The Perfect Mistress (21 page)

“For goodness’ sakes, I am not a fool.” Why, she could touch him without scarcely any effort if she wanted. Not that she did. “I have no intention of making a hasty decision. While I do find his offer interesting, there is still much to consider.”

“The memoirs are not my greatest concern.”

“Then what is your concern?” she said without thinking.

“You.” He paused. “As your friend naturally.”

“I am not your concern. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Not when it comes to a man like Ellsworth.” He shook his head. “You have no experience with a man of his nature.”

She scoffed. “I am scarcely an innocent schoolgirl. I have been married, you know.”

“To an honorable man I assume?”

“He was most honorable.”

“And was he a man who would never have taken advantage of a vulnerable woman?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then I was right,” he said in a smug, superior manner. “You have no experience with men like Ellsworth.”

“Perhaps not. But do you think I am so weak as to be swayed by his face or dashing appearance?”

His brows drew together. “You think he’s dashing?”

“Yes, and I daresay every woman here would agree.”

“You are not every woman.”

“No, I most certainly am not and I would thank you to remember that.”

“But you are—”

“But I am what?” Without warning something inside her snapped. She’d had quite enough. She ground out the words through clenched teeth. “Lady Middlebury’s great-granddaughter?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then perhaps I should go in there and throw myself at Mr. Ellsworth!”

He stared in shock then his eyes narrowed. “Who is no doubt expecting it. Whether you like it or not a man like that would certainly think you take after her. Not that you do in this respect,” he added quickly.

“And if I do?” she snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t really know, do you?”

He shook his head in confusion. “Of course I know.”

“No, you don’t. Oh, you know a great deal about me and yes, we have shared some discussions about poetry and dogs and I can’t recall what else, but you don’t know me. You have no idea if I take after Hermione or not.”

“Regardless, I know the kind of man Ellsworth is.”

She scoffed. “What kind of man is he?”

“He’s the kind of man who would take advantage of a beautiful woman alone on a darkened terrace!”

“And am I the kind of woman who would allow such liberties?”

“He would not ask your permission!”

“Then he would take what he wanted?”

“Yes.”

“And what would that be?”

“He would take you in his arms and kiss you long and hard in spite of your protests. The way he has wanted to do from the moment he met you!”

“That’s what you think a man like Ellsworth would do?”

“That’s what I know a man like Ellsworth would do.”

“And what about you, Harrison?” She stared up at him, knowing even as she said the words, these were dangerous waters. “What would a man like you do?”

“Me?” His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips. “I would never take advantage of a beautiful woman on a darkened terrace.”

“Why not?”

“It would be … dishonorable.”

“And you are an honorable man?”

“Most certainly.”

“And you would never take advantage?”

“Never.”

“Not even if you thought that because of her ancestry she wouldn’t protest?”

“Not even then.” He paused. “And I would never think that.”

“But what if she wanted you to kiss her?” She wasn’t sure where that had come from but the moment she said it she knew it was true.

He stared down at her.

“What if she didn’t realize she wanted you to until right that very moment?” She held her breath.

“I might realize that I wanted to as well,” he said slowly. “That I have wanted to for some time but perhaps I didn’t realize it either.”

Their gazes locked for a long moment. At last he drew a deep breath. “The readings are about to begin. We should join the others.”

Disappointment throbbed through her. “Yes, we should.”

He turned and her heart sank. He took a step then paused. “Damnation, Julia.”

He swiveled back and without warning pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard and long and quite thoroughly until her knees weakened and she thought she might swoon in his arms. She slid her arms around his neck and clung to him, meeting his passion with her own. Desire swept through her. Her mouth opened to his and his kiss deepened. Good Lord, a part of her mind not fogged with an aching need to press closer, to feel his body next to hers, noted this was not the kiss of the stuffy Earl of Mountdale.

At last he released her and stepped back.

“And that, Julia”—he nodded—“is how an honorable man kisses a beautiful woman on a darkened terrace.”

