No Ordinary Mistress (Entangled Scandalous) (4 page)

Chapter Four

Remy was thankful for the darkened carriage. He didn’t want Emma to see how much the kiss had affected him as well. He’d kissed her for one reason only: to startle her out of her prim and proper facade, to cut to the woman beneath all the propriety. He hadn’t anticipated enjoying the feel of her against him so much. He’d thought his desire for her long since dead, yet his blood still hummed with lust.

No, that wasn’t the truth at all. He’d kissed her for no other reason than because he wanted to. Had wanted to for years. He’d wanted to remember what her lips felt like. And his response didn’t surprise him; he wanted her, plain and simple. But there was nothing plain and simple about his relationship with Emma. So he had to keep his mind on what their purpose was. Tonight they were going to a party at a nearby estate, and then they would sneak into Pennington Hall to search for the journal. But before they arrived at either place, he had to keep his mind on the investigation and not the fact that he wanted nothing more than to pull Emma across the carriage and into his lap where he would continue to kiss her until she begged him to take her. He wanted her panting, shouting his name.

“Once we arrive at Foxtail Manor, you’ll need to begin acting the part of my mistress. We’ll be sharing a bedchamber for our stay there.”

“I’m certain you’ll be comfortable on the floor,” she said tartly.

He wasn’t so certain he’d need to be on the floor. “Are you absolutely positive you’re up to the task of pretending to be my mistress?”

“I suppose that all depends. Are your mistresses usually left feeling cold and bored by your company?”

“Quite the contrary.” He could argue with her, tease her, but he wouldn’t discuss other women with her. He’d had other mistresses, but at the moment, he couldn’t remember much about them but their names.

One delicate brow rose and her head quirked to the side. “You were saying?”

He looked at her, willing her to stop being so damned prickly and relax with him. It occurred to him, though, perhaps he’d been wrong about the two of them. Perhaps she truly was as put out by him as she appeared to be. And perhaps this attraction he’d thought was between them was only on his side.

“I was saying that we’ll be there shortly, so do whatever it is you do when you have to pretend to be attracted to someone.” He said nothing else until the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the estate.

The footman opened the door, and Remy jumped out. He took Emma’s hand as they ascended the stairs to the front door. “We must make an appearance here, get our room secured, and then we can make our way over to Pennington Hall. Remember you are my mistress.”

She grabbed his jacket and pulled him close and then kissed him. Just as before, she held nothing back, and then the kiss ended. “I’m not so daft that I have already forgotten my assignment.”

He chuckled as they made their way into the foyer. They were announced as Lord Westbridge and companion. Emma had never before been to a ball, but she knew about them from stories her mother used to tell her. This, Emma knew, was no ordinary ball. Perhaps this was why it was outside of London, away from the prying eyes of the marriage-minded mommas. Here, couples embraced publicly, kissing and nearly fondling one another. They danced too close, the ladies sat upon the men’s laps, and the dresses were so low-cut she was certain she’d already seen more breasts than she’d been prepared for.

“Good heavens,” she whispered.

Remy pulled her close. “Not what you were expecting?”

“I can’t imagine anyone would expect the likes of this.”

He led her to the refreshment table and retrieved a glass of champagne for her. He watched as she took a sip and glanced around the room. Her brows rose when she spied a woman flirting with two men simultaneously.

He leaned close to her ear. “Are you uncomfortable?”

She started, but the movement was so small, it was barely noticeable. “Of course not.” Remy still believed her to be experienced in all matters of the flesh. Such displays shouldn’t be so disconcerting. “It seems futile that we had to attend this party.” She held up her hand to prevent him from explaining. “I understand. We couldn’t let anyone know our true purpose for being in this area, but I can still be irritated that we have to attend such public displays of debauchery.”

“I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but it is you.” A woman’s husky voice sounded behind them. “Remington, you are the very devil to come into my house and not immediately come and greet me.”

