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

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?’

‘You were entitled to throw me out a week ago,’ she said, ‘but you didn’t. This makes us quits.’

Mark Benedict took a deep breath. ‘Then I can only say I’d be eternally grateful. Write down all the things you need and I’ll get them.’

Tallie raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean you can cope with supermarkets?’

The green eyes glinted at her. ‘Now who’s being patronising?’

He took the list she eventually handed him, reading it through in silence, then glancing at her, brows raised. ‘Anchovies? I don’t think Sonia likes them.’

‘Is that Miss Rest and Recreation?’ The words were out before she could stop them. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ she added, flushing as she saw his mouth harden. ‘It’s really none of my business.’

‘Hang on to that thought,’ he suggested unsmilingly.

‘Yes—yes, of course. And the anchovies dissolve in cooking.’ Embarrassment was making her gabble and she knew it. ‘Your—your friend won’t even know they’re there, I promise. Or me either, for that matter,’ she went on hastily.

‘You’re planning to dissolve too?’

She bit her lip. ‘No,’ she returned stonily. ‘Just maintain my usual low profile.’ She paused. ‘After all, you have to admit that I’ve hardly been obtrusive this week.’

‘That,’ said Mark Benedict, ‘is a matter of opinion. But we won’t debate it now because I have to go shopping.’

When he’d gone, Tallie went into the dining room. She found the elegant linen table mats and the napkins that matched them, gave the silver cutlery and the tall wineglasses with their impossibly slender stems a careful polish, and set places for six people.

There were three dinner services in the tall cupboards that flanked the fireplace and she chose the simplest one—plain white china delicately edged in silver. Because she couldn’t be sure how long it was since it had been used, she tied a tea towel round her waist in lieu of an apron and gave the plates, cups and dishes a swift but thorough wash.

She was just drying the last piece when Mark Benedict returned.

‘You’ve been busy,’ he commented, pausing at the dining room door before joining her in the kitchen.

‘You did say six people?’

He nodded. ‘My cousin Penny, with her current companion, Justin Brent, two pals of mine, Charlie and Diana Harris, plus Sonia, of course, and myself.’ He paused. ‘Although, you are naturally welcome to join us,’ he added courteously.

‘You’re very kind,’ she returned with equal politeness. ‘But I’ve eaten already.’ And even if I was starving, I’d still say no.

She began to unpack the heavy carriers, almost disappointed to discover that he hadn’t forgotten a thing.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ He was propped in the doorway, watching her, his presence making the kitchen seem oddly smaller and more cramped.

‘No, thanks. It’s all down to me now.’ She hesitated. ‘Although I wasn’t sure if you’d want to use those lovely candlesticks on the sideboard, and whether or not there were any candles for them.’

‘A romantic thought,’ he said. ‘But I think we’ll stick to the wall lighting.’

‘Just as you wish.’ Tallie began to chop onions, praying at the same time that his frankly disturbing scrutiny wouldn’t cause her to lose a finger. As she reached for the garlic press, she said with faint asperity, ‘There’s no need to stand over me. I didn’t include rat poison on my list, so don’t worry.’

‘Do I give that impression? Actually, I’m simply admiring your efficiency.’

‘And checking at the same time that I really know what I’m doing.’ She gave him a steady look. ‘However, I’m not accustomed to an audience, so if you’re sufficiently reassured, maybe you could go and see to … wine and things.’

The firm lips twitched. ‘Wine and things it is, then,’ he murmured. ‘May I bring you a drink, Miss Paget, to assist in your labours?’

It occurred to her that she felt slightly drunk already and that she had the way he’d been watching her to thank for it.

She said rather primly, ‘I think I need all my concentration, thank you. But I do need some white wine for the sauce. Nothing too fancy,’ she added hastily.

Mark Benedict gave an easy shrug. ‘I was thinking of continuing the Mediterranean theme with some rather nice Orvieto. Will a slightly cheaper version do for cooking?’

She nodded, staring rather fiercely at the chicken joints she was extracting from their packaging.

‘And please try to relax, sweetheart,’ he added quietly. ‘You’re doing me a big favour, remember, not passing some crucial examination.’

