The Demon's Mistress by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

appearance, straightening her pearl necklace, adjusting her sleeve, and tucking a curl back into a pin. Every brushing touch was flaming temptation, but she concentrated fiercely on the fact that he was being clever again. There’d be enough talk without them reentering the house in disarray.
    Presumably tidying up after garden embraces was part of the skills of a military officer.
    â€œWere there many social events in the Peninsula?” she asked, and to keep the balance, reached up to adjust his cravat, thankful for her gloves. Even so, the sense of his skin, sleek over his firm chin, or the muscles and tendons of his neck, could drive her wild.
    Heavens, but she wanted him. Rawly and demandingly wanted him.
    â€œSometimes,” he said, raising his chin for her. “In Lisbon, mostly. And Paris. And Brussels.”
    The Duchess of Richmond’s ball, from which the officers had slipped away, many not to be seen alive again. Yes, doubtless he had experience at partnering respectable young ladies at balls, and occasionally slipping out for a kiss—or even more—in a garden.
    Neglected wives and hungry widows. She knew how men saw these things. Maurice had told her that men, too, thought of women as heaven, purgatory, or hell, but in two different ways. They assessed brides that way, but they also used the terms to assess lovers.
    In a potential lover, hell was diseased, or married to a suspicious, vengeful man, or tainted in some other way. No wise man chose such a lover, but she could hear Maurice laugh as he quoted that the way to hell was often paved with good intentions.
    Purgatory was what most men had to put up with to get sex they neither had to pay for nor marry for.
    Heaven was an attractive married woman with a strong sexual appetite and a safe husband. Some widows fit into that category if they emphatically did not want marriage.
    She realized that in some ways she was heaven. She was even barren. A distinct advantage.
    She gave the starched cloth a final twitch, then they linked arms to reenter the house. She knew the people lingering in the supper room were watching, as were those they met as they went in search of Harriette. Probably everyone knew by now that the Golden Lily had gone into the garden with wild young Lord Vandeimen who desperately needed money.
    She caught a few disappointed grimaces from the wasps and their families, and a few looks of concern, or even pity from others.
    It was hard not to shout out an explanation.
    Of course I’m not bewitched by this young fool! I’m saving him. In weeks I’ll be free, and so will he!
    Thank God for Harriette. Maria found herself blank of conversation, but Harriette chattered to Vandeimen without any inhibition at all.
    By the time they climbed into their carriage, Harriette had opened the subject of his family and offered condolences on his losses. Along the way, she uncovered the fact that he’d had little contact with the remnants of his family, and hinted that he really should change that.
    Maria watched anxiously for signs that his patience with this interference was snapping, but he seemed, if anything, bemused.
    Harriette progressed next through the war, gaining a brief account of his career before moving on to her favorite subject, the Duke of Wellington.
    Vandeimen seemed indulgent. “If you want stories of the great man, Mrs. Coombs, you’ll have to hope my friend Major Hawkinville returns to England soon. He was on his staff.”
    â€œReally! Then I do hope to meet him.”
    â€œMy aunt has a tendre for the duke,” Maria teased, both pleased and disconcerted by the way Harriette could deal with Vandeimen while she could not. Of course Harriette was over fifty and had sons older than this dangerous creature.
    She noted his casual mention of Major Hawkinville, who must be the friend the duchess had mentioned. Who was the other? Lord Wyvern. Ah, yes. She’d heard gossip about the recent