The Prince's Mistress

CHAPTER FOUR: The Sweet Scent of Temptation

The next week at Castlemaine was the busiest that Honor had ever experienced. She found herself having to engage twenty extra servants to accommodate the swelling population of the manor. The acquisition had been easy and then again, not easy at all. The new staff ruffled the feathers of older staff and caused disagreements. Honor felt as if she were more of a governess than a housekeeper. Still, the work was fulfilling and at the end of each day when she crawled into her bed, she felt a sense of accomplishment.

Honor rarely saw Carlisle due partly to design and partly to dumb luck. It wasn't until Davenport reminded her of his presence that she considered him as a real entity. The stoic butler arrived at the door to her small sitting room and intoned, "Lord Carlisle would like to speak with you in his study." Her eyes widened, but she didn't dare question Davenport about the reason. He most likely didn't know and if he did, was too discrete to tell her. She thanked him and stepped back into her little suite of rooms to prepare herself to meet once again with the Earl of Carlisle.

She brushed her teeth and nervously smoothed her hair. She worried briefly about what it was he could possibly want, but pushed the fear down. The house was running perfectly, his guests' wishes were anticipated. Discretion was applied toward the more indiscrete guests, no matter how scandalous their behavior. Inquiries were made of each guest's valet or ladies maid as to their master's preferences, needs and desires. Nothing was overlooked and all was provided. Carlisle appeared to be the perfect host. He could have no complaints as to how the household was run.

Still, an inkling of worry rested in the bottom of her spine as she walked towards his office. If it wasn't the household he wanted to discuss, that left only personal matters and that was something she had no intention of discussing. He could have uncovered her lies or worse, the truth. She swallowed hard and forced her feet to move faster. It was best to get the matter done.

She reached the study and knocked upon the door. She knew that most servants scratched, but she refused such silliness. He had asked to see her after all. She heard his smooth tenor invite her inside his office. Her insides shuddered as his voice flowed over her like warm honey. Why had she not noticed how beautiful his voice was? Her stomach clenched as she tried to recall their first meeting, but most of it was a blur. The scattered pieces that came back to her explained why she had paid little attention to earl. She had been sick with fear, she had lied and had barely escaped the meeting with her position. She pushed back a nervous giggle thinking it would be a damn miracle if she recognized him at all.

The first sight of him made her wonder how she could have ever forgotten anything about him. A lock of his thick jet black hair fell carelessly over one ice blue eye, his posture was both stern and languid at once; a self-assured countenance that only those born into royalty could master. He was gorgeous in the most asinine way. It stole a woman's or even a man's breath and gave it to him, only for him to take it as his due.

She immediately despised him for every masculine power he possessed and for his ability to dominate those weaker than himself. She wasn't sure if it was because she was weaker or if it was the principle alone, but decided at the same time that it didn't matter. He would not care how she felt about him either way. She was a servant and worse, she was his servant.

"You wished to speak with me, my lord." Honor kept her eyes downcast, not wanting him to see the contempt she held for him. He leaned back in his chair, silently regarding her. His eyes swept over her lissome figure with undisguised appreciation. It made her stomach quiver and her hands tremble. She clasped her hands in front of her so that they would not give her away. Finally, he spoke.

"Yes. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your efforts to make this house run smoothly. I admit that I did throw a great deal at you. You've done a brilliant job."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Yes, well, I do need to ask you for a favor. You see, I've heard rumors of some of my houseguests behaving in--shall we say, an enthusiastic fashion. I'd like you to keep me abreast of what's going on. Speak with the maids and footmen about any, um, unusual activity. I have concerns about matters getting out of hand."

Honor knew what he wanted. He wanted her to be a spy. She wanted to tell him no, to go to hell, and that being a spy was not what she was paid to do. She didn't though. Her fear kept her firmly beneath his thumb and she wondered briefly if her acquiescence was a test of some sort. Of course it is, you nitwit! Still, she agreed to his request with a subdued, "Yes, milord. Will there be anything else, milord?" He gave her a lazy half smile. "I'd like you to give me a report each morning along with my breakfast tray at around eleven thirty. We'll talk then." He turned his attention back to a letter on his desk, dismissing her. Honor wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but only curtsied and left. Lousy bastard.

