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

It was annoying how easily this heroine of hers kept going off at a tangent, she thought restively, when she ought to be focusing far more on finding William, the man she loved, instead of allowing herself to be sidetracked so easily. Especially when, yet again, that track seemed to lead directly to arch-bastard Hugo.

But then I can hardly allow the course of true love to be too smooth, she reminded herself, or there’d be no plot. And Mariana had managed to dodge him unnoticed on the last occasion, which meant there would have to be a confrontation between them now …

‘We’re a coffee cup short.’

Tallie jumped and turned to face Mark, who was standing in the doorway, realising she’d been too deep in thought to hear his approach. ‘I’m sorry. I was sure I put out six.’

‘You did, but we need another for you, plus a brandy glass.’ He smiled at her and she felt the charm of it like the unwanted stroke of a hand on her skin. ‘We’re all waiting to drink your health.’

‘I already feel fine, thanks,’ she returned tautly, annoyed at her reaction. ‘And, as I’ve now finished here, I’d prefer to go straight to my room.’

‘I was hoping for a more gracious response.’ The green eyes narrowed. ‘Not that it matters. You’re coming with me to be properly thanked, even if I have to pick you up and carry you. Understood?’

It was as if Hugo Cantrell himself had suddenly materialised—walked off the printed page, she thought, aware that her heart was thudding like a roll of drums. And threatening to carry her—where? Off on his horse, thrown ignominiously over his saddle? Or across a darkened room to a waiting bed …?

She swallowed, then lifted her chin. ‘Do you never take “no” for an answer, Mr Benedict?’

‘I’d say that would rather depend on the question, Miss Paget,’ he drawled, as he collected the extra cup and saucer. ‘Now, shall we go?’

As she moved rigidly past him, he loosened the tea towel round her waist and removed it in one deft gesture.

And to offer any kind of protest would only make her look ridiculous, she thought, seething as she walked to the sitting room.

‘There’s nothing to be shy about,’ he told her quietly as she hesitated in the doorway. ‘You’re the heroine of the hour.’

But not in all quarters, Tallie thought, as her eyes rested on the woman seated on the sofa facing her, who’d signally failed to join in the general round of applause at her appearance, and was now looking her over with eyes almost the colour of turquoise that missed nothing.

For the rest, she had hair like burnished copper cut in a severe bob, skin like milk, plus long legs and full breasts, emphasised by the black silk slip of a dress that she was wearing.

‘I’m Di Harris.’ A sweet-faced blonde girl with serene grey eyes came up to Tallie, smiling. ‘And that’s my husband over in the corner struggling to decide between armagnac and Drambuie. What terrible choices men face all the time.’

She put a hand on Tallie’s arm and drew her unresisting into the room. ‘Charlie says you have to give me the recipe for that wonderful chicken,’ she went on, handing her a cup of coffee. ‘And I’m to use bribery if necessary.’

Tallie flushed. ‘It’s really very simple.’ She was about to recite the list of ingredients when she remembered the forbidden anchovies and paused awkwardly. ‘I’ll write it all out for you and ask Mr Benedict to pass it on.’

‘Or you could come round and cook it for us yourself,’ the other girl tempted. She looked around her, eyes dancing. ‘I’m sure everyone here would like a repeat performance.’

‘I hardly think the child’s experienced enough for that, Diana.’ Sonia Randall’s tone was chilly, cutting across the murmur of assent. ‘And if she’s thinking of cooking professionally, her presentation could certainly use some work. I’m not used to having my food just … thrown on to a dish. Also, she needs to hire help with the serving. It’s ridiculous expecting the host to trail backward and forward to the kitchen.’

Tallie’s flush deepened. ‘That was Mr Benedict’s own idea,’ she defended. ‘And I’ve no ambition to cook for a living.’

‘No?’ The supercilious gaze swept over her again. ‘Then how do you earn your crust?’ She added impatiently, ‘I suppose you do have a job?’

‘Not … exactly.’ Tallie bit her lip. ‘You see—I’m writing a novel.’

There was a silence, then Sonia Randall gave a harsh laugh. ‘Yes, I do see. You and a thousand others, of course, who don’t have this golden opportunity to meet socially with a commissioning editor for a major publishing house.’

She paused. ‘But if you’ve been persuaded to set me up so that this young woman can try and ingratiate herself with me, Mark darling, I assure you I shall not be amused.’

Tallie thought she heard Justin murmur, ‘Now there’s a surprise,’ but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be certain of very much at all—not when she felt as if she were a biological specimen pinned to a board for examination.

Mark said curtly, ‘There’s no question of any set-up. Tallie has no idea who you are, Sonia, or where you work. The topic has never been raised.’ He added coolly, ‘And I don’t suppose she’d have mentioned the book at all if you hadn’t started interrogating her. She simply doesn’t discuss it.’

‘Well, I’d like to talk about it.’ Justin moved to Tallie’s side. He gave her a coaxing smile. ‘You must tell us what it’s about.’

‘Oh, spare us,’ Sonia intervened impatiently. ‘I’m here to relax, not take part in some … busman’s holiday.’

‘Yet you’re always telling us you’re looking for the Next Big Thing.’ The ironic reminder came from Penny. ‘This could be it.’

‘I doubt that very much.’ Sonia examined perfectly manicured nails, her expression bored. ‘Anyway, there’s no chance of it coming to me. Alder House only takes scripts recommended by agents.’

‘Tallie has an agent,’ Mark said quietly. ‘Alice—Morgan, isn’t it?’

‘Well, yes.’ Tallie bent her head in embarrassment, wondering at the same time how on earth he’d remembered that.

Sonia’s head lifted abruptly and she studied Tallie again, her eyes sharpening. ‘My goodness,’ she drawled. ‘I’d heard rumours that poor Alice was getting past it, and now it actually seems to be true.’

‘But didn’t you tell us earlier that she represents Madeline Connor, your latest acquisition?’ Mark asked coolly. ‘Presumably she was still sharp enough to negotiate that deal.’

Sonia’s crimson lips tightened. ‘She didn’t have much choice in the matter,’ she said curtly. ‘Maddie really wanted to work with me.’

Whereas I’d rather be boiled in oil, Tallie informed her silently, taking a gulp of hot coffee. But I should have recognised that Gould is Madeline Connor’s real name, because she rang up when I was in Mrs Morgan’s office.

Sonia’s gaze was still fixed on her. ‘Have you read any of her books?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Tallie returned. She’d devoured all the emotional, sexy, modern blockbusters that epitomised Madeline Connor’s work. ‘I look forward to them.’

‘And imagine you’re going to be just like her, I suppose.’ Sonia sighed. ‘Alice really shouldn’t encourage you in that when Maddie’s her client.’

Tallie looked back at her calmly. ‘She doesn’t—because I’m writing something completely different.’ She drank the rest of her coffee and put the cup down on the table. ‘And now I should be getting back to it, so I’ll wish you all goodnight.’

She flashed a swift smile at the concerned faces watching her—not including Mark Benedict, who simply looked amused—and walked to the door.