Lara Temple - Lord Stanton's Last Mistress

‘I am sorry,’ she said, her voice low. ‘When I am reading, I forget myself. I hadn’t even realised I had taken off my shoes until I heard someone moving in the room.’

The silence stretched as he tried to focus on her words, but they faded away from him, like a vaguely familiar foreign language. All that reminiscing with Hunter and Raven was clearly having some ill effects on him—for a moment he had been dragged back in time to a very different room. He struggled to regain his footing.

‘There is no need to apologise. You are more than welcome to use the library, Miss...’ He groped for the memory of the name Watkins had mentioned. ‘Miss James?’

She smiled and her face transformed for a moment, solemnity disappearing under the weight of embarrassed amusement, quickly checked. It was a powerful transformation, like sun breaking through clouds above a stormy sea. He might have to reassess his initial impression—she might not be a beauty, but there was something about her features that went beyond classical features and made it difficult to look away.

‘I apologise, Lord Stanton. We were told you weren’t expected until tomorrow. I wouldn’t have come to the library if I had known you were arriving sooner.’

‘And why is that?’ he asked, moving closer. Surely if this was the girl who had nursed him she would say something, show some sign of recognition. But her eyes showed only embarrassment as she hugged the book to her.

‘Lady Albinia said the library is your domain when you are at the Hall. I meant to take a book upstairs with me, but then I saw the window seat and forgot. I don’t think I could have conjured a more perfect place.’

He glanced at the window seat, at the cushions arranged into a little nest in the corner, still bearing the outline of her body. She turned and began arranging the cushions, plumping them back into shape, her skirts falling forward to accentuate the soft curves of her hips and behind. There was nothing intentionally provocative about her actions, any more than the surreptitious manoeuvre with her shoes had been calculated, but his body wasn’t in the least concerned with intentions. It was focused on actions and on curves and was heading deep into unrealisable potential when she finally finished and turned, her cheeks flushed and the apology still in her eyes.

‘There, now you won’t even know I was here.’

He searched for an answer, something polite and non-committal and removed from the impressions his mind was struggling to master and the messages his suddenly rebellious body was sending.

The silence began to sag in the middle and then, thankfully, there was a movement in the window and he forced his gaze to the sight of his uncle and aunt coming up the path from the gardens with the King and Princess. He grasped at the opening they offered as he would at a rope in a stormy sea. It made no difference whether this was the veiled girl or not. She was the Princess’s companion and a guest. His guest. Everything else must be put aside to be dealt with later, if at all.

‘Your solitude is about to be interrupted anyway. Why didn’t you join them? Don’t you like gardens?’ he asked, more bluntly than he might have intended, but Miss James didn’t appear to find anything strange with his question. She answered it as given, glancing down guiltily at the book she held.

‘I do, but I love books more. Please don’t tell Lady Albinia, I know how she adores her gardens and I would hate to offend her.’

‘Of course not. You are more than welcome to use the window seat when you wish, whether I am at the Hall or not. The only time I am afraid the library is out of bounds is when we will be busy with the negotiations in the stateroom, which is through those doors. Other than that you are welcome here.’

He wondered what on earth he was doing, trying to make her comfortable when the last thing he wanted was to have his privacy invaded any more than absolutely necessary. As they watched, the group in the garden turned on to the lake path.

‘Well, you have just earned another half hour. My aunt is probably taking them to see what remains of the water lilies on the lake. So, what are you reading? Won’t you sit down?’

Embarrassment was often very useful. Now that he was overcoming his initial discomfort he resolved to make the most of hers. People revealed more when off balance and he wanted to know what he was dealing with here. He indicated the window seat again, using his superior height to press her back. She sat down but her eyes narrowed at the manoeuvre. She was a peculiar combination—her expression was cool and calm, but something in the blue depths contradicted that assessment. He stepped back and pulled over a chair, suddenly noticing she held Bruce’s Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile . The veiled nurse had had a preference for agony columns, he remembered.

‘This is a rather unusual choice of reading material. There are shelves of novels in my sisters’ parlour next to the conservatory, you know.’

‘I love novels, sometimes I think they are the anchors of my sanity. But I love tales by people who have seen the world and been stretched to their limits. I hadn’t even realised how much time had gone by.’

Her face had descended into a serious look, but then another smile dispelled it almost immediately. It was like light reflecting off conflicting currents in a lake, confusing hints of forces at work beneath the surface, shifting as soon as the eyes settled on them. Once again his concentration shattered, but the certainty that had struck him when she had first spoken was fading. Her voice was already her own and he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it resembled that young woman of six years ago or whether it had been a trick of his own memory. Perhaps he should just ask her...what? Were you the girl who saved my life? Remember? I’m the idiot who made a fool of himself and asked you to run off with me?

‘That has effectively stifled all conversational gambits, hasn’t it?’ she said into the silence, the amused self-mockery in her deep voice rousing him from another round of uncharacteristic stupor. He shook his head, trying to keep to the surface of the conversation. It should have been easy, but he felt himself struggling to find the anchor of polite patter that was second nature to him and usually took up no more than a tenth of his mental effort while the rest of his mind was engaged on more momentous matters.

‘Does the Princess share your interest in tales of adventure?’

‘No, she is much saner than I. We are currently reading Mrs Carmichael’s Hidden Heart . But you wouldn’t like her.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he asked. But his hope that the conviction in her statement might indicate an admission of familiarity faded with her next words.

‘Most men despise novels, don’t they?’

‘Just as most women love them? Isn’t that simplistic? I have very little time for fiction, unfortunately, but with two sisters I have been exposed to more novels than I can remember and I certainly don’t despise them. Hers haven’t come my way, though. Are they any good?’

‘I like them; they are almost as good as my dreams.’ Her words ended on a little surprised sound as if she had remembered something or merely realised that she was being a tad too honest. She stood up abruptly and handed him the book.

‘Thank you for the use of the library and your book.’

He stood up as well, taking the book automatically. Between his bulk and the chair he knew he was impeding her exit, but he wasn’t quite ready to conclude this conversation.

‘Formally it is my father’s library. Why are you convinced it is not his book as well?’

She had to look up at him, her head tilted back, accentuating a very stubborn chin. Then she smiled again.