The Prince's Mistress

CHAPTER THREE: A Tempest in a Teapot

She was still staring at it when her maid, Rose, came rushing through with a pot of chocolate and a plate of toast. Rose took in her mistresses' tear stained, ashen pallor, her torn bodice, and the blood stained drawers on the floor. She cried out, "What did he do to you, miss?"

Rose thrust her tray onto a nearby table and rushed to her side. Honor opened her mouth to tell her, but all that came out was a strangled cry. How could she explain what had happened? The morning's events were too awful, too frightening and too much to explain. What had he done to her?

The answer came with a painful thud in her heart and stomach. Shame turned her already pale skin chalk white. She hadn't wanted any of it, but she had enjoyed it. What did that say about her if she came so hard that she felt she might die? She shook her head in denial and her mind clung to its last thread of sanity. Her legs lost their strength, but Rose caught her before she could hit the floor and led her to the bed.

For a few moments her mind whirled around the events of the past hour. She felt displaced and confused, as if she'd gone to bed last night and woke that morning in a different country. Rose bathed her face in cool water and tried to soothe her.

Something snapped inside her brain, bringing clarity and purpose. Gavin would marry her to her cousin in order to have her. He would impregnate her with his bastards and pass them off as the heir, the way she had been passed off as legitimate. She would be a bastard giving birth to more bastards.

She was hopelessly trapped. She was only eighteen and had no control over her life. If her father wanted her to marry, she would have to marry. If her husband gave her to his father as his mistress, she had no choice.

Ideas and plans raced through her mind, their steps calculated for likelihood of success. Nothing she knew would work. She couldn't ruin herself, that had been done. She had no one else to marry, and any marriage she attempted could be annulled. She could run, but she had no place to go. It was a woman's lot to have no say in where she lived, who she married or who bedded until she was of age or her husband dead.

Unless she was a servant. No one cared about servants. They weren't even considered.

"Milady, we've got to get you cleaned up before someone sees you like this." Rose's voice broke through her plotting. Honor looked to see her friend's concerned face.

Rose was her best friend. The fact that Honor was a lady and Rose a servant mattered not a whit to either girl. They had shared everything since they were in diapers. This made Rose better educated than most servants, and Honor knew Rose's work as well as she knew her own. The two girls even resembled each other and for a good reason. Lord Marsden hadn't stopped with only r****g Honor's mother, he had also r***d Moira. Moira never told a soul of her shame and so the girls went their lives never knowing they were half sisters.

They shared bonds deeper than blood though. The bonds of love and friendship tied them together tighter than any bloodline. A smile spread across Honor's face as an idea formed. "Yes, of course we do. Send for a bath and then come back up to me. I need to ask you some questions."

Honor's escape from her uncle was easier than she could have ever dreamed. Selling some of her jewelry, including the emerald ring that Gavin had given her without getting caught would have taken too much time. Fortunately, Rose's fiance, Danny, knew a decent fence from his stint as a London thief and had the jewels sold in a matter of two days. Several of her gowns were modified to appear more modest and something a housekeeper would own within a day, thanks to Rose's cousins.

Her father's announcement that she was to marry Arthur came as no surprise to her. She only asked why she would be forced to marry her own cousin. Her father shrugged. "It's done all the time. We'll keep our money in the family." Honor could not bring herself to say anything further.

Gavin stole her nights, coming to her like a thief to make love to her. Sometimes she tried to stop him, but in the end she was tamed by his mouth, his c**k and his possession of her. Even as she struggled with her body, he made her come for him. She hated and loved him equally. It was torture and it had to end.

Honor was running out of time and Arthur was due to arrive any day. In her desperation to avoid marrying, Honor decided to speak with her father and beg him to withdraw from her betrothal. She knew it was most likely futile, but any chance of escape was better than none.

She spent hours pacing her bedroom until at last she found the courage to speak to her father. She had only begun to speak when he dismissed her with a bored hand. "Let's talk later, Honor. We're going hunting this afternoon." He didn't spare her another glance as left and headed towards the stables.

Honor watched him with her heart in her throat. She had spent the morning working up her courage, only to crumble at the first sign of opposition. She couldn't allow this, couldn't allow herself to be the payment of a wager. She couldn't become Gavin's built in w***e, no matter what she felt for him.

