Rules for Being a Mistress Read online

  “I’ve never said that in my life,” Cosy muttered, embarrassed.

  “What about me?” Allegra Vaughn demanded angrily. “May I go to the concert, Mama?”

  “It is not an entertainment for young people,” Benedict told her. “You would not want to sit still for two hours and listen to a large woman singing in a foreign language.”

  “I would not,” she admitted. “I want to go up in a balloon and see fireworks. Also, acrobats on the high tropics.”

  “Trapeze. You will have to go to London for that, I’m afraid,” he replied.

  “Will you take me to London?” Allie demanded.

  “Certainly not!” said Cosy and Benedict at once.

  “London,” Cosy added severely, “is a black den of iniquity.”

  Glancing up at the clock on the mantel, Benedict was startled to discover that he had been sitting with them for four hours. Then he realized the clock had stopped. He stood up.

  Allegra Vaughn let out a gasp. When he had come into the room, she had been engrossed with her puzzle. She had not noticed that their visitor was an amputee.

  “What happened to your arm?” she blurted out.

  “Allie!” Cosy gasped, appalled.

  Benedict was startled by the direct question, but not offended. “It’s quite all right.”

  “I’m sure Sir Benedict doesn’t like to talk about the war,” said Cosy, glaring at her sister.

  “The war?” he repeated, puzzled.

  “You said you were at Waterloo,” Cosy reminded him.

  “As an observer.” It dawned on him suddenly that she must think he had lost his arm in battle. “I am not a war hero, Miss Vaughn, if that is what you think.”

  “Oh! You were in the Navy, then?” she said, sniffing.

  “No, I was not in the Navy, Miss Vaughn,” he said irritably. “I was attacked by a dog when I was about your sister’s age.”

  Cosy and Allie spoke at once. “What did you do to the dog?”

  Benedict sighed. “The dog had to be destroyed, of course.”

  “No! What did you do to the dog to make it attack you? Dogs don’t just attack people.”

  “Did you poke its eye out with a stick?” Allie asked eagerly.

  There was a slight pause as Benedict gave Lady Agatha the opportunity to constrain her curious daughters. But her ladyship seemed to have drifted off to sleep. “Certainly not,” he said. “The dog was attacking someone else, and I intervened.”

  “Were you awake when they cut it off?”

  “That’s enough, Allie!” Cosy said firmly. “I think Mother’s had enough excitement for one day. She needs her rest. I’ll walk you out, Sir Benedict.”

  “This is blackmail, of course,” he murmured as she walked him down the stairs to the front hall. “I realize you are poor, but that is no excuse.”

  “Blackmail? Is that what you call it in England? In Ireland we call it fair play.”

  “Fair play?” he repeated in astonishment as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “You took everything I had, including the clothes off my back. Was that also fair play?”

  “You had it coming,” said Cosima. “You said yourself your behavior was atrocious.”

  “When I woke up I thought I had been robbed!”

  “So you would have been,” she said primly, “if I hadn’t taken everything.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “For safekeeping!” she clarified. “You should be thanking me.”

  The gentleman did not share her opinion. “Thanking you! And, I suppose, I should also thank you for tying me to a tree!”

  “Aye. You were drunk, and in no condition to be staggering around town.”

  His mouth twitched. “So that was for safekeeping also?”

  “You made it home all right, didn’t you?”

  “The Watch brought me home!”

  “So what are you complaining about?”

  “And now you are blackmailing me for a thousand pounds!” he accused her.

  “I am not blackmailing you,” she said, annoyed. “You offered a reward. I’m just collecting it.”

  He stopped and stared at her. “I offered no reward.”

  “Didn’t you?” Marching down the hall, she threw open the door to a small book room with flowered chintz curtains. Benedict followed her.

  Picking up a newspaper from the small writing desk, she showed it to him. “Did you not put this advertisement in the paper?” she demanded.

  “My father gave me that watch,” he said furiously. “That was his ring.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I took them for safekeeping!”

