Tempting His Mistress Read online

  No, surely not. Only her cousin knew of the papers alluding to her father and Lord Hawksley’s dealings. Henry had been the one to alert her to the rumours surrounding the marquess and his dissatisfaction at her father losing a good deal of his money.

  Lilly was introduced to the other members of the party. All treated her well, though she noted the cold mien in Lady Richdale’s gaze as she eyed Lilly’s dress. Her husband, who was also the marquess’s brother, was, however, charming and jovial. He had a similar dark colouring to his brother but his features were softer, more classically handsome, she supposed. The older man, Lord Brexley—a good friend of the marquess it seemed—was pleasant enough too, while Mrs Willis, a recently widowed lady, held no censure in her gaze.

  “I hear you hold a place in the country,” Mrs Willis commented.

  “Yes, some ten miles from here. Marshgate Lodge.”

  “I do enjoy the country. I seldom visit it. My husband preferred London while I tired of society there.”

  “The company is certainly more colourful in the country,” Lady Richdale remarked and her gaze skimmed Lilly’s dress once more.

  With every one of the blonde hairs perfectly in place and a touch of light make-up, Lady Richdale made her feel unkempt and dowdy in her old dress.

  Resisting the urge to pat her hair or smooth the taffeta, Lilly merely smiled. Lord Hawksley positioned himself not far from her elbow, and heat leapt across the gap. She stiffened to prevent herself from shuddering.

  “The country has its benefits to be sure. Pleasing scenery for one.” His gaze landed on her but no hint as to whether he meant anything more than that he enjoyed the hills of Hampshire lingered in his expression.

  “I have always preferred the country,” she declared. “The fresh air is known to be good for the health and when it’s home to people like Lady Stanley, you cannot go wrong.”

  “How right you are, Miss Claremont,” Mrs Willis agreed. “If only my husband could have been persuaded to spend more time in the country, it would have vastly improved his health.”

  Lord Hawksley shifted so that his arm brushed Lilly’s elbow. “Indeed, Miss Claremont shall likely outlive us all and live to be a hundred.”

  The two women laughed while Lilly waited for the tingles racing down her arm to cease. Somehow she managed to keep the surprise from her face at such a sensation. “You suggest that I spend too much time in the country, my lord?”

  “Do I? Maybe I do. It isn’t good for a person to spend so much time in one place. I believe variety to be better for one’s health than stagnating.”

  “You think I am stagnant?” She lifted her brows. Holding her tongue was going to prove harder than she thought with such a man around.

  That flicker of amusement was back, and this time it tugged both corners of his lips upward. “Not at all, Miss Claremont. You are far from stagnant, but it seems a shame to deprive London society of your company simply because you wish to outlive us all.”

  Was he having a jest at her expense? Lily couldn’t work the man out. “I have sincere doubts, my lord, that anyone in London feels bereft of my company.”

  The curve of his lips dropped, his eyes, if possible, appeared to darken. The room felt larger, and she much smaller. A prey for the hawk perhaps? Yes, this man very much suited his name. Like a predator, he loomed over her. A trickle of fear danced down her spine and mingled with the heat low in her belly.

  “I cannot speak for London as a whole, but I’m certainly regretful we have not met sooner,” he said quietly.

  Lilly glanced at the two other ladies, grateful to see their exchange had clearly bored them and they had moved onto other topics. Her cheeks scalded and were likely crimson. If the marquess’s expression was anything to go by, he had seen her embarrassment and shock. His gaze traced her features and lingered on her cheeks and lips.

  Lilly opened her mouth, when the bell for dinner rang. Clamping it shut, she let out a long breath through her nose and turned to see Lady Stanley take the arm of the elderly earl. “You shall take myself and Mrs Willis in,” she announced.

  Inwardly, Lilly cringed. She had secretly hoped to be left alone with the uneven numbers. Lord and Lady Richdale would go in to the dining room together, leaving her with Lord Hawksley.

