Free Mistress by Midnight by Maggie Robinson Page B

know. Vincent Lodge takes a great deal of work, and then there are my pupils.”
    Both eyebrows were raised now.
    “You, a teacher?”
    “I am not stupid!” Laurette said hotly.
    “No, of course you’re not.” Con took a hand and kissed her fingertips. Laurette sat up straighter even though Con kept hold of her hand.
    “The Trumbull sisters passed away, you know. A few afternoons a week some of the village girls come to visit. We—wediscuss things.” She trembled as Con rubbed her palm, each circle tingling to her toes.
    “So.” Con’s face was dark. “You are now the genteel impoverished spinster the children seek for improvement.”
    “It is not so bad,” Laurette whispered.
    “I can give you more.”
    Laurette tugged her hand away. “You cannot make me feel useful here. I imagine Qalhata would slice my throat if I invaded her kitchen.”
    “My dear, I imagine any cook worth his or her salt would absolutely forbid you from ever entering their domain,” Con drawled.
    Laurette’s cheeks grew hot. She had once been fairly hopeless in domestic matters. “I’ve improved. I had to.” She thought of the scores of burnt meals that she and Sadie had eaten stoically until Sadie had taken her very firmly in hand. With a few simple ingredients and subdued ambition, one could manage well enough.
    “No doubt.” Con stood up abruptly. “If you wish to feel useful, let us go upstairs.”
    “Now?”
Laurette gulped.
    “Now.”
    She rose from the bench, smoothing her skirts. Any hope of flattering candlelight was burned away by the steady sunshine. Years ago she had eagerly exposed every inch of herself to him in daylight, but she had been a foolish girl. Now it seemed she was equally foolish, for her heart raced with anticipation. Her pale lashes fluttered to her cheeks.
    “As you wish.”
    She could feel his eyes upon her as he followed her through the tiled garden path and into the house. He caught her when she tripped on the stairs, then wound his arm around her as they climbed up together, his hand firm upon her waist. He said nothing, but the pressure of his fingertipsimplied control. She belonged to him, and he would not let her fall.
    Or get away.
    Her bed was already turned down and a fire crackled in the hearth. Nadia or Martine must have had instructions upon his arrival. The house was silent. Laurette wondered if the servants had been dismissed for the afternoon, or imprisoned in their rooms. It was mortifying to know they were aware of her role as Con’s mistress. She was determined to be very quiet in Con’s arms, as silent as the house itself.
    She stood still as he unhooked and unlaced her down to her rosette-ribboned garters and stockings. Despite the fire, gooseflesh washed over her. Con held her shoulders and stepped back, as though eyeing his purchase. She raised her chin.
    Years ago she would have teased and asked if he liked what he saw. She might have spun about the room unpinning her hair and darting beyond his reach. He would have caught her—she would have made sure of it—and they would have collapsed on the bed in a burst of laughter. They would have fallen over each other in a frenzy, hasty with their kisses and awkward embraces. Judging from Con’s performance two nights ago, he’d acquired considerably more finesse.
    Con had been her first and only lover. Anything she’d attempted in her lonely spinster’s bed to recapture their summer had been a pale imitation at best. This man stood before her now, dark and distant, although they were separated by the mere length of his arms. She had no idea what was going through his mind apart from the fact his buff breeches revealed a rampant erection. But a man didn’t have to think to feel lust. Any naked woman clad in silk stockings might produce the same effect.
    Con expelled a breath. “It’s your turn to undress me.”
    Laurette nodded. She went directly for the emerald pin in his cravat, tugging it out of the starched fabric