Rules for Being a Mistress Read online

  “I’ll be fat again by summer,” she assured him.

  He was even more shocked by Lady Agatha’s appearance. Never had she been robust, but he was completely unprepared for the frail, wizened woman who looked at him in confusion.

  “You remember the Duke of Kellynch, Mother,” Cosima prompted her, as she spread the rug over her mother’s knees.

  “You remember me, don’t you, Aggie?” Kellynch encouraged her.

  Lady Agatha was easily persuaded. “Yes, of course.”

  “His Grace has come for Allie’s birthday.”

  “Oh,” said Lady Agatha. “Is today Allie’s birthday?”

  “It’s all right, Mother. I forgot, too.”

  “And who is Allie?” Lady Agatha asked tentatively. “Tell me again.”

  “Good God,” murmured Kellynch. “It must be hell for you.”

  “Don’t talk about her like she’s not here,” Cosima whispered crossly.

  In honor of Allie’s birthday, they decided to fetch the child from school early.

  “Surprise!” Cosima said weakly, when Allie at last appeared at the school gate. “Happy birthday. Did you think we forgot you?”

  “Uncle Jimmy!” Allie shrieked when she saw the familiar face.

  “You’re looking stout as a Connemara pony,” her uncle said, relieved. Cosy was so thin, and Lady Agatha so frail that he wasn’t sure what to expect from Allie.

  Allegra hugged her sister impulsively. “This is the best birthday surprise ever.”

  “If only everyone was so happy to see me,” Kellynch remarked dryly as Allie snuggled against him in the carriage. “Now, then,” he said, when the carriage was on its way to Camden Place, “Cosy thinks we ought to take you to the theater now that you are a grown-up, but I think we should sit at home and read a nice book of sermons. What do you think?”

  “I long to see the theater again,” said Lady Agatha dreamily.

  “May I go really?” Allie asked, not quite believing it.

  “Of course,” said Cosima. “It’s your birthday, darling!”

  Allie hugged her again. “I knew you wouldn’t forget me, Cosy.”

  Over her head, Cosima offered her uncle a silent thank you for letting Allie think the trip to the theater was her idea. Not all men were bastards, after all. At least, not all of the time. She absolutely refused to think about Ben. That chapter of her life was over, definitely.

  “You’re not crying, are you?” Allie asked her, shocked.

  “You’re just growing so fast, that’s all,” Cosima said quickly, wiping her eyes.

  Benedict called in Upper Camden Place while the ladies were dressing for their night out. He certainly took his time, Cosy thought bitterly. Lady Agatha was using the desk in the small sitting room as a dressing table, so Miss Vaughn received him in the drawing-room. She was wearing the evening gown Serena had given her. Her flaxen hair was piled on top of her head. The fringe she had cut helped to conceal the fact that it was a wig.

  She wanted him to see for one last time what he was losing forever.

  He was dressed to go out as well. His black coat and snowy white waistcoat became him very well. “Miss Vaughn,” he said, shaking her hand. “You left so quickly. I was hoping to catch you before you left. You are going out tonight?” he asked, noticing her dress.

  “Yes. It’s Allie’s birth-night. Our uncle is taking us all to the theater.”

  “I will see you there,” he said without enthusiasm. “I am escorting…Lady Serena.”

  “You must allow me to congratulate you,” she said quickly. “Congratulations!”

  He sighed. “I am sorry, you know. I don’t know what possessed her to accept my proposal, but she did, and I must honor my commitment to her.”

  “Of course,” she said politely. “You are a man of your word.”

  “She would be publicly shamed if I jilted her. No honorable man could do such a thing. I should not have asked for her hand. I made a mistake. But I cannot turn my back on it.”

  “I understand perfectly,” she assured him. “I’m fine, really.”

  He smiled at her. “Of course you are. I knew you would be. You are young and beautiful. You will find someone else.”

  Her temper frayed. “Are you suggesting that I marry someone else?”

  “Of course,” he said. “It’s Cherry I’m worried about. I must see her. I must explain—”

  Cosima cut him off. “She already knows.”

