The Perfect Mistress (53 page)

"I am?"

There was a shout, followed by the jerk of the carriage, and he released her chin and reached for her hand.

"Until you came along, I hadn't heard from my conscience in years. Now, it seems, I hear from it at the drop of a hat. I cannot listen to my party's propaganda without wondering about their motives and thinking of alternative proposals… a rather inconvenient habit for a politician. I find myself looking at women in the streets and worrying whether they have a place to sleep at night. I see ragged children and I think of your foundling hospitals. I read the newspaper and wonder what details
didn't
get printed.

And, strangely enough, I don't seem as eager to judge people for being human and fallible."

She felt the comforting warmth of his big hand around hers and remembered what he had said to Arundale. "Pierce, did you mean what you said in the garden?" she asked, hope rising anew. "About me?"

He nodded, searching the tension in her features. "Every word."

"That you trust me? And you believe I am honorable?"

"That, and more." At that moment in the garden, when he saw her standing there, with tears running down her face and her heart in her eyes, he had known her utterly. He knew the depth of her heart and the earnestness of her passions. He knew she would never betray him, not even out of hurt or anger.

"How much more?" She held her breath.

"A great deal more. You're generous to a fault, honest, softhearted, a little devious, and more than a little determined. And you're passionate about the things you believe in, like helping children… and like me. You believed in me, sweetheart. And, because you believed in me, I have to believe in you.

And in your love."

"I do love you," she said softly. "With all my heart."

"I know." From the softening of his powerful face, she could see what that knowledge meant to him. "I was running, Gabrielle. From you. From being changed. From being controlled. Then, tonight, I realized that no matter how long or how far or how fast I ran, no matter where I went… you would still be there. Because you're here"—he put his hand to his chest—"inside me."

"And?" she insisted with a beaming smile.

"That isn't enough?" He gave her a look of disbelief, then it dawned on him what she wanted. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" When she nodded, he took a deep breath and braced. "You women and your words," he muttered. "All right." He took both her hands in his. "I love you, Gabrielle St. James. With all my heart. And I miss you."

Her face was radiant, dazzling as she made her final demand.

"And?"

He broke into a bewildered grin. "You want still more?"

"There is the little matter of a
choice
you had to make." She focused fiercely on him, coiled with expectation, sensing what his answer would be, but aching to hear it.

"Oh, yes. My choice." He wagged a finger at her. "Very clever of you to offer me one, Gabrielle. A master stroke, in fact. But, I've decided I'm not especially keen on the particulars of your offer. I mean… who says I have to have you for my wife
or
my lover
or
my friend?"

Her smile dimmed. "What?"

"What if I decide I want all three?" There was a devastating twinkle in his eyes as he leaned closer and seized her other hand. "What if I want to help you at the foundling hospital, like a friend… then escort you to a dinner party, like a husband… and afterward make wild love to you in the carriage, like a lover?"

"Oh, I see." Her heart soared as she looked into the depths of his dark eyes, that were like the night sky, littered with stars. "You expect to get a wife and a mistress and a friend in the same bargain… three for the price of one. I always said you were a shrewd one, Lord Sandbourne."

"I'm afraid 'shrewd' has nothing to do with it. You see, the time we spent in your boudoir,
pretending to sin
, was far and away the most fun I've ever had. And I can't help wondering if it might prove to be just as much fun to
pretend to be respectable
with you."

She laughed, bubbles of mirth rising from the depths of her soul.

"Pretending to be respectable? I think I'd like that. It sounds like us. But…"

She gave him a teasing scowl that couldn't quite make her smile disappear.

"If we pretend to be respectable, will I still be able to do this?"

Sliding against him, she pulled his head down and gave him a wildly hungry kiss in which she tugged at his tongue and gave his passions the spur. His answer sounded a bit short of breath.

"I believe… we would have to make allowances for that."

"And this? What about this?" she murmured against his lips, pulling his tie and unbuttoning his collar. Kissing her way down his chin and down his throat, she gave the base of his neck a rake with her teeth. In a heartbeat she was popping the studs on his shirtfront ripping open the button placket of his undershirt… and pressing lush, tonguing kisses down one side of his breast. Then, prying his shirt back inside his coat, she found his nipple and began to flick it with her tongue and give it soft nips with her teeth.

"Yes—" he groaned. "
Ohhh
, yes. We'll definitely allow that."

"And this?" she asked, having difficulty getting her breath as she sat up on her knees on the seat by him, and pulled down the bodice of her gown, just enough to bare two taut, velvety nipples.

"
Ummm
… I'm afraid I would have to insist on this"—he dipped his burning face to rub his cheek against one tightly contracted tip—"
regularly
."

He kissed and caressed her breasts, licked and teased and nibbled… until he couldn't bear it anymore. Wrapping her waist with his arms, he hauled her across his lap and buried his face in the rose-scented valley between those erotic mounds.

She wriggled seductively on his lap, knowing exactly where to direct her weight as she rubbed and writhed against his swollen shaft. They kissed and pressed and caressed until their passions threatened to explode out of control. It was only when she made to hike her skirts and sit astride his lap

—postilion style—that they moved apart long enough to realize the carriage had stopped.

"We're here," he said hoarsely, leaning ahead to peer out the window. She sagged against him, boneless with need. "And I don't think you gave me an answer."

"Answer?" She said, breathing hard. "What was the question again?"

He grinned. "Do I get three for the price of one?"

She bit her lip, eyeing him seductively. "How about an even trade?

Husband, lover, and friend… for wife, mistress, and friend."

