Read Online His Mistress by Morning by Elizabeth Boyle - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Boyle
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to tell her cousin, but certainly not a notion Miss Charlotte Wilmont was going to cozen.
“Now off with those clothes,” Finella said, “or as much as it pains me to say this, I’ll tell Kimpton to stop stocking our cellars.”
Charlotte didn’t care what Finella told the baron.
She had no intention of remaining in this life, wish or not. She pushed past Finella and fled Arbuckle’s house as if the entire Greek army was hot on her heels.
Chapter 4
“T his is not my life, this is not my life,” Charlotte muttered under her breath all the way from Arbuckle’s studio to Mayfair. She ignored the haughty stares of those she passed, ignored the whistles and masculine taunts from passing carriages. She was making a cake of herself, and she didn’t care.
This is not my life, she wanted to tell one and all.
She hadn’t even realized where she was going until she stood in Berkeley Square before the Marlowe town house. At least, she thought, sighing in relief at the sight of No. 15, some things are still the same .
There it was, in all its Palladian glory—with the rounded fanlight over the door, the soft cream stone, the arched windows, and the long triangular pediment across the top of the house that set it off from every other residence on that side of the square. Of course, the Marlowe house had to be different, and that carved, classical pediment gave the house its distinct flair.
Of course now that she was here, whatever was shegoing to do? The idea of seeing Lord Trent again hadn’t even crossed her mind as she’d made her mad dash from Arbuckle’s.
Well, perhaps it had a little, she had to admit. But what would she say to him? Tell him everything? How she’d made a wish and woken up his mistress? Oh, yes, she had to imagine that would work out quite well.
Lord Trent, I am not who you think I am. And I am certainly not Lottie Townsend. I received this ring from my great-aunt, but it’s not a regular ring, you see. And then I made a wish, and I became this…this person, who everyone thinks is…oh, dear…I mean to say I’m certainly not your…your…
And most likely by the time she managed to stammer that out, he’d have her in his arms and be kissing her. Probably wouldn’t have heard a word she’d said, so intent on trying to get her out of “one of those moods.”
Taking a deep breath, she blew it out. She was Miss Charlotte Wilmont, she reminded herself. A gentlewoman. The daughter of a nobleman. Everything fitting and decent a young lady was supposed to be.
Her mother and Cousin Finella had certainly seen to that.
And most importantly, she was an innocent. Her virtue firmly intact.
Yet Sebastian’s words from earlier suggested something else.
I’ll be devising the perfect seduction for later. Think of that as the second act drones on .
Tonight. This very night. Whatever would she do when he arrived and wanted to…to…seduce her?
“Dear heavens,” she muttered. “I can’t allow him in my bed.”
“Scandalous!” came an outraged protest.
In her state of shock, Charlotte hadn’t even considered that her distracted pacing before the Marlowe household might draw an audience. Blinking the dust from her eyes, she looked up at the trio poised before her on the steps.
One very shocked matron and two wide-eyed young ladies gaped at her, obviously having just heard her panicked babble. In their plain, yet proper, straw bonnets and elegant, but modest, sprigged muslin gowns, they looked the epitome of respectable Mayfair ladies out for an afternoon stroll now that they had made their call at the Marlowe household.
Perfect! she thought. Now who else had witnessed her humiliation? Taking another glance at the ladies before her, her heart stopped at the sight of a stark black tendril of hair poking out from beneath that oh-so-plain bonnet, out from which stared a pair of wide green eyes.
“Hermione,” Charlotte whispered, barely recognizing her best friend. Gone were the bright
“Now off with those clothes,” Finella said, “or as much as it pains me to say this, I’ll tell Kimpton to stop stocking our cellars.”
Charlotte didn’t care what Finella told the baron.
She had no intention of remaining in this life, wish or not. She pushed past Finella and fled Arbuckle’s house as if the entire Greek army was hot on her heels.
Chapter 4
“T his is not my life, this is not my life,” Charlotte muttered under her breath all the way from Arbuckle’s studio to Mayfair. She ignored the haughty stares of those she passed, ignored the whistles and masculine taunts from passing carriages. She was making a cake of herself, and she didn’t care.
This is not my life, she wanted to tell one and all.
She hadn’t even realized where she was going until she stood in Berkeley Square before the Marlowe town house. At least, she thought, sighing in relief at the sight of No. 15, some things are still the same .
There it was, in all its Palladian glory—with the rounded fanlight over the door, the soft cream stone, the arched windows, and the long triangular pediment across the top of the house that set it off from every other residence on that side of the square. Of course, the Marlowe house had to be different, and that carved, classical pediment gave the house its distinct flair.
Of course now that she was here, whatever was shegoing to do? The idea of seeing Lord Trent again hadn’t even crossed her mind as she’d made her mad dash from Arbuckle’s.
Well, perhaps it had a little, she had to admit. But what would she say to him? Tell him everything? How she’d made a wish and woken up his mistress? Oh, yes, she had to imagine that would work out quite well.
Lord Trent, I am not who you think I am. And I am certainly not Lottie Townsend. I received this ring from my great-aunt, but it’s not a regular ring, you see. And then I made a wish, and I became this…this person, who everyone thinks is…oh, dear…I mean to say I’m certainly not your…your…
And most likely by the time she managed to stammer that out, he’d have her in his arms and be kissing her. Probably wouldn’t have heard a word she’d said, so intent on trying to get her out of “one of those moods.”
Taking a deep breath, she blew it out. She was Miss Charlotte Wilmont, she reminded herself. A gentlewoman. The daughter of a nobleman. Everything fitting and decent a young lady was supposed to be.
Her mother and Cousin Finella had certainly seen to that.
And most importantly, she was an innocent. Her virtue firmly intact.
Yet Sebastian’s words from earlier suggested something else.
I’ll be devising the perfect seduction for later. Think of that as the second act drones on .
Tonight. This very night. Whatever would she do when he arrived and wanted to…to…seduce her?
“Dear heavens,” she muttered. “I can’t allow him in my bed.”
“Scandalous!” came an outraged protest.
In her state of shock, Charlotte hadn’t even considered that her distracted pacing before the Marlowe household might draw an audience. Blinking the dust from her eyes, she looked up at the trio poised before her on the steps.
One very shocked matron and two wide-eyed young ladies gaped at her, obviously having just heard her panicked babble. In their plain, yet proper, straw bonnets and elegant, but modest, sprigged muslin gowns, they looked the epitome of respectable Mayfair ladies out for an afternoon stroll now that they had made their call at the Marlowe household.
Perfect! she thought. Now who else had witnessed her humiliation? Taking another glance at the ladies before her, her heart stopped at the sight of a stark black tendril of hair poking out from beneath that oh-so-plain bonnet, out from which stared a pair of wide green eyes.
“Hermione,” Charlotte whispered, barely recognizing her best friend. Gone were the bright
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