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Damn!” He looked at her anxiously. “Upset?”

  She stared at him. “Destroyed,” she whispered.

  “Poor darling. May I see her?”

  Suddenly, she wanted to hurt him, to deal him a deep, mortal wound. “She doesn’t want to see you, Ben. You will never see her again. It’s over. Understand that.”

  He looked blank for a moment. He did not understand her sudden hostility. “You can’t keep me from seeing her, just because you didn’t get what you want, Miss Vaughn.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Nothing has changed between Cherry and me.”

  She gasped. “How can you say that? You’re to be married!”

  “We will still be together, Cherry and I,” he said firmly. “Serena is not the sort of woman to interfere in her husband’s affairs. She will expect me to keep a mistress.”

  “How nice for you,” said Miss Vaughn. “Maybe I will marry. But, when I do, I’ll take her with me. Your little pet. A little present for my husband.”

  His face didn’t change, but she could tell by his eyes that he wanted to murder her.

  “You will not keep us apart, Miss Vaughn. She loves me, and I love her.”

  Cosima opened her mouth to shout at him, then clamped her lips shut. Shouting would change nothing. Telling him the truth, that she, Miss Vaughn, was his lover, would only add more thorns to the crown of humiliation she was already wearing. It would change nothing. He was committed to marry Serena, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “She belongs to me,” said Benedict. “You will not understand this, Miss Vaughn, but she needs me. She is the sort of woman who enjoys belonging to a man completely. I am sorry she is unhappy, of course, but in the end, she will come to me, no matter what you say. I command her, not you. She will do as I wish.”

  “You command her?” she repeated in disbelief. “Aye, you like to order her around like a slave when you’re in bed, don’t you? But you and I both know that’s just your way of begging. If anything, she commands you. You’re here, begging to see her,” she pointed out. “She won’t be begging to see you anytime soon! I promise you that.”

  She turned away to fight back the tears.

  “I suspect you know that no other woman is going to put up with your perverted appetites,” she said scathingly. “Do you think Lady Serena would ever allow you to use her mouth like a common prostitute? Sure who could bear the taste of you but a woman in love?”

  “How dare you,” he breathed.

  “Why don’t you go and suck her belly button and see what happens?”

  He stared at her in silence.

  “And do you think her ladyship would ever wear that tight black dress for you, and let you take her on the floor of your closet like an animal? I highly doubt it.”

  He was gray around the mouth. “She told you everything, I see. I asked her not to.”

  She smiled. “Asked her? Maybe you should have commanded her. Sure, she wouldn’t dare disobey one of your commands. You have her so well-trained.”

  Without a word, he left her. She stood rigid in the center of the room until she heard the front door slam. Then she collapsed in tears. Blindly, she ran to her room, and tore off her dress.

  Serena’s dress.

  “Box them all up,” she screamed at Nora. “Send them back to that black-haired bitch!”

  The Duke of Kellynch was twenty minutes late. The Vaughn ladies came out wrapped in their cloaks. Allie’s was scarlet. Cosima’s and her mother’s
were dark blue. Nora’s was black as a bat wing. “Sorry I’m late, ladies,” Kellynch said affably as the footman helped them into the carriage. “My dinner must have disagreed with me, but I’m better now.”

  “Don’t worry, miss,” he told Allie. “They’re holding the curtain for us.”

  As the duke had hired a private box for the evening, they were spared having to enter the theater via the thronged main entrance. Instead, they gained the theater by passing through the private residence next door. Lady Agatha had to be carried up and down a series of stairs, but she did not mind that in the least, and Kellynch’s footman assured her ladyship that she was light as a feather. The ladies went into the private retiring room attached to the box, divested themselves of their cloaks, and put the finishing touches on their toilettes.

  The Duke of Kellynch had not set eyes on Miss Vaughn’s dress until she entered the box. Had he seen it earlier, at her mother’s house, he almost certainly would have ordered her to go upstairs and change. However, it was too late now. He was not a man who shocked easily, but this was too much, even for him.

  “God in heaven, woman!” he cried. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  Still standing, Cosima calmly smoothed down the skirt of her black satin dress.

  “What?” she asked innocently.

  “Did somebody die?” Lady Agatha asked, confused. “Are you in mourning, dearest?”

  “No, Mother,” Cosima assured her.

  “You need a bloody husband,” Kellynch said grumpily. “Somebody who can lock you up and throw away the key. You are not fit to be seen in public.”

  “What a prude you are, Uncle Jimmy,” she sniffed. “I’m beginning to think your reputation as a libertine is completely undeserved.”

  His Grace was not the only one to notice Miss Vaughn’s costume.

  “Good gracious!” exclaimed Lady Dalrymple, while still fumbling for her quizzing glass. “Kellynch has brought a vulgar widow to the play!”

  Beside her, Millicent had the opera glasses. “It is Miss Vaughn.”

  They were guests of Mr. Fitzwilliam tonight. The clergyman was shocked speechless by Miss Vaughn’s indecent attire. Never in his life had he seen anything like it. Clearly it belonged in the boudoir, yet it was the somber color of deepest mourning.

  Lady Dalrymple snatched the glasses from her daughter.

  The black gown set off Miss Vaughn’s white skin to perfection, and its tight corseting worked wonders on her slim figure, but it was all very—

  “Shocking!” she gasped.

  All eyes were now trained on the gilt-latticed box the Duke of Kellynch had hired for the evening. The gentlemen stared, shocked. The ladies stared, shocked.

  Then everyone began to talk at once.

  Apparently oblivious to the uproar she had touched off, Miss Vaughn stood for a moment, calmly adjusting the straps of her gown. Lifting her eyes upward, she studied the four compartments of the ceiling, which featured some famous paintings by Cassalie. She studied them long and hard, supremely indifferent to the fact that she was being lecherously ogled by every man in the theater. Kellynch begged her to be seated.

  “Let them look,” she replied. “The creatures,” she added contemptuously. She gave them a few minutes more to enjoy the spectacle, then she sat down with her white arms folded on the edge of the box. “Let them suffer.”

  On his side of the theater, Benedict found it difficult to contain his rage. That dress was never meant to be worn by any woman other than Cherry, nor seen by any eyes other than his own. It was to be enjoyed by the lovers in perfect privacy, and not displayed on Miss Vaughn for the shock and amusement of all Bath.

  Cherry had betrayed him.

  Either she had brought the dress to Miss Vaughn or she had given Miss Vaughn the key to his house, allowing her to get it herself. He did not care very much that Miss Vaughn was making a spectacle of herself, but Cherry’s betrayal was a deep and painful wound.

  “You must excuse me,” he informed his companions, Lady Serena and Lord Ludham. “I am feeling unwell.” He left the box, then the theater, and walked, almost carried off by fury, to the heights of Camden Place.

  Coward, Cosima thought contemptuously. The least he could do is sit and look at me and suffer like a man. “And you call yourself an Irishman,” she sneered aloud.

  “What did I do?” Kellynch asked Allie, who merely shrugged.

  “Will the play never begin?” she complained. “Don’t they know it’s my birthday? Don’t they care?”

  The Duke of Kellynch signaled to the manager, who was standing nervously on the stage in front of the curtain. The crowd grew still, and the noise subsided from a roar to a murmur.

  “Cosy!”

  A man had found his way into the duke’s private box, but it was not the man she wanted.

  “Marcus!” she said, annoyed. “You should be with Rose.”

  His handsome face was almost white with rage as he stalked into the box. “Excuse me, Your Grace,” he said, his voice tightly controlled. “I would like to have a word with my cousin in private!” Without waiting for an answer, he dragged Cosima out of the box into the elegant suite of rooms attached to it. “Are you trying to give every man in Bath an erection?” he demanded furiously, pushing her against the wall.

  Cosima began to cry.

  Instantly contrite, Westlands wiped her tears away. “I don’t mean to be such a beast. I know you’re hurt because I’m engaged to Rose, darling,” he went on gently. “But it’s only a sham. I love you, Cosy. I’ve always loved you. Since we were children…Do you remember? You thought marrying me would make you a marchioness, because I was a Marcus?”