As the door to his study closed, Mikhail grabbed his aching prick through the placard of his breeches and groaned. He needed relief and if he didn't get it now, he'd call her back and f**k her over his desk. He swiftly unbuttoned his breeches, freed his c**k and took himself in hand. He stroked, thinking of her delightful, succulent ass and how he wanted to lick it, wanted to kiss it and her pink flower. He wanted to hold her down and f**k her arse until--oh, f**k, yes!

Hot seed erupted from the head of his prick, spilling over his hand in thick streams. Relief washed over him, his tension eased and his thoughts settled. He cursed himself for losing control and at the same time, for keeping it. He hadn't put her over his desk to f**k her, hadn't taken what he wanted, even though the sight of her had tortured him all week.

Damn her beautiful eyes. He resented wanting her, because she was not easily acquired. He considered that her unavailability was what made her more attractive and tried to brush his desire aside, but it did no good. He secretly watched her work. His valet had spied for him, reporting the chit's habits and doings. She worked hard, was always a step ahead and made sure to stay that way. There was no better housekeeper to be found this side of Scotland. She had no close relationships among the servants, but they all respected her.

As far as anyone knew, she had no lover, but Mikhail had followed her on her day off. He'd seen her meet a man in the village. He had watched them from the blacksmith's shop across the street; seething with envy. The man had been handsome and if not poor, he hadn't been wealthy. She had hugged him, kissed his cheek and gone with him into the local pub to eat lunch. The moment they had walked into the pub together, Mikhail went to work to find out who the man was.

He had no right to be jealous, but he was. It burned into his brain, seared through his body and made his fists clench. He didn't care who the man was or if she loved him. Mikhail always got what he wanted and he would take her anyway. The man could have her when he was done with her, if he still wanted her.

He had to speed up their game. He needed her in his bedroom. He needed her there every day to keep him from madness. Until then he would need physical release or he would take her over his desk. He decided to take Olivia Marchant back into his bed. She would offer him the relief he needed and her talents couldn't be underestimated. Yes, she would do nicely until he could get his pretty housekeeper naked.

Honor didn't enjoy questioning the servants for gossip about the guests, but found that they did not mind at all. They adored talking about their guests, who was sharing whose bed, who used s*x toys, who was buggering who, and who was broken hearted. It was all she could do to get them to stop talking once they started.

There were rumors that Olivia Marchant had been turned away from the earl's bed and was scheming for a way into it, when suddenly he took her back. Honor found out for herself that the rumor was true the next morning when she brought the earl his breakfast.

She turned pink at the sight of him thrusting into Lady Marchant, his hard buttocks raised and lowered over the willing body beneath him. Honor almost dropped her tray, but recovered it quickly. She turned to leave, but he stopped her by saying, "Please, leave the tray, Mrs. Reed."

He wore an indolent smile as Olivia Marchant panted with pleasure. He stared at Honor with burning eyes as she placed the tray on a nearby table. She forced herself to leave calmly, but it cost her dearly. The warmth of his gaze blazed through her as she bolted down the hall without grace or decorum. Ellie, the cheerful upstairs maid caught her in concern and before she could stop herself she blurted the entire story.

Ellie raised an eyebrow at the bit of gossip and remarked, "She's an alley cat in diamonds, that one." Honor was caught off guard and asked, "Whatever does that mean?" Ellie shrugged, "Pretty enough, but her morals are right out of the rookery." Honor blinked. She'd never heard quite so apt a description for most of the peerage. She giggled helplessly and found Ellie joining her, both of them bent at the waist laughing because the truth had been voiced aloud.

The next morning, Ellie put the finishing touches on Carlisle's breakfast tray and motioned to Honor. "I'll have Paul carry this tray for you, Mrs. Reed. He won't be nearly as embarrassed by his lordship's activities and he's stronger. No need to be spilling hot coffee on yourself, missus." Paul who had only just sat to eat a roll looked forlornly at the heavy tray, got up and lifted it with ease. He nodded to Honor. "It will be my pleasure."

