No Man's Mistress by Mary Balogh Page B

witnesses.”
    “Bertha—” Viola Thornhill began.
    Ferdinand had his glass to his eye again. “In that case,” he said, “I will not perjure myself by denying it, ma'am. Now, I believe you and your brother are leaving?”
    “I will not leave this house unless I am thrown bodily out,” the lady said.
    “You tempt me, ma'am,” Ferdinand told her quietly. He turned his attention to Claypole. “Good night, sir. You
will
take Miss Claypole with you when you leave?”
    “Miss Thornhill.” Claypole possessed himself of one of her hands. “Do you see now the foolishness of insisting upon returning here? Was not my mama right? Bertha is your friend. I flatter myself that I am more than just a friend. Come back with us to Crossings until this matter can be settled.”
    “Thank you again, but I will not leave my own home, sir,” she said. “And you must not upset yourself on my behalf, Bertha. I have Hannah and the other servants. I do not need a female companion.”
    “It is a good thing too,” Ferdinand said briskly. “Because you won't be having one. Not in this house.”
    She looked at him with raised eyebrows and then turned away again to bid her companions good night.
    “This is highly improper—” Claypole began.
    “Good night.”
Ferdinand strode to the double doors, opened them with a flourish while Jarvey still hovered uncertainly in the background, and gestured toward the darkness outside.
    They went unwillingly, but they did go. They had littlechoice without risking violence. The woman might have been game, Ferdinand judged, but the man certainly would not have been.
    “I suppose,” he said after he had closed the door behind them, turning on Viola Thornhill, who was removing her cloak and handing it to the butler, “he is your beau?”
    “Do you?” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Jarvey, you will not be needed again tonight.”
    Ferdinand could have argued, since Jarvey was now
his
servant, but he would not appear petty.
    “Claypole is a craven jackass,” he said. “If the situation were reversed, I would have drawn the cork of any man who insisted on your being unchaperoned if you remained here. And then I would have dragged you out of here whether you wished to go or not.”
    “How comforting,” she said, “to know that I am sharing a house with a caveman. I presume, my lord, that would have been by the hair, while you flourished a club in the other hand? Such a manly image.”
    He wished she had not removed her cloak. The darker green evening gown she wore beneath it was not in any way indecent. It fell in soft, shimmering folds from beneath her bosom to her ankles, and the bodice, though low, would have looked almost conservative in a London ballroom. But the garment did nothing whatsoever to hide the alluring curves of the woman beneath it. And he knew just what those curves felt like pressed to his own body, dammit.
    Lord! Perhaps he should have stayed at the Boar's Head after all, stubbornness notwithstanding.
    “What you are doing,” he said, “is insisting upon sharing a house with a man who knows what is what.And it is not at all the thing for you to be here with me. That idiot was right about that, at least.”
    She had crossed the hall to the staircase. She turned with her foot on the bottom stair.
    “What, Lord Ferdinand?” she said. “Are you considering ravishing me after all, then? Must I race for my room? At least I must be thankful that I have a head start on you.”
    She had a saucy tongue. He had noticed it before.
    “Believe me, ma'am,” he said, “if I wanted to catch you, you would not even make it to the top of the staircase.”
    She smiled sweetly at him. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”
    It was a strange question to ask at such a moment—until he understood the reason. They had both been out for the evening. She had had a dinner engagement, a fact he had learned with considerable relief, until the butler had informed him that since Miss Thornhill had not