A Mistress for Major Bartlett Read online

  But, hell, when had he ever been anything but wicked?

  And hadn’t she said that he wasn’t any use to her when he tried to be noble? She didn’t want him to do the right thing. She wanted him to do the wrong thing. He tore open the fall of his breeches. Had asked him to do the wrong thing.

  She shifted a little. Parted her legs. Caressed his shoulders.

  And the last sliver of resolution melted away. Right now, she was his, utterly his. Whatever happened, tomorrow, or the next day, nobody would ever be able to take this from him.

  With a shout of defiance, he surged into her. Surged into the only heaven a sinner like him was ever likely to know. The fleeting, carnal paradise of becoming one with the woman he loved.

  She rose under him, murmured his name. Shivered with renewed pleasure as he sought his own satisfaction. He slowed down, waiting for her. Wanting to make it last. For as long as he could.

  But at length her own rising excitement infected him. When she shuddered round him, gasping out his name, he lost all control. Did the very worst he could have done to her.

  Not only did he deflower her, he spent inside her, too.

  And he wasn’t sorry.

  So why were tears streaming down his cheeks? He buried his face in her neck, in her hair, clinging to her as tightly as he could without hurting her. And she, darling that she was, hugged him back. Rocked him as though he was a lost, lonely child.

  ‘Tom,’ she murmured. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I deserve to be shot,’ he growled into her neck. ‘For taking your virginity.’

  ‘You didn’t take it. I gave it to you.’

  ‘I should have stayed strong. I should have stopped. I should have—’

  ‘Shh, shh. You did exactly what I wanted you to do. You made me feel wonderful. And I don’t mean just physically. For the first time in my life, I feel wanted. Really wanted.’

  He held her more tightly. If only he could preserve this moment by clinging to it. This moment when everything felt perfect. Just bask in the sensation of her running her hands up and down his back, pressing kisses to his shoulder. His neck. Stroking her foot up and down his calf.

  If only he didn’t have to burst this perfect bubble with the ugly lance of truth.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he forced himself to say. ‘I didn’t stop when I should have done. I could have dropped a baby inside you. I’ve ruined everything. I’m sorry,’ he said, raising himself up so he could look into her face. ‘We’ll have to get married now.’

  For a moment Sarah just froze. But then a stricken look leached her face of colour.

  ‘No.’ She shoved him hard, but he didn’t move off her. ‘For heaven’s sake, Tom, haven’t you listened to me? I have told you I don’t know how many times that I don’t want to marry. And nor do you, to judge from that horrid expression on your face.’

  ‘You are right. The thought of marriage—’ He swallowed. Before today, he hadn’t really thought about it, not in relation to himself. It just hadn’t entered his mind that one day he would meet anyone like Sarah. But now, well, even though he hadn’t thought beyond the mutual pleasure they could bring each other, it...it made sense.

  ‘But surely, this changes everything?’

  ‘This?’

  ‘The fact that you might be with child. We can’t just condemn a child to being labelled a bastard all it’s life. I have to give it my name.’

  A mutinous expression came over her face. ‘No, you don’t. My own name is perfectly adequate.’

  ‘Not for my child, it isn’t. I don’t want it to think I walked away from the responsibility of bringing it up.’ The way his own father had done.

  ‘Well, I’ll tell it that it was my fault, then, shall I? That should salve your conscience.’

  ‘No, it won’t, because—’

  ‘I should have thought you,’ she interrupted, ‘of all men, would agree that it’s better for a child to have no father at all, than a bad, or a reluctant one.’

  She didn’t think he’d be a good father?

  He withdrew. You couldn’t have a fight with a woman when you were still inside her, your body still throbbing in the aftermath of release. He had no answer to that clincher. Because he knew it was true. Their own childhoods had been marred by their respective fathers.

  She pulled the sheet up to her breasts and scowled at him over the top of it.

  To think he’d promised her she’d feel peaceful afterwards. She’d never felt less at peace in her life. And from the looks of it, nor did he.

  Marry her just in case there was a baby, indeed! That wasn’t a reason to get married. The only reason to get married was if you felt as if you simply couldn’t live without the other person. If you wanted to be with them more than you wanted your next breath. If they made you feel as if you didn’t care about anyone or anything else but being together.

  A little sob caught in her throat. For that was how she felt about Tom. That was why his guilt-ridden proposal had hurt her so much.

  A cold fury began to replace the icy stab of hurt. She was almost as bad as Mama—falling for a rake who looked on marriage as the ultimate sacrifice. She’d never understood how Mama could do such a foolish thing, until now, when she’d just had an experienced rake turn her into a puddle of lust and longing.

  Except she had managed to retain the strength to turn down that half-hearted proposal.

  And at least Tom had proposed. He wasn’t the kind of man to turn his back on a child of his. Not like Papa. Not like Papa at all. Papa had littered the countryside with his own natural children and never cared tuppence what happened to any of them. Or their mothers.

  It felt as though someone drew a curtain away, flooding her mind with light. All her life she’d believed marriage was the worst fate that could befall a girl. It had made her reject Tom’s proposal in a kind of sick panic, even before she’d registered the reluctance in his voice. She’d always thought marriage meant becoming some man’s property, being obliged to watch him have affairs, while bearing him son after son until she was worn to a shadow.

