Scandal's Mistress

  Scandal’s Mistress

  By Bronwyn Stuart

  London, 1805

  Justin Trentham, third son of the Earl of Billington, is determined to get himself disowned from his cold and unloving family. Despite his numerous affairs with questionable women of the ton, his parents continue to be dismissive of his ploys, but Justin spots the perfect scandal in the form of a beautiful, exotic Italian opera singer…

  Carmalina Belluccini refuses to become his mistress, despite being tempted by his charms. But after losing her singing voice, she finds herself destitute. She agrees to be Justin’s mistress for one month, until she has enough money to return to her beloved Italy.

  She intends to keep their arrangement strictly business, but after witnessing Justin’s vulnerable side, she finds herself falling more in love than in lust with him. Carmalina is having second thoughts about leaving England…but is their love strong enough to survive the scandal of the season?

  88,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  August has a special feel for me. Not only is it my birthday month (and I’m firmly in the camp of celebrating a birthday month—one day just isn’t enough) but since I’m in North America, August is also the last hurrah of summer. It’s the time before my daughter goes back to school and lazy weekends at the beach start drawing to a close. In my professional life, August is also the one month of the year I try to take a break from the crazy travel schedule.

  So with all those things combined, you know what that means, right? I become self-indulgent and get in as much reading as possible. That’s why I’m thrilled we’re kicking off the month of August with the first book in the fun and flirty new contemporary romance trilogy, Aisle Bound. Planning for Love by Christi Barth releases the first of August, and I hope you love it as much as I do. It’s got all of the elements I adore in a contemporary romance: humor, passion, likable characters and, best of all, a happy ending. Christi is a wonderful, fresh new voice in contemporary romance. This book was so much fun to edit, and if you love contemporary romance, please check it out!

  Not only do we have Planning for Love releasing in August, we also have quite the lineup of debut, new-to-Carina and returning authors in a variety of genres. This month, I’m excited to introduce debut authors Bronwyn Stuart, Ruth Diaz and Jacqueline M. Battisti, each writing three very different genres, but each bringing us three amazing stories. Bronwyn presents us with a passionate historical romance, Scandal’s Mistress, while Jacqueline blazes onto the writing scene with her first romantic urban fantasy, The Guardian of Bastet. Ruth’s book, The Superheroes Union: Dynama, is exactly what you might imagine it to be from that title: a fast-paced superhero female/female romance.

  Also offering up urban-fantasy fare this month in the GLBT category are authors Heidi Belleau and Violetta Vane, with their co-authored male/male urban fantasy The Druid Stone. And if the male/male genre is what you enjoy, make sure you also check out L.B. Gregg’s August re-release of Men of Smithfield: Mark and Tony, a spicy contemporary male/male romance with a lighter edge.

  If you’re a fan of romantic suspense, we have two to help you indulge your cravings. Tina Beckett offers up In His Sights, while fans of Adrienne Giordano’s Private Protectors series will be pleased to see her back with another action-packed installment in Relentless Pursuit. If you’ve never read Adrienne’s books, Relentless Pursuit is an excellent place to get attached to her sexy heroes and strong-willed heroines. Or, if you want to start with something shorter, check out Adrienne’s novella, Negotiating Point in the Editor’s Choice Volume I collection.

  New Carina Press author Kaily Hart kicks off her paranormal romance series Fabric of Fate with Rise of Hope. Will fate alone determine their future or can they carve out their own destiny?

  Rounding out our August releases are three returning Carina Press authors. Joely Sue Burkhart’s The Bloodgate Warrior is an erotic fantasy romance sure to knock your socks off! Robert Appleton returns with another science-fiction offering in Cyber Sparks. And bestselling author Rebecca York brings us the sequel to Dark Magic with the novella Shattered Magic.

  I think you’ll find something in this month’s collection to help you indulge. And, hey, since it’s my birthday month, celebrate with me by indulging in more than one. I won’t tell!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  This one is for Doug. I couldn’t have asked for a better soul mate.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Royal Theatre, Drury Lane

  London, 1805

  Justin Trentham crossed his booted ankles and sank deeper into the narrow maroon brocade seat. Opera chairs were not made for men who towered over six feet, so how the four ornate spidery legs held his weight he would never know. Perhaps a hardwood such as cedar was used in its construction? He yawned broadly and then raised one ungloved hand a fraction later than could be considered polite.

  To contemplate the necessary solidity of one’s chair at the Drury Lane theatre wasn’t quite the done thing but it was another way to pass the evening without killing someone. And Justin wanted to. Badly. The chair distraction could very well have saved a life.

  “Will you cease your fidgeting,” the Countess of Billington chided, her thin brows lifted and her mouth pursed.

  “I wasn’t aware of any fidgeting,” he replied with mock innocence. What did she expect from him? Rapture? The damned show hadn’t started yet and already his neckcloth itched as perspiration trickled down his back.

