Pleasurably Undone! (18 page)

“Tell me more about your brother,” he said.

She complied, telling of Andrew’s love of physics, of chemistry and of all things mechanical. Graham asked questions and seemed to listen to her answers. Margaret could almost delude herself that he was a beau, instead of a man who’d paid for her company. Because he was Graham, she wished he was a beau.

As they walked on, two men burst from the shrubbery and stumbled onto the path ahead of them. Margaret jumped back, uttering a cry. Graham wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the trees, his black domino cloaking them both. The two young men, deep in their cups, staggered by, talking loudly and apparently never noticing them.

Still, Margaret trembled under Graham’s embrace.

“I would allow no harm to come to you,” he whispered in her ear.

Her trembling came not from feeling again like that little girl clinging to the boy who rescued her, but from an acute awareness that he was a boy no longer. He was a man with a man’s needs, and was willing to pay to have those needs met. His arms felt wonderful around her, his strong muscles holding her with such reassuring confidence. Her body was pressed against his, and it seemed that all his power and strength were melding with her.

Her breathing quickened, and sensation flared through her. She felt hungry for more, although she did not know precisely what made her ravenous. She only knew this moment must never end or she would surely perish.

Unfortunately he released her, but slowly, as if as reluctant as she to break the embrace. Still clasping her arms with his strong fingers, he looked down on her, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim light, pleading for something she wanted desperately to give him, but not knowing precisely what it was he desired. He lowered his head and Margaret’s excitement grew. She rose onto her toes.

The sounds of more revelers came near. He again enveloped her in his domino. “We will walk back to the supper boxes,” he rasped.

Her disappointment was crushing.

They walked in silence, and Margaret searched her mind for a question she could ask him, a question that was not
Why did you release me?

“Why did you advertise for a mistress?” she finally asked.

She felt him stiffen. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Obvious? It was inconceivable that this virile man could not have any woman he wished. He was tall, well-formed, and as darkly handsome as any hero in a Minerva Press novel. What woman would not seek his bed?

“No, it is not obvious.”

The path was growing lighter, although their surroundings still seemed leached of color. Only his eyes remained sharply blue. And pained.

He stopped and gestured to his mask. “I am disfigured.”

“What could that matter?” She reached up to his mask.

He seized her hand and roughly thrust it aside. “Do not remove it!”

She jerked away, alarmed by his violence.

He lowered himself onto a bench nearby and sunk his head in his hands. Margaret sat next to him and placed the purse in her lap.

She pulled one of his hands into both of hers. “I am sorry.”

He straightened, but averted his face.

It was his unhappiness for which she was sorry. Sorry for his shame at his appearance, and so sorry for her foolish boldness.

He glanced at her and away again. “I should not have come.” He picked up the purse and gave a dry laugh. “At least you have the money.”

“And it will be well spent.” She gently squeezed his hand.

“On your brother.”

She smiled. “On my brother.”

He examined her face so intently, it was as if his gaze permeated every part of her. “What else do you want?”

She blinked. “What else?”

His gaze did not waver. “If you could have your heart’s desire, I mean. What would you want?”

Her heart pounded. Some hopes were best abandoned, like the hope that he would again put his arms around her.

She said instead, “I should like to send my brother to Cambridge.”

He laughed.

She felt wounded. “It is nonsensical, I agree. No lady’s companion or governess can afford Cambridge.”

“That is not why I laughed. I expected you to want a house or carriage or jewels.” He caught her gaze again. “Is there no patron to help your brother?”

“No one.” She smiled wanly. “There is only my cousin, but he hardly earns enough to hold himself together. He is an actor. I am staying in the boarding house where he lives, until the actress whose room I’m in returns.” A few days from this. “Perhaps you saw my cousin. He is dressed as Puck.”

“I did see him,” he answered absently. He was silent for a long time before piercing her with another intent gaze. “Miss Leigh, I will send your brother to Cambridge.”

She blinked. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “Because I have the wealth to do so.”

She did not understand him.

He glanced away and back again. “I will do it. I will pay for Cambridge, but I will also pay you. An annuity for life, if—”

She held her breath.

His eyes bored into her. “If you agree to my original proposition.”

Everything around her blurred. “To be your mistress?”

“For at least two months,” he added. “Cambridge, an annuity so you will never have to be a lady’s companion. All that for two months of your life.”

She gaped at him.

“I live very privately. No one will know where you have spent those two months. I give you my word. I will trouble you no further afterward. You will not even know who I am. No one will know. Your reputation will be unsullied.”

