His Mistress By Christmas (7 page)

“Next, you intend to curtail your travels for the immediate future.” Sinclair shook his head in a mournful manner. “To write not merely of your own adventures but adventurous fiction for those people too cowardly to chance adventures of their own.”

“Surely you would not deny those who do not have your fortitude, or fortune, I might add, the chance to experience the thrill of adventures, fictitious or otherwise.”

“Oh, then this is a charitable enterprise?”

“Not at all,” Sebastian said. “I expect it to be even more profitable than my previous works.”

“So that you may pour money into your crumbling manor in the country?”

“Exactly.”

“That”—Sinclair paused and aimed his glass at his friend—”is the very definition of responsible.”

Sebastian grinned. “Then my plan is working.”

“Add the friend of your proper cousin on your arm and your brothers can’t help but approve your inheritance.”

Sebastian shook his head. “My inheritance has nothing to do with Veronica.”

“Come now, you can’t tell me that after the respectable house and responsible profession, the idea of a proper”—the American winced—”wife hasn’t crossed your mind.”

“Admittedly, it has occurred to me—”

Sinclair groaned.

“But,” Sebastian added quickly, “I have no intention of marrying anyone simply to get an inheritance or the respect of my brothers. And from what I know thus far, Veronica is not what anyone would call proper. At least not entirely. And I have no idea if I wish to marry her or not.”

“Veronica?” Sinclair’s brow rose.

“That would be her name, yes.”

Sinclair studied him for a long moment. He chose his words with care. “I am going to tell you something I never thought I would say to you.”

The tone of the conversation was at once serious. Sebastian stared at his friend. “What is it?”

“When we are engaged in a game of cards and you are bluffing, in fact whenever you say anything that isn’t the complete truth, a muscle on the side of your jaw twitches. I noticed it years ago.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Sinclair scoffed. “Why would I?”

Sebastian narrowed his gaze. “I suspect you owe me some of the winnings you have taken from me through the years.”

“You should be grateful I never shared my discovery. As for
my
winnings, they are a burden of guilt I am willing to bear. I’m only telling you now because that muscle is twitching.”

“Nonsense.”

“Which means either you are not being entirely truthful about using this woman to get your family’s approval or you have already decided to marry her.” Sinclair sipped his brandy thoughtfully. “I’m just not sure if you’re lying to me or yourself.”

“As I said, marriage is not a step I would take simply to get an inheritance. As for marrying Veronica . . .” He chose his words with care. “There have been any number of incidents through the years—you and I have discussed them at length—when we have been forced to rely on nothing more than instinct. A sixth sense, if you will, that has yet to fail either of us.”

Sinclair’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“And now that same instinct is telling me that if I do not make this woman part of my life for the rest of my days, I will regret it. So it’s possible I have decided. It sounds mad, doesn’t it?”

“At the very least. You scarcely know her.”

“I suspect marriage will afford me the opportunity to know her much, much better.”

Sinclair stared. “That sounds like a decision to me.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“Perhaps. Almost. I don’t know. I do know I haven’t been able to think of much else but her since we first met.” He shook his head. “I’ve never experienced that before.”

“Never?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Not even with the French ambassador’s daughter in Cairo?”

“No.”

“Or that lovely widow in Algiers?”

Sebastian shuddered. “Heavens no.”

“Or with the—”

“No,” Sebastian snapped. “Not once, not ever.”

“That is interesting.” Sinclair studied him for a long moment, then smiled and raised his glass. “Good luck to you, then.”

“I shall probably need it. Veronica Smithson may well pose the greatest challenge I have ever faced.” He cast his friend a confident smile. “But then I suspect she will be the grandest adventure as well.”

Still, there would be no adventure at all if the blasted woman refused to make an appearance.

