The Mistress. Сьюзен Виггс

      “I call it desire,” he quipped.

      “Please, stop joking. There is a fire somewhere. People were talking about it earlier.”

      The wind crescendoed to a truly frightful howl, and even in the protected shelter of the balcony, Kathleen felt its power plucking at her skirts and carefully coiffed hair. Scattered sparks streamed past, tossing and flickering like live snowflakes.

      “Look at that,” she said. “There is a fire.”

      “Those are probably just embers from someone’s chimney pot,” Dylan said dismissively. “Even if it’s a fire, the engine crews will have it under control before you know it.” He pressed close to her, and the intimate heat that passed between them thrilled her. He seemed determined to pick up where they had left off before she had hit him.

      And to be honest, Kathleen was interested, too. For the first time in her life, she had the feeling that she “fit” with this man. She felt at ease with him, even though he was a tycoon, rich and sophisticated beyond anything she could imagine. But he didn’t know that. He would never know that. For after tonight she would never see him again. There was no harm in this flirtation, she told herself. No harm at all.

      He seemed to sense her growing acceptance of him. “Is it true your family owns a controlling interest in Hibernia Securities?”

      She caught her breath, but tried to act unsurprised. “You’ve been gossiping behind my back.”

      “I wouldn’t call it gossiping. I’m interested in you, Miss Kate. I find you completely enchanting, even if you do wield a mean right hook.”

      At his words, shivers coursed over her. “I’m not sure you should be speaking to me in such a frank and familiar fashion,” she said.

      “Are you offended?”

      “No.” She allowed herself a small, speculative smile. “Intrigued.” She dared to push at the boundaries a little more. “The gossip about you is that you are in need of a wife.”

      “Desire,” he said softly, stepping close. He spoke the word with silken precision.

      Inside her, something seemed to melt. “What?”

      “Desire,” he repeated. “I desire a wife. I’m not sure that is the same as need.”

      “I see.” How had he wound up standing so close to her? She could smell the clean starchy scent of his shirt, could see the precision with which his valet had shaved his cheeks and jaw.

      “Don’t you want to know why?” he asked, practically whispering.

      “Why what?” Her mouth felt cottony and dry.

      “Why I desire a wife.”

      She cleared her throat, trying to make sense of the moment, of the sweet, compelling feelings flowing through her as she looked up at him. “Very well. Why do you desire a wife?” She couldn’t help the spark of devilment that made her suggest, “Did your mother finally put you out of her house?”

      He caught her against him and laughed heartily. “My dear Miss Kate, you are a caution. It is a privilege to know you.”

      Now, she thought, moving in for the kill. “Do you truly feel that way?”

      “From the bottom of my heart.”

      “Then I wonder—” She stopped. “Oh, I am too bold.”

      “Go on. What were you going to say?”

      “I was hoping you would invite me to the opening of Crosby’s Opera House,” she said. “I was hoping you would be the one.”

      “I will, Kate. I’ll be the one. I am, after all, looking for a wife. Escorting you to the opera seems a good way to begin the hunt.”

      For a moment, Kathleen felt dizzy with her victory. She had won. She had proven she could fool a society gentleman into escorting her to the opera. But the moment came to a cruel and swift end. She wanted to take pride in her cleverness, but instead, she felt empty. Deceitful. Here was this perfectly nice man, innocently offering her an evening’s entertainment, and she thought only of the wager. An apology hovered on her lips, but something—the expression dancing in his blue eyes—held her silent. In the matter of his quest for a wife, she couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. She speculated about the real reason for his interest in matrimony. Family alliances, convenience, sometimes even appearances. Occasional expedience, for accidents did happen even in the best of families.

      “We have managed to have an entire conversation, and neither has revealed the least little thing about the other,” she commented, stepping back.

      “You find my air of mystery alluring,” he said.

      “What—” She swallowed. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the howl of the dry, blowing wind. “What gives you the idea that you are so alluring?”

      “Ah, but I didn’t say that. I said that you find me fascinating. It’s not my fault, but you do.”

      “I certainly do not.”

      “Sweet Kate, when you punched me in the jaw with such ardor, I could only conclude that I arouse a strong passion in you. And then when you sneaked out here to be with me, I felt even more certain of your feelings.”

      “You are insolent,” she said, grateful for the many hours she had spent studying with Deborah. She could stand up to this clever, clever man, just see if she couldn’t. Long after her mistress had lost interest in her studies, Kathleen had absorbed all the lessons of the best tutors money could buy. “You are arrogant,” she said to Dylan. “You are manipulative, sly and completely wrong about me.”

      He had a swift and elegant way of moving, and he employed it now, pressing her against the figured stone balustrade. He filled her field of vision—snowy white shirt and a white silk cravat framed by the beautifully tailored, slightly worn lapels of a dark frock coat.

      “We like each other, Kate. We both felt the attraction.”

      She tossed her head, trying to appear unintimidated by his nearness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Of course you do, and it matters not at all.” Very lightly, shockingly, he put his finger at the base of her throat, brushing the emeralds and diamonds of her necklace. “I know your game, Kate.”

      “And pray, what is that?” She spoke playfully, enjoying this far too much.

      “I know what’s under your dress,” he said.

      Saints alive. He knew about her muslin underclothes.

      “Beneath this gorgeous milk-white breast beats the heart of a guilty woman—”

      “Sir, you forget yourself.” Letting a man speak of one’s breasts was absolutely taboo. It was so taboo that no one had even told her such talk was forbidden. She just knew.

      “Tell me, what would your family think if they knew you were here?” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken.

      Heavens, but he was right about the guilt. She pictured her simple, loving family and felt like the ingrate of the world for pretending to be something she was not. They would see it as a rejection of their way of life, their values, when in fact, it had nothing to do with them and everything to do with Kathleen and a dream inside her that refused to die. But for the moment she was more concerned with fending off this man who seemed to see right through her.

      “My family loves and supports me in all I do.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds promising. And unusual for the heiress to a fortune. So they would not worry that you had come to hear an evangelist, a good Catholic girl like you?”

      She tried not to show her relief. “Sir, my family would be far more worried about your attentions.”

      “Don’t