Emma and Remy turned simultaneously. The woman was older, quite likely old enough to be Emma’s mother, though you’d never know from the way she was dressed. Her gown, a bold and vibrant crimson, fit so low on her bodice Emma could see the pink centers of the woman’s breasts. Her graying hair had been piled artfully on top of her head. Her eyes, a silver that very nearly matched her hair, settled on Emma. “And who is this?”

“Gloria, my dear,” Remy said, taking the woman’s hand in his own and bending over it. “My apologies. My companion and I were quite thirsty.”

“Long travels will do that to you,” Gloria said. “As well as other activities.”

“Indeed,” Emma chimed in. She ran a possessive hand over Remy’s arm.

Gloria’s lips turned upward in a devious grin. “You look lovely, my dear,” she said to Emma.

“Thank you. You have a beautiful home.”

“You must tell me how you caught this wicked man’s attention.”

“Perhaps another time,” Remy said. “We were on our way to dance.”

Remy pulled her tighter to his side, and for a moment, Emma wanted to shift away. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him touching her, but rather the opposite. The more she was near him, the more she remembered the feelings she had for him. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Remington Hawthorne was an easy man to like: gregarious, handsome, and charming. But there was more to him, something she could see just below that charming facade he wore. So against her better judgment, she leaned into his body. Tonight she played his mistress. The charade might ultimately wreak havoc with her heart, but it was the risk she took for her work. And her work was important.

“Yes, of course. Do enjoy yourselves,” Gloria said, then turned and walked off.

Remy pulled Emma out to the dance floor and swept her into the waltz.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Gloria can be a little too much.”

“That’s an understatement.”

They danced in silence for a few moments.

“Emma, I never meant to insinuate I believe you’re a whore,” he said, his voice quiet.

All around them, couples danced, kissed, and fondled. His soft admission in the midst of everything around them was far too intimate. She shook her head. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Perhaps we should take a walk in the gardens.”

“Fresh air sounds lovely.” She accepted his arm, and they stepped out into the night. They stepped off the balcony and into the gardens, brilliantly lit with thousands of candles. Walking arm-in-arm, they no doubt appeared the very picture of lovers. To the strangers around them, they were simply another couple seeking a moment alone in the darkness.

“Tell me something real about yourself,” Remy said, his voice rich and warm, contrasting against the chilly night air.

“What?”

“I want to know something about you. Something real. Honest.”

She was quiet for a moment. She knew what she’d say; it had been the first thing that popped into her mind. Still, she was hesitant. It was something she’d never shared with anyone. It wasn’t a sacred memory, so why should she worry?

“I remember making biscuits with my grandmother. Every Sunday morning, we’d roll up our sleeves and roll out the dough together. She’d put flour on my nose, and we’d laugh.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded cold, devoid of emotion, as if she were reading the lines from a play instead of reciting something from her own life.

“Sweet biscuits?”

“Yes, sweet biscuits, and we’d dip them in our chocolate and sit by the fire and she’d tell me stories. She couldn’t read, so she could only share tales verbally.”

“That is a nice memory.”

“It is.” And for once, she realized it was, indeed, a nice memory. In a lifetime of coldness, where she was often left alone with servants while her mother searched for the wealthiest man to take for her lover, it was a memory filled with laughter and warmth. They stepped further into the gardens, falling into a quiet rhythm where their steps matched. They turned the corner, and there ahead of them, on a bench, was a couple quite actively engaged. The woman sat astride the man, her skirts bunched up around her, and she rode him fervently. Emma froze. The man grunted, the woman moaned, and still Emma could not move. Remy’s warm, gloved hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around.

“Perhaps we should retire to our room for a while.”

She nodded, but said nothing else.

Three hours later, after spending time mapping out their plan for Pennington Hall, they left to find Comfry’s diary. Emma practically hugged Remy’s back as they skirted along the darkened corridor. If they moved as one, they’d be less likely to get caught. It was something they’d mastered together in their brief time in Paris. Funny how things came right back without even having to discuss them. They were a good team; she knew that, despite the emotional aspect of things.

If she were completely honest with herself, she’d acknowledge the fact that she wouldn’t want to be working on this assignment with anyone else. She trusted Remy, and this was likely the most important assignment of her career. She’d seen her mark killed, and his family, people she’d grown to care for, had been sleeping in the house. Not only that, but the one man who had been a constant in her life had been murdered. She didn’t know if they were connected, but she felt certain they probably were.

She’d be damned if she didn’t do everything she could to find Comfry’s killer. And she knew Remy would as well. There was assurance in that. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get her heart broken in the process, but she would manage that if and when it happened. Until then, she had to stay sharp.

They made their way out the back door of the kitchen and onto the grounds. Remy had earlier established a deal with the grooms and had a horse waiting for them. They’d ride quietly to Pennington Hall, and hopefully, tonight they’d find the journal and all of this would end.

The horse was precisely where the groom said he’d be, tied to a birch tree, blissfully munching on grass. She looked up at them shrewdly, chewing, then released a soft neigh and stomped her feet. Remy untied her and pulled himself into the saddle. He then helped Emma up onto the back behind him. Emma held on to his back, and they were off. She tried to ignore the play of his muscles as they rode. The wind swirled around them, chilling her arms and making her wish she’d worn a cloak, but having something that heavy and loose could become a hazard in these situations. So she wore only a simple, wool dress of dark, smoky gray.

Remy didn’t speak. He steered their mare in the right direction and kept her from going too deep in the forested woods to their right. It wouldn’t be long and they’d reach Pennington Hall. Already the land was beginning to clear and give way to gentle, rolling hills.

The entrance to Pennington Hall’s property was guarded by a large iron gate, but it was already opened, so they rode through. Remy kept them close to the tree line to keep as shielded from view as possible. The Comfry family was still in London making arrangements for the funeral, but that didn’t mean the servants weren’t milling about getting things prepared, though that seemed unlikely in light of the late hour. Closer and closer they drew until they stopped at the edge of the trees. Remy slid off and then helped Emma down.

“We should walk from here,” he whispered. “We’ll be able to better maneuver to the door without the horse.” He tied the mare up, and she shook her head but made no move to pull away.

Again Emma made herself Remy’s shadow as they crept toward the house. They found a side servant entrance, and Remy easily worked through the lock with his tools and then opened the door. It creaked, and he stopped, opening it ever so slowly, enough for them to slip inside. The room was dark, and they stood still a few moments to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness. As the shapes came into focus, Emma could see that they were in some sort of corridor that opened into a butler’s pantry. Folded uniforms sat on the shelves, and aprons hung on hooks, ready for the staff to grab them should they need a replacement. Two empty buckets sat on the floor next to a filled ash bucket.

They had already agreed that their best odds would be to check Comfry’s study. He motioned her forward, and they exited the pantry and made their way up the stairs to the main floor. More than likely, Comfry’s study would be on this floor. They checked the first room to their right and found a library, another possibility to hide such a book, but they’d come back to it if necessary. They found a parlor, a small dining room, and then another parlor. There was one more door on their left. Something shifted inside, making a scratching noise against the floor. Remy stilled and put his hand on Emma to hold her behind him. He cracked the door for them to peek inside. Two men rifled through the drawers and shelves. Remy closed the door, and together, they slipped back to the staircase at the end of the corridor.

“We’re too late,” Emma said.

“They obviously haven’t found it yet. We need to get them out of here so we can finish looking.”

Emma turned and made her way back down the stairs. Without a word, she retrieved a maid’s uniform from the shelf. She turned her back to a confused Remy. “Unbutton me, quickly.”

“This is not a good idea,” he said, but still she felt his fingers moving against the buttons at the back of her dress. His warm breath blew against her bare neck. She tried to ignore the thrill that shot through her at the notion of him removing her clothes, but that was impossible. She’d thought of this very thing more than once, but never in this scenario. For one moment, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensations.