Mistletoe Menage (2 page)

“Until
tomorrow.”
He bowed to Anne and to Jane, then turned and left the
ballroom. Anne watched him go, admiring the shapely curve of his legs in his black
pantaloons
and the broad sweep of his shoulders
beneath his black jacket.

“Come, Anne.” Jane placed a hand
on her shoulder and ushered her toward the doorway. “Let us partake of
refreshments.”

“Yes.” Anne nodded. “I am in need
of something cooling.
Jane…who is his patron?”

Jane frowned for a moment before
shaking her head. “I am afraid that I do not know. That has been kept a secret
thus far, though I have been informed that he is a very wealthy gentleman
indeed.”

They walked from the crowds and
music of the ballroom then headed down the grand stone staircase toward the
refreshments room. Anne had to hold tightly onto Jane’s arm to steady
herself
. It was ridiculous, foolish, to be so taken with a
gentleman at her age and with her experiences—with her history. Yet Mr. Harper
had affected her in a way in which she had not been affected in some years.

Not since…
No. No sense
thinking of him again.

What was the point?

That was long since finished and
the feelings she had succumbed to in her youthful innocence were best left
buried.

So why now—tonight—was she
dealing with such arousal and angst?

No doubt it had to do with the
time of the evening and her friend’s gentle teasing. Tomorrow, when she saw Mr.
Harper once more, she would not react so dramatically to his proximity. He was
a stranger, albeit a very handsome one.

Yet part of her really hoped that
she would feel so exhilarated in his presence at their next meeting. For it was
most pleasant to be suddenly so full of anticipation when for months, nay
years, she had been so numb and disillusioned. But she knew that this was
foolish behavior and that she’d never do anything remotely daring to risk her
reputation.

She really wouldn’t. Would she?

Chapter Two

Early the next morning, as Anne’s
maid pinned up her hair, her stomach churned and her heart beat frighteningly
quick. She twisted her hands in her lap and struggled to keep still as her
heavy curls were built into a coil on the top of her head. As Harriet teased a
few tendrils down either side of Anne’s face, she had to fight the urge to slap
the girl’s agile fingers away.

“How is that, ma’am?” Harriet
asked as she met Anne’s eyes in the gilt-edged mirror.

“Lovely, thank you.” Anne admired
Harriet’s handiwork. She had a talent for hairstyling and Anne was glad that
she had taken the young woman in a few years ago. At least she was able to
offer Harriet a roof over her head, food in her belly, and employment. Even if
the girl did have a very wicked side that Anne knew she should find shocking
yet often ended up laughing about.

“Are you well, ma’am?” Harriet inquired
as she tidied away hairpins and ribbons.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” Anne
worried her lower lip and frowned at her reflection.

“You seem somewhat agitated, if
you don’t mind me saying so.”

“You have come to know me too
well, Harriet.” Anne smiled, wondering how much it would be appropriate to
share,
then
decided that to share anything at all
would be foolish and inappropriate.

“Is it…it’s just that…” Harriet
sucked in her pink cheeks then blew out a deep breath. “I know I shouldn’t ask,
ma’am, but you are wont to be so calm and controlled. Since the
master passed on, God rest
his soul, you’ve been so quiet
and subdued most of the time. To see you like this makes me think that a
gentleman might be the source of your unease.”

Anne gasped. How could Harriet
have guessed? Was she that transparent? Even after all the years of trying to
build a cool air of indifference, was she still so open, so easy to read, that
even her maid could see right through her?

“Please, ma’am. Do not be
alarmed. I’m just…quite good at reading people. Remember?”

Anne nodded.
“Of
course.”
That was how she had come to the girl’s aid in the first place.
Harriet had been cast out of her home by her ignorant stepmother who had called
her cursed because of her talent for “understanding” people. Anne was convinced
that Harriet merely had a deep empathy for others. And there was nothing
remotely evil or supernatural about that.

