. “My apologies, Veronica. How thoughtless of me.” He took her gloved hands in his and rubbed them briskly. “I should have realized. You’re really not dressed for a walk.” He tucked her hand back in the crook of his arm and walked her back to her carriage. “Can you ever forgive me?”

She stared at him. “It’s really not—”

“Allow me to make amends.” They reached her carriage, and he turned toward her. “I have tickets for the play at the Prince’s Theater three nights from tonight, and three nights after that is a banquet at the Explorers Club in honor of something or other. I would be delighted if you would join me on both those evenings.”

She shook her head. “I’m not at all sure—”

“And your delightful aunt as well,” he added. “To observe all those rules of propriety, of course.”

“I thought we were of one mind on our view of propriety?”

“Indeed we are.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze locked with hers. “I have every intention of flouting propriety with you, Veronica, but not quite yet.”

“No?”

“No,” he said firmly, helped her into the carriage, and turned to her driver. “Henry.”

“Yes, sir?” Henry said.

“Henry, please take Lady Smithson directly home and see to it she is properly warmed.” Sebastian leaned close and lowered his voice. “I regret I cannot see to it myself.”

Heat washed up her face and she ignored it, lowering her voice to match his. “What do you mean by ‘not yet’? What are your intentions?”

“Come now, Veronica, you really don’t want to know. It would spoil all your fun.” A wicked light flashed in his eyes. “And mine.” He signaled to Henry and the carriage started off.

“I haven’t agreed to the theater or the banquet,” she called after him. “I may well have previous plans!”

He grinned that same satisfied smile she’d seen before, touched the brim of his hat in farewell, and nodded. “Good day, Lady Smithson.”

He turned and strode off. She stared after him. No, this was not at all as she thought this first encounter would go. Admittedly, she wasn’t sure how she had expected this meeting to be. She certainly hadn’t planned to ask him of his intentions. It scarcely mattered. She had intentions of her own. And she intended to become his mistress. Why, one could easily say she was in pursuit of him, not the other way around. Apparently, the blasted man didn’t understand that.

Somehow, she’d lost control of the situation. He had her . . . flustered. That was what it was. Flustered. Veronica Smithson was never flustered, and she didn’t like it one bit. Then there were those moments when an odd sort of yearning had fluttered within her. What on earth was the matter with her? Well, things would be different when she met him at the theater. If she met him at the theater, that is.

That was as much utter nonsense as anything he had said. Of course she would attend. As for bringing her aunt, that would defeat the purpose of being alone with him. Still, it was not a bad idea, at least in the beginning. It would be proper and, more important, safe.

She gasped at the thought. Good Lord! She’d never been concerned with
safe
before. Women who planned to become mistresses were certainly not worried about
safe
. Even so, there was something about that man that struck her as dangerous somewhere deep inside her. To that treacherous heart of hers, no doubt. It had no business leaping or fluttering. There would be no yearning or aching or any of that nonsense.

That obviously explained why he had flustered her. She had never pursued a man before, and her heart was confused as to her intentions. While there would be affection, there would be no question of love. It was her observation that love mucked up everything and prodded women to make foolish choices. She was not looking for love. She’d had it once, and it was quite wonderful. Besides, the chances that any man could love her for who she was, not who he thought she should be, were infinitesimal and not worth pursuing.

Those were her terms, and from this moment on, this—whatever
this
was to be with Sebastian—would be on her terms, not his.

“I do hope your intentions are not the least bit honorable,” she said under her breath and settled back in her seat. “Mine certainly aren’t.”

“And where are we off to tonight?” Fordham Sinclair leaned against the jamb of the open parlor door at the foot of the stairs, a glass of brandy in his hand, his casual manner belying the formality of his clothes. His gaze swept over Sebastian. “And so formally attired.”

“No more so than you. Although I daresay it suits me better.” Sebastian adjusted the cuffs at his wrists.

“You’re English.” Sinclair sipped his brandy. “You were born to be stiff and stodgy and wear uncomfortable clothes.” He glanced around the foyer. “And live in drafty houses.”

“Might I point out this is your house, not mine.”

He shrugged. “Not by choice.”

