Free His Mistress by Morning by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

now,” Quince was saying, nodding toward the Marlowe house. “Isn’t he worth every one of them?”
    Charlotte turned to see the viscount coming down the steps of his father’s town house.
    He had changed from the clothes he’d been wearing earlier and was now a sharply and fashionably dressed Corinthian. His hat tipped at a rakish angle, his breeches taut and snug, and his rich wine-colored coat and bright waistcoat were all out of character with the somber man she’d known.
    She turned to tell Quince to put him back the way he’d been, but the woman was gone, having disappeared as easily as she’d arrived.
    Charlotte stared at the empty space for another moment or two until her gaze fell upon the posy of simple violets on the bench, tied with a blue ribbon. She picked them up and held them to her nose, inhaling their deep, sweet scent. When she looked up, she found that the driver had brought around Sebastian’s carriage and he was about to climb into it.
    Without a second thought, the violets still clutched in her hand, she made her way toward him, drawn by that inexplicable attraction.
    She started to step off the curb, but a carriage rolled into her path, the driver yanking his horses to a stop just in time. Startled, she glanced up at the man clutching the reins and in an instant forgot the fact that she’d just been nearly run down.
    “If it isn’t the enchanting Mrs. Townsend,” he sneered. “A bit lost, aren’t you?” He tossed the reins to the tiger clinging to the back and jumped down from his seat. As he came striding around the front of the horses, she realized who he was.
    Lord Lyman. One of the most eligible and notable men about town. Why, just last week, her mother had declared him perfect as he’d ridden past them in the park.
    But perfect wasn’t the feeling running down her spine as he stalked toward her.
    “So what say you, madame ? Shall we ride off for an afternoon of delights?” His brows waggled up and down, while his gaze never strayed from the top of her bodice. Before she realized what he was about to do, his hand snaked out and caught her by the elbow, yanking her close.
    Charlotte gasped, not just from the shock of being mauled like this but also at the memories, images that had no place in her thoughts, that came tumbling forward like a bad dream.
    A dark corner at the theater. His hand on her elbow, tight and unyielding, just as he was holding her now .
    “You’ll be mine, you little bitch. You’ll be mine before the Season is out.”
    She tried to shake him loose, to free herself from his cruel clutches, but he held her fast, proof of his power over her .
    “Never, milord. You’ll never gain my favor.”
    “I don’t want your favor, just the pleasure of your company.” He pulled her closer until his hot breath stung her earlobe. “I’ll take you hard and fast. Teach you some manners, you overpriced bitch. Some respect.”
    A chill of fear filled her heart .
    His other hand reached out and curled under her breast, squeezing hard. “Trent won’t last another month with all his debts, and then you’ll come looking for protection. Begging for my help. See that you don’t.”
    Charlotte shook the dreadful recollection from her mind. How could these thoughts be hers? She’d never met, let alone spoken to, this man before, and yet here he was holding her and she knew he was the very devil. Knew it from the bottom of her heart.
    “Let me go,” she said, issuing forth every bit of the old, staunch, and haughty Finella she could muster.
    He only laughed and pushed his face closer.
    “You’ll have me because I have the gold to buy you. And have you I will,” Lyman said, a cruel sneer turning his otherwise perfect countenance ugly. His gaze continued sweeping over her breasts, his desire a dark, frightening light in his otherwise pale blue eyes.
    There was one thing Charlotte knew for certain: Neither she nor Lottie would ever have anything to do with this man. And