Mistress in the Making Page 8

  Gasps emerged from the other girls in the room who’d gone silent at Elizabeth’s entry.

  “I sacrificed myself so you could have a Season and make a good marriage, but you’ve thrown it all away.” She turned away from her sister, unable to stomach the sight of the girl’s haughty ignorance.

  “Madame Bella says marriage is simply whoring yourself for free. This way perhaps I’ll make a bit of coin for myself,” Elizabeth said. “And I like it. The lessons are…stimulating. Far more than Edward could ever have taught me.”

  Charlotte stepped back and collapsed onto the sofa, sick at Elizabeth’s presence and her equanimity over her dalliance with Edward, one of their former groomsmen. “Who knows you’re here? Anne? Meggie? Anyone else? It’s not too late. In six months I should have enough to bring you to London for a real Season. We’ll find a proper chaperone. Father was a baron. You could still make a good match.” The desperate words spilled from her lips, but fell on deaf ears.

  “I’m eighteen, Charlotte, and no virgin. Madame Bella’s proper age for an auction. She’s already put the word out that there is to be an auction for me two weeks hence. She feels confident my beauty will match the price your virginity brought.”

  “Two weeks,” she gasped. “No. Don’t do this.”

  “It is already done.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, why?”

  “Charlotte.” Madame Bella’s sharp voice sounded throughout the room. “Come see me in my study. Girls, back to your lessons.”

  Charlotte gave her sister a beseeching look, but Elizabeth had already turned to exit. She stood slowly and followed Madame to her office and tried to calm her racing heart.

  “Charlotte.” Madame Bella smiled when they reached the office as if they were dear friends, not teacher and student, or mistress and fellow whore.

  “Madame.” Charlotte inclined her head then looked up, surprised. The formerly barebones office now matched the front parlor for grandeur. Gold velvet chaises held up the opposite walls and an elegant wood desk with dear, carved legs faced the door near the back wall.

  Madame moved behind the desk and sat gracefully. “Mr. Morgan’s generous bidding went a long way to bringing our little school up to my standards.”

  Her lips stretched into an obscene smile. “Glad I was able to assist.”

  Madame’s eyes narrowed. “Sit.” She gestured to the spindly chair facing her.

  Charlotte sat and watched Madame, who kept her blasé expression in place.

  “You’re angry I allowed Elizabeth here.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m a businesswoman, and Elizabeth is good business.”

  Her fingers fisted in the sumptuous fabric of her skirts and she forced herself to take a calming breath before shouting at her boss, “She could make a good marriage.”

  Madame shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “I did this for nothing.” She stared at the carved wooden leg of the desk where it rested on a floral motif of the rug.

  “Not for nothing. You have some life experience now. Quite a bit, I’ve heard from my sources.”

  Charlotte flushed, thinking of all the places she and Lucas had visited during their weeks together. Lucas…oh my. If Elizabeth was here, there was no longer a reason for her to remain in London with Lucas. She could return home. However, the thought of leaving Lucas felt like a slap in the face.

  “Don’t do it.”

  She lifted her head to wince at Madame’s piercing gaze.

  “I see what you’re thinking. Don’t go home. You’re under contract for the next two months. I will still demand payment from you if you leave.”

  “But—”

  “You think you love him, don’t you?” Madame interrupted.

  How much should she confess? It felt a betrayal to her feelings to share them when they were so new. Madame would be angry she hadn’t heeded the number-one lesson or number two, come to think of it. She’d told Lucas all about her family and financial troubles.

  “Charlotte?” Madame’s sharp voice held no softness.

  “I’m sorry, Madame. You’re correct of course.”

  Madame rose again and walked to the office door to shut it with a click. “Your emotions are as clear as if you’d written me a note.”

  She twisted her neck to look up as Madame returned to her desk. “I…”

  “Have I ever told you how I came to open this school?” Madame asked.

  “No.”

  “I too broke the number-one rule of mistresses. I fell in love.”

  “He did not return your love?”