She must be lost to all propriety, Margaret thought, because it was not her reputation she thought of. She thought only of
how short a time two months could be and how very much she owed him already.

He’d saved her life that day when Bob and Hughy were carried away with their mischief. They’d driven her to the ground, their laughter maniacal as their rocks and sticks struck her over and over. Graham had run to her rescue. He’d fought them off. He’d saved her and remained the hero of her heart ever since.

“I will do it,” she whispered, thinking now of his arms around her and how his body felt against hers. She made her voice stronger. “I will be your mistress.”

T
hree days later, Graham Veall tugged at the cuffs of his shirt and tried not to look at his image in the mirror.

“Coward,” he said aloud.

He forced his gaze upward.

Even with the mask in place, he looked like a miscreation. He snapped his eyes shut and again heard the sounds of battle, the thundering of horses’ hooves, the clang of the Frenchman’s sword against his own. Again he smelled the pungent odor of gunpowder, of soldier’s sweat, of spilled blood. Again he saw the Frenchman’s wild eyes and bared teeth and the sight of the gleaming sword right before it sliced into his face.

Breathing hard, Graham opened his eyes and pressed his palm against his masked cheek. The mask was a cleverly tailored bit of silk and batting that fit snugly against his skin and covered all but a peek of the carnage the Frenchman’s sword wrought.

Graham pressed his lips together.

Below stairs a woman waited, a woman any honorable man would send back to London. Any honorable man would
forget this insane, impulsive idea that had overtaken him one lonely afternoon.

But he would not send her home.

He might be robbed of a face, but he’d be damned if he’d forego every pleasure in life because of it. He wanted company. He wanted conversation. He wanted to hear a woman laugh, to smell her hair, to feel her bare legs wrapped around his. He wanted the pleasure of plunging into her body, of feeling her release, of spilling his seed inside her.

Even if he must pay for it.

Miss Leigh was more than he’d dared hope. She certainly possessed all the charm her letters promised. Old enough not to be
missish
, obviously intelligent, she’d appeared to have more to converse upon than society gossip from
The Morning Post.
He knew little else of her except that the eyes beneath her mask had been a warm brown and her lips invitingly full. She’d not jumped at the chance to take his money and, in his opinion, her hesitation showed a discernment that gave her credit. But she also had not shirked when he cast out the lure that secured her agreement.

A younger brother in need. Admirable indeed.

This enticement alone would have been sufficient to secure her agreement, he’d have wagered, but adding the annuity assuaged his conscience. The least he could offer a respectable young woman was a comfortable income for life. It would pose him no hardship. He could well afford both Cambridge and an annuity.

While still in leading strings Graham had inherited a vast amount from an uncle who’d made a fortune in the East India Company. Unlike most younger sons, Graham’s desire to purchase a commission in His Majesty’s army had not been made for financial reasons, but for the vainglorious notion that his country needed
him
to vanquish Napoleon.

Well, he must leave victory to Lord Wellington now. All Graham had done was lose half his face and all of his idyllic future.

He twisted away from the mirror and strode out of his bedchamber down the stairs to the drawing room where he’d kept Miss Leigh waiting for nearly half an hour.

Through the cracked door, he saw her looking out the window, hands clasped in front of her.

He entered.

She turned and curtsied. “Sir,” she said, her voice breathless.

“It is Graham,” he corrected, remaining just inside the doorway.

Light from the window illuminated half her face, leaving half in shadow. Nature’s cruel mockery, no doubt, of the image he’d just seen in the mirror. Unmasked, she was prettier than he’d imagined. Her eyes were large for her face, and her nose strong. Both seemed perfectly balanced by those lush pink lips. He liked that her hair was the color of nutmeg and that she was taller than most women he knew.

What will it be like to bed a woman as tall as she?

He released a breath. Curse him for thinking such thoughts within moments of their reacquaintance. Even a woman whose company he purchased deserved better.

He glanced around the room. “Did not Coombs bring you tea?”

“Coombs. He was the man who brought me your letters.” She gazed at him. “He offered tea. I declined.”

Graham took a step forward and gestured to the area near the fireplace “Do sit, Miss Leigh.”

She obediently crossed the room and sat on the couch, leaving enough room for him to sit next to her if he so chose. He almost smiled. No, she was not missish, but he sensed she
was not entirely at ease either, no matter how much she might wish he’d think so.

He walked over to a cabinet. “Would you prefer something stronger than tea? Sherry, perhaps?”

Her tense mouth seemed to relax. “Yes, thank you. Sherry will do nicely.”