Honor kept her countenance blank upon entering the opulent bedroom that belonged to the Earl of Carlisle. The enormous canopy bed dominated the room and the naked man within it only had a sheet covering his hips.

Honor gulped at the sight of Carlisle's bare body. He was glorious. His skin was golden; his shoulders broad and smooth. His chest was muscled and decorated with two small pink n*****s. All this was covered with a perfect "V" of black hair that led down to his belly and thinned to a line that disappeared beneath the sheet. She wondered what it would be like to touch his chest, to feel that hair beneath her fingertips and to lick those flat, pink n*****s. Then she remembered with disgust that she need only ask any random woman of the ton. The odds were good that she would know.

"Mrs. Reed, you're on time. Come, sit and have coffee with me."

Carlisle's voice broke Honor's concentrated examination of his body. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his, which were burning beneath their blue ice. He licked his lips and heat went straight between her legs.

She refused to give into her own reaction. He was a seducer and libertine. He would use and discard her, leaving her with no job, nowhere to go and most likely pregnant. Honor focused on a pattern on his bedspread as Paul placed the breakfast tray beside the bed. He poured out two cups of coffee, bowed and left.

"Mrs. Reed, sit. Now." Carlisle's voice had an edge of impatience. He patted a place on the bed next to him. Honor's heart lurched with fear. "Sir, it is not proper for me to be on a bed with you."

"Nevertheless, you will sit here. I am not talking to you from across the room."

Honor felt helpless anger, but refused to give in to him. She crossed the room with her head held high and sat on the edge of the bed. Mikhail eyed his housekeeper, primly sensuous on his bed. He liked her here on his sheets in her modest black dress. His c**k pulsed and twitched with desire. He wanted her and she was so close he could smell her skin, but only a hint. He needed much more. He sighed loudly, set down his coffee and pulled her to him. Her face was only a few inches from his. The scent of lemon and verbena engulfed him. He couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself and didn't want to stop.

He closed his eyes and breathed her in. She was clean, delicious and innocent. He wanted to make her sweaty and dirty with lust, his lust. He needed to be inside her and pumping her full of his seed. He wanted it dripping out of her as she worked, doing banal housekeeperly things. He wanted to watch her and know his c**k had been buried inside her.

He groaned in desperation and opened his eyes to find her beneath him. Her pale green eyes were wide with shock, her sooty lashes so long they cast shadows and gave her a bruised look. Her red lips were parted and wet. He took a finger and traced the line of her lips with it. His voice was husky as he said, "I want to make you my mistress, Mrs. Reed. I will give you anything you want--a house, clothes, jewels, furs, money, anything and everything. I will make love to you in every room of this house. When we run out of rooms, I'll buy us another house."

She went stiff in his arms and said nothing for a long moment. When she answered her voice was cold. "Sir, I am your housekeeper. I am not a trollop." He laughed at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You are so proper and innocent. My mistresses are not trollops, dushka. They are welcome in society and even celebrated simply for being my mistress."

He licked the seam of her mouth, coaxed her lips apart and kissed her with desperate intensity, as if she was the only water in a vast desert. She tasted of sweet cinnamon and apples. He moaned with delight and went deeper into her.

His hunger for her was a living thing, and it fed on her. His c**k was hard, the sensitive head needy for the soft heat of her. His hand reached for her arse and he palmed it, pulling her against him to rest his aching c**k between her thighs. He wanted to rip her dress off her in his desperation to get inside her.

The door to his room opened and reluctantly, he lifted his mouth from hers to see Tremayne standing in the doorway with a look of amusement on his handsome face. He wanted to hit him for interrupting, wanted to tell him to get the hell out, but chose to say nothing. The moment was ruined.

He looked at his housekeeper whose cheeks had pinkened gloriously. He wanted to lick those pretty cheeks and all her other pink places as well. He kissed her lips once more, not caring that Tremayne watched, because if it were up to him, he'd kiss her all day. He didn't care who watched. He murmured over her lips, "We'll finish talking later."