  “Oh, he did.” Madame gave a bitter laugh. “Sadly, not enough.”

  Charlotte kept silent, waiting for the harsh lesson Madame had learned at the hands of her lover and hoped she’d have enough sense to learn from another’s mistakes and not be destined to relive them herself.

  “I remained his mistress for years. I knew he’d never marry me. I was never that hopeless.” She removed a quill from her desktop and twirled the feather. “I’d simply hoped he’d stay with me after his wife died. A marriage of sorts.”

  “He didn’t?” Charlotte ventured.

  Madame snapped the quill’s point. “He did not. Within six months after his wife’s death, he remarried. A chit right out of the schoolroom, but she was no green girl. She demanded he cut me from his life and he agreed.”

  “Oh,” she said softly with sympathy.

  “I was too old to find another protector. Men like youth. I had no heart for the game anymore and few financial options. I decided to help other ladies learn from my mistakes. Which is why you must not fall in love and harbor ridiculous notions regarding Mr. Morgan. Will he love you? Maybe. Marriage? Never.”

  Charlotte studied the lacework at the hem of her skirt. Madame was correct, much as it hurt to admit. “I’m sorry for your experience. Please be assured, I will stay with Lucas and your money will be delivered on time.” She concentrated on breathing slowly and keeping her tears from flowing. When she rose to exit, Madame pressed a packet of letters into her hand.

  She fled from the house without bidding farewell to the other girls. Hot tears pressed at her eyes, but she squeezed the mysterious papers, realizing they must be letters from her sisters at last. Her sisters, having been told she was working as a governess, addressed mail to a friend of Madame Bella’s who then forwarded them on to Madame.

  Once in the carriage, she ripped open the first in the stack of letters, praying her sisters’ chatter could cheer her, but their words only forced the rush of tears harder down her cheeks.

  Dearest Charlotte,

  By the time this reaches you, it may be too late, but I write in desperation and feel you would want to know all the news from home.

  Elizabeth has disappeared. After you left, she railed against you, complaining how you escaped to London to be a governess, leaving us at the mercy of our approaching cousin. Last week, she stopped complaining and now we know why. She had a wicked plan! She left a note telling us not to worry, but she found her own way to London. Meggie and I are beside ourselves because of all the dangers of her alone in that awful, great city. We wish you were here to instruct us on what to do. We write hoping you can find her, but how will you ever discover her location? Oh, what shall we do?

  Your worried sister,

  Anne

  Sobs burst out at the disaster she now called her life. Her first instinct was to run for home immediately, if only to share Elizabeth’s whereabouts with her sisters. How could her sister have done something so absurdly ridiculouos? She’d be sold to the highest bidder, and who knew if the man would be someone as wonderful as Lucas.

  Her tears welled up again at the thought of the strong, fierce man who’d stolen a piece of her heart. She couldn’t possibly stay with him, sharing a bed for the next month without confessing her love. Would he release her from their arrangement as he’d offered their first night and continue paying Madame’s monthly commission? After all they shared, would
he let her go so easily?

  She’d have to write home immediately, she decided after examining the date on her sister’s letter before her sisters did something rash like come to London themselves. Lucas would be at a men’s club listening for rumors about his eldest brother’s death and wouldn’t be home until nightfall. She’d have time to race home and write and hope Bellamy was home to frank the letter for her.

  Every second the carriage sat in the busy London traffic was a gnawing rub at her anxiety. She was no longer simply Lucas’ mistress, but also a devoted sister who needed to get word to her family that Elizabeth was safe for the time being. Although once Elizabeth went up for auction, who was to say she’d continue being safe. Her weeks with Lucas had taught her there was a dark side to sexual relationships. If the man who bought her services wasn’t as kind as Lucas, she’d have almost no recourse or means to escape.

  She rested her chin in her hand, leaning on the door and watching London streets fly by without seeing anything clearly. The realization that she was anxious to get home to Lucas and have him solve her problem didn’t sit well. She’d been the mother figure for a long time and wasn’t used to depending on others in a crisis. She needed to remind herself that Lucas may hold the title of her protector, but it was simply in name only. Any saving of her family had to be undertaken by her alone.