  She sighed impatiently. “That was a hundred years ago, Marcus. We were children.”

  “I’ve had my fun,” he said. “I don’t pretend I’ve been a monk, but, I swear, I always knew I’d come back to you in the end. Just be patient, my love. I will marry you, over my father’s objections, if need be. If he cuts off my allowance, I’ll borrow against my expectations. I am his heir; nothing can change that.”

  He began to caress her, using his right hand. The man she loved didn’t have a right hand. She tried to wriggle from his grasp. “No,” she murmured, catching her breath in dismay as he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her. Because she wanted to be punished, she ceased to struggle and allowed his kiss. But she could not return it, and when his lips left hers, she turned her face away and went back to the box to watch the play.

  “I’m ready to sell,” she whispered to Kellynch. “I’ll sell you Castle Argent. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to be tied to anything anymore. I want to be free.”

  He looked at her in astonishment.

  She must really love this boy Westlands, he thought.

  For some reason, he had thought she was in love with the older, gray-eyed man.

  “Is it yourself, Sir Benedict?” Jackson inquired pleasantly. He had taken advantage of the ladies’ absence and reeked of whiskey. “Sure the family has all gone out this night.”

  “I want to see Cherry,” he said, pushing his way into the hall.

  Jackson looked at him in astonishment.

  “Never mind,” Benedict said angrily. “I’ll find her myself.”

  He went all over the house, and looked into every room, including the attic and the kitchen. The tortoiseshell cat curled up in the chair opened one green eye and rolled lazily onto its back. Returning to the scene of his first humiliation did nothing to improve Benedict’s temper.

  “Where is she?” Benedict demanded of the bewildered Jackson. “Where is she hiding?”

  “They’ve all gone to theater with himself,” Jackson replied. “Even Nora, to wait on her ladyship.”

  “I want Cherry,” Benedict said sharply. “Short red hair. The illegitimate one?”

  “The what?”

  “Damn it, man! The love-child!”

  Jackson was offended. “Love-child, indeed!” he said with cold dignity. �
��And you call yourself a gentleman.”

  Seething, Benedict walked through the park to his own house. As he unlocked the gate on his side of the street, it occurred to him that perhaps Cherry was waiting for him in the study as usual. He ran up the steps to the house and fitted his key in the lock.

  “Good evening, Sir Benedict,” Pickering said smoothly. “You are home early.”

  “Is she here?” his master demanded.

  Pickering blinked at him. “Who?”

  Benedict held his temper in check and went silently into his study. She wasn’t there. Nor was she in the bedroom. The note was propped against the brandy decanter. How well she knows me, he thought bitterly.

  The note was simple in its cruelty, with careless, slanting dashes instead of punctuation.

  Caro mio Ben—

  You once said if you lost me your heart would stop beating—

  I expect you to keep your word—

  —CV

  Cherry Vaughn, he knew, was too generous and loving ever to have written such a note. It could only have been written by the ruthless Cosy Vaughn. He walked out of his house and back into the park. He waited for Kellynch’s carriage to appear.

  The evening had been too much for Lady Agatha and her youngest child. They had both fallen asleep on the way home. Kellynch carried Allegra into the house himself, while his footman carried Lady Agatha up the steps. Miss Vaughn was the last to enter the house. A few moments later, the Duke of Kellynch and his footman departed.

  Cosima went up to her room, opened the window, and leaned out. The taper in her hand drenched her pale hair and creamy skin in a warm, golden orange glow. Her unsurprised face as he left the shadows told him that she had known he would come. He could have killed her.

  “My mother is sleeping downstairs,” she warned him. “So don’t you dare shout at me.”

  “You have something that belongs to me,” he snarled at her.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she murmured, setting down her candle. It took her a moment to loosen the laces enough to free her body from the black dress. She made a ball of the satin and flung it out of the window. It landed a little short of the street, and hung on the wrought iron gate in front of her house. The cold, clean night air caressed her body, hardening the nipples of her breasts. As she lifted the candle again, he could see that she was naked.