  But now she could see why her sisters had been so keen to see her follow them down the aisle. It wouldn’t be awful being married to Tom, not if he’d wanted to marry her. Really wanted to. The way Graveney had wanted Harriet. The way Blanchards doted on Gussie.

  But he didn’t. He’d only proposed because he felt he’d behaved badly and now wished to make amends.

  Guilt made her insides squirm. Because Tom had only done what she’d asked him to do. What she’d begged him to do. Why, he’d even tried to escape her and she’d hunted him down and dragged him back to this room.

  ‘None of this is your fault,’ she said. ‘Even before we came to bed, you warned me that it was only to show me the pleasure a fallen woman could experience. You reminded me that you aren’t the man to either ask for, or be granted, my hand in marriage.’

  ‘And you said you would always fight for me,’ he growled back. ‘Was that just words? Do you even know what you meant when you said you loved me just as I am?’ He gave a bitter sort of laugh.

  ‘I do love you, Tom.’

  ‘But not enough to marry me.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘No, don’t bother saying any more. You’re young. This is your first love affair. You’re confusing the physical satisfaction for something else.’

  Was she? She’d already worked out that it was the physical attraction her mama had for her father that had made her make so many poor judgements. But she wasn’t the same as her mother. And Tom wasn’t like her father.

  ‘There’s nothing to fight about, is there?’ he said, flinging himself back into the pillows and staring fixedly at the ceiling. ‘We’re in agreement. Neither of us wants to marry. We’ve both been clear about that from the sta
rt.’

  Yes. They had. Though now she was the only one who thought marriage might not be so bad, if entered into for the right reasons.

  Unless—could he have changed his mind, too? Might there be more to his proposal? Was that why he’d seemed so hurt and angry when she’d turned him down flat?

  Perhaps she should give him a chance to explain, if that was so.

  ‘It was sweet of you to propose, then, when you really don’t want to marry me. All for the sake of a baby that might not even have been made.’

  ‘It wasn’t just that.’

  Her heart bumped into her throat.

  ‘I shouldn’t have gone so far. I know you maintain you wanted to gift me with your virginity, but I needn’t have taken it. I could have given you pleasure, and taken it, without leaving you in no state to marry anyone else.’

  Guilt. It was only guilt, after all, that had prompted him.

  ‘I don’t want to marry anyone else!’ Her eyes were burning so hot she had to blink rapidly. ‘I was ruined and facing scandal, just for staying with you here unchaperoned. We talked about it—how I was going to live on a small estate somewhere and withdraw from society. I’m happy to do that. With or without a baby.’

  All of a sudden she couldn’t bear being so close to him while they were fighting. She rolled out of bed, grabbed her crumpled chemise and dragged it over her head. Then went to pour herself a drink.

  * * *

  So. She thought he was good enough for a quick romp, but not for ever. And any child that might spring from this coupling would be better off living on an estate, somewhere, hidden away in shame, than having him for a legitimate father.

  How could she maintain she loved him? She didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  He watched her pour a drink and tip it down her throat in one go, with a kind of reckless desperation.

  He’d done that to her. Not one hour ago, she’d been sweetly purring, anticipating the pleasure he’d promised her, and now she was all stiff and wary again.

  Just because he’d suggested they marry.

  She was staring into the empty glass now, as though searching for an answer that eluded her.

  If only he could be her answer. But she’d been completely honest with him, right from the start. He could understand, really, why she’d refused his proposal. And it wasn’t only because of who he was. It was because of who she was. Who she wanted to be.

  She wanted to be free. She’d told him she hadn’t spent four Seasons avoiding marriage, only to surrender now, when freedom, total freedom, was finally within her grasp. If he persisted in speaking of it, or took some step to force her to comply with his will, for the sake of a child that might not even have been conceived, he’d feel as if he was slamming the prison door shut on her.

  It was probably only because he’d said he wasn’t the marrying kind that she’d trusted him to become her lover. Maybe giving him her virginity was one more step she’d needed to take, to make sure no other man could shackle her with legal ties.

  Maybe he should look on all this as a tremendous honour.

  Maybe— Oh, to hell with it. He didn’t know what to think. He just hurt so much he wanted to howl with pain.

  For Sarah had become his lodestar. His anchor. His every single blessed thing in life that was worth hanging on to. If she didn’t want him the way he wanted her, then...

  He groaned. God really must want to punish him. He’d spared him eternal damnation only to cast him into a living hell. The hell of falling in love with a woman so elusive she might just as well have been an angel.

  * * *

  Sarah stared down into her wine glass, unable to so much as look at Tom, or the way he was lying there with his eyes screwed shut, as though he couldn’t bear to look at her.

  How had it all gone so wrong? He did still love her, didn’t he? A chill snaked down her spine, even though the room was as hot as an oven.

  She went back to the bed. And found she couldn’t just climb in next to him and snuggle into his side. Not while there was all this anger, and hurt, and confusion swirling between them.