She stared and tried to catch her breath.

“The reading should begin any minute.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

“Certainly.” She struggled to regain a semblance of composure and took his arm, grateful for the support. She wasn’t at all sure she could walk on her own at the moment.

A shadow flittered by the terrace door and she wondered if someone had seen them. Not that it mattered. At least not to her, although it no doubt mattered to him. It would be most improper for Harrison to be discovered in a passionate embrace with a widow who might soon be linked to scandal, even old, nearly forgotten scandals.

She glanced up at him. His expression was set, almost stern. In spite of the passion that she was confident they’d shared, did he now regret what had just passed between them? Regret what was obviously an impulse on his part. He opened the door and nodded for her to pass. Did he blame her for … enticing him? She groaned to herself. What had come over her?

Perhaps there was more of Hermione in her than either of them had thought. Was he embarrassed now for his actions? For succumbing to the flirtations of the descendant of a … a … tart? Heat washed up her face. How could she have been so brazen?

She drew a deep breath and smiled pleasantly as if her insides weren’t churning. The chairs had been arranged while they were on the terrace and guests were taking their places. “Shall we take a seat?”

He paused. “I should sit beside Veronica as I am her escort for the evening.”

It was as if he had slapped her across the face, but she didn’t so much as flinch. “Yes, do that.”

She found Portia and sat down beside her on a chair at the end of the row. Portia was too busy chatting with the gentleman next to her to do more than cast her a welcoming smile. Even if Harrison wanted to sit with her, there was no place for him at her side. Good. That was exactly what she wanted. She might have lost her head on the terrace but her senses had returned. Even if there was something of a tremble in her hands and a catch somewhere in the vicinity of her … no, it absolutely was not her heart.

Mr. Ellsworth took his place in front of the gathering and began to read from his latest work. She adopted a pleasant smile and attempted to pay attention.

“It was to be expected then that the first thing he intended, upon meeting at the arranged location …”

What had she been thinking? No, she hadn’t been thinking at all and she should have been. She should be on guard against every single man who knew about the memoirs. Even if he appeared to be staid and too proper. She would be from this moment on. Oh, certainly in many ways, her lapse in judgment might have been understandable. Why, it had been years since she’d been kissed and longer still since she’d been kissed by anyone other than William.

It wasn’t simply the kiss, although one could never call that kiss simple. She’d baited him, teased him, practically laid down a gauntlet and dared him to kiss her.

And he had certainly picked it up with enthusiasm.

“’… the scent of the garden in bloom, a rapturous mix of roses and violets and all the …’”

She slanted a discreet glance across the room at him. His brow was furrowed and he appeared to be absorbing every word Mr. Ellsworth read. As if he were aware of her perusal, he glanced in her direction and her gaze met his. At once she jerked her head forward and tried again to give the author her full attention.

“‘… and it was, he thought, not inappropriate that he would find her here, of all places …’”

Ellsworth’s gaze met hers and she cast him an encouraging smile. As much as she wanted to see if Harrison was still watching her, she refused to give him the satisfaction. The corners of the author’s mouth curved upward slightly as if in response to her own smile. Nonsense, he could be smiling at any one of his throng of female admirers. Still, it would do no harm for Harrison to note this innocent flirtation. To wonder if she was succumbing to Ellsworth’s charms. Indeed, it would serve Harrison right. Especially if the man thought so little of her as to think she would fall into the arms of a notorious womanizer. She cast Ellsworth her brightest smile and ignored the look of pleased speculation in his eyes. She would deal with the repercussions of this meaningless exchange later.

She ignored the thought that she might well be venturing onto a path she was ill-prepared to tread. She’d scarcely passed her first season when she’d married William. He wasn’t the only man she had ever kissed but she could count that number on one hand and have several fingers left. Harrison was right in one respect: she had no experience with men like Ellsworth. Or men like Harrison, or very nearly any men at all.

Still, how hard could it be to carry on in a flirtatious manner? Why, Portia was certainly doing it well.

