Free His Lady Mistress by Elizabeth Rolls Page A

to remain at this house party? If he had to endure much more inane conversation and blatant toadying, he was likely to brain someone. Probably that simpering chit, Celia. Thank God the wench was too self-indulgent to appear for breakfast. No doubt she sipped weak tea off a tray in her bedchamber and made some housemaid’s life a living hell.
    Like Selina. He gritted his teeth. He’d not seen her since the night he went to her bedchamber. Plainly she meant her refusal and had taken pains to avoid him. He should forget her, return to town. But the thought of that cur, Godfrey, forcing himself on the girl…Max found his shoulders growing tense and his fists clenching. So he’d put off his departure time and again, telling himself that while he remained she was safe and hoping to see her so that he could ask again, persuade her with a few more gentle kisses. His body ached at the memory of her mouth opening shyly under his, the small, shocked gasp as he tasted her deeply and caressed the tender breasts pressing against him…
    He was just as shabby as Mr Faringdon, his conscience informed him. Why shabby? he argued. If Faringdon’s been forcing himself on her and she has nowhere to go, then she might have welcomed the opportunity.
    You lousy bastard! his better self protested. What choice has she got?
    Oh, rubbish! After all, she’d be far better off, and it’s not as though I’d leave her destitute afterwards. In fact, I could set her up with an annuity. A little something in the three percents to make her independent. She can always say no. It’s not as though I’d force her.
    She did say no. His conscience pointed that out with unwonted zeal. It also reminded him of another girl he’d failed to save. Unlike Verity Scott, Selina had had her chance and refused it. There was nothing to hold him here. He’d leave tomorrow. In fact, he’d find Faringdon right now and tell him before going riding.
     
    The day passed wearily for Verity with no prospect of rest until evening. She could only thank God for the house party. At least her tasks were still limited to those away from the family and their guests. And maybe tonight she could hide on her stairs again and watch for a glimpse of Max going past on his way to bed.
    That was the only time she permitted herself to see him, the only bright spot in a very bleak outlook. And it gave her more pain than pleasure. The temptation to go to him, accept his offer, tore at her.
    She shivered. Better that she told him who she was. He’d never take her then. The temptation would be gone. She didn’t dare. He’d try to force the Faringdons to treat her better. But what could he really do? She was under twenty-one, a pauper, wholly at the command of her legal guardians. He was Blakehurst, society’s darling. The night they had met he had said it was better they did not meet again, that he could offer her nothing.
    She had seen him. That was better than nothing. And if hefound out the truth she’d be worse off than ever. Aunt Faringdon would see to that.
    During the afternoon she was sent to Celia’s bedchamber to do the mending. At least it meant she could sit down. She curled into a tight little ball, shivering despite the warmth of the day, as she stitched at the gown Celia had torn the night before. She wouldn’t mind the mending and other tasks if her aunt and cousins would just treat her like a member of the family, if they had not stolen every vestige of dignity from her, down to her very name.
    Did Verity Scott even exist any more? Or had she died years ago and been replaced by the silent, unassuming Selina? She was nineteen, for heaven’s sake, nearly twenty. She’d had more courage at fifteen. Desperately Verity tried to remember the child who had crept out in a blinding downpour to try and give her father’s burial some honour.
    Would she dare to do it now? Shame and self-loathing lashed at her. How could she have become so subservient? Grimly, she tied off her