Sebastian resisted the urge to get to his feet and check the corridor outside the private box he had reserved for tonight. Again. He forced himself to stay seated, serenely gazing out at the theater seats filling on the floor beneath this level of boxes. Veronica hadn’t actually said she’d join him. But she hadn’t returned the tickets he’d had delivered to her house yesterday, either. Two tickets, of course. He grimaced. While having her aunt accompany them was not his idea of the perfect evening, it would be best to avoid undue speculation and gossip.

Odd, he’d never been concerned with the appearance of propriety before. But then he’d never considered marriage before. Sinclair was right—he hadn’t been entirely truthful. While he wasn’t sure if this was love or not, he did feel he stood at the edge of a very deep precipice. It was absurd, really, the speed with which these feelings had struck. He’d always thought love would grow, not pounce with the stealth and speed of a hungry tiger. If indeed love was what this was. But he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. He’d never admit it to Sinclair or anyone, but he kept seeing the two of them together in his mind’s eye. Not today or tomorrow but twenty years from now. Thirty years from now. At the very end of their days.

Every rational part of him screamed this was entirely too soon. But every instinct he’d ever had, every sense he’d ever trusted or relied on told him this was right. Mad, certainly, but perhaps that was inevitable. He’d never known love or anything like this before. Who could say if this was wrong or very, very right?

And if this was right, there was a proper way to go about it. After all, one did not take excessive liberties with the woman one planned to marry.

“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” A voice sounded behind him.

He bit back a satisfied grin, stood, and turned toward her. “Not for a moment.”

She raised a skeptical brow.

“Very well, then, in the interest of honesty, I confess.” He laughed. “There was a moment, possibly two, when I had my doubts.”

“I’m not sure if I’m gratified or disappointed.”

“Oh?”

“You strike me as the kind of man who is supremely confident about everything.”

“I am.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. “Except, perhaps, about you.”

“My, that is gratifying and quite delightful.” She smiled. “You do that exceptionally well, you know.”

He could feel the heat of her gloved hand in his. Her scent wafted around him. A vague mix of enticing spice and exotic flowers that suggested not so much the markets of the mysterious East that he had stepped foot in but those places he’d never been. The hidden harems of that concealed world—secret and erotic and unexplored. His stomach tightened. He cleared his throat. “Do what?”

“Kiss my hand while staring into my eyes.” Her tone was light, but her eyes simmered. “It’s quite effective, you know.”

“Thank you?”

“However”—she removed her hand from his—”it is entirely too practiced.”

“But it is effective?”

“Oh my, yes.”

He stifled a satisfied smile. “Even on you?”

“Goodness, Sebastian.” She tilted her head and studied him.

“I am female and subject to the same desires as any woman. Even if I am far too intelligent to be taken in by them.”

He grinned. “Pity.”

“Indeed it is,” she said under her breath and moved to a chair, one of two he had positioned far back from the box’s railing.

He peered around her. “And your charming aunt? Will she be joining us this evening?”

Veronica’s brow furrowed. “I do wish you would refrain from using
charming
in quite that manner.”

“What manner?”

“As if it were a curse rather than a compliment.”

He chuckled. “I meant it in the best possible way.”

“Most people do when it comes to Aunt Lotte.” She shook her head. “We encountered friends of hers in the lobby, and she decided to join them for a bit.”

“To my eternal regret.” He wondered if that annoying muscle in his jaw was twitching.

“But she will, no doubt, be here soon. She takes her position as chaperone very seriously.”

“Does she?” Surprise raised his brows. “I wouldn’t have thought she would be concerned with such matters.”

She considered him thoughtfully, then sighed. “She isn’t really, not usually. However, as you specifically invited her and provided her ticket, she feels under some sort of obligation to actually make an appearance.” She met his gaze directly. “I tried to tell her she needn’t come at all, but she insisted it would be rude as you have been so thoughtful.”

Sebastian stared. “Then it was not necessary to invite her?”

“Do I strike you as the type of woman who insists on a chaperone ?”

“Not exactly.” Still, it was the proper thing to do.

“You should keep that in mind,” she said primly. She settled in a chair and arranged her skirts around her.