  “Shall we?” He offered his arm.

  “Certainly.” Lilly laid her fingers over his arm and in spite of her lace gloves, the warmth of his skin somehow reached hers. She glanced at his large hands. The image of those capable-looking fingers on other parts of her flashed through her mind, and she released a squeak.

  “Is all well, Miss Claremont? Do you need some air before dinner? I am sure Lady Stanley wouldn’t object. You know she is not one for formality.”

  “I am quite well, I assure you,” she snapped.

  What was wrong with her? This man had ordered the death of her father. Why would she imagine such a thing? Yet something about him made her forget her purpose for wishing to meet him.

  One eyebrow arched but that was his only acknowledgement of her snappish tone. “You look quite flushed.”

  “Please don’t concern yourself, my lord. I am not the sort of woman to swoon from getting a little warm.”

  “Quite so,” he remarked as he led her into the dining room. “I didn’t think you the sort to be swooning at every possible chance, Miss Claremont. You do not seem the type to thrive on attention. Which is why I asked. I suspect even if you were unwell, you would do your best to disguise it.”

  Lord Hawksley waited for her to be seated before seating himself. The glow from the gas lamps reflected off the gold frames on the walls, and the dark red colour of the walls failed to make the room appear any smaller. Though she had dined at Oakholm Hall many times, the long table and heavy chandeliers never failed to remind her of her insignificance.

  An insignificance that Lord Hawksley seemed determined to ignore. Indeed, he treated her as if she were of great interest to him. Why, she could not fathom. While she expected little formality at a house party, she didn’t expect his oddly flirtatious manner.

  If that was what it could be called. She believed him to be teasing—he smiled so rarely, it was hard to tell.

  “You do propose to know me very well,” she prodded once she had drawn off her gloves. Her purpose as to her visit niggled in her mind. She had to keep the lord talking and find out more about his relationship with her father.

  “I only know what acquaintances have told me and what I have observed.”

  “And what have you observed, my lord?”

  “That you are forthright to a point but you blush easily.”

  Lilly almost groaned when the blush he referred to made itself known once more. Any response was prevented by the arrival of the soup. Grateful for a respite, she turned her attention wholeheartedly to the course, all the while aware of the marquess’s hawk-like gaze on her as the other guests offered only titbits of chatter.

  A hawk indeed. That was how she would think of him, but he toyed with his prey—teasing it until the time was right to swoop. For surely any attention he gave her had to be for his own amusement. Perhaps he gained some sick pleasure over tormenting the woman whose father he had taken from her. She clenched her spoon until her knuckles whitened. Whatever game he played, she would not fall for it.

  Chapter Three

  Evan observed the whitening of those delicate hands. He had her riled, and he was not entirely sure why. But as surely as he had aggravated her, she aggravated him. He had known of Lilly Claremont through her father and Lady Stanley. Of course, neither of those sources were to be trusted. An unusually doting father and a close friend were always likely to exaggerate the truth. Mr Claremont, a man of great business acumen, had loved Miss Claremont’s mother—his mistress—with deep affection. So his tales of her beauty and intelligence could be taken with a pinch.

  And, yes, the talk of her looks had been as he had expected. Though she was pleasing to the eye and that delicate stain on her ch
eeks charmed him in ways he had not thought possible, her light brown hair was nothing exceptional and her pretty features couldn’t compete with some of the beauties he had known in his time.

  So, why then did this unexceptional woman interest him so? He had little time for the foibles of society; he held no stock in the gossip of idle women and hearing that Claremont’s illegitimate daughter was to be at Oakholm Hall interested him about as much as the latest fashions in Paris. He’d planned to be courteous but as indifferent as he could get away with.

  Tension twisted in Evan’s gut and he sneaked another glance at her. She was aware of him—he could tell by the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

  Shoulders that were so creamy, they made his mouth water.

