Scandal's Mistress Read online

  “Take your hands off my child!”

  Carmalina started at the tone and the severity of the voice, so defensiveness tinged her reply. “I beg your pardon, I was merely saying good morning.” When she straightened and turned toward the imperious voice, she was surprised to find a woman younger than her own twenty-six years.

  “Mama, this is Carmalina. She is the lady who played with us yesterday.”

  “Is she indeed?” The woman’s face took on a thoughtful frown as she stared.

  Carmalina stared right back. She would not be cowed by a stranger.

  “Carmalina? Where do I know that name from? Do you have a residence nearby?”

  “I am staying with a…a friend. I am Carmalina Belluccini.”

  The stranger thought about it for a moment. Carmalina knew the exact instant the woman connected the pieces. Her pert little lips formed an O followed by a very bright shade of red as she reached past Carmalina and dragged Claire to safety behind her skirts.

  “I know who you are.” The woman threw the words at her like they were weapons intended to wound, to draw blood and more.

  “I sing the opera, madam. There is no shame in that.” She wasn’t sure why she defended herself with the well-rehearsed and repeated words but the woman’s attitude was ridiculous. Playing with a ball in the park with her child would not taint anyone. It would not corrupt Claire’s morals or principles. The little girl was far too young to know who or what she was.

  “Which ‘friend’ are you staying with?”

  Carmalina swallowed uneasily. Whatever she said now would not only confirm her guilt, it would set tongues to wagging. Sometimes she wished she wasn’t such a fatally honest person. With a couple of little white lies, she could be free and far from the park and this woman. Far from the shame the stranger wanted to instill, to drive into her already bruised heart. But she didn’t lie. Dishonesty would only mar her character more. “Mr. Justin Trentham.”

  “Ooh. You put yourself on shameful display for all to mock and then think what you do is respectable?”

  “Mama, why are you unkind? Carmalina did nothing wrong. We played with a ball.” Claire’s eyes filled with desperate tears as she looked from her mother to Carmalina, then back to her mother.

  And as sudden as that, it hit her, what she’d done. The park seemed the perfect place for startling revelations. If word travelled that she’d played with the child, Claire would be involved in her first scandal. She wasn’t even in the schoolroom yet but would be forever tainted by Carmalina’s mere presence.

  “I apologize,” Carmalina said, inclining her head. “I believe I will go now.”

  “Do not come back,” the woman said firmly before turning around to take her child to safer ground.

  Somewhere away from the big bad soiled dove.

  Perhaps her presence in Justin’s home was going to have further-reaching consequences than even she’d thought. Of course it was narrow-minded women who had put her in this situation in the first place. If the ladies of the ton could get past the fact that Carmalina had had to work to stay alive, they would see that all women were essentially the same. No matter the class, race or species you were born to, most females wanted a family, a husband to love them and a house to take care of.

  It was what the world wanted of them.

  It wasn’t her fault she’d been left alone, without a penny to her name, her husband dead only days into their marriage, her own family long gone. If only this antiquated society could see that not every singer or actress was automatically a whore. She’d lasted this long without selling her body. Without narrow minds, she would have a position as a music teacher or governess rather than that of a mistress.

  Dejected, head down, her gaze to the ground, she walked the few streets back to Justin’s house. Forgetting that she’d sneaked out, she walked straight through the front door.

  “Good morning, madam.” Newberry bowed low then took her pelisse from her shaking fingers. “I trust your walk was not too tiring?”

  Carmalina gave him a weak smile but did not answer his question. She had a pressing one of her own. “Is Trentham in?”

  “He has not yet risen from his bed.”

  With a nod, she climbed the stairs, her thoughts a chaotic mess, her feet and hands numb from the biting cold, her soul numb from the comprehension that she truly was a whore and everyone who was anyone already knew it.

  To start her life over at the end of their agreement would mean she would have to leave the country. Go somewhere remote where she could live out the rest of her days as a lonely old maid. No one would have her if they found out about any of this. But it was not too late to put it to rights. To save her soul and what was left of her reputation. If she did manage to find a man who would have her, he would know the truth from the lies.

  At the top of the stairs she paused. She had only two choices. Accept her decisions and harden herself to the inevitable gossip and insults so she could get home. Or cut all ties with Justin Trentham and flee into the streets. Even if it was only to her own mind, being an actress and singer was far removed from being a mistress and prostitute.

  Carmalina smoothed the front of her dress, tightened the ribbon that held her hair and drew on the strength she knew was still in her somewhere. She approached his door and knocked loudly.

  “Come in.” His voice was husky, seductive, a shiver coursed through her. He already confidently knew who stood outside, she doubted he would use that tone for a maid or the housekeeper. Her heart raced, her palms became sweaty but she had to do it. She had to tell him of her decision.

  Pushing the door wide, she faltered on the threshold. She had never entered a man’s bedroom like this before. Why were the simplest of actions so rife with consequence? Why did it all have to be so hard?

  Justin grinned wickedly from the huge bed, answering her questions in a second. Because lust was a sin and Justin Trentham was the epitome of wicked. Against a mountain of pillows he reclined, a cup of tea in one hand, the morning news in the other. He looked perfectly at ease.

  He also looked very naked.

  When he spoke, his voice vibrated through her the way deft fingers strummed a harp. “I knew if I lingered long enough, you would come.”

  * * *

  If Carmalina ever appeared the frightened lamb in a lion’s den, it was in that moment. Her mouth opened as if to speak only to snap shut, her lips in a thin, disapproving line.

  He set aside the paper and his empty cup and waited for her to regain her composure.

  “Are you wearing bedclothes?” Not exactly what he thought she would say, but at least they were words. Anything was better than stunned silence.

  “No.” He smiled wolfishly, his fingers clenched to fists in his lap. A mad yearning flowed in his veins like the fastest rushing river.

  “Why not?”

  He stared at her for a second and wondered why they discussed his state of undress. “I do not sleep in bedclothes.”

  “That’s absurd, everyone sleeps in clothes.”

  “I prefer to dream sweet dreams without the confines of cotton restricting my tossing and turning.”

  Her blush was vibrant and instantaneous. Excellent.

  “Would you like me to put something on?” he asked as he barely avoided choking on the laughter that threatened. Her behavior was so innocent and maidenly he wondered if in her flustered state she was even aware of it.

  Carmalina nodded, once hesitantly, twice with more emphasis, three times as if her neck would break with the effort. “If you please.”

  “I don’t, but I will do it for you.” He knew she wasn’t there to spend the morning in glorious rapture. The set of her shoulders, the grass on her boots; she had come from outside and was displeased. The animal inside his taut body prowled but he quieted it for the moment. She had something to say and he knew he wouldn’t like it.

  He needed to distract her, to help her forget whatever spurred her there and make her remember why he
’d wanted her to come. Make her remember the passion.

  He threw back the blanket, rose and walked toward her.

  “You can’t do that!” Her protest was a delightful squeak that ended on a breathless gasp.

  “It was your suggestion,” he countered.

  “But…but…you are naked.” She had her eyes squeezed closed and had turned away from him, but it didn’t stop his approach.

  “I told you I don’t wear clothing to bed,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “Please put something on.”

  “I will.”

  Her shoulders sagged but her fingers now covered her eyes. “Thank the Lord. Let me know when you are suitable. I have something I would discuss with you.”

  Justin grinned. He was actually having fun. The way she had her back presented to him and her head lowered made her bottom stick out just a little.

  “I’m suitable,” he breathed close to her ear. He stood directly behind her, so when she turned she was perfectly situated in the circle of his arms and without giving her any warning, he pulled her to him and kissed her with everything he had in him. He poured what remained of his heart and soul into the contact so she would know he didn’t idly toy with her. He wanted her. Badly.

  On and on, his tongue danced with hers; he skated his hands down her ribs and over her hips. She moaned low in her throat, the sound aroused him more than anything else could have. Her moan turned to a groan when she placed her hands on his shoulders. It was then that she finally realized he was still naked.

  For Justin, it was glorious. Every one of his nerves seemed to be individually attuned to her in his arms, how her gown felt against his skin, how her breasts heated his chest through the fabric until he was mad to rip the material away so he could feel her soft skin pressed to his. He was going to die if he couldn’t have her soon.

  Subtly and slowly, he started to turn her towards the bed, if he could just get her there, he was sure he could entice her to stay.

  Somewhere deep within the house, there was a loud knock followed by a bark of laughter. Carmalina heard it too.

  The spell broke as surely as a dropped vase. She pulled away, shaky in his arms, her eyes glazed with passion, her skin flushed, her lips swollen and pink from his morning stubble.

  “Whoever it is will go away,” he mumbled as he nuzzled her neck, nipped the delicate skin and then soothed the love bite with a swipe of his tongue.

  “We cannot do this.”

  “I can. Why can’t you?”

  “We have something serious to discuss.” Her breath was shallow, her voice uneven but he heard the catch and when he looked into her eyes, sadness dwelled beneath fading desire.

  “Must we?”

  She nodded and he thought she might cry. He could not stand a woman’s tears no matter how much he convinced himself he was immune.

  As he released her, she swayed and he reached for her again, this time to steady her.

  “I will meet you downstairs.” Her whispered words stabbed at him like a knife in the darkness. It hadn’t yet connected with its target but would eventually. He had to know what had changed in her from last night to this morning. Where had she gone and who was responsible for the new despair in her sweet brown eyes? Murder settled in his thoughts.

  As his bedroom door shut with a click, he felt as though a wall had risen up between them and if he wanted to find her he would have to be strong and stubborn and dogged in his persuasion. After last night, nothing would stop him from making her his. They fit together like two parts of the same puzzle and, in a way he’d never asked for or wanted, she tempered him. He knew they were made to come together. Knew it to the depths of his tainted soul.

  He just had to convince her.

  * * *

  Outside his closed door, Carmalina let her head drop into her hands, closed her eyes and let out the air held in her lungs. Immediately the image of his manhood standing proud and tall as he’d strutted toward her without shame appeared in her mind’s eye followed closely by rippling stomach muscles and the intriguing patch of hair on his chest that led a trail back down to his thighs.

  Her cheeks warmed along with other parts of her body awakened last night. Damn him for making her so indecisive. She’d gone to his room fully intending to tell him she was leaving, to tear up their agreement and throw it in the fire. Instead, she’d nearly been led to her downfall by the devil himself. She couldn’t make up her mind to stay or to go and it made her chest hurt. She knew which half of her would have lost to his deceitful tactics and for a moment berated herself that she hadn’t been able to let go and surrender. Then the decision would have been made for her and she would no longer live with the torture of wanting him but knowing how wrong it truly was.

  She had to think and that required distance from his bedchamber and the lingering effects of his hands on her body. Holding her head high, as though she hadn’t been in danger of succumbing to his charms, she made her way to the salon where she could take a moment to think.

  “Let him sleep, Newberry, I know how to keep myself entertained.”

  Carmalina had been so lost in her own misery and musings she hadn’t noticed the audience watching her descend the stairs.

  “What have we here?” His voice was smooth, charming, a balm to the nerves.

  Carmalina thought maybe this man was Justin’s father. Her hands went to her skirts, preparing to run. Fathers did not meet their sons’ mistresses. Not that she would be that for much longer.

  The man who passed his hat to Newberry was an older version of Justin. His hair was greying but still held some of the light brown she knew was identical to Justin’s and he had the same oval face. He was taller and rounder about the middle and was turned out in an impeccable navy blue suit with a snowy-white cravat tied perfectly around his thick neck. There was no mistaking the family resemblance.

  The one thing that told her this was not Justin’s father was the brilliant smile that lit his face when he saw she’d paused, mid-step, one foot in the air.

  “Don’t be frightened, dear. Come down so I can take a look at you.”

  Heart in her throat, she walked the last few steps, still wondering what to do. Wondering what he would do.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked, looking her directly in the eyes.

  She nodded. There was only person he could be.

  “Newberry, I believe Mrs. Belluccini and I will take tea in the yellow room.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Newberry looked between them and with an uncustomary grin, went to do the bidding of Justin’s uncle.

  At his gesture Carmalina led the way. She could not stop her hands from shaking and still hadn’t let go of the tight grip she held on her skirt. This was not at all appropriate, of that she was very sure.

  Once they were in the room, the curtains still drawn against the dreary morning, she half sat, half fell onto the sofa.

  “We haven’t been formerly introduced. I am Oliver Trentham. Justin’s handsome and charming uncle.” Bowing low over the hand he managed to extract from the folds of her gown, he placed a light kiss on her knuckle and then with a cheerful wink waited for her to reply.

  When she didn’t, his smile deepened. “You are Carmalina Belluccini.”

  She nodded. What was she supposed to say? He should have been outraged that Justin had invited her into the home he owned and so generously let him use. He should have been mortified and right now yelling for her to leave. But he wasn’t. He was nice, trying to make her feel at ease. His blue eyes didn’t hold the disdain of the woman in the park. He actually looked quite happy.

  “I have to say, I didn’t quite believe the rumors this morning. Had to come and question the lad for myself and here I find you. The talk of the ton.”

  “Rumors?” Finally Carmalina found her voice; her heart gave a start as though a bullet had been fired, surprising her with its bang.

  “Oh, yes. Some are saying that you breathed fire from your mouth and burned Lady Parkings
on to a crisp.”

  “Lady Parkingson?” She knew she sounded simple, but she still wasn’t sure how she was supposed to act.

  “Sarah?”

  “Oh yes.” Her lips turned up a little as she recalled the woman’s expression as she’d stormed away into the throng at Lucifer’s.

  “Is it true then?”

  Carmalina chuckled nervously, relaxed just a fraction. “I don’t know about breathing fire, but she certainly did get scorched.”

  Oliver let out a bark of laughter and slapped a hand to his knee. “About time the little witch was given what she deserves.”

  Carmalina was saved her reply by Newberry’s entrance with the tea service.

  “Excellent, man, set it down right here. The lady can pour.”

  Carmalina and Newberry wore identical expressions, brows raised in surprise at his reference to her as a lady.

  “I take three sugars, thank you.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, picked up the heavy teapot and poured steaming liquid into matching china cups. After heaping three teaspoons of sugar into Oliver’s, she stirred one into her own and lifted the scalding brew to her lips, anything to delay conversation.

  Where was Justin anyway? He knew she wanted to speak to him. Did he deliberately take his time? Unconsciously, her still-booted foot began to tap the soft rug, her knee bounced up and down under her dress and silence settled thicker than fog between the strangers.

  Deciding that being herself was the best approach, she opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind. “You should know I am not a lady.”

  Oliver’s startled gaze met hers and she thought her bluntness surprised him but then he laughed again, softer this time, almost sadder. “Are you female?”

  “Of course,” she replied, unsure of the question’s purpose.

  “Do you sit in the morning room of a gentleman’s home while he sleeps in his bed?”

  Her cheeks flushed at the unspoken implication. She nodded.

  “Then you are certainly a lady. It doesn’t matter that you aren’t a countess, or a baroness. You are here and I for one am glad.”