“Then we are alone for now?” He took the chair beside her.

“Scarcely.” She glanced around. “We are in the midst of hundreds of people.”

He refrained from mentioning the obvious: with the curtains on either side of the private box, and the chairs placed well back from the railing, they were very much alone. “Yet another pity. I do like being alone with you.”

“We were alone in the park,” she pointed out. “Aside from Henry, of course.”

“Ah, but there’s an enormous difference between being alone in a park in the light of day and being here, in the dim recesses of a theater box. Why, who knows what scandalous behavior might occur?”

“Who knows indeed?” Her gaze met his, an assessing look in her eyes. “Are you intent upon scandalous behavior, then, Sebastian ?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

She smiled pleasantly. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Why on earth would I be here otherwise if not to indulge in scandalous behavior? After all . . .” She leaned forward and scanned the other boxes. “I have seen this play.”

“You should have told me.”

“Why?”

“We could have seen something else.” In truth he had picked the theater more than the play. He had been to the Prince before and was well aware of the potential for privacy in the boxes.

“But neither of us is really here for the play.” She cast him a quizzical glance. “Are we?”

He stared in confusion. “Well, I did think—”

“Come now, Sebastian, in the interest of honesty, did you really wish to see
The School for Scandal?
”

“I do appreciate the theater,” he said staunchly, “and—”

She laughed.

“Very well.” He leaned closer to her. “The theater was simply a ploy to spend time with you, to know you better, in an altogether acceptable manner.”

Her gaze slipped to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Do you intend to kiss me?”

“Indeed I do.”

Her lips parted. “Now?”

“Not now.” He settled back in his chair. “I do think the lights should dim before indulging in scandalous behavior.”

“Then I am disappointed.” She shook her head in a mournful manner. “I thought you had no concern for proper behavior.”

“I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“I should have expected it, I suppose.” She sighed. “You are a well-known figure, and, no doubt, your being here has been noticed. With your reputation, just being in your presence is enough to thrust me into the center of gossip. Given your family, however . . . Well, as I said, I should have expected it. And inviting my aunt along as a chaperone confirms it. You, Sebastian Hadley-Attwater, are apparently a gentleman.”

“Am I shattering yet another illusion?”

“Actually, I am pleased.” She studied him for a moment. “I much prefer to share scandal with a gentleman, a man of honor. All ends so much better that way.”

“I will warn you right now, I am not at all interested in endings, only beginnings. Ours.” He paused and forced a casual note to his voice. “So, have you shared scandal with many gentlemen?”

Amusement curved her lips. “And you accused me of being direct.”

“We are an excellent match.”

“I rather thought Portia would have told you everything there is to know about me. Especially when the topic is scandal.”

“Portia is remarkably discreet.” While he had certainly quizzed his cousin, she revealed no more information about Veronica than what was common knowledge.

“Nonsense.” Veronica scoffed. “Portia has never met a secret she could keep.”

“Perhaps she thought you should tell me of your past.”

“There is very little past to speak of. I have always been far more concerned with today than yesterday. However . . .” She smiled pleasantly, as if they were about to discuss something of no consequence. “It did strike me after our last meeting that, while I learned a great deal about you, we scarcely talked about me at all.”

“My apologies.” He winced. “How very thoughtless of me.”

“Not at all.” She waved off his comment. “It wasn’t your fault in the least. I gave you no opportunity to ask me anything of significance or anything at all, if I recall. You did compare me to a journalist.” She flashed an amused smile. “I still like that, you know.”

“Regardless, I should have at least asked you if you’d seen the play.”

“That’s neither here nor there at the moment. But, in the interest of honesty, there are some things about me you would be wise to know.” She pulled out a small folded paper from her glove. “I have made a list.”

“Have you?” He chuckled. “How very efficient of you.”

“I hate to waste time.” She glanced at the note. “First of all, I have never minded being the subject of gossip as long as it is relatively accurate.”

He nodded. “Excellent. Go on.”