My Fair Mistress by Tracy Anne Warren Read Free Book Online Page A

with her at all. The animal part of him cheered, howling now at the likely prospect of being denied.
    In all probability, he knew he would never see her again. Over the years he’d indulged in a couple of liaisons with aristocratic ladies, each of whom had been eager to add an element of verve and excitement to her otherwise tedious life. As a rule, though, he tended to steer clear of such associations, since they never ended well. As for virtuous widows like Lady Hawthorne…well, ladies like her were very selective when taking lovers, and they certainly never chose men from outside their own narrow social circle.
    How ironic, then, to know his blood was every bit as blue as her own! But matters like legitimacy made all the difference in the world. He should know. He’d spent his entire life battling the slurs and slights of illegitimacy because his parents had dared to love outside the bounds of marriage.
    His father, a viscount from the the Home Counties, had already been a married man when he’d met Charlotte Pendragon, the daughter of a poor clergyman who ministered to a small rural parish. The young viscount, miserable in his arranged marriage, had come north to visit a friend and to do some hunting. He’d been riding home through an icy fall rain when he’d come upon a bedraggled girl struggling to make her way. He’d stopped, lifted her up onto his horse, wrapped her in his warm coat, and taken her home.
    Over cups of hot tea, huddled under blankets in front of a roaring fire, the two of them had fallen in love. Though they knew it was wrong, though they tried to fight their feelings, they’d continued to meet, their love too strong to be denied. And when Miss Pendragon—a good girl from a good family—found herself enceinte, the viscount set her up in a house in the neighboring county, vowing to care for her and their child for all the rest of their days.
    He was that child, Rafe thought, his father’s firstborn son, who could never openly be acknowledged no matter how beloved he might have been. His upbringing, his education, his manners—none of it mattered, only the circumstances of his birth and the side of the blanket on which he’d been born.
    He wondered what Lady Hawthorne would think if she knew. Then again, what did it matter, since her opinion of him changed nothing.
    He was, and always would be, a bastard. And that’s precisely what she must think of him after receiving his disreputable offer the other day.
    He checked his watch again: ten minutes past one.
    Oh, well, he reasoned with a shrug, some fantasies are simply not meant to be.
    Seconds later, a knock sounded on the door.
    His eyebrows shot skyward, blood jolting through his veins with renewed anticipation. Climbing to his feet, he made his way to the entrance.
    Opening the door, he discovered her on the stoop, looking small in her heavy cloak. A plain gray hood was draped over her head in such a way that all he could see were her nose and mouth and chin.
    He fought an impulse to reach out, to drag her inside and into his arms. Instead he contented himself with a look.
    “I’d nearly given up on you,” he murmured, the fragrant scent of her as stirring as a caress.
    “I had trouble finding a hack,” she replied in a near whisper. “My coachman lingered longer than I’d anticipated.”
    A raw gust of wind rushed over them, rustling her skirts and fluttering the edges of her hood. Despite the crisp sunshine, it was a cold day.
    “It’s freezing. Come inside.”
    She hesitated for the faintest instant, then did as he commanded. He noticed the hack driver watching them and signaled with a hand for the man to depart.
    Julianna whirled as Rafe closed the door. “Was that my hack leaving? I told him to wait.”
    “It’s too cold for anyone to wait today. Don’t worry, I’ll see you return home safely.” He strode closer. “Now, why don’t I take your cloak?”
    She hadn’t lowered her hood, he noticed, as if loath to shed