  Chapter Eight

  “And then he tipped back in his chair onto his ar…ahem…rear,” Lucas said and pulled her arm closer so he could brush his hip against hers. They were strolling in the park at a very unfashionable hour, enjoying an unusual bit of warm air before winter delivered its calling card.

  Charlotte’s laughter bubbled at the conclusion of one of his many travel tales and he felt a bit taller at making her laugh. She’d been too serious of late. She’d continued to be everything a man wanted in his mistress—responsive, sensual and available. However, it seemed only her body was available. She was holding a piece of herself back and he missed it. Ever since she’d returned from visiting her friends at Madame Bella’s she’d withdrawn, not throwing herself at him at every opportunity.

  Had Madame Bella spoken to her? Reprimanded her in some way for being so much more than a mistress? He didn’t know and didn’t know how to broach the subject.

  “Is that Lady Sarah?” He squinted to better see the lone figure tossing crumbs at the pond ahead.

  “Your eldest brother’s former betrothed?” Charlotte’s smile faded. Of course she wouldn’t know Lady Sarah on sight. Mistresses were strictly verboten at good society events where Lucas had spent frequent evenings in the past week researching Sebastian’s social gentleman’s persona.

  “Yes, I think that’s her.” He tugged at Charlotte’s hand to hurry her toward the young woman. “We’ll be able to question her here in the park. Ballrooms are too crowded.”

  His footsteps kicked up dust on the gray pebbles as he neared Lady Sarah. As he arrived within polite shouting distance, he realized Charlotte was no longer at his side. He turned back to see her halt and give him a little wave.

  “Go on, talk to her. You said you can never get her alone in a ballroom, she’s always dashing off when you get close. Now’s your chance.”

  He stepped closer and clasped her hands. “Why are you stopped here?”

  Her eyes closed for a second. “Lucas, I’m your mistress. I can’t speak to an unmarried girl, let alone any woman in society.”

  He frowned, recognizing the truth in her words but hating the ridiculous strictures society thrust upon them. Up until a few weeks ago, Charlotte had been as gently bred and innocent as Lady Sarah. He swallowed the queasy discomfort at his role in her status change. “She won’t know you’re my mistress. You look as innocent as she.”

  “Oh? And where’s my chaperone?” Charlotte’s impatience matched his. “Go on, before she leaves.”

  He grabbed her elbow and dragged her with him, releasing her free will in the matter. “I’ll introduce you as my wife.” He was able to ignore her snort and mutterings because of the smile she tried to hide at the word ‘wife’.”

  “You’re going to regret this tomorrow evening when every matron in the ton wants to know where your wife is.”

  He smiled and waved at Lady Sarah, but addressed his words to Charlotte. “I’ll tell them you’re in a delicate condition and prefer to rest at home.”

  “And what of your infamous mistress for whom you set a new bidding standard?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone will assume I needed an outlet for my male passions if my wife is pregnant.”

  She chuckled. “It is audacious. No one will assume your wife and mistress are one and the same person.”

  He turned his response into a greeting. “Lady Sarah. May we join you?”

  A waiflike lady with pale-reddish, almost blonde hair turned, dropping her bag of crumbs. “Mr. Morgan. You startled me.” A smile covered her face but did not reach her eyes. She glanced at Charlotte, waiting to be introduced.

  “May I present my wife, Mrs. Morgan,” he said smoothly, ignoring how comfortable it felt introducing Charlotte as his wife. Squawks of ducks and splashes in the pond echoed as the ladies inclined their heads to each other.

  Lucas scooped up Sarah’s bag and handed it to her. Without the safety of ballroom banalities, he was unsure of how to broach the subject. Thank goodness for Charlotte.

  “Lucas was just telling me some wild tales of his travels. Have you ever traveled abroad, Lady Sarah?”

  “I have not,” she said, looking from Lucas to Charlotte with a quizzical expression. “If you’ll pardon me asking, how long have you been married?”

  “Seven years,” he said.

  “One month,” Charlotte said at the same time.

  Lucas forced a laugh. “What my wife means is we’ve been married a month but betrothed for seven.”

  “Oh. Funny, your brother never mentioned your betrothal. He often said you were too wild to ever settle down.” She turned back to tossing pinch-sized crumbs to ducks without seeming to aim. Sadness and loneliness pervaded the air surrounding her.

  Lucas met Charlotte’s wide-eyed, meaningful glance. Now what it seemed to say.

  He shrugged.

  Charlotte unhooked her arm from his and stepped next to Sarah, reaching into the bag for her own handful of crumbs. “I’m not really his wife.”

  Sarah halted her arm, mid-throw. “You’re not?”

  Charlotte shook her head and tossed accurately at a pair of ducks who flapped toward her bounty. “I’m his mistress.”

  Sarah froze then looked from her to him and back again. “Truly?” She seemed excited by the information and not at all horrified. “You don’t look as I expected a mistress would.”

  Charlotte flushed and his stomach tightened, knowing that he’d been partially responsible for her discomfort. Though he hadn’t forced her onto Madame Bella’s auction block, he hadn’t returned her to her family either and had initiated her sexually while knowing she was a gently bred lady.

  “I believed mistresses didn’t arise until evening and wore vulgar costumes, but I have a gown similar to yours,” Sarah said with a laugh.

  Lucas winced at the unwitting direct hit.

  Sarah turned to him. “Did you really outbid your brother for her?”

  He coughed, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation flowed. He wanted to question her about his brother, not the particulars of his arrangement with Charlotte, but he nodded.

  “I overheard my father discussing it,” she said. “Good.”

  Charlotte smiled at Sarah. “I agree, but why do you feel that way?”

  Sarah flushed and gave him an apologetic glance. “The current earl makes me uncomfortable. My apologies for insulting your twin, sir.”

  He tried to force his body to remain in a relaxed stance, but animal instinct had him freezing and intently listening to her next words.

  “How does Westhunt make you uncomfortable, Sarah?” Charlotte asked.

&n
bsp; “After my fiancé’s death, he often commented that he meant to assume all his brother’s properties, including me.” She shuddered. “I begged my father to never allow that to happen.”

  “Did he ever touch you or hurt you?” Lucas asked.

  Sarah looked at him, startled. “Oh no. He was the picture of a perfect gentleman, but there is something in his demeanor that makes me uneasy.” She turned away so he couldn’t see her eyes anymore and was surprised when her shoulders hunched and sobs flew from her in great gasps.

  Charlotte latched on to her with gentle arms, leading her over to the nearest bench. “Why, Lady Sarah, whatever is the matter? You can count on us as friends.”

  He followed the women to the bench, unsure of his role in comforting the delicate woman, forever grateful Charlotte was there to take control.

  “That’s the problem,” Sarah sobbed. “You’re being so nice to me when I… When I…murdered your brother.”

  He met Charlotte’s look and knew his expression matched her stunned one. He knelt in front of Sarah and grasped her shoulders. “Please tell me what you mean, Sarah.” He struggled not to shake her to hurry her crying fit along, but inwardly counted to ten and back again.

  “Sarah, Lucas would like to know what happened,” Charlotte said gently, and handed her a clean, white linen square.

  “Why do you think you murdered my brother?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, though his heart pounded. At last he was going to get answers and it all happened more easily than he’d dared dreamed.

  She accepted the cloth and dabbed at her eyes. “Your brother came to visit my father’s country estate following the Season. One night there was a terrible storm. Trees fell and the ground was a soggy mess, but I…” She hiccupped into the handkerchief. “At breakfast I mentioned how much I loved the pebbles near the stream on the estate. They’re shiny and brightly colored…”

  Lucas bit his tongue in an effort to stop from telling her to get to the point. Charlotte smiled and squeezed Sarah’s hand.

  “I asked your brother to fetch me a pebble. I knew he’d ride and you remember your brother’s riding…”