  Of its own accord, his gaze traced the ruffles of her gown to the rounded curves peeking over the top of them. If he was not careful, he was going to make a damned fool of himself.

  Perhaps Claremont had been right about her intelligence. Maybe that was what captured his attention. Her bold tongue had already caught him off guard several times. Few women traded words with him so quickly, but the riddle of her character intrigued him most. Those lips pursed on occasion as if holding back further truths. Miss Claremont swung between tight-lipped propriety and bold audacity at a moment’s notice it seemed.

  Intriguing indeed.

  Pleased when the soup course was over, Evan turned his attention to serving the woman at his side as the kickshaws were brought out. Platters of shrimp, oysters and various other appetizers filled the gaps on the table. She said little and he felt the urge to provoke her further.

  Instead—and unusually for him—he made an attempt at being gallant. Probably, he decided, to see how she would react to that. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”

  Her attention snapped away from her plate and that delightful pale blue gaze locked onto him. “Were you?”

  He scowled. “Of course. He was a wise business man. Your father, Miss Claremont, made me a rich man.”

  Well, a richer man anyhow.

  She gave him a thin smile. “I know little of my father’s business dealings, only that he came from little and my mother credited him with being extremely shrewd in his transactions. But” —she paused and put a fingertip to her mouth. He eyed it avidly and imagined taking that tip and nibbling on it— “I had heard your last deal with him didn’t go so well.”

  How did the little chit know anything of her father’s dealings? As far as Evan knew, Claremont’s estate had gone to a cousin somewhere—his wife being dead and having sired no legitimate heirs. The poor girl probably begrudged Evan for such financial success. Truth be told, he dabbled in many speculations, some successful and some not so much. Claremont’s advice had generally been sound with the exception of the last speculation.

  “It did not,” he confirmed. “But that is the nature of speculation. One shouldn’t dabble, if one is not willing to lose it all.”

  Miss Claremont jabbed a shrimp with her fork. “You make it sound like gambling.”

  “It is gambling of a sort, I suppose.”

  “Yet I imagine you gain or lose a lot more than could be lost at a game of cards.”

  “Clearly, you have not met many gamblers. But for the light-hearted gambler, speculation might seem too steep a risk, yes.”

  “I have not met many gamblers, you’re right. I prefer the company of more stalwart characters,” she replied haughtily.

  “Miss Claremont, you think me inconstant?”

  “I think nothing of the sort. I know only what you tell me and unlike you, I don’t claim to know anything of your character yet.”

  Evan could not resist smiling then. The way she spoke, passion bright in her eyes, even as uncertainty haunted her posture, delighted him at every turn. “I hope, Miss Claremont, that I shall have the chance to prove you wrong and that you may get to know my character more… fully.”

  He dropped his voice unintentionally. The woman seemed to have that effect on him. She loosened his tongue too. He rarely indulged in flirtations, particularly not with an innocent of insignificant birth. However, he couldn’t deny the thought of getting to know her more intimately held great appeal.

  Blast, this would not do. Here he was trying his damndest to see through the thick material of her gown and praying for it to slip a little further down to give him a better look at those beautiful breasts, when he should be paying attention to his hostess and concentrating on his plans after his two week stay at Oakholm was over.

  The thought of what the next few months in his life likely held weighed like a stone in his stomach. Forceful mothers pushing their daughters onto him and simpering women interested in nothing more than his title. Though he still had his doubts as to whether that was a good idea or not. He refused to end up like his father. But it had to be done. At his time in life, he needed a wife.

  And not an infatuation with a woman like Miss Claremont, no matter how fascinating she was. Evan scowled. Infatuation? No, not infatuation. A passing interest, that was all. He had never been fixed on a woman.

  His brother had been and look where that had got him. His wife might still be considered a beauty but there was little underneath that façade. Thomas had fallen too quickly for Harriet and was paying the price for it now—being lumbered with a vacuous, demanding wife.