  ‘Tom?’ She perched on the bedside chair, twirling the glass between her fingers. ‘You aren’t angry with me, are you?’

  He flung his arm to one side and turned to look at her through dulled eyes. ‘With you? No,’ he said wearily. ‘Only with myself.’

  With himself? For proposing? For losing control so that he felt he had to propose?

  ‘Please don’t be,’ she said in a small, rather tremulous voice. ‘Don’t let anger and regrets spoil this.’

  A look of contrition flickered across his face.

  He sat up. Reached for her face. Cupped her cheek.

  ‘Forgive me. I have spoiled it already, haven’t I? By bringing the spectre of marriage into our bed. Let’s forget it, shall we?’

  A spectre? She flinched away from his caress. He thought of marriage as something deathly? Then she’d been right to refuse his proposal. She didn’t want a husband who looked on marriage as a grisly fate.

  Heaven alone knew what she might have said had not someone knocked on the door.

  His gaze roamed her body, her tousled hair, in a way that made her feel very conscious of what they’d just been doing together. That made her feel like a...well, a fallen woman.

  Well, that was exactly what she was. What she would always be now she’d made him retract his proposal. And she’d better get used to people looking at her like that. With a toss of her head, she marched across the room and flung open the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  Standing in the corridor was Robbins. With a letter in his hand.

  Looking more than usually grim.

  The cold pool in her stomach froze into a solid lump.

  ‘Justin,’ she whispered, wrapping her arms round her forebodingly chilled midriff. Something terrible had happened. She could feel it.

  Felt as though she deserved it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Is it Justin?’ she finally managed to ask. ‘What has happened? He hasn’t...’

  ‘No, miss, he’s on the mend,’ said Robbins as she snatched the missive from his fist and tore it open.

  The shock of fearing the worst made her instinctively head for the nearest chair and sit down on it. A wave of giddiness assailed her even after she’d scanned the letter that was penned in Mary Endacott’s neat, precise hand. Because even though Mary had assured her that Justin was well enough to do without her, she’d ended the letter by wishing her well in the future, just as though they were never going to see each other again.

  ‘What did he do to her to make her leave?’ Sarah blinked up at Robbins in bewilderment. ‘After all Mary did for him, too.’

  ‘Couldn’t rightly say, miss,’ said Robbins.

  ‘Won’t say, you mean,’ Sarah muttered. The man must know why Mary, who had loved Justin enough to go searching for him in the hell that was the aftermath of battle, was leaving him now she knew he was out of danger. But he was loyal to Justin, so Tom had said. So loyal he wasn’t going to publish Justin’s idiocy abroad.

  ‘Don’t know as how this,’ said Robbins scathingly, ‘is going to affect him, when he finds out.’

  He’d come in, shut the door behind him and eyed first the disordered state of the bed, then Tom’s insolently lounging nudity and finally her own déshabillé.

  ‘Well, it’s only what he’s been accusing us of getting up to all week,’ she retorted.

  Tom covered his face with his hands. And groaned.

  Which just went to confirm her suspicion that he’d only asked her to marry him because of what others were going to think, not because of what he felt for her at all.

  Sarah glared from one to the other. ‘No need to worry,’ she said t
o them both. ‘Now that Justin is well enough to survive a visit from me, I will come and make a clean breast of it.’

  ‘No! If anyone goes to tell him it should be me,’ said Tom.

  ‘It sure as hell ain’t going to be me,’ muttered Robbins darkly. ‘I’ll just tell him you will come to see him then, shall I?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah.

  ‘No,’ said Tom at exactly the same time.

  As they squared up to each other, Robbins sighed.

  ‘The note weren’t from him anyhow. Nor I needn’t tell him I’ve been here. No need to tell him anything at all.’

  ‘Just so. Thank you, Robbins,’ said Tom, without taking his eyes off Sarah. ‘We need to discuss just how to break it to him that...’

  Sarah lifted her chin, though her cheeks went so hot she was sure they must have turned scarlet.

  Robbins beat a hasty retreat.

  ‘I’m not afraid of Justin, if you are!’

  ‘It’s not a question of being afraid, Sarah. Or not the way you think.’ Tom flung aside the sheet and stalked, naked, across the room to take hold of her shoulders.

  ‘It’s just that, once we own up to Colonel Randall that we have become lovers, he is bound to put a stop to it. One way or another.’ He’d either split them up altogether, or force them into marriage somehow. Neither of which things were what Sarah truly wanted.

  ‘Sarah, I know you have been anxious about his health. I know you wish to go and see with your own eyes that he is recovering, but, please, I beg of you, don’t go right now. Leave it until morning. So we can have tonight. Just one night together, that’s all I’m asking.’

  One night as lovers who’d chosen each other. Lovers who hadn’t been coerced in any way, by anyone or anything but the feelings they had for each other.

  * * *

  Her heart leapt. He still wanted her!

  Of course. It wasn’t all about duty and appearances, or he wouldn’t have made love to her in the first place. She’d only slid into that maelstrom of doubt and fear because it was so hard to believe anyone could really love her, after a lifetime of accepting her unimportance in anyone’s life.