Sinclair’s residence, which he graciously shared with Sebastian whenever one or both of them were in London, belonged to his family but was at his disposal. The product of an American railroad magnate father and the youngest daughter of the Earl of Marsham, Sinclair nonetheless considered himself fully American. He was no better at obligatory visits to his English relations than Sebastian. That, plus their similar natures and passion for exotic locales, was among the factors that had made them partners in adventure and travel, as well as fast friends, through the six years of their acquaintance.

“Per the telegram from my father that arrived today, I am being forced to represent my family at what will, no doubt, be a dreadfully dull evening at the American embassy.”

“Forced?”

“It was a request that left little doubt as to my attendance.” He raised his glass. “I am preparing myself.”

Though the heir to enormous fortunes on both sides of his family, Sinclair was no more enamored of his family’s expectations for him than Sebastian had been with his own. Yet another thing the friends had in common.

“You might enjoy it.”

“Oh, I fully intend to enjoy it. One way or another.” His expression brightened. “Say, you’re already dressed for the occasion. Why don’t you come with me? Moral support, as it were, for your closest friend.”

“Sorry, old man. I am attending the theater.” Sebastian stepped to the mirror that hung in the foyer and assessed his image. “There is nothing like a night at the theater. You should try it.”

“I have tried it.” Sinclair swirled the brandy in his glass and studied him suspiciously. “While I am not especially averse to it, and God knows tonight I would rather attend the most boring of plays rather than the most sparkling embassy party—”

Sebastian choked.

“It is not my first choice of how to spend my evening. Nor has it ever been yours.”

Sebastian ignored him, studying his image in the mirror. “Is my tie straight?”

“No.” Sinclair’s eyes narrowed. “Is this part of your plan to prove to your family that you have changed?”

“It’s the theater, Sinclair,” Sebastian said coolly. Both men were more accustomed to casual clothing than the stiff collars and white ties required for formal occasions, although Sinclair appeared far more at ease than Sebastian felt. No doubt the brandy had something to do with that. He adjusted the tie. “It’s scarcely a watermark of respectability.”

“I suppose that depends. What are you going to see?”

“An opera, I think.” Sebastian paused. “Or maybe Shakespeare. I don’t remember.”

“Ah, well, that explains it.”

“
The School for Scandal,
” Sebastian said. “That’s it. That’s the name of the play.” Sebastian met his friend’s gaze in the mirror. “Explains what?”

“I asked the wrong question. The question isn’t so much what you are going to see but rather who.”

Sebastian smiled. “Is the tie straight now?”

“No. Try again.” Sinclair returned his grin. “Who is she?”

“
She
is Lady Smithson.” Sebastian huffed in frustration and yanked the tie free. He blew a long breath and started over. This blasted noose would not get the best of him.

“Lady Smithson? A new acquaintance?”

“She was at my lecture,” he said absently, concentrating on the stubborn silk around his neck. “She has the most amazing dark red hair and deep brown eyes that flash when she is amused.”

Sinclair smirked. “Now I understand.”

“It’s not like that,” Sebastian said in a sharper tone than he had intended.

“Like what?”

“She is not another mere admirer. Veronica is a friend of my cousin.”

Sinclair’s brow furrowed. “The very proper cousin?”

“Portia, yes.” Sebastian studied the newly tied neckcloth. Perhaps a jaunty angle was best, after all. He did have a certain reputation to maintain.

“At last the fog lifts.” Sinclair nodded knowingly.

“And all has become clear?”

“As crystal, my friend.”

Sebastian turned to his friend. “Then do tell me. What profound revelation has struck you?”

“You want your family to see you as respectable and responsible. Therefore you cultivate certain symbols.” Sinclair nodded sagely. “The symbols of responsibility.”

“Oh?” Sebastian considered his friend with amusement. “I had no idea you were so wise.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me more about these symbols.”

Sinclair circled him in the foyer like a great cat stalking his prey. “What else would you call an estate complete with a grand house in the country? What was the name of it?”

“Greyville Hall, and admittedly it’s large, but it’s not grand,” Sebastian said quickly. “It was once and hopefully will be again. It needs a great deal of work, which will cost a great deal of money.”

“You got it for a good price, did you not?”

“Practically stole it.”

Sinclair winced. “There is nothing more responsible than a man who pursues a bargain. Symbolically, that is.”

Sebastian laughed. “That’s absurd, but most amusing. Do go on.”