Free The Accidental Mistress by Tracy Anne Warren Page A

emphatically."
    "Yes, I am sure you would. But pray do not overset yourself. What passed between us shall be our own little secret, including what happened in the coach. You have my word as a gentleman."
    His statement seemed to reassure her, anxiety visibly draining from Lily's body as though she had been waiting for him to unmask her before one and all.
    "I must admit, however," he continued in a low voice meant only for her ears, "that I am surprised to learn you are a widow. You certainly gave no intimation that such might be the case."
    "There were a great many things I did not mention on that occasion, if you will recall. Introducing such a topic did not seem germane."
    "I am sure it did not. Permit me to extend my sympathy for your loss, however."
    Her lashes swept downward, lowering to fix in the vicinity of his waistcoat. "Thank you."
    "You must have married young. You cannot be a day above nineteen."
    Pale pink spread across her cheeks as her gaze returned to meet his own. "I am twenty, which is not so young, considering that many women marry at sixteen."
    "Yes, but most of them do not lose their husbands. How did he perish?"
    At first she said nothing, worrying her fingertips over her glove buttons once more. "He died a soldier's death on the battlefield. And now, if you do not mind, I would rather not discuss any more of the particulars."
    "Of course." He paused for a moment. "So is that why you do it, to distract yourself from the grief?"
    Puzzlement filled her eyes. "Do what?"
    "Indulge in risky and thoroughly outrageous wagers with friends."
    Surprise flared inside her gaze for an instant before an expression of thoughtful introspection replaced it. "I had never thought of it as such, but perhaps you are correct. One can sometimes find oneself running quite literally from one's troubles."
    "Then might I suggest exploring alternate outlets for exorcising such needs."
    She arched a brow. "Like what, my lord?"
    He was about to tell her when the Coateses' liveried butler called for everyone's attention to inform them that dinner was now served.
    Around the room, as ladies and gentlemen began to pair up according to rank, Lily leaned toward him, her voice a whisper. "And in case you are wondering, Davina is not the friend involved, so please leave Lady Coates out of this. She has no idea about my little excursion, and would be distressed if she did."
    He dipped his head toward hers. "I told you before, this is our secret and no one else's."
    Just then, a slender gentleman appeared at Lily's side, bowing to them both. "Your pardon, but I believe I am to escort Mrs. Smythe into dinner."
    Ethan wanted to flick the other man off like a pesky fly. Instead he restrained the urge, faced Lily, and executed a perfect bow. "Until later, madam."
    She curtseyed. "Of course, my lord."
    Forcing himself to turn, he went in search of his own partner, wishing the woman were Lily.
    * * * * *
    He really needs to stop gazing at me,
Lily thought nearly an hour later.
    Dinner was proceeding apace, wine and conversation flowing liberally as a small multitude of voices mixed with the quiet background click of silver utensils scraping against fine bone china and the occasional ringing tap of delicate cut-crystal glassware. Beautifully wrought silver candelabra were positioned throughout the room, the lighted beeswax tapers adding a honeyed sweetness to the air. Footmen served and cleared with nearly invisible precision, every course more delicious than the last.
    Yet Lily barely noticed the food or the conversation, far too aware of a certain golden-haired gentleman and his watchful gaze.
    The marquis was seated several feet down and opposite, relaxing back in his chair with the graceful assurance of a lion. With candlelight burnishing his hair to a gleaming gold, he reminded her of some ancient god of Nordic myth. Or a warrior perhaps, since she was coming to realize he possessed a wild intensity that belied his veneer of quiet