Mistress on his Terms

A silence descended, oppressive with unspoken tension. Time trickled past—fifteen minutes, half an hour.

She lay ramrod straight, arms by her sides, legs held primly together. Only her breasts moved, rising faintly with her every breath, but she wasn’t sleeping. Slewing his gaze, he caught the gleam of her open eyes in the murky light, and then, to his horror, saw a tear slip down her cheek.

He pretended not to notice. No more anxious to acknowledge her distress than he was, she turned her face away and he thought the danger had passed. But then a faint sniff pierced the silence, followed by a smothered gulp.

Finally he could stand it no longer. “Why are you crying?”

“Because,” she said, after a wrenching pause, “I miss my mother and dad. Just when I think I’ve come to terms with losing them, it hits me all over again. I guess I must be overtired or something, because I seem to be doing a lot of crying lately.”

Was it her referring to her mother’s second husband as “dad” that softened him, or was he just a pushover when it came to women in distress? Whatever the reason, he found himself wanting to comfort her. “I’m sorry if I came across as an unfeeling lout earlier. I know how hard it is to lose a parent,” he admitted. “My father died when I was eight.”

Slowly she wriggled onto her back again. “It hurts, doesn’t it, no matter how old a person is?”

“Yes,” he said, not sure he liked the near-intimacy of skin touching skin the sagging mattress enforced, but not exactly objecting to it, either. “At first, I refused to believe I’d never see him again. I used to look for him in crowds. Every time there was a knock at the door or the phone rang, I’d expect it to be him. I remember the first Christmas without him, the first birthday, the first vacation, and how much I envied those kids who had both parents around to take them places and do things with.”

“Were you an only child?”

“Yes,” he said, and went on to tell her how he’d gradually come to terms with his loss.

After a while, though, it occurred to him that he was the one doing all the talking when he should be taking advantage of such a heaven-sent opportunity to learn more about her. “I gather you were a pretty close-knit family,” he said. “Were you still living at home when you lost your parents?”

He waited for her to reply and when she didn’t, he raised his head a fraction to look at her and saw that she’d fallen asleep with her cheek lightly brushing his shoulder. She looked young and innocent and totally at peace.

He wished he could drift off as easily, but his thoughts were too chaotic. Facts on which he’d based all his assumptions about her suddenly appeared less well-founded and he hated the uncertainty it produced.

Part of him wanted her to be exactly as she appeared: a young woman with nothing in mind but coping with personal tragedy and getting to know the man who’d fathered her. But another, greater part clung to the legal training in which it was so well versed and warned him not to be lulled into a false sense of security.

So she’d shed a tear or two and shown a more vulnerable side. What did that prove except that there was more to her than initially met the eye? Underneath, she was still the same unknown quantity; a woman with a questionable agenda.

I’d love to come and stay with you, she’d told Hugo, latching on to his invitation with unsettling alacrity. There’s nothing to keep me in Vancouver right now, nothing at all. Discovering you couldn’t have come at a better time.

Better for whom, and why? Not for Hugo, who’d been put through enough by her money-grubbing mother, and who’d fought hard for the good life he now enjoyed. No prodigal daughter showing up on the doorstep was going to spoil that, not as long as Sebastian Caine was around to monitor events!

She sighed in her sleep and kicked at the sheet so that it slipped down to expose the top of her thighs and the pale line of the panties she was wearing under her nightshirt.

Carefully he lifted his wrist and pressed the button to illuminate the face of his watch. Not yet eleven o’clock. Another six hours before daylight and the chance to assess the storm’s damage. Another six hours of lying next to her and feeling her perfumed warmth reach out to touch him.

There was a hell, and the devil ruled!

CHAPTER THREE

THEY reached Stentonbridge shortly before lunch the next day. A small town nestled on the banks of a wide river, it boasted quiet residential streets shaded by old maples and lined with elegant nineteenth-century houses. But nothing quite prepared Lily for the opulence of the Preston estate.

Situated on several acres of riverfront property, the house sat in majestic Georgian splendor on a low rise, amid manicured lawns and lush flower beds. “Why, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, taking in the spectacle as the car swept up to the front entrance.

“As you very well knew it would be,” Sebastian said dryly. “You received photos, I’m sure.”

“But they didn’t do the place justice. Nothing could. It’s…palatial! It must cost Hugo a fortune to maintain these gardens.” She shook her head ruefully. “I wish I was the one supplying his stock.”

“Try to control the dollar signs dancing in your eyes, Ms. Talbot, and remember why you’re supposed to be here. The welcoming committee will descend any minute now, and I’ll be seriously ticked off if the first words out of your mouth imply the only thing you’re interested in is how much Hugo’s worth.”