“Harriet, I have overheard you
and Bessie discussing certain matters.”

The maid broke into a gap-toothed
grin. “Do you refer to matters concerning menfolk, ma’am?”

Anne dropped her gaze to her
restless hands. “Yes.” How awful to be so naïve about such things, so
inexperienced when she should be a mother five times over by now.

“What would you like to know?”

How could Anne ask a maid nine
years her junior about what happened between a man and a woman? How the
physical act progressed—from the pleasant, if speedy exchanges, she had shared
with Alfred during the early days of their marriage—to the life-transforming
experience that she had heard the maids giggling about?

“I cannot ask. It would be most
improper.” She chewed the inside of her cheek then whispered, “Most improper.”

“Oh, ma’am,” Harriet said as she
gently smoothed out the lace insert tucked into the neck of Anne’s navy morning
gown. “It is natural what happens between a man and a woman. As long as it is
what they both
want.
Then, and only then…it can be
very pleasurable indeed.”

Anne looked up and smiled. “Thank
you, Harriet. That is what I had hoped to hear. Not for myself, of course.”

“Of course not,
ma’am.”
Harriet pressed a finger over her own lips then drew a cross
over her heart.

As the girl gathered Anne’s
breakfast things—she had taken to having her tea and toast in bed rather than
eating alone in the cold, empty dining room—Anne
rose
and walked to the large windows that overlooked the street
below. Mr. Harper would be here soon, if he came at
all. Why would he? Did he really want to paint her portrait when he could have
been sketching any of the sweet young debutantes in London that sunny September
morning?

Anne’s stomach flipped as she
pictured his handsome face once more. He
would
be here today, she was sure of it. He had seemed so sincere when he had spoken
to her and she felt sure that his words were not empty. She desperately wanted
to feel the excitement and hope that he had aroused in her last evening.

So she had better prepare for his
arrival. It would not do to be in a state of undress when he arrived. She
perched on the edge of her bed and waited for Harriet to return. Perhaps today
would be the one when she replaced her somber mourning clothes with something
brighter?

No. Not yet. She was not ready
for that yet.

Maybe one day soon.

****

Guy Harper stood outside number
twenty-five St. James’s Square. He craned his neck to look up at the cream
building that stood at least five stories high. Its long sash windows with
their white frames were like mirrors that reflected the pleasant September
morning outside. The leaves on the trees in the street were beginning to change
from green to red and gold with the approach of autumn, and the light breeze
sent the fluffy white clouds racing through the sky. It was a perfect day.
A day when anything was possible.

His stomach tightened as he
thought of the widow he was about to visit. He did not know why but Mrs. Anne
Blackburn had affected him in the strangest of ways. Of course, it had been his
patron’s plan that he meet up with her, from the very beginning of his
acquaintance with Edward, but there had been a rigid plan. Guy was instructed
to take things slowly, to emerge into society and develop a reputation amongst
the beau monde before finally turning his attentions upon the beautiful woman.
And that was the problem. He had not expected her to be so beautiful, so voluptuous,
and to have that endearing air of vulnerability and innocence. Instead of
making him determined to ruin her, it made him long to hold her to his chest in
order to stroke her thick chestnut waves as she fell asleep in his arms.

Ludicrous, was it not?
Especially for him with his secret inclinations.
After all,
he might seduce women and lie with them, take their money and sometimes their
hearts, but he was primarily attracted to men.
And currently
madly, deeply in love with his patron.

But being near this Anne
Blackburn, thinking of her pretty face and generous curves, he could not help
but wonder if her secret curls were as shiny and pretty as those on her head.
Would they part to reveal that most private female place to him like the petals
of a flower did before the gentle morning sunlight? He moistened his lips. This
work of art would be very pleasant in many ways. In fact, creating her likeness
would be a pleasure indeed, yet he would need to harden himself to carry out
his patron’s wishes.
Literally.
He smiled at his own
pun.
Cock and heart.