She took off after him only to realize that she had fallen hopelessly behind the party. She had her mount saddled as the moments ticked one by one in her head. She gave chase and caught sight of her father and Gavin at the top of the hill. She started to come towards them, but stopped at the sound of their raised voices. She watched as Gavin raised his riding crop and hit her father's horse. The horse bolted forward towards a wall while her father clung drunkenly to its back. The horse cleared the jump, but her father didn't.

Honor shook in terror and shock. She turned her horse back to the stables in panic, unsure of what to do. Had she just witnessed her father's murder or an accident? She wasn't sure. The moment she reached the stable she started to send help back to her father, but some instinct for self preservation stopped her. Admitting to anyone that she had seen what happened could be disastrous. What if Gavin had meant to kill her father? No one would listen to her. She was only a bastard and female at that. She could be the next casualty and she would be far less important to anyone. She held her tongue and prayed her father was unharmed.

Her hope disintegrated the moment Gavin came through the door with his clothes covered in blood. Alarm brought Honor to her feet, but fear took her voice and she could say nothing. Gavin took her gently into his arms; his voice was soothing as he explained, "Your father had an accident on his horse. He tried to jump a fence drunk and broke his neck. I am sorry, Honor."

Charles Thorne was the only person that could have saved her from Gavin. He was dead at Gavin's hand. She struggled to breathe and felt Rose's capable hands steadying her. She guided her up the stairs and to her bed. Honor lay there trembling in fear. Gavin's control over her had become absolute. He was now the Marquess of Kent and her guardian.

Gavin's son, Arthur, arrived that night, reminding Honor of the future that was planned for her. For his part, Arthur played the caring and attentive cousin. Perhaps he truly felt the need to comfort Honor, but she would never know. He had unwittingly increased her fear for the future. Any son that would take a bride so that his father could bed her was lacking in both honor and morals. How long before it was her on a runaway horse? Terror burned in her stomach and weighed heavily in her chest. There was a sickness in the Thorne family and it was pervasive.

After dinner that evening, Honor went to her room and didn't emerge until the day of the funeral. Gavin tried to come into her, but Rose held him off with excuses of her mistress's overwhelming grief. The arrival of other relatives helped to keep him at bay, but she knew it wouldn't work forever. She had to escape and she had to do it before it was too late. She didn't trust herself not give into him and destroy herself forever.

As it turned out, her father's death had been the best and worst piece of luck she ever had. Her fabricated grief offered her the best opportunity to escape. No one thought anything of Honor wearing a heavy veil or a number of her gowns being dyed black. It was expected and conveniently, it was the typical colour of a servant's dress. Her coup de gras was having Rose take her place at the funeral under a heavy veil. Honor escaped through the old tunnels that led from the basement of the manor to the woods with two trunks of her belongings, and her money sewn into her cloak which she wore low over her face.

Danny carried her away in his cart to her new position at Castlemaine while Rose pretended to be her. No one would know she had left until two days had passed. It was more than enough time to escape and she was close to Scotland before the alarm was raised by Rose when her mistress was "missing" from her bed.

The escape had been shockingly easy up until the moment Honor encountered Castlemaine's stern butler, Davenport. He was no fool. He recognized a lady of quality when he saw one and wanted no part of hiring her as a housekeeper. He gave her reference a scathing glance before thanking and showing her to the door.

Davenport's dismissive manner sent panic racing through Honor. It was obvious that he saw through her ruse. She had nowhere else to go except back to Gavin. It was untenable. She looked up at the broad face of the stern butler with pleading eyes and croaked out, "Please take me on. You will never regret it."

It was the naked desperation in Honor's voice that changed Davenport's mind. He thought of his own daughter being so desperate that she resorted to the unthinkable. He gave Honor the position with a warning that she would be turned out without reference at any time.

Honor had sworn he wouldn't regret his choice and each day she performed perfectly to ensure he didn't. The other servants wondered how such a young and pretty woman had become a housekeeper, but Davenport gave any gossip a heavy glare. He would not tolerate any disrespect of his housekeeper. Secretly, he was charmed by her beauty and her soft ways, but he never let on. She had gentle hands, kind words and was efficient despite her obvious good breeding. Davenport's fatherly instincts went into high gear when it came to his housekeeper and no one disobeyed her.