She’d woken that morning feeling well rested and optimistic, with the emotional overload of the past night behind her. Foolishly she’d hoped she and Sebastian had reached some sort of truce and his sly insinuations were at an end. But for all that the new day had brought clear skies, from the moment he’d opened his eyes his disposition had been anything but sunny. Perhaps, she’d thought at the time, he just wasn’t a morning person and his mood would eventually improve.

If anything, though, it worsened. When she’d thanked him for his sympathetic understanding of the night before, he’d shrugged her off with a succinctness that bordered on surly. He’d reacted with near contempt to her enthusiasm for the charming old towns they passed through. Refusing to let him dampen her spirits, she’d remained doggedly cheerful. This latest attack, though, was not something she felt inclined to let pass.

“I resent that remark, Sebastian. It’s completely un-called for.”

“Is it? When I woke up this morning, you were pawing through the money I’d left lying on the dresser in that motel room.”

“I was not! I was looking for your keys so that I could load my luggage in the trunk of your car and be ready to leave the second you decreed we should, as you very well know because I explained it the minute you started leveling accusations at me. And if you’d got up at a reasonable hour, instead of lying around in bed half the morning, I wouldn’t have had occasion to paw through anything belonging to you!”

“I hardly call getting up at eight o’clock and being on the road by nine ‘lying around in bed half the morning.’”

“I was up at six.”

“I didn’t get to sleep until nearly four.”

“Well, don’t take your insomnia out on me!” she snapped, so exasperated she was ready to crown him with her purse. “It’s not my fault.”

“Lower your voice and stop waving your arms around like that,” he said. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have an audience.”

She saw then that the front door of the house stood open and, suddenly, all the silly bickering didn’t matter anymore. “Is that Hugo?” she whispered, her gaze glued to the white-haired man coming down the steps with a silky English setter dancing at his heels.

“Afraid so,” Sebastian said. “Disappointed it’s not the butler?”

“No,” she cooed sweetly. “But I wish the dog was a rottweiler and you were its lunch.”

“Nice,” he said. “Very nice, Ms. Talbot. You’re finally showing your true colors.”

Smiling determinedly, she hissed, “Why don’t you go jump in the river, Sebastian?” and without waiting for him to hurl something equally rude back at her, climbed out of the car and walked toward the man waiting at the foot of the steps.

Hugo Preston was almost seventy but didn’t look a day over sixty. Tall and erect, with an enviable head of silver hair and clear blue eyes, he cut a handsome figure. “Well, Lily,” he said warmly as she approached, “we meet at last!”

“Yes,” she said, all at once awash with conflicting emotions. How did a woman greet the man whose blood ran in her veins but who, for reasons he’d yet to disclose, had chosen to remain incognito until recently? With a kiss, a handshake, a hug?

What did she call him, now that they were meeting face-to-face? Given his dignified bearing, Hugo suddenly seemed too familiar, and Mr. Preston absurdly formal…but Dad? Neil Talbot had been the man who’d filled that role, and her ties to him were too strong to be so easily severed in favor of this smiling stranger.

Seeming to sense her uncertainty, Hugo took her hands and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “My dear daughter, you have no idea what today means to me. I would be deeply honored if, in time, you could bring yourself to call me Father. Until then, I’m Hugo…and this,” he continued, turning to the slender blond woman who’d come out to join him, “is Cynthia, my wife.”

Cynthia Preston did not fit the image of The Other Woman. Even less did she look or act the part of resentful stepmother. Tall and elegant in a pale bronze two-piece ensemble with gold accessories, she was, quite simply, beautiful. More than that, she was kind. It showed in her smile, and in her sky-blue eyes.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Lily,” she said, enveloping her in a warm hug. “Hugo has hoped for a long time that this day would come. We both have. And we’re so grateful to you for making it possible. Welcome to our home and please forgive our dog for pawing you like that. She considers herself one of the family.”

Such total acceptance, following on the heels of Sebastian’s trenchant disapproval, completely undid Lily and, to her embarrassment, she burst into tears. “Thank you,” she wailed, dripping all over Cynthia’s fine silk shirt. “I’m really…very h-happy to be here.”

“No more than we are to have you.” Slipping an arm around her waist, Cynthia guided her up the steps. “What a dreadful time you had of it yesterday. We were so worried when we heard the news. Let’s go inside and I’ll show you where you can freshen up, then we’ll have lunch and start to get properly acquainted. Sebastian, bring in Lily’s luggage, will you, and take it up to the Rose Room?”

If she hadn’t found herself such an emotional mess, Lily would have enjoyed watching the almighty Sebastian Caine reduced to the role of porter. But she was too busy mopping up her tears on the linen handkerchief Hugo had produced and trying not to smudge her mascara in the process. She’d taken great pains with her appearance that morning just so that she’d make a good first impression, and here she was, all red-nosed and puffy-eyed within minutes of arriving!