Honor fought back a biting reply and got up from the bed as regally as she could. None of this was her fault and she would not skulk away as if she had been the one to force kisses on him.

Tremayne kept his face neutral and said nothing except, "Good morning, Mrs. Reed." Equally polite, she gave a quick, "My lord," before quitting the room.

Tremayne grinned as the bedroom door shut quietly and said, "I see you've decided to lower yourself to tupping the servants." Mikhail wanted to roar his frustration, but settled for, "You could have knocked. I really wanted to finish the conversation I was having with Mrs. Reed." Tremayne laughed and said through chortles, "Glad you don't talk to all your help that way. That butler of yours would never get over it."

Despite his irritation with the interruption, Mikhail laughed at the thought of Davenport's reaction to being kissed by him. The man would have a stroke and never stop brushing his teeth. His mood lightened and he stood up to pull on a dressing robe. Tremayne helped himself to coffee, sat down and commented, "I don't think you should keep her as your housekeeper if you're going to sleep with her. That one is too beautiful and bound to get a better offer than cleaning your house."

"I'm sure we'll come to an agreement." Mikhail frowned at the thought of her refusing him. Tremayne shrugged. "Why would a housekeeper refuse you?" Mikhail didn't share his concerns with his friend. It wasn't his business. He replied with a simple, "Exactly."

"I've been keeping Olivia occupied, but you invited her back to your bed. I don't think she'll like you throwing her over for a servant. Perhaps you might wait to bed the housekeeper?"

"Perhaps."

Bedding Olivia had been an act of survival. He was unaccustomed to going more than a week without a woman and he wanted Mrs. Reed so much that he was plagued with a cockstand. Looking into her eyes as he f****d Olivia had made him come so hard that he hadn't moved for a long time afterwards. He had lain there thinking of her startled green eyes, her open lips and how she'd stared. Turning to find Olivia beside him had been one of his life's greatest disappointments.

Honor's hands shook for the rest of the morning. Her nerves clanged sharply at every sound and her stomach jumped each time a deep voice reached her ears. Underneath her discomfort, anger simmered, occasionally bubbling to the surface only to be shoved back down. She could not afford to lose her calm, she reminded herself. She needed this position, needed its safety. The problem was that it was no longer safe.

Fury broke through the barrier of her resolve and she silently fumed. How dare he force his attentions on her! The nerve of the man! As if she was a low class harlot, ready to drop her knickers for money! "Oooh!” She muttered to herself.  She waved him off with a hand and hesitated for a moment before going about his business.

Still, she fumed as she entered the food pantry with her ledger to take inventory. Honor knew she was a servant, but she held one of the highest positions in the household alongside Davenport. He had no right to treat her like a prostitute that he found on the docks. Not only that, but he had assumed she'd be flattered. Flattered! The vain, arrogant ass!

She wished she could shove her rank right under his egotistic nose. It burned her to be thought less than what she was. Perhaps that was her own conceit, but no one had made her feel as small as he had with his low offer of being his paid w***e. Fury rolled through her, making her breath come hard and it took all her will not scream.

Honor finished inventory and tasked Paul with the shopping order before making last minute adjustments to the dinner menu. Her anger had finally calmed and she was taking tea with Davenport when Ellie came in wearing a somber face saying, "Mrs. Reed, his lordship wants to speak with you in his office." Honor smiled at the girl and swallowed the anger that threatened to boil over. Still, her voice was stiff as she said, "Thank you, Millie." She set down her teacup and rose to do battle.

Mikhail was waiting impatiently for his perfect housekeeper to arrive. What was taking her so long? Restlessly he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, rehearsing what he would say. He hadn't felt this awkward since he was a boy.

His valet, Alexei, had found out something about the man that had visited Honor in the village. His name was Danny Prescott, his accent was definitely from London, though he lived in Wales. He had a fiancé, according to the shopkeeper that had sold him a packet of ribbons.

A fiancé. He cursed softly. He'd be damned if he'd let his housekeeper marry that plebeian.

Women had always come easy to Mikhail. Women loved him and he loved them, although not enough to marry any of them. He used them as they used him, for pleasure and excitement.