As for the old earl, he did not give Honor a second look. His eye for a pretty girl had long ago ceased to function and his household ran smoothly. Honor never came to his attention and if she had, he likely wouldn't have given her a thought. Servants were never noticed and Honor was no different.

It was the new earl's arrival that proved to be a problem. His long perusal of her let her know that she had not fooled him. He knew she was an imposter. Fear tightened in her stomach until it hurt so desperately that she leaned over the commode to vomit. She knelt to the floor, then laid on the cold tile, allowing it to soothe her for just a few moments before forcing herself back to her feet.

Sighing, she washed her face, polished her teeth and hurriedly switched gowns. She had to convince this condescending and arrogant man that she was a competent housekeeper. Losing her position wasn't a possibility. It would mean her destruction, one way or another.

Mikhail sat in his library contemplating his new housekeeper. She was too young and too pretty to be a housekeeper. She did everything she could to hide her beauty, but it was no use. Her blonde hair had been pulled back in a severe bun, but it only served to make him want to take it down, run her hair through his fingers and watch the sun sparkle in its golden strands. Nothing hid the full red of her lips, or her sooty lashes that were so long they left shadows or the cream of her skin. She couldn't hide her almond shaped green eyes. They were clear and hadn't a single hint of any other color. Her dress was the simple dress of a servant, but it's starkness only brought out the creamy white of her skin.

Why was she not married to some strapping young man who showered her with gifts? What was she doing in the middle of nowhere? Why was she a housekeeper? Had she been the earl's mistress? He toyed with that idea and quickly discarded it. The prim housekeeper was no man's mistress and certainly not the geriatric earl's.

She was a contradiction, an outlier, and an unexpected delight. He would take her to bed, but he had to be patient. He could sense her sweetness, it radiated from her very skin and was reflected in the pools of her green eyes. The thought of her tight body wrapped around him made his c**k hard. He looked down at the placard of his breeches that was strained by his sudden and insistent erection. At the same time, he heard the faint sound of footsteps down the hall. He hurried to sit behind his desk to hide his evident arousal.

A handsome footman entered with a tray laden with sandwiches, scones and crumpets that he laid out on a nearby sideboard. There were small bowls of jam, honey and clotted cream. A maid entered behind him, carrying a teapot and service for four.

Mikhail's stomach rumbled at the sight of food and reminded him that he hadn't eaten at lunch. The drive to Northumbria had been long and the food at the last inn had been inedible. The footman turned and asked, "Will that be all, my lord?" Mikhail nodded and the pair left him with the perfect silence that only servants mastered.

Mrs. Reed entered with the same quiet footsteps, and even though she had mastered the silence of a servant's steps, her gait was too assured, too confident and too bold. She didn't walk like a servant. She walked like a lady. Her steps were smooth, her shoulders were back, posture perfect and gaze straight ahead. She didn't look down, didn't avert her eyes and her demeanor didn't defer to him. There was something not right about Mrs. Reed. He didn't know who she was, but she was no housekeeper.

"Would you care for tea, Mrs. Reed?" Mikhail gestured towards the sideboard, not rising from behind the desk, least he embarrass himself. His housekeeper nodded and without consulting him, poured a cup of tea before asking, "How do you take your tea?"

Mikhail's senses went on high alert. She was serving tea as if he were her guest instead of her employer. He was confounded by her, but answered, "Three sugars and milk." She nodded, readied his tea and asked, "Would you like something to eat?" Mikhail silently willed his still half hard c**k to soften before answering, "Some sandwiches, please." She filled a plate with an assortment and served him before turning to serve herself. She did this without a thought, as if housekeepers took tea with peers of the realm everyday. Mikhail observed her daintily choose a lemon cream scone and pour a cup of tea before sitting across from him.

"Mrs. Reed, what are you doing in my home?"

The words were blunt, but spoken with perfect politeness. She lifted her gaze to the enormous man whose eyes glittered coldly as he assessed her frankly. Honor froze, her breathing stopped and her throat closed. She swallowed and croaked, "I beg your pardon, my lord?"