  “Sit still,” his mother hissed. Her tone reminded him of a period long ago when the only moments she would deign to acknowledge his existence was with that hiss. But he had since learned her true nature wasn’t in the least snakelike at all. More that of a rabid badger.

  Justin plastered a charmer’s smile on his lips and nodded his acquiescence in her direction. Why the devil had he agreed to accompany his family to the opera anyway? It wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything better to do, any place more interesting to be. The warm press of reeking bodies and stifling, stale air brought on a sudden gag.

  Toe the line, toe the line. The mantra repeated in his mind.

  For six months he’d made his family believe he’d changed his ways, that the revenge he longed for was a phase in his life he’d outgrown. He was the third son. Neither the heir nor the spare. His family reminded him every second of every day that it didn’t matter what he did.

  That he didn’t matter.

  They had come to lower their expectations and he had learned to disappoint with much style and little remorse.

  Justin muttered beneath his breath, which earned him a sharp kick to the ankle from his eldest brother and heir to the ear
ldom. Just one of the many family thorns to forever poke in his side.

  He pretended he hadn’t felt the gentle nudge and concentrated instead on the lowest gallery as he leaned over the balcony to get a glimpse of how the lesser half lived. How he wanted to tear the shirt from his back and leap over the barrier separating him from them, from the chance to experience a real life. That kind of display was certain to give his mother something else to swoon over.

  He could do it that easily. He could shed the clothes that labeled him a gentleman, mingle with the peasants and lose himself in their world. A world where parents loved and adored their children for the equals they were and not what they would become. A world that didn’t seem to hold to society’s strict rules of propriety, titles and not much else.

  But that would get him nowhere. He would be forever hunted, forever stuck with the name given him at birth, the name he would at all costs be rid of before he took his last breath on earth.

  Damn. He shook his head. He shouldn’t have enjoyed that bottle of wine in the carriage; he was becoming morbid. But then again, liquid fortification always helped when doing battle with his mother, even if theirs was a war of wills rather than fisticuffs on the street or pistols at dawn.

  So there he sat at the Theatre Royal with his mother, two brothers and sister-in-law, wondering what he’d done in past lives to deserve the punishments meted out to him in this one. He rather hoped he’d enjoyed it at the time.

  After an interminable wait, enduring titters and cackles from the neighboring box and the eyes of hundreds from across the way, the lights were extinguished and the orchestra played its opening notes.

  Justin wanted to close his eyes and sleep away the next few hours. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t visited the theatre before, seen it all before, been bored to tears by it all before. But he had an ulterior motive for his attendance that night. Since when did he not?

  For three months he’d searched for the perfect accomplice for his next foray into the exhilarating headlong rush that was scandal and, just when he’d finally found her, she’d slipped through his fingers.

  He’d only seen her from a distance, all rounded woman and midnight beauty, but from the moment he’d first glimpsed Carmalina Belluccini, he’d known she would be more than perfect. It wasn’t her exotic voice or intriguing exquisiteness alone that drew his attentions. It had more to do with the fact that the only thing Justin’s father hated more than Justin himself was Italians. It was an irrational, unexplainable dislike but then the Earl of Billington had never consulted rationale before holding a grudge or giving the cut direct to an entire nation of people. The Spanish and the Irish also had the proud honor of being ignored and avoided by his lordship.

  Justin leaned forward in his chair with the spidery legs and scanned the stage, searching for his quarry. He’d last seen her treading the boards at Covent Garden, enchanting the crowd with her magical voice as she held all in a neatly woven web of auditory bliss. He’d never known it was possible to enjoy hearing the voice of an angel the way a mouth savored a kiss or the way fingers enjoyed the brush of fine silk.

  Damn. He shook his head again. Definitely time to stop drinking wine.

  Finally, after he’d almost given up and counted the playbill as deceptive, she appeared. It seemed almost sacrilege that she be reduced to a minor part in a play about an opera singer and he would have loved to have known why she’d switched companies, but it didn’t matter. The more notorious members of the ton whispered behind their hands about this impervious songbird. About how she could flay a man alive with her sharp-edged tongue. About how she was the most untouchable, elusive creature they’d ever had the pleasure of propositioning.

  Yet that was where part of the challenge lay for Justin. He didn’t care which company she sang with or what play. He cared that she’d she turned down every offer she’d ever received from the gentlemen of society. Mrs. Belluccini had made it more than plain that she was unattainable. In this day and the circles Justin moved in, she had as good as invited men to make fools of themselves over her.

  He silently applauded her backbone. It seemed the woman he schemed to have was a schemer herself. Why else would she reject every protector? Or perhaps she hadn’t heard the right offer yet. He fingered the rounded edge of the box concealed in his coat pocket and hoped she liked the baubles he’d brought for her. They would match her coloring and be all the more brilliant for the wearer.