  “It does not say a thousand pounds,” he pointed out. “It says: sizeable.”

  “I’d say a thousand pounds is sizeable, wouldn’t you?”

  “You could have had more than a thousand pounds, you know,” Benedict said. “You had the winning hand, but you frittered it away for a mere thousand pounds.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “If your mother knew everything, Miss Vaughn, I would have to marry you to avoid a scandal. You would have had considerably more than a thousand pounds at your disposal.”

  “Oh!” she said. “Now you want to marry me? You were singing a different tune in my kitchen, as I recall. I wouldn’t consent to be your mistress for a thousand pounds,” she reminded him. “What makes you think I’d ever consent to be shackled to you for life?”

  “I don’t want to marry you,” he said angrily. “I consider that I’ve had a lucky escape.”

  “You don’t want to marry me?” she said in amazement.

  “No!”

  “I suppose you don’t want to shag me either.”

  “I don’t,” he said airily, “even know what that word means.”

  “But…what about the sweet love you made to me on the stairs?” she protested. “I felt something there. Were you only trifling with me, caro mio Ben?”

  He glared at her. “Miss Vaughn,” he said coldly. “I am perfectly aware that you are mocking me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” she said softly, moving closer to him. “It tuo fedel sospira ognor,” she murmured in Italian. “Cessa crudel tanto rigor.” She sighed. “You’re not a cruel man, are you, I hope? You won’t leave me suffering, surely?”

  She took his face in both hands and kissed his mouth hard.

  “Do you still think I’m mocking you?” she asked softly. Her eyes were half-closed.

  He slipped his hand behind her neck and kissed her mouth softly. Cosima was startled. Men usually attacked her if given half a chance. This was not an attack, but a lingering caress, and she didn’t quite know how to take it. He seemed to be savoring her mouth slowly and gently. Now why would he do that? she wondered. As far as she knew, men only kissed women to distract them from what their hands were trying to do lower down. He seemed to be in no hurry to get on with it at all.

  “I could kiss you all day,” he murmured. “You taste like apples. Green apples.”

  “I made a tart this morning,” she explained.

  He kissed her again in the same style. His tongue felt clean and cool in her mouth. Her senses began to stir and quicken as she breathed in his scent. It really was as if he meant to go on kissing her all day, slowly and steadily.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “we should be married at once.”

  She blinked at him. “Who said anything about marriage?” she said.

  “What?” Benedict said sharply. He controlled his temper with difficulty. “You kissed me, Miss Vaughn. It is the height of impropriety for a woman to kiss a man she does not mean to marry.”

  “It was only a kiss. Nothing to get excited about. We do it all the time in Ireland,” she lied. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Doesn’t mean anything!”

  “It wasn’t even that good of a kiss, I’m afraid. It was sort of like kissing a newel post.”

  “I see,” he said quietly. “You were mocking me, of course.
”

  She shrugged. “Of course.”

  His gray eyes suddenly blazed. “You, Miss Vaughn, are a nasty piece of work!”

  “I’m sorry you think so,” she answered. “As you know, I think the world of you.”

  “There was a thousand pounds in my wallet,” he said after a pause.

  “Then there still is,” she said coldly. “I’m not a thief.”

  “No; a blackmailer!” he retorted. “Take it. I’ll send a servant for my bag. I’d like my watch and my ring now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Here.” She took his watch and his ring out of her pocket and gave them to him.

  “Good-bye, Miss Vaughn.”

  “Not good-bye, surely, but au revoir,” she said sweetly, opening the door for him.

  He looked at her incredulously.

  “I’ll be seeing you Tuesday evening for the concert, right?” she said.

  He looked at her incredulously. “The concert!”

  “You are a man of your word, are you not?”

  Benedict eyed her with loathing. Miss Vaughn smiled angelically.

  “Until Tuesday, madam!” he snapped. “Enjoy your ill-gotten gains!”

  “I will, Sir Benedict,” she replied.

  Chapter 7

  Benedict had never been so angry in his life.