Easy for him to say, thought Tallie. He hasn’t got, Don’t mess up—don’t mess up unrolling through his mind like a banner as I have. And I lied when I said I wasn’t used to an audience. At home, there were always people in the kitchen and it never bothered me. So why is it different with him?

But she couldn’t answer that, any more than she could explain to herself why she’d volunteered to cook this meal. It had been an absurd thing to do, especially when she owed him less than nothing. She could so easily have left him to sort out his own dilemma—and been perfectly justified in doing so.

Yet, maybe, in some weird way, she’d wanted to prove to Mark Benedict that she wasn’t simply a freeloader with grandiose ideas about her own talent and an aversion to working for a living. That she was, in fact, as practical as the next person.

Maybe she also wanted to show him that she was large-minded enough to overlook his past behaviour. Heaping coals of fire on his head, as the saying went, instead of pouring petrol over him and chucking a lighted match.

And now all she had to do was prove her point, she told herself, determinedly turning her attention back to the task in hand.

Within the hour, her Mediterranean chicken was flawlessly assembled and already sending out a mouth-watering aroma of tomatoes, garlic and wine as it simmered slowly in the oven.

The smoked salmon would be served with a simple lemon wedge, a watercress garnish and little rolls of paper-thin brown bread and butter. She’d already whipped up the Chantilly cream to go with the tarte tatin that Mark had bought, arranged a platter of cheese flanked by a bunch of green grapes at one end and some celery sticks at the other, and spooned a rich Colombian blend of coffee into the cafetière.

All that was left was the saffron rice, which she’d cook at the last minute.

She looked down at her plain top and boring trousers, wondering if she should change into a skirt, make herself rather more presentable for the arrival of Mark Benedict’s guests.

Don’t be silly, she adjured herself crisply. You’re the skivvy. You belong in the kitchen and no one’s going to give a second glance at what you’re wearing. Least of all the host.

Promptly, at eight o clock, the door buzzer sounded and she heard voices and laughter in the hallway. Then, a minute later, she was joined by a tall, dark girl with an engaging grin. ‘Hi, I’m Penny Marshall, Mark’s cousin. I gather you’re Natalie Paget, otherwise known as our saviour—rescuing us from the queue at the local pizza parlour.’

Tallie smiled back. ‘I don’t think it would have come to that.’

‘But I’d like to have seen Sonia’s face if it had.’ Penny lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘It might almost have been worth it.’ She glanced round. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Thanks, but I think everything’s under control.’

‘In that case, why not come along to the sitting room and have a drink with us?’

Tallie moved restively. Picked up a spoon and put it down again. ‘That’s … kind, but I’d really rather not.’

‘We don’t bite, you know. Well, one of us might, but she’s not here yet, so you’re quite safe.’

Tallie smiled with an effort. ‘I see. Do I take it that you don’t like your cousin’s girlfriend?’

‘Let’s just say that, for me, she comes pretty low down on his current list of playmates.’ Penny shook her head. ‘Mark, of course, is a total commitment-phobe, which is probably why he spends so much time abroad when he has good people who could take his place perfectly well.

‘And he seems to have rounded up every female in London who shares his views—or lets him think she does, anyway. I think a few of them have their own agenda, much good may it do them. So if Sonia believes she’s extra-special, she’s fooling herself.’

Tallie became guiltily aware that she was paying too much attention to these indiscreet disclosures.

She said firmly, ‘Well, I must get on.’

‘But you just said everything was fine.’ The other girl gave Tallie a coaxing smile. ‘So come and meet the others, while the coast is clear.’

‘It just—wouldn’t be appropriate.’

‘Because you happen to be doing the cooking? Oh, come on now …’

‘No.’ Tallie met the other girl’s gaze squarely. ‘Because I’m only staying here temporarily, and very much on sufferance, and Mr Benedict wouldn’t like it.’

‘My dear girl, it was Mark’s idea, or I wouldn’t have dared, believe me. He said you might be more amenable if the invitation came from someone else.’

Tallie bit her lip. ‘And I feel that things are best left as they are.’

‘Ah, well,’ Penny said with a sigh, and walked to the door. Where she turned back. ‘As a matter of