  Her olive complexion was in stark contrast to the classic English rose. With black hair that flowed and curled down her back, a costume that pushed full breasts up and a rounded waist down, he appreciated just how different she was. How alluring.

  His fingers itched to trace the contours of her gown to discover if the curves came from dress and petticoats or the woman herself.

  For the next hour he followed her every move across the stage, kept his gaze glued to her every hand gesture, every breath, every syllable as though she might at any second disappear in a puff of smoke. She could have sung the recipe for his favorite kidney pie for all he took in the actual words. He was spellbound, enchanted, enraptured.

  The songbird reached the crescendo, her magical voice rising to heights mere mortals would never reach. He caught the edge of her Italian lyrics and thought perhaps she sang of tragedy. The real tragedy was apparent when she closed her mouth, lowered her arms and turned from her partner, the stage falling silent.

  He only just stopped himself from jumping up to call brava, to hurl himself to heap adoration at her feet like a milksop. But the show was not yet over. The performance went on for another thirty minutes before the lights were once again lit, the audience leaping to its feet with boisterous, thunderous applause.

  He didn’t join them. He didn’t clap, he didn’t whistle through his fingers or even stand. He wanted no one to know of his interest before she did.

  When the noise of hundreds of gentlemen clapping their ungloved hands died down, he leaned over to his sister-in-law and whispered, “Magnificent, isn’t she?”

  “It won’t work, Justin.” When Sylvia speared him with a shrewd glare, he feigned innocence. The chit was just two-and-twenty and already possessed the chilling gaze of the most experienced grand dame. She had to be the one person on earth with the ability to gaze into his soul and from the look in her hazel eyes, she found it lacking.

  “What won’t work? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “You can’t embroil yourself with yet another actress. It hasn’t worked before and it won’t work this time either.” She turned back to the stage as though he wasn’t even there, as though she hadn’t just delivered him a set down, and Justin let her. Had he become that transparent?

  If he wanted his father to notice him—to really take note of his actions—his plan would have to prove bigger and better than any before. He had to come up with a way to be cut off before his family’s ignorance suffocated the man he longed to become.

  Justin excused himself, ignored his brothers’ frowns of disapproval, his mother’s huff of displeasure and Sylvia’s knowing glance, and without another word left the box. He made his way through the throng to reach the side doors that would lead him to the back of the theatre. Along the way he ignored the flashes of bright gowns and the glitter of jewels, ignored the boisterous calls that reminded him with every breath who he was and who he wasn’t. With every step his plan came sharper into focus, his resolve firmed, shaped, hardened. The opera singer would make the perfect accomplice for him, a delicious blend of business and pleasure. His father could not deny his existence forever. Justin wouldn’t let him.

  * * *

  The warm cup of tea was strong and sweet and with every swallow, the liquid slid down Carmalina Belluccini’s throat like God himself stroked her throat to heal it with his touch.

  If only it was that easy, she thought with a most unladylike cough.

  Her days as an opera singer were numbered and God had nothing to do with it.

&n
bsp; She threw her head back and gargled the honeyed brew. A crude but helpful action to ensure her voice remained come morning.

  Not for the first time Carmalina wondered what she would do when that happened. She would probably have to return to Italy. No respectful English household would take her in as a governess or nanny, not after they discovered her previous profession. Even a chambermaid would be accepted more readily than a supposed harlot of the stage.

  Her reflection stared back from a cracked mirror and when she frowned, the skin between her brown eyes crinkled and her full lips pinched. If only her looks were unremarkable. Then she would be able to fade into the background and never worry about English society ever again. It was just such a pity she’d been reduced to a theatre rather than an opera house, a minor actor rather than a major performer. If she sank much lower, she would only sing when cleaning chamber pots.

  More the pity was that the aristocracy that had once paid so much to see her sing thought her nothing more than a common trollop. Narrow-minded, arrogant…

  From the corner of her eye there was movement in the looking glass. Thinking the maid forgot something, she turned but the words on her tongue fell, unspoken.

  There stood a man. And not just any man. A gentleman.

  From his wide smile, broad shoulders and the cut of his clothes to the loose brown curls atop his head, he dripped wealth and arrogance.

  And danger.

  Carmalina waited for the stranger to say something—anything—but he continued his silent appraisal. “I believe you are lost, my lord.”

  It was in that moment, when his gaze scorched a path from her head to her toes, that she realized she wore nothing more than costume panniers and chemise. The maid had helped her out of her heavy gown and corset before leaving her to her tea.

  Torn between holding her head high or covering her underthings, modesty won out. She slammed her teacup on a small table with a rattle of chipped china and snatched up the closest article of clothing she could find. She didn’t dare look at the stranger. She had an odd feeling he laughed at her. “What part of the world do you come from that you don’t knock before you enter a room, signor?”