Free Mistress By Mistake by Maggie Robinson Page A

once. A woman my age can’t be too careful on the stairs, you know. The desserts are downstairs chilling. Please ring when you’re ready.”
    “I can go down and fetch it,” Charlotte said, her voice scratchy.
    “Aye, and stab me with one of my own knives and run off, no doubt.”
    “I’d never harm you ,” Charlotte said truthfully.
    Bay began to place morsels of food on a plate for her. As if she were still in the nursery, he cut everything into bite-size pieces with the one knife that had come on the tray. Charlotte hoped she would be allowed a fork, but she was hungry enough to eat with her fingers and lick them off to get every last smear and crumb.
    “I was going to feed you as you lay tied on the bed.” He handed her a silver fork.
    “I would have spit the food back at you.” Charlotte shoved an inch of asparagus in her mouth. Crisp, the very taste of green. Divine.
    “I was rather afraid of that. I don’t know where you learned your manners.”
    “My manners are perfectly unobjectionable!” Charlotte said through a mouthful of salmon and puff pastry. Or they would be if she were not trapped here. Her mama had been a stickler for propriety. She watched as Bay held a rough shell between his fingers and slipped an oyster into his mouth. His eyes half closed, he swirled the meat around his tongue, making a little sucking sound. Perhaps it was he who had the abominable manners. She closed her legs together tight to stop the betraying ache between them. She knew perfectly well what else Bay could do with that tongue. And rather hoped he would do it again.
    Mrs. Kelly had outdone herself on this lovers’ supper. Each portion was small yet perfect—six succulent oysters each, one fillet of chicken, a tender salmon pie the size of her fist. Champagne fizzed in the flutes that had been wrapped in their starched napkins. Charlotte fingered the fabric. Should Bay destroy all her caps, she could fashion something out of the table linens.
    The food was so delectable there was little opportunity for conversation. Bay reveled in each bite, pausing only to give her looks that were steeped in sin. When their plates were empty, he stacked the dishes on the tray. “I’ll fetch the dessert. You won’t do anything stupid, will you?”
    Charlotte brushed against the cold candlestick that was lodged against one thigh. “Of course not,” she said, as scornfully as possible. Let him think he had won her over with a hot meal and a few sultry gazes, not to mention the hours she’d spent lashed to the masts of the bed.
    As soon as he left, she stationed herself behind the door, testing the weight of the weapon. Charlotte would need two hands for the job. She didn’t plan to kill him, just whack him a bit to make him insensible so she could dress and escape. Then she’d have to make a detour into the back garden for her footwear. It was inconveniently dark now, but she supposed if she had to, she could run through the streets of London barefoot.
    She racked her brain thinking of whom she might turn to in her hour of need. George, perhaps. True, he was very married with several children, but it was indirectly his fault that she was in Jane Street to begin with. If he hadn’t ruined Deborah, she wouldn’t have chosen a career as a courtesan and dragged Charlotte along with her.
    She could never go to Robert.
    Whistling! Bay was whistling as he came up the stairs. How very considerate of him to give her sufficient warning. She gripped the candlestick over her head. In a second it would come down on his.
    “Charlie? How did you know my favorite—”
    With a ferocious cry, she struck out. She would have been more accurate if only she had kept her eyes open, but she had ever had a distaste for blood and mayhem. She managed only a glancing blow on his shoulder, enough for the figs to bounce from their bowl and roll to the floor in a creamy puddle instead of Bay’s body. She found herself pressed up against the wall by man