"I think you heard me. You are about fifteen years too young for your position, you do not behave like a servant and it is plain you were not born to service. Why are you my housekeeper?"

Honor hesitated, sipped her tea and braced herself. The earl was no fool and it would be too hard to remember what lies she told. She would have to stay as close to the truth as she could. She couldn't mention her uncle. There was always a chance he'd send for him and that would mean having to run again. Honor couldn't face that possibility.

"You are right, my lord. I was not born to service. My father was a merchant, but he died suddenly. His affairs were in a bad state, leaving me with nothing. I had no family and no money." Honor set her tea down and looked directly into Carlisle's ice blue eyes and forced her voice to remain calm and even. "I needed work immediately. I ran my father's household since before my fifthteenth birthday. My former housekeeper suggested this position because the previous earl was quite desperate. I have been here three years and my work has been exemplary. I have no problem seeing to this household, despite my age and birth."

Honor brought her teacup to her mouth, forcing herself to sip it calmly. Lord Carlisle seemed to consider her words carefully before setting down his teacup and blankly stating, "I appreciate your candor. I see no reason to disrupt a household that's running smoothly. Could you see if anyone could serve as a valet for Lord Tremayne?" He paused for her response, and she gave a small nod. "Thank you, Mrs. Reed. I also have more guests that should be arriving over the week. Please see that all the bedrooms are freshened and ready." He said nothing further, and she knew she was dismissed. She put her teacup down, stood and curtsied before her obligatory, "Yes, my lord."

Honor walked calmly out, closing the door behind her. She sagged against it, breathing hard and tears stung in her eyes. The terror that had engulfed her subsided a small increment, but did not leave her entirely. The earl could decide at any time to dismiss her. She had drawn too much attention to herself somehow, but she would work hard to become invisible. If he didn't see her, he wouldn't consider her.

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Mikhail's housekeeper was a liar. He wasn't sure why she was lying, but he was positive she was. He sensed her fear, but not her guilt. Something or someone terrified her more than he did and for some reason that angered him. He wanted to know what it was and he wanted her to tell him, damnit.

He had examined every part of her, from her golden blonde hair, to the perfect rosy shade of her mouth. He wondered if her n*****s, if her cunt was the same color. He listened to her explanation, but paid no heed to her lies. Instead, he imagined the body beneath her dress. He had wanted to call her a liar, force the truth from her lovely pink lips and kiss them. He wanted to hear her confess, beg and get to her knees so he could shove his c**k in her mouth and f**k it until he--

Mikhail cursed and stood to pace his library. He wanted his housekeeper. He wasn't the sort that went about tupping the help, but he wasn't above it. He knew he had the power, but he didn't want to use it. He wanted her to come to him, but he wasn't a saint. He would use anything to get her beneath him and he knew it, but he could be patient. Eventually he'd hear her cry his name and he'd pry her secrets from her in the most pleasurable ways. Women were for pleasure and he wanted to take pleasure with her.

Having come to that decision, he gave his attention to his correspondence. His grandfather had written and demanded he come home. He missed Russia at times, but he knew the moment he arrived, he would have to finally marry. The thought of marrying Anya bristled. She was like a sister and the thought of bedding her filled him with dread. He had to do something about the problem, but it could wait until he was ready for such serious undertakings.

He wrote his grandfather a letter that brushed off his demand by treating it like an invitation. He also suggested to him that Anya should seek another bridegroom if she planned to live in Russia. He explained that he had become very fond of England and wanted to make it his permanent home. He could picture his grandfather's reaction and was glad that he was a thousand miles away.

His grandfather was the czar of Russia and was the first and last word in his family. Mikhail knew he had no choice but to do as his grandfather wished in the end. While everyone saw an arrogant, spoiled prince, in reality, he was hardened by military schools, by labor in the fields, by beatings for childhood misdeeds, by being sent to the woodhouse to sleep in the dead of winter. He was taught respect for his elders, loyalty to his family and he was raised knowing he was royalty. Yes, he was spoiled, but he was also as hard as any Russian serf in Moscow. He was arrogant, but because he considered anyone not Russian as being soft, untried and somewhat beneath him. Still, he was amused by the English and their intrigues. They were a welcome diversion from the deadly court of his grandfather. He was not the richest man in the world because he was nice.

