Free Lord Lightning by Jenny Brown

up his heart, it was now. But to make the most of it, he would need her help.
    He had turned away from her, and all she could see of him was his tousled pale curls. There was something so vulnerable about the sight. She yearned to reach out and comfort him. But as she leaned toward him he snapped to attention and swiveled back, fixing her with a look that seemed to strip her clothing off her body and made her quiver to her very bones.
    No, she could not be his mistress. He was right about that.
    She hadn’t understood the words he’d muttered last night about opening his purse in the case of unexpected consequences. Her heart contracted at the thought that she might have borne him a bastard child! She remembered, too, the feeling of wrongness that had swept over her even as her body had begun to respond so unexpectedly to his touch. Though his body had been in the grip of something irresistible, it had not been love, and even as she had responded to it, she had sensed that his passion had disturbed him as much as it frightened her.
    But even so, her instincts told her that she muststay with him, at least a little longer. He needed her help, this Leo who could not love. But how to get him to allow her to stay?
    Lord Hartwood picked up the banknotes from his desk, rose, and began to walk slowly over to where she stood. He was back in character again, all Byronic hero. His brooding eyes expressed the agony of his own existence as they swept over her, filled with bleak regret. He sighed deeply, until it seemed his entire being must echo with the cry of his empty soul. She doubted anything she said could reach him now, he was so totally one with the role. But what a role it was, and how well he portrayed it! First Lovelace and now Lord Byron’s haunted Corsair. That last sigh of his would have been heard clearly in the cheapest seats. But what a shame it was, in view of his own needs, that he kept choosing such unrewarding roles. Lovelace and
The Corsair
would not teach him how to love. But as that thought flickered through her mind she saw all at once how she might use his love of theater to reach out to him without exciting his fears.
    “Would your purpose be accomplished,” she asked, “if I were to
pretend
to be your mistress?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I might go with you to Brighton and
act
the part of your mistress, though only when we were with others. You would not have to treat me like a mistress when we were in private.”
    ***
    The woman was mad. He could think of no other explanation. But at the same time, the boldness of her suggestion intrigued him. Others rarely matched him in his ability to come up with outrageous schemes, but Miss Farrell was making a habit of astonishing him.
    “What would be the point of pretending?” he asked.
    “Well, it depends, of course, on what you want a mistress for. If it were only to satisfy your lust, I can see that the arrangement wouldn’t suit.”
    “Indeed it wouldn’t.”
    “But I doubt lust was your reason for selecting me as a mistress. I am not a woman who inspires lust in men.”
    He could have argued the point with her, remembering the unexpected strength of the passion that had filled him when he had dallied with her the previous night, but he thought better of it. And besides, whatever had called out his surprising response to her, it was gone now. Perhaps it had just been the effect of the brandy.
    “So,” she continued in the same calm tone, “since your reason for wishing to bring along a mistress did not spring from carnal need, it is likely you had some theatrical purpose in mind. Leos are known for their love of theater.” She paused in her discourse and gazed up at him through ginger lashes. “If it was indeed the theatrical aspect of having a mistress that motivates you, I believe I can fill the role to your satisfaction.”
    “Based on what?” he asked, fascinated.
    “On the fact that I have always been accounted a very good