He would do it. Of course he
would. Guy Harper would do anything for the man who had taken him in and made
his life bearable.
For the man who had lifted him from the
gutter and given him something to live for once more.
Guy owed
everything to Edward Moore.
Everything.
From the fine cotton shirt on
his back to the leather shoes on his feet.
So any misgivings he might
have about Edward’s plans for Anne Blackburn would be cast aside.

And he would seduce the widow as
he was employed to do. Ruin her as Edward wished him to.

He lifted his hat and ran a hand
through his curls, then raised his hand and knocked on the heavy, black
lacquered door. As his knock echoed through the house, he wondered if his
actions, his planned humiliation of the woman inside, would echo forever around
his heart and mind.

****

Anne straightened in her chair as
the butler announced the arrival of Mr. Harper and showed him into the small
dark parlor. The butterflies in her stomach threatened to escape at any moment,
so she pressed her fan to her lips as the handsome gentleman bowed in front of
her then kissed her free hand.

“Mrs. Blackburn.”

“Mr. Harper.”

She gestured at the sofa opposite
her fireside chair. “Please, take a seat.”

She fanned herself rapidly,
willing the heat in her cheeks to fade. Surely the gentleman would be able to
tell how he roused her if her color remained so high.

Anne, you must calm yourself.

“It is a fine morning, Mrs.
Blackburn.”

“It is indeed, Mr. Harper.
Unusually warm for this time of year.”

He inclined his head and a golden
curl flopped over his flawless brow. Anne imagined twirling the curl around her
finger as he placed his head in her lap.

“May I ask how long you’ve been
widowed, Mrs. Blackburn?”

Anne stared at him, stunned at
the openness of the question. Society was ruled by acceptable and unacceptable
behavior and manners, so such a blunt question was unusual indeed.

“Eighteen months.” The words
escaped before she could stop them. Should she expand upon her answer?

“I am sorry for your loss.” Mr.
Harper offered an appropriate response. “Was your husband in trade?”

So he had noted her wealth then?

“He was indeed.
A wine merchant.
He was responsible for bringing many fine
European wines to England, Mr. Harper. He was well connected.”

“And as a
husband?”

Anne started in surprise. “I…I
don’t understand your question, sir.”

“Pardon me, Mrs. Blackburn. I
only meant was he as good a husband as he was a businessman.”

“He was very kind. He provided
well for me.”

“I am certain he did.” Mr. Harper
glanced around the parlor and smiled in admiration. “Were you blessed with
children?”

Anne ground her teeth together at
the question that was on everyone’s lips whenever they met her for the first
time. For if her marriage had been fruitful,
then
it
would have been easier for her to bear the loss of her husband. Wasn’t that the
way it worked?

“Sadly, no.”

At thirty-two, Anne had felt the
pang of maternal need but her sensible, practical side had always admonished
her for it. She had been fortunate in many ways where often, others were not.
And she had always believed that children were best born into a marriage where
the parents adored one another as her own parents had. Although she had been
fond of Alfred, she was not convinced that they would have made good parents
together. With him being twenty years her senior, he had not possessed the
energy required to deal with an infant and maybe it was a good thing that they never
had a child. After all, with Alfred passing away, the child would have grieved
for him. It was not fair upon a little one to have to live without a parent.
Anne had adored her own father but missed having the presence of a mother
around every single day of her life, as her own mother had passed giving birth
to her.

“That is a shame, Mrs. Blackburn.
Once again, I am sorry.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harper.” Anne
fingered the ends of her closed fan as she held it in her lap. She could detect
no mockery in the gentleman at all. She hoped that she was correct about his
apparently earnest demeanor.

“What type of portrait would you
like, Mrs. Harper? Have you thought about it in any detail?”

Anne met his silver-blue eyes and
her flush deepened as she registered the newly arrived mischief in his gaze.