Mary Brendan - Regency Mistresses - A Practical Mistress / The Wanton Bride

Robbins had been in the Kingstons’ employ long enough to know of the hostility that existed between this man and his master. He also knew that, whereas Mr Kingston didn’t like Jason Hunter, Mrs Kingston did … rather too much, if gossip was to be believed. The idea that a pillar of polite society would flout etiquette and visit his mistress at her husband’s house caused Robbins to almost snort his disbelief. He transformed the noise into a cough. ‘Are you expected by Mr or Mrs Kingston, Sir Jason?’

‘No, but I will not keep Mr Kingston long from his dinner. Please tell him that I should like to see him on a pressing matter of business.’

Robbins still seemed thoughtful and immovable.

‘Tell him …’ Jason urged gently, but a terse flick of his head betrayed his impatience.

The manservant needed no further prompting; quickly he hurried away.

‘Have a care! Why are you haring about like that?’ Iris snapped tetchily as she stepped from her bedroom to almost collide with Robbins.

Breathlessly the servant gabbled, ‘There is a gentleman to see Mr Hunter … umm … I mean there is a gentleman to see Mr Kingston. Sir Jason Hunter is below.’

A wondrous look immediately lifted Iris’s sulky countenance. So explicit was her excitement that it caused a sardonic twitch to her servant’s lips. When the lady of the house inelegantly pushed past him to fly towards the top of the stairs, Robbins shook his head in disgust.

‘Sir Jason … such an agreeable surprise … I hope … no, I must insist … you stay and dine with us.’ It was coyly said and Iris posed with a white hand fondling the banister before swaying towards him in a whisper of sky blue silk. She kept her eyes lowered until close enough to coyly peep up at his face. What she read in his expression made a hand flutter to her pearly throat and a budding smile wither on her ruby lips.

‘Thank you for your hospitality, but I am not here on a social call, madam. Where is your husband?’

Iris flinched from the ice in his voice, but was reluctant to relinquish the fantasy that he was really here to see her. His brusqueness she explained away: he was uncomfortable with her knowing he longed for her company. And Heaven only knew it was folly to visit her at home when gossip about them was already going around. When they were in public together he could appear aloof but that, too, was a simple ruse to camouflage his tumultuous feelings … a tumult she provoked! She was sure he would soon succumb to those secret yearnings and discreetly proposition her. After all, he could not possibly prefer that common baggage. Mrs Tucker! The harlot had never been wed! Diana simply sought to protect her worthless reputation by claiming the status of a widow and everybody knew it.

Iris smoothed her jewelled fingers over the shimmering silk of her skirt, pleased that she had chosen to wear it. She knew the colour matched her eyes and the snug fit to the bodice enhanced her bosom.

‘What do you want, Hunter?’

George had been in his study and had just received his servant’s breathless message that Sir Jason Hunter requested an audience. George’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he noticed how close together were his entranced wife and his unwanted caller.

‘I want to speak to you,’ Jason returned in a voice that was low and clipped. He stepped past Iris without giving her another glance.

‘Can it not wait till tomorrow? We are about to dine.’

‘Your wife has invited me to stay and join you. Shall I do that, or shall we attend to business so I might leave you in peace?’

Iris’s lips tightened in annoyance for she knew full well George would rid them of Jason’s company as soon as he could.

‘Would you mind terribly leaving us, my dear?’ George drawled the request, but a significant stare had Iris blushing. ‘Ask Mrs Jones to delay dinner for a little while. This will not take long.’

After a twitched smile and a tiny bob Iris flounced away. Before disappearing below, she watched George show Jason to his study.

‘What the devil is this about, Hunter? We were just about to sit down. Have you no notion of proper behaviour?’

‘I was just about to ask you the same thing.’

‘Me?’ George choked an astonished laugh as he went to his desk and used the decanter. ‘Well, just to impress on you that I am a gentleman with certain standards … would you care for a drink?’ Without awaiting a reply he thrust a glass of brandy at Jason.

‘A gentleman with certain standards,’ Jason mimicked sarcastically. ‘Why is it, then, you allow your sisters to exist in conditions more often found in Whitechapel than Mayfair?’

George gulped too quickly at his brandy and wheezed a cough. ‘Explain how you know … What do you mean?’ he hoarsely corrected himself.

‘This afternoon I went to Westlea House.’

George looked warily at him. ‘You ought to have made an appointment for that. You had no right to go there uninvited.’

‘You have sent me a contract to sign. I have every right to survey what I am buying.’

‘Perhaps; but you have no right to study my family. How my sisters live is my business and none of your concern.’ George sipped more sedately at his drink.

‘Is that right?’ Jason drawled. ‘I’ve recently been told that not only is their plight my concern, but my fault. What is it you really want to sell me, George? Your house or your sister?’

‘That is an exceedingly strange thing to say. Am I to take it as a joke?’ George frowned in studied thoughtfulness.

‘If it were a joke, it would be in poor taste.’

‘I’ll take it as a joke, then,’ George drawled with heavy irony. ‘If I were to take it seriously, I should act as a good brother and defend Helen’s honour.’

‘How did you know to which sister I was referring?’ Jason’s teeth flashed in a silent laugh as George’s complexion became ruddy. ‘You’ve no need to answer.’ His tone was husky with mock sympathy. ‘Obviously I realise how you know, you sent Mrs Marlowe to see me.’

George snatched up his drink and took a swig before delivering a curt response. ‘That is another exceedingly strange thing to say, Hunter, and not at all funny. It appears you have no notion of what is good taste.’

‘It appears you have no notion of how to act as a good brother.’

George’s mouth thinned. ‘So you have this afternoon been talking to my sister Helen,’ he snapped. ‘What of it?’

‘You sent her to see me. Why?’

‘I did no such thing,’ George angrily refuted. ‘If you knew Helen better, you’d realise that she does as she pleases. A fine day it would be, and no mistake, if she followed my dictates.’ He barked a laugh. ‘If she did what I told her, she would by now be remarried.’

‘And thus no financial burden on you.’

‘Indeed,’ George retorted without shame or remorse.

‘I gather you were entrusted with the care of your sisters after Colonel Kingston died. Yet they seem to be fending, not very successfully, for themselves.’

‘I’ll not discuss any of my family’s private business with you!’ George thundered and slammed down his glass on a table that became beaded with brandy. ‘How my sisters go on is none of your concern.’

‘But you’d like to make it so. You’re wasting your time, Kingston. If you have a clear conscience over it, I don’t see why I should give a damn.’ Even as the callous words were uttered Jason flexed the hand that remembered her touch. A phantom caress from ebony hair was again on his skin and a faint redolence of lavender water teased his senses. He cursed beneath his breath as fingers curled about the brandy George had given him. The amber spirit reminded him of the same soulful-eyed woman. Abruptly he put down the drink and walked to the door, aiming a contemptuous stare at George as he passed him. He halted with a hand gripping the handle.