  Miss Claremont kept her gaze on the appetizers but the colour in her cheeks had spread to the tips of her ears. His fingers twitched with the need to brush a curl behind them and toy with the delicate earrings in her lobes. He too jerked his attention back to the food before he did something foolish like drag her away from the table and nibble her ears until she begged for more.

  Thankfully his imaginings were interrupted by Lady Stanley as she turned her attention from his brother to them. “Miss Claremont, you are exceptionally quiet this evening. I hope yesterday’s journey did not tire you.”

  Miss Claremont offered a weak smile. “Not at all, Lady Stanley.”

  “Tell me, did you pass Upton Hall on your way here?”

  “I did.” Miss Claremont narrowed her eyes at Lady Stanley.

  Evan couldn’t decipher why the remark caused such a reaction, but Lady Stanley appeared to have a purpose.

  “You have heard, Lord Hawksley, that it has been turned into a women’s college, have you not?” Lady Stanley prompted.

  Evan let slip a thin smile. Now he saw her purpose. She wished to bring some debate to the table. The old woman never failed to enjoy a lively talk, even if politics were not considered a proper topic of conversation for a dinner party.

  “I had heard that, Lady Stanley,” he offered with a noncommittal lift of his shoulders.

  “A waste of a fine home, if you ask me,” his brother put in.

  Evan almost groaned as Thomas rose to the bait. Lady Stanley was a well-known supporter of women’s rights and Thomas should have known that.

  But Lady Stanley remained quiet. Instead Miss Claremont surprised him by snapping to attention. “A waste, Lord Richdale. How so?”

  Thomas’s brows dipped slightly at the challenge, and his wife darted a wild look between them. Tension hung in the air. Evan tried not to smile.

  “Women shall never be able to grasp subjects such as the sciences. I believe it to be a waste of time.”

  “A waste of time?” Miss Claremont exclaimed. “How can wanting to better oneself ever be considered a waste of time? And if we don’t give women the chance to study such subjects, how shall we know if they are capable of grasping them?”

  Thomas floundered at this and Evan stepped in. “My brother is right. While women can gain no qualifications, it is indeed a waste of time.”

  It was believed women would never be able to take the same examinations as men so while they might study the same subjects, none would ever gain from their education like men did. Until colleges like Cambridge allowed women to become qualified, he did, indeed, deem it a waste.

  Miss Claremont turned her wi
se eyes on him. “I suppose you think we are better placed in the home, ready to serve our husbands without question.”

  “I did not say that, Miss Claremont.”

  “You did not need to.”

  “I suppose you think women should be able to vote, and divorce their husbands, and gallivant all over this country doing whatever they please too?” By some miracle, he managed to keep a straight face as indignation crossed her expression.

  “Of course. Any man has such freedoms, so too should a woman. Are we not citizens of this country? Should we not have some say in our future?”

  “A woman’s place is in the home,” Lady Richdale put in. “If we should all start doing our own thing, who would raise the children?”

  “The help, no doubt,” Miss Claremont uttered so quietly only Evan heard it. He resisted a chuckle.

  “The fact is, Miss Claremont,” his brother said, “and I mean no offence by this, women are soft creatures in need of protection. Husbands offer this, and in return women should continue doing what they have done best for hundreds of years. Stay at home, tend the house and raise the children. I see no need for change.”

  “And what of the women who are forced to suffer whatever their husbands might put upon them, whether that be a beating or worse? Where is their protection?”

  Evan gripped his fork. Thomas was too young to remember much of what had happened those many years ago, but Evan remembered it all too clearly. “An education will not offer those women protection,” he said tersely.

  “No, but an education will pave the way for change. Of course, men have always been fearful of change.”

  “I agree, Miss Claremont, men fear change more than anything.” Indeed, at this very moment, his heart beat rapid and his palms grew clammy. This bold woman had wrought a change in him—one he did not want or need. Desire had taken hold and he feared it wouldn’t release him until it was quenched.