Sara Craven - One Man's Mistress - One Night with His Virgin Mistress / Public Mistress, Private Affair / Mistress Against Her Will

‘Oh.’ She took a steadying breath, thankful that she hadn’t been guilty of squeaking, jumping back in alarm or any other embarrassing giveaway. ‘In that case, I’ll eat early. Leave the kitchen free for you.’

‘I shan’t be slaving over a hot stove myself.’ His voice held faint amusement. ‘I use a firm of caterers—Dining In—but they’ll probably be glad of some room to manoeuvre.’

‘Naturally.’ She managed a smile of sorts. ‘Consider it done.’

‘And when I have more time,’ he said, his glance thoughtful, ‘you can tell me all about your new place … Tallie.’

She was at her bedroom door, but she turned defensively. ‘How did you know I was called that?’

‘Because someone left a message for you on my answering machine earlier, and that’s the name she used instead of Natalie.’

She flushed with vexation. ‘Oh, heavens, my mother …’

‘I don’t think so. The name she gave was Morgan—Alice Morgan. She wants you to call her.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘You do know who she is?’

‘Yes, she’s the agent who’s going to try and sell my book when it’s finished.’ Tallie took another deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I—I haven’t mentioned to her yet that I’m moving, but I’ll warn her … not to call here in future. You won’t be bothered again.’

‘For God’s sake.’ The amusement was tempered with exasperation. ‘It’s hardly a problem, if she needs to contact you. And why shouldn’t I know that you’re called Tallie? I’ve no objection to you addressing me as Mark.’

‘Because Tallie’s a private name,’ she said coldly. ‘Used only by my family and friends.’

Whereas, on your lips, it sounds as intimate as a touch, and I can’t cope with that. Not again.

‘From which I infer that I shall not find myself on your Christmas card list this year.’ Back at a safe distance, he leaned a shoulder against the wall, folding his arms. ‘Not very grateful when you’ve been granted a stay of execution.’

‘But the sentence is still going to be carried out. Besides,’ she went on hurriedly, ‘I think it’s much better if we remain on … formal terms.’

‘However, even you must admit that formality’s slightly tricky—under the circumstances.’ His tone was sardonic and the green eyes held a glint that reminded her without equivocation that he knew exactly what her thin cotton robe was concealing.

She felt her face warm and cursed him under her breath. When she spoke, she kept her voice level. ‘Circumstances that I did not choose, Mr Benedict. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure we both have other things to do.’

Head high, she went back into her room, closing the door behind her with firm emphasis, then leaning back against its panels with a slight gasp as she tried to control the harsh thud of her heartbeat.

How did he do that? she wondered helplessly. How was it possible for someone she hardly knew to … wind her up with such ease? And why did he bother, anyway?

I’m still raw over Gareth, she told herself, which has made me more vulnerable than I should be. I ought to be able simply to shrug off Mark Benedict’s crude, sexist jibes, instead of letting him see he can get to me.

But I can get back at him, and I will. While he’s entertaining his friends this evening, I shall be busy with yet another encounter between Mariana and the revolting Hugo, and she’ll be triumphing all over again.

She was smiling to herself as she dressed. In spite of her housing problems, she had to admit that the book seemed to be going really well, as she would be able to tell Mrs Morgan. And one of the reasons was clearly the introduction of Hugo the Bastard. In fact, she was enjoying Mark Benedict’s character assassination by proxy so much that she might have to rein it in a little. Not allow him quite such a prominent role in case the gorgeous William appeared a little dull by contrast, which she could already see might be a danger, she thought regretfully.

But the battle of Salamanca was approaching, and he could play a starring role in that—leading a cavalry charge maybe, except that Hugo was probably the better horseman …

She bit her lip. Well, no need to mention that, and some judicious editing might be needed in other scenes. However, she thought more cheerfully, another couple of weeks and she’d have almost enough to show Alice Morgan as work in progress.

Or she would have done, if only the weeks in question remained at her disposal.

Come on, don’t be negative, she adjured herself. At least you’ve got a long, uninterrupted evening ahead of you.

As she popped bread into the toaster and heated up a small can of beans for her supper, she found herself wondering if the snippy Ms Rest and Recreation would be among those present tonight. Not, of course, that it was any concern of hers. And even if the lady stayed over afterwards, the bedrooms were quite far enough apart to avoid any awkwardness.

Although any embarrassment would undoubtedly be all on my side, she admitted, chewing her lip again. What I have to learn is to be more relaxed about these things.

Not that it would matter once she was back under her parents’ roof. They were old-fashioned about morality, and she supposed she’d inherited their attitude. Or thought she’d done so before Gareth had entered her life, she added with a faint sigh. If only he’d wanted her in return …

She ate her meal at the breakfast bar, then washed her plate and cutlery and put them away, making sure the kitchen was immaculate before she poured herself a mug of freshly brewed coffee to take to her room.

As she walked out into the passage, Mark was approaching from the sitting room, talking on the cordless phone.

‘Look, don’t worry about that,’ he was saying. ‘I’m just thankful that you and Milly are all right. No, it’s fine. I can handle it. I’ll book a table somewhere.’ He listened for a moment, then nodded. ‘Make sure you both get properly checked over. Goodnight, Fran. I’ll be in touch.’

He saw Tallie and grimaced ruefully. ‘My caterers,’ he said. ‘A car came out of a side street without stopping and ran straight into them. They’re not badly injured, they reckon, just bruises and shock, but their van’s a write-off and so, of course, is tonight’s meal.’

‘Oh.’ Tallie stared at him. ‘So what will you do?’

He shrugged. ‘Try and find a restaurant that can feed six of us, although frankly I haven’t much hope at this short notice.’

‘Can’t you cook something yourself?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘You’ve surely got enough time.’

‘Sadly, I lack the skill,’ he said. ‘Eggs are my cut-off point—scrambled, boiled or fried. Hardly adequate under the circumstances.’ His brief sigh held irritation and frustration in equal amounts. ‘I don’t suppose you number a chef among your London acquaintances—someone who’d like to earn a few extra bob before the evening shift?’

Out of nowhere, Tallie heard herself say, ‘I can cook.’

There was a silence, then he said politely, ‘I’m sure you can. What were you going to suggest—spaghetti Bolognese?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘And you’re being patronising again, just when I’m trying to help.’

She paused, then added levelly, ‘In any case, a really good ragu sauce would take far too long to make. My mother’s emergency stand-by dish—Mediterranean chicken with saffron rice—is much quicker, and it tastes fantastic. I suggest something really simple like smoked salmon for a starter, and a fruit flan from the deli round the corner as dessert. Chantilly cream would make it a bit more special.’

He said slowly, ‘You’re quite serious about this, aren’t you?’