Honor was different. She had none of the beautiful gowns or expensive perfumes. She didn't ply her feminine wiles upon men, but rather had the innocent manner of a sheltered young woman, only she wasn't silly or vain. No, she smelled of clean linen, lemon grass, tea, cinnamon and something that was hers all alone. She was elegant even in her servant's garbs, as graceful as a ballerina and incandescent when she smiled.

He knew she wasn't indifferent to him. She had stared at his body with appreciation and warmed under his kisses. Still, he couldn't offer her marriage and someone else had. Damnit.

He went to a crystal decanter and despite the somewhat early hour, poured himself a brandy. He sipped it, not wanting to drink too much, but needing something to relax the tension that had made its way between his shoulders.

He smelled her before he saw her, the faint scent of lemon grass and woman wafting over to him. Was it something she cleaned with that smelled of lemons? He turned to greet her, but his voice caught in his throat.

She was burning. He could feel the fire of her anger. It hit him with a jolt that went straight to his prick. He had the urge to take her then and not give her a chance to refuse him. He fought it and reminded himself that he didn't need to force a woman to make her his. He was a Russian prince and an English earl. She was a servant and a woman. She would not be foolish.

"My lord." She made his title sound like an insult. She curtsied beautifully, as though she were being presented to the king. He wanted to push her down and f**k her into the floor for that. He smiled as though she had given him nothing but his due. "Mrs. Reed. Thank you for being so prompt."

She stood across from him, silent and waiting. He obliged her by saying, "Mrs. Reed, I am sorry we were interrupted this morning, but you must know that I mean the offer sincerely. Have you considered my proposal?"

"Your offer is an insult. I am doing my very best to pretend that the incident never happened. I enjoy my work here and would like to continue my duties, but only as a housekeeper, not a courtesan."

Her eyes were snapping, her posture was taught, but her voice was soft, as soft as a mother's voice when soothing a child. He ignored her refusal and asked, "I don't know your Christian name, Mrs. Reed. What is it?" Her mouth thinned by a fraction and then relaxed so quickly that he wasn't sure it had happened. Her reply was smooth and fearless. "It isn't important."

He stepped closer to her and in seconds she was within reach. He wanted to intimidate her, but it wasn't working. She looked bored, as if she fended off the attention of every lord that came near her. He frowned at the thought of other men making improper proposals to his housekeeper. Now he was getting irritated.

"I decide what is important. What I have offered you isn't the place of a w***e, but my companion in bed and out. I have offered you wealth and pleasure. I very much want to pleasure you, Mrs. Reed." He wrapped an arm around her waist and slanted his mouth over hers, angry at her for throwing his offer in his face. The touch of her mouth was a balm. He could be nothing but tender to her and his lips became soft and warm.

Honor relished the feel of this beautiful man's mouth on hers for a moment. She opened her lips for his tongue, and sucked softly on it while it explored. She shuddered inside when he moaned softly into her mouth. Her mind screamed for her to stop, that this would only lead to disaster for them both. She ignored the warning for a moment longer before pushing him gently away.

She took several steps back, distancing herself from temptation. "My lord, you mustn't kiss me. It's not that I find you objectionable, I daresay you know that. The position of a courtesan is something that would make me desperately unhappy. I was not raised to become such a woman. I could never look at myself again. I hope you understand." Her voice was calm and firm, but inside she was in turmoil.

Mikhail cursed under his breath because no, he didn't understand. He wanted her and she wanted him--what was the problem? What was wrong with these damn English women? Most were either whores or prudes. Not Mrs. Reed though. She was neither prude, nor harlot. She was soft, sweet and hot. She bloomed in his arms, her lips red and cheeks pink.

Unfortunately, she possessed damn inconvenient morals. He knew he could seduce her, make her pliable and eager to cast those morals aside. It would take time. He had to wait a little longer.

"Mrs. Reed, I never meant to insult you. I apologize for any offence I have given you." He bowed his head and she stared at him in disbelief, but acknowledged his apology with a brief nod. She excused herself and walked out with the grace of a queen.