He leaned back against the seat, looking at her, thinking he'd never seen a more erotic sight in his life than her, sitting there with her breasts peeking above her bodice, her hair coming undone, her eyes black with roused passions. For all the hunger in his body, there was a poignant fullness in his chest, in his heart. With a soft, desirous smile, he extended his hand to her.

"Agreed."

"Agreed." She shook his hand. "But, I think a bargain as unique as this should be sealed with something a bit more memorable than a handshake."

Mischief played at the corners of her mouth. "Come to bed with me, and I'll give you a night you'll never forget."

With a triumphant laugh, he lurched for the door, but she held him back.

"Really, Lord Sandbourne. You cannot be seen emerging from a carriage in such a condition. There are standards to maintain."

He glanced down to find his shirt and his trousers both standing open.

When they had righted their clothes, they descended from the carriage and entered the house. It seemed like an eternity before Pierce was lighting the candles in the bedchamber and then taking her into his arms.

When he surfaced from one of her absorbing kisses, he ran his hands over her satin and her jet bugle beads. "I've been dying of curiosity," he murmured against her hair, recalling his curiosity earlier in the evening.

"Are you or are you not wearing all-in-ones under your dress?"

She shivered as he traced her ear with his tongue. "There is one sure way to find out."

"Yes?"

"Take it off."

His whole body was on fire, trembling so that he could scarcely make his hands function at her hooks and laces. Piece by piece, he peeled her garments away until she stood in camisole, garters, and stockings… and a smile. There were no all-in-ones on the floor. Then she insisted on returning the favor. His coat, his vest, his shirt and undershirt fell to the floor, followed closely by his trousers. As she knelt to remove his stockings, she paused on her knees before him, looking up his long, angular body. One by one, she removed her hairpins and her flowers. And when her hair was free, she combed it with her fingers and then began to rub it over his swollen and aching loins.

"Merciful—" He closed his eyes and held his breath. "Where did you learn such a thing, Gabrielle?" After a moment the sensation stopped, and he opened his eyes to find her standing before him with desire flickering like a flame through her entire countenance.

"I've been taking lessons." She smiled and took him by the hand, leading him to the bed, turning the covers back. Absorbed in watching her shapely bottom sway, he could barely recall what he had asked, much less make sense of her answer.

"Lessons?" He shook his head and blinked as she slid across the sheets and held out her arms to him.

"Mistress lessons." The sultry demand in her eyes spilled over into her voice. "I intend to be the perfect mistress."

"The perfect mistress?" None of his mental faculties were functioning as he slid into the bed and into her cool, silken arms.

"
Ummm
." She wrapped his neck with her arms as he settled between her thighs. "Want to see what I learned in lesson one?"

They lay together afterward, exhausted, glowing, stuffed to overflowing with satisfaction. For a while, he luxuriated in the feel of her against him.

She fit perfectly… in his arms… in his heart. She was like a piece of him that he hadn't even known was missing until he found her. With her in his arms, feeling her pressed warmly against him, he felt strangely full and complete.

He had found the perfect mistress. And the perfect mistress was his wife.

"I missed you," she said softly, turning her head on his arm to gaze fondly at him.

He sat up, looking intently at her, then slid from the bed to rummage around in the bottom drawer of the highboy across the room. When he came back, he placed in her hands a shoe… once pristine white brocade and lush satin rosettes, now bedraggled and water-stained. She stared at it, feeling a crush of tenderness in her chest, then looked up to find his eyes luminous.

"I missed you too," he said. And there in her hands was the proof. He had gone back to retrieve her lost shoe and he had kept it safe, all this time. "I missed your laugh and your loving and your honesty. I missed my best friend."

She sat up and threw her arms around his neck—still holding that shoe—

and kissed him with all the joy and passion in her heart. When she was too breathless to continue, she halted and pressed her forehead to his, looking into his eyes, reveling in both the intimacy and the title he had just bestowed on her. "Best friend. That has a wonderful sound. Who would have guessed that two months ago we would be here, like this… married and loving… and best friends."

She grinned. "You know what we should do? Send Mr. Gladstone a thank-you note. Or, if you'd prefer, we could just name our firstborn after him." The arrested look on his face made her laugh. "Wait—I had forgotten.

I promised to name my firstborn after
you
. I'm afraid Mr. Gladstone will have to settle for the second-born. Or the third…" She paused and leaned back. "We will have a third, won't we?"

The sudden tension in his face and frame puzzled her. She laid her hand on his face. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

He sat up. "This is Saturday night. What time is it?" Bolting from the bed, he rummaged about in his discarded clothes for his pocket watch. "Almost half past eleven! Damn, damn, and double damn!"

"Pierce? What is it?" She had never heard him be so profane. Grabbing a sheet and rolling up onto her knees on the bed, she watched him pacing and running his hands through his hair. Then he stopped and stood staring at her.

There she sat, in the bed they now shared, rosy with the effects of his loving, her eyes shining with trust and belief in him. Suddenly his conscience was in massive revolt.

"Tell me again… how appearances are deceiving… how Gladstone really did just try to rescue you… how good and decent his intentions toward those street women are."

"What?" She slid to the edge of the bed.

"Tell me again that I'm a different man… a better man," he demanded, his countenance catching fire as he came to her and took her by the shoulders, searching her face. "Tell me what
you
would do if you knew someone else was doing something questionable and perhaps even underhanded—supposedly with the highest of purposes. Do two wrongs ever make a right? What would you do, Gabrielle, if you knew someone you disagreed with and disliked was going to be hurt very badly?"

"What are you talking about, Pierce? What's happening? I want to help—