Mikhail's family was complicated and not complicated at the same time. There were intrigues, jealousies and of course, his mother's madness which was kept hidden at all costs. She had returned from England and her despised marriage to his father, a changed woman--a mad woman. She was never a mother to him and instead, was only someone spoken of in hushed tones by his grandfather. In fact, he wasn't really aware of her until the English attorneys had paid him a call to bestow upon him an English earldom.

He sorted through the rest of the correspondence that he had been putting off. Elizabeth Huntley had dropped him a missive letting him know that she would love to attend his houseparty next month, if she could be allowed to bring her cousin. The Marchants would attend, along with every other person he had invited. Apparently, a duel increased one's social capital in England. As to the duel, it seemed that the Duke of Shrewsbury would live. What a shame.

As he finished his correspondence, Tremayne came into the library, helped himself to a brandy and sprawled across into a seat across from his desk. "So, Carlisle, are you safe from arrest? Did the bastard live?"

"Yes, more's the pity."

"Oh, don't worry. Someone will shoot him again soon."

"Yes, but I enjoyed it so much."

"Mmmm...yes, but now you're stuck out here in the country."

Mikhail bristled and reminded his friend, "It's summer. There isn't a soul left in London anyway." Tremayne gave him a side glance and agreed, "That's true. Also, it seems as though London is coming to us. We should have quite a party brewing by week's end." He hesitated a moment before inquiring with raised brow, "Are you going to bed Olivia Marchant or are you going to seduce that gorgeous umm...housekeeper?"

Mikhail didn't like Tremayne's interest in Mrs. Reed, though he could hardly blame him. Still, admitting his desire to bed a servant seemed beneath him. He answered in a dismissive tone, "I hardly have to resort to bedding servants."

Tremayne snorted. "I would resort to many things to bed that particular housekeeper. I might have to pinch her from you."

Mikhail's anger flared at the thought of any man other than him touching her. "Don't even think about it."

Tremayne's face registered his surprise at Mikhail's proprietary reaction. "My, my, what is this? If you can't have her, no one can?"

"Of course not. I simply won't allow my servants to be used for such purposes." He was lying through his teeth and Tremayne knew it. Still, he didn't call him on his obvious falsehood. He only gave a half-smile and asked, "Even if she desires it?"

"Then she can leave my employ." His voice was harsh, harsher than it should have been. He shrugged and dismissed the subject by suggesting, "Come for a ride with me? I want to look over the estate."

"God, no! I've had enough of sitting on a horse. I think I'll see if Humphrey will join me for billiards. God, you do have a billiard table in this place, don't you?" Mikhail shrugged and replied, "Most likely. Have Davenport show you." The two men went their separate ways. Mikhail felt a sense of unease about leaving Tremayne alone in the house with Mrs. Reed, but brushed it off. He wouldn't dare poach his housekeeper from him. Mikhail could be quite brutal when angered and no one knew better than Tremayne who had watched him kill two men in duels without a glimmer of regret. He brushed his unease aside and headed for the stable.

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Honor's day was occupied with the task of helping the upstairs maids ready the house for guests by helping to air out bedrooms and changing bed linens. She had just smoothed a fresh top sheet over a bed when a voice called to her from the doorway.

"Mrs. Reed, would you be able to direct me to the billiard room? I thought I could find it, but I seem to have only become lost." Lord Tremayne had lost his condescending attitude and adopted a charming demeanor. Honor steeled herself against his obvious ploy. The man assumed that Honor would be thrilled to have a young, rich lord flirt with her as if such an opportunity had never presented itself. She fought not to roll her eyes and to keep her tone professional as she answered, "It's on the first floor, milord, past the blue salon on the right. I will show you."

Honor swept past the handsome man through the door and began to make her way to the steps, but his hand took her arm to stop her.

"I'm sorry, my lady. Would you mind if we stop by Lord Humphrey's room? I was hoping to invite him."

"Of course, I don't mind."

Tremayne wanted to laugh in delight at Mrs. Reed's blunder. She had answered to the honorific naturally, as if she always had. She hadn't even noticed. She was either a lady in hiding or was so impoverished she had been pressed into service. Tremayne wondered which it was, but it didn't matter. He would find out who she was and he would do as he liked with her.