Graham poured her sherry and a brandy for himself. Handing her the glass, he chose the nearby chair.

She took a sip. “I did not expect you to be wearing your mask.”

By reflex he touched it. “Did you fear I would inflict the horror upon you?”

A tiny line appeared between her eyes. “I thought the mask was merely for the masquerade.”

He twirled his brandy glass. “I am in a perpetual masquerade.” Downing its contents, he leveled his gaze at her. “The mask remains.”

She waved her fingers in a gesture of unconcern and more calmly sipped her drink. “This house seems quite comfortable.”

It was a hunting lodge within easy riding distance of London, borrowed from the Duke of Manning with the promise that His Grace would never call. His Grace had only broken the promise once, and Graham surmised his father had sent his friend to check on his welfare.

“It is suitable.” He rose and poured himself more brandy. “Have you seen its rooms?”

She shook her head. “Coombs gave me a moment to refresh myself in my bedchamber and then showed me to this room.”

He downed his second glass of brandy and extended his hand to her. “Come. I’ll give you a tour.”

She placed her bare hand in his, skin against skin, and his
body flared in response. By God, he was desperate for a woman. He felt like ravaging her on the drawing room carpet.

His eyes met hers for a moment, and he fancied she’d read his thoughts.

“I will show you the library first.” He forced his voice through a suddenly constricted throat. “I added some books I thought you might enjoy.”

Her brows rose. “You did? What sort of books?”

He shrugged. “Novels mostly.
The Wild Irish Girl. A Tale of Youth. Self-Control.
”

Her eyelashes fluttered, and amusement tugged at those moist kissable lips. “Oh, dear, where shall I start? With
The Wild Irish Girl
? Perhaps not with
Self-Control.
”

He frowned. “I meant no message. The titles were recommended to me as ones a lady might enjoy.”

Her smile wavered. “I was merely jesting.”

They entered the library, and he pointed out the new editions.

She ran her finger along one of the shelves. “If I finish the novels, I shall delve into
The Gentleman’s Magazine
or
The Sportsman’s Dictionary
.”

This time he recognized her humor. “I fear this is a rather masculine residence.” He gestured to the door. “Allow me to show you the drawing room. There is a pianoforte there, which might have more feminine appeal.”

After a peek at the drawing room, he showed her the dining room and led her down to the kitchen.

As they approached, he heard the banging of pots and pans. “Did you bring a maid with you?”

She laughed. “I have no maid.”

“Mrs. Coombs will be available to you, then. She is both cook and housekeeper, so our meals will be simple fare. She and Coombs are the only servants in the house, and their
rooms are on this level.” In other words, they would have plenty of privacy above stairs.

“I am accustomed to simple fare,” she replied. “And to tending to myself.”

Mrs. Coombs, busy preparing dinner, greeted Miss Leigh in a friendly tone. “I will be at your service, miss.”

Graham appreciated Mrs. Coombs’s tolerance of his unusual plan. He’d known her for years and had expected her to have a different view of propriety from a typical London servant.

He explained to Miss Leigh, “Coombs was my batman in the army. Mrs. Coombs followed the drum.”

Margaret gave the older woman a respectful look. “How very brave of you, Mrs. Coombs.”

“’Twas an adventure, that much I will admit,” she answered.

Indeed. Mrs. Coombs had seen things no woman should see, including a man with half his face sliced away.

“I will show you above stairs,” he said.

Graham offered his arm and escorted Miss Leigh back to the hall and up another flight of stairs to the bedchambers.

There were four, and some attic rooms above those. He showed her the two smaller bedchambers first, before leading her to the room connected with his.

He stopped by her door. “You have already seen your room. I hope it is to your liking.”

She looked into his eyes. “It is perfectly comfortable.” Her gaze shifted to the next door.

He walked over and opened it. “This is the room I use.”

She merely nodded. Their gazes connected in a moment that stretched far too long, a moment that left him too much time to think carnal thoughts, such as how he might drag her into his bedchamber and urge her to fulfill the implied part of the bargain.

But if bedding had been all he wanted he could have purchased a woman for as many nights as he desired. He’d always found the idea of going to a brothel distasteful, however. He desired so much more than mere physical release.

Graham glanced toward the door to her bedchamber. “Shall I leave you until time for dinner?”

“Leave me?” She sounded surprised. “Here?”

He lowered his brow. “Well, not here if you do not wish it. You may go to any room you desire.”

She glanced away as if in thought, then faced him again, looking directly into his eyes. “Then I should like to see your bedchamber.”