  Lady Serena took one look at his face and ordered her butler to leave the room. The baronet strode up and down for a moment, his face dark with fury.

  “What on earth is the matter, Sir Benedict?”

  “I have met Miss Vaughn!”

  “Is it as bad as that?”

  Benedict ground to a halt. “I don’t want to talk about Miss Vaughn, if you don’t mind. Miss Vaughn is the most insolent, unscrupulous, vulgar female I have ever had the misfortune to know. She is an ill-mannered, insufferable brute!”

  Serena clutched her pearls. “Poor Felix! I must do all I can to keep them apart.”

  Benedict laughed harshly. “On the contrary, the sooner they meet the better! Believe me, twenty minutes in the company of that female will be enough to cure your cousin of his ridiculous infatuation. I will be bringing her to the concert on Tuesday,” he added. “By Wednesday morning, I assure you, everyone in Bath will have a disgust for her.”

  “But is she beautiful?” Serena inquired eagerly.

  “Oh, an angel!” he replied. “She is the most beautiful girl I ever saw. But underneath all that beauty beats the heart of a ruthless buccaneer!”

  Bejeweled rings flashed on Serena’s fingers as she massaged her temples. “She will not show that side of her character to Felix. He will see only her beauty.”

  Benedict smiled grimly. “Miss Vaughn is so vain she won’t even try to conceal her less amiable qualities. She thinks her beauty conquers all, I daresay!”

  “Do please sit down, Sir Benedict,” she said graciously. “I was just about to have tea.” He took the seat she offered. “I did not come here to talk about Miss Vaughn,” he said presently. “My task is much more agreeable. I have come to make you an offer of marriage. I daresay, you must have known my intentions the moment I walked into your drawing-room.”

  “I did not suspect you were trifling with me,” she admitted.

  “No, indeed! Serena, will you marry me?”

  Serena put his brusqueness down to nerves. She chose her words carefully. “It would be my honor to consider your proposal, Sir Benedict. At my age, I had all but given up hope of marrying.”

  “At my age, I would be a fool to marry out of the schoolroom.”

  “Quite,” said Serena. “In light of your declaration, I do not think it would be improper for us to be seen together in public. You will not find Bath lacking in entertainment, I assure you. If you would bespeak a box at the theater tomorrow, I should be pleased to see the play.”

  “Certainly.”

  “There will be other members to our party, of course,” she said demurely. “It would not do for us to be seen as a couple so soon after your arrival in Bath. It would look so particular. You know how people love to talk. They might even say you had pursued me here.”

  “Invite anyone you please,” he said carelessly. “I believe you have a fair idea of my income…. My position in society. You have seen my estate in Surrey, and I believe you visited my aunt in the London house. I should be happy to send you any other information you might require as you consider the matter.”

  “Thank you, Sir Benedict,” said Serena gratefully. “It is an important decision. Indeed, it is the most important decision of a woman’s life. I would be remiss if I did not consider the matter very carefully before I agreed to become engaged to you. I shall need time.”

  He bit back his annoyance. “How much time?”

  “Oh, not long,” she assured him. “Perhaps a month or two. Three, at most. One wishes to be certain before one commits oneself, naturally.”

  “Naturally!”

  “Do you think me unreasonable?” asked the lady. “I mean to be conscientious.”

  “I should think three days would be conscientious enough for anyone.”

  “Three days?” she repeated incredulously. “That is scarcely enough time for me to choose a new gown!”

  “Indeed,” he said. “However! Three months seems a trifle…ungenerous.”

  “You men are so impatient,” Serena chided him. Her voice was low and teasing. “Do not think to bullock me into giving you an answer before I have had time to think, Sir Benedict! I am only asking for the opportunity to know you better,” she pointed out gently.

  Benedict was silent.

  “Come now, Sir Benedict! You have asked me to be your wife. You can have no objection, surely, to knowing me a little better?”

  “No.”

  Lady Serena consulted her engagement book. “It’s Friday. I usually play cards on Friday evening. Tonight, I see that Lady Matlock has the honor of hosting us at whist. May I expect you to partner me, Sir Benedict?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Saturday is the theater, of course. Sunday I attend services at the Octagon Chapel. Monday is the dress-ball in the Upper Rooms. Tuesdays we have our concerts. Wednesdays…”

  As she recited this unexciting schedule, Benedict saw his days stretching out before him, days of boredom with no relief in sight but a Tuesday night musicale or a Friday night card game. This was not courtship, he thought angrily. This was indentured servitude. This was limbo.

  The only thing worse would be having to start all over with some other woman.

  “A veritable whirlwind of activity!” he said, forcing a smile. “I quite look forward to it.”

  After cards at Lady Matlock’s, he walked up to Beechen Cliff and sat for half an hour, enjoying a taste of solitude and freedom. The night was clear, cold, and fine. He lay on his back and looked up at the stars. It was well after midnight when he returned to Camden Place.

  Pickering was waiting at the door to take his coat and hat. “I trust you had a pleasant evening, Sir Benedict.”

  “No, Pickering, I did not,” Benedict replied. It was his first opportunity of the night to be honest with a fellow human being, and he took full advantage of it. “I had a damned boring evening. I played cards with a bunch of damned boring hypocrites and cheats, and I wasn’t even allowed to keep my winnings because my partner was a lady.”

  “I am very sorry to hear that, Sir Benedict,” Pickering said soothingly. “However, the night is still young, and there is someone here to see you.”

  Benedict frowned. “It’s late, Pickering. Who is it?”

  “She did not give a name, sir, and I did not inquire.”

  “She!”

  “Mrs. Price sent her,” Pickering explained. “I put her in the study.”

  “WHAT?” Benedict thundered but, then, thinking better of the noise, he began again in a whisper. “What? Pickering, are you telling me that there is a woman in my study?”

  “There is indeed, sir,” Pickering said proudly. �
�A femme de nuit. A fille de joie. A woman of pleasure.”

  “Good God! I certainly hope she’s not sitting on the furniture,” said Benedict, revolted. “The furniture doesn’t even belong to me. Get rid of her, Pickering.”

  The valet blinked. “But, sir! She’s just what you wanted.”

  “What I wanted?” Benedict repeated, aghast. “I don’t want anything. After the day I’ve had, I’m off women forever. I certainly don’t want a prostitute. The last the thing I need is to contract syphilis. That would certainly put a period to my hopes of marrying well!”

  Pickering drew upon his reservoirs of patience. “Sir Benedict, I realize how nervous you must be, but you did ask me to find you an Irish girl with tangled red hair, green eyes, a small, high bosom, perfect skin, and so forth. I did not, of course, inspect her skin—I leave that to you—but she did sing me a pretty little Italian song.”

  “I’ll bet she did! Get rid of her,” Benedict said harshly. “Get rid of her now.”

  Pickering coughed gently. “You will hurt her feelings, Sir Benedict. Just because men pay her to pleasure them doesn’t mean the poor girl has no feelings. And, may I point out, you will have to pay her even if you don’t use her. Time is money in the skin trade.”

  “Did you learn that from your friend the constable?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Benedict strode across the hall and placed his hand on the study door handle. “I am going to get rid of this doxy, Pickering, and then I am going to kill you.”

  “I’m only trying to help you, sir!” Pickering said, hurt.

  Benedict went into the study and closed the door sharply. A girl with an unruly nest of bright red hair was sitting with her feet up on his desk. She was wearing a dark cloak over her clothes, but this had parted at the bottom to reveal the high-heeled black slippers on her feet and white silk stockings on her long shapely legs. Her slim ankles were crossed.

  “Kindly get your feet off my desk,” he snapped.

  “Sorry,” she answered, not moving. “I thought you might want to look at my legs.”

  She was Irish.

  “I’m not sure I can afford it,” he answered coldly. “Look here, miss! There’s been an awful mistake. I’ve had a long hard day, and I’m not in the mood for…this. You’ll have to go.”