She might not be a tart by nature but, God help them all, she was a tart by blood.

What on earth had gotten into him?

Harrison stared at Ellsworth reading in a far too dramatic manner and tried to keep from stealing another look at Julia. It was impossible given that she was directly in his line of sight if he turned his head to the right and leaned forward slightly. He had already met her gaze once and she had pointedly turned away as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

Not that he could blame her. He had been rather stunned by his behavior himself. Why, one minute he was explaining why she should be on her guard with Ellsworth and the next he was behaving in precisely the same manner. He should be ashamed of himself and indeed he was. Honorable man—hah! He was no better than that cad of a writer. He wasn’t at all sure what had possessed him to take advantage of her like that. His intention had only been to provide her a measure of protection. After all, Ellsworth wouldn’t be more than casually acquainted with her if not for Harrison’s plan to get the memoirs.

His mind returned to the scene played out on the terrace. When had he lost control of the conversation? When had it stopped being about Ellsworth and had become about him? And what was that rubbish about his wanting to kiss her from the first moment they’d met? Utter nonsense. The first time they’d met he’d wanted to thrash her.

No, he had to admit, the first time they’d met she’d been as impressive as she was annoying. Her strength of character and resolve was as strong as any man he’d ever known and far greater than most. But as for wanting to kiss her … certainly he’d noticed the intense emerald of eyes so deep, a man could lose his soul in them. And yes, he’d noted the way unruly tendrils of golden hair had escaped to caress the sweet blush of her cheeks. And he had as well seen the vulnerability and weariness that lay beneath her determined manner, but the thought of kissing her hadn’t so much as crossed his mind.

Until tonight.

Almost of its own accord, his gaze turned toward her. She appeared completely engrossed in whatever Ellsworth was babbling on about. Julia was wrong though; he did know her. Not merely the details of her life he had pried from Veronica but how she looked when the brisk autumn breeze heightened the color in her cheeks. And how her laugh reminded him of something extraordinary he had long ago forgotten, if he had ever known it at all, and how it echoed deep inside him. And how her green eyes flashed with fire when she was angered or glittered with humor when she was amused or simmered with something quite remarkable right before he’d kissed her.

Good God, perhaps he had wanted to kiss her from the beginning after all.

She smiled at Ellsworth and his stomach clenched. Surely she hadn’t meant it when she said she’d throw herself at Ellsworth. She was entirely too intelligent to become involved with a man like him. Still, women, no doubt some of them intelligent, were apparently quite taken with the man. Harrison grudgingly admitted he was handsome enough. And even though Julia had claimed not to be awed by his celebrity, his literary accomplishments were most impressive. Why, the man could probably talk to her about poetry for hours. Worse, he could no doubt compose a poem just for her right on the spot. Something about how her eyes were like a day in May or some such nonsense. Even a sensible woman like Julia could fall prey to a man who used words as a weapon of seduction.

His gaze slid from Julia to the author and back. Damnation, the man was flirting with her right here in front of everyone. Not that he could truly blame him. He’d never seen her as lovely as she was tonight in that dress that precisely matched the color of her eyes. The woman was delicious enough to entice even the most stalwart soul. Oh, their flirtation was subtle—a gleam in Ellsworth’s eye, an answering smile from Julia. A slightly upraised brow from him, the barest tilting of her head in response. Harrison might well be the only one who noticed but then he was the only one watching the two of them. It was shameless, that’s what it was.

Well, he would not allow Julia to be taken in. No, Ellsworth’s intrusion into her life was Harrison’s doing and it was his responsibility to make certain no harm came to her because of it. Because he was her friend and because he liked her. Quite a lot. Furthermore, he respected her. He was not going to allow that reprobate to drag her into scandal and ruin her life. The fact that watching Julia and Ellsworth exchange glances made his stomach twist and his jaw tighten was due to nothing more than his sense of responsibility and friendship. Nothing whatsoever.