Susan Johnson - Temporary Mistress

"And I'm learning so much," she murmured, a teasing light in her eyes.

He was as well-about unsatisfied desire and continuous rut. And in his infrequent cooler moments, he'd berate himself for his susceptibility.

Out of courtesy, he went himself to fetch Isabella's belongings. "We shouldn't be in Richmond long," he explained to Molly. "But at the moment, I find myself unwilling to relinquish her. So if you'd see that some of Isabella's things are packed…" He shrugged. "Not much, I wouldn't think."

He went on to deliver Isabella's message and an edited account of their activities as Molly began assembling a number of gowns and other necessities, his conversation desultory, fractured, the focus of his thoughts obviously elsewhere as he paced the room.

Once the two valises were ready, Molly snapped the latches shut and faced Dermott from across the bed Isabella had used. "You should bring her back instead. Clearly, you're unsettled about this, wondering, I surmise, why the customary boredom hasn't set in."

Dermott came to a standstill and offered her a tight smile. "You know me too well."

"I know what most men of your class want. Pleasure without attachment. But you shouldn't lead her on. She's going to be hurt when you decide you've had your fill."

"If I could let her go, I would." He shifted uncomfortably. "But right now that's not possible. I felt I should at least give you notice before I take her away."

Molly looked at him with displeasure. "You're being utterly selfish, of course. She already adores you, doesn't she?"

He moved back a step, as though avoiding the significance of her words.

"And the longer you keep her, the more attached she'll become." Her gaze took on a critical assessment. "What if Isabella were to become pregnant? I don't suppose you care to consider that either?"

"Lord, Molly, give me some credit. I wouldn't do that to her."

"At least you haven't lost all reason."

"Not quite." He raked his hand through his dark hair. "She's not at all what I expected."

"You saw her here. You knew she was innocent."

"You're wrong. That she's not."

"And your lust has found a kindred spirit?" She spoke with a nice degree of cynicism.

He gently shook his head. "If it were only that simple. Lust I understand. It's sustained me for the last few years. But she's more than carnal sport. She talks of business like a merchant banker, and her knowledge of maps-" He smiled. "We've been working on my additions to the maps of northern India. She has a sure hand and an artist's eye. And she likes many of the books I do. And of course-"

"She makes love exactly to your liking," Molly astutely affirmed. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're falling in love. And I mention the word with the greatest reservation, knowing you as well as I do."

"It's not love." His voice was crisp.

"But you can't let her go."

"I don't wish to yet."

"Look, Dermott, I just don't want you to leave her heartbroken. She doesn't have your experience or toughness." Her gaze was direct. "It's not an even contest."

"It's not a contest. She's enjoying herself." His mouth twitched into a faint smile. "Really."

"Ultimately, she'll lose you. And she has no one in the world to turn to, to care for her. I would if I could, but my situation would be an embarrassment to her. I can't openly offer her aid. Which means you're not allowed to deal with her in a cavalier way. I don't mean that as a warning." Her mouth set into a firm line. "Actually, I do."

"When it's over, I promise she'll be fine."

"She doesn't need your money. You're not going to be able to buy her off like all the others with an expensive piece of jewelry or a small house in Chelsea. You've thought of that, I presume."

"Of course. I've thought about every conceivable thing, dammit. Do you think I want to feel this way? I know what I'm doing isn't right, but you know," he harshly said, "she doesn't care either."

"So she says. You could do the honorable thing and marry her."

"Out of the question."

"She needs protection from her relatives."

"That I can do."

Molly glared at him. "I'm angry and I don't want to be angry with you."

"Let me make amends," he offered. "I'll see that her relatives are restrained."

"Permanently."

"Yes, of course."

Molly allowed him the smallest smile. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry, Molly, truly I am. I can't marry her. But I will at least see that she can return to her home when she wishes and live her life unmolested." He quickly glanced at the clock on Molly's desk. "I'll talk to Mathison before I leave for Richmond and have him look into these Leslies. And once I'm back in town, I'll go to see them myself and make them fully aware of the consequences should they coerce or frighten Isabella."

"They have to be warned off before she returns to town."

"I understand. You have my word. I won't allow them to touch her."

She didn't immediately reply, vexed and saddened by the harsh realities.

"She reminds you in some ways of yourself, doesn't she?"

"Of my ill-starred past." Molly grimaced. "I suppose I can't blame you for that." She sighed. "Take care of her and give me warning when you're returning. I want to be there for her if I can."

"I'll send you notice."

"She brings you joy, doesn't she?" Molly's gaze was piercing.

"Every minute." Moving to the bed, he picked up the valises. "It might be a fortnight or so, in case you don't hear from me. Don't take alarm."

"I'll trust you to act the gentleman. You're one of the few around."

"I'll take care of her. I promise."

When the door closed on him, Molly allowed her tears to flow. She hadn't cried in years, and she wondered for a moment if she was becoming dotty. Sniffling, she moved toward her desk, intent on doing something to help Isabella herself. Long ago, she'd learned that action forestalled her moments of self-pity. Picking up her pen, she sat down to write a note to her lawyer. She would see that the Leslies were investigated by her own team of attorneys. She had plenty of money and a considerable amount of influence as well. Albeit covert. At least she'd be prepared once Isabella returned to London. Having the upper hand had always been her favorite means of doing business.

Isabella waited for Dermott in his suite of rooms, pacing at times, trying to read, unable to sit for more than a few minutes at a time. Dressed in one of his robes, she wandered the large rooms, examining the portraits and landscapes on the walls, trying to place the ancestors chronologically by dress, wondering which of them had purchased the landscapes from the past century. A traveling Ramsey, no doubt, the majority of the works depicting continental locales. In her perambulations, she was reminded of the great difference in their stations in life-regardless her mother had been a viscountess in her own right. But the Leslies were not of the first water, nor had she any contact with her mother's relatives. Although, she thought with a small smile, heiresses at least were looked upon with a degree of approval. Now, if only Dermott were a poor earl, she whimsically noted, perhaps she could contemplate something more than a brief liaison.

She'd warned herself countless times in the previous days not to wish for the stars, not to allow herself to dream the impossible. But he was so very easy to love… Abruptly setting aside the book she'd been attempting to read again, she rose from her chair, needing distraction from her hopeless fantasies.

But she understood for the first time why all the millions of tomes on love and romance had been written. To remind one of the inexplicable wonder. To exalt and rejoice. To revel in the astonishing pleasure.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, she silently implored, because I need you beside me.

Standing in the middle of the immense drawing room, surrounded by miles of gilding, countless yards of turquoise damask, furniture fit for kings, she listened for the footfall that would bring her joy.

And when he opened the door almost two hours later, she turned from the windows overlooking the gardens, her eyes filled with tears.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

"How could I not." Dropping her valises, he opened his arms.

She ran to him across the great expanse of Aubusson carpet, and he felt as though he'd returned to paradise.

"I shouldn't feel this way," she sobbed as he held her close.

"I'm glad you do," he whispered, wondering how she'd completely altered his world in so short a time.

"I should be blasé and sophisticated and charming so you don't tire of me."

"I don't want that, puss." Slipping his finger under her chin, he gently lifted her face. "I like you exactly the way you are."

"You don't mind taking a crybaby to Richmond?" She sniffled and smiled and looked so utterly adorable, he forgot to be sensible.

"You're my sun and moon, Izzy," he whispered.

And her heart filled with joy.

He played lady's maid for her, which delayed their departure for some time, but eventually Isabella was properly attired in addition to being deliciously sated, and leaving Dermott's suite, she walked on air.

The servants were decorous and polite regardless the awkward status of their employer's guest. Dermott's orders had been unequivocal. And Pomeroy wished them good journey as they walked from Bathurst House into the courtyard, where a closed carriage waited. Dermott helped Isabella into the green-lacquered conveyance, and after giving instruction to the driver, climbed in, shut the door, and took his place beside her.

"You'll like Strawberry Hill," he said with a smile.

"I know I will."

MOLLY DISPATCHED A NOTE to the Lord Moira, requesting he visit her at his earliest convenience. And when Francis Hastings was announced the following afternoon, she greeted him warmly. "Thank you for responding so promptly."

"We've been friends for enough years that I recognized a note of urgency in your request." Walking into her drawing room, he moved to the chair beside hers and sat down. "Now tell me what I can do for you."

A close friend of the Prince of Wales's and Dermott's as well, Lord Moira was a frequent patron at Molly's. And on the occasions when he'd gambled and lost more than he could afford, she'd kindly covered his losses. They both understood the specifics of patronage and the merits of giving and receiving favors.

After seeing that Lord Moira had his favorite brandy, Molly poured herself one and began relating her story. "A very strange happening occurred a short time ago. A young lady, pursued and in fear for her life, burst into my establishment one night." And she went on to briefly describe Isabella's sudden appearance and the subsequent events related to it.

Lord Moira smiled. "Dermott always manages to pluck the ripest fruit, does he not?"

Molly nodded. "He has his share of beautiful companions."

"But this young lady requires some additional aid?"

"And I'm not in a position to offer it to her. You understand."

"Of course. You're talking about-?"

"Possibly a number of things."

"Of a conventional nature, I presume."

"Yes. And that's why I need your help. There's a possibility Dermott may come up to scratch-"

"He won't." Lord Moira's words were blunt.

"I know." Molly sighed. "This young lady is wellborn on her mother's side and an heiress now that her grandfather has died. Do you know George Leslie?"

"A merchant banker?"

"The same."

"He may have supplied the Prince with some funds, if my memory serves me."

"Better yet. I shan't feel as though I'm asking for so much." She tapped the rim of her glass. "I want Isabella protected from her relatives first. Although I think I may be able to take a hand in that. But I also wish her to be launched into society, and that's where I need you."

"Does Miss Leslie have a female relative who can be useful in that regard? I could see that she receives the necessary invitations and vouchers."

"Unfortunately not."

Lord Moira pursed his lips.

"Would Mrs. Fitzherbert be willing to sponsor her? I understand she and the Prince are inseparable once again."

"Mrs. Fitzherbert's welcomed everywhere, of course, but not exactly-"

"Without the Prince. Talk to Wales, then. See what he can do."

Lord Moira smiled. "Prinny may be willing to help if for no other reason than to play a prank on Dermott. To see Bathurst squirm as this unknown paramour is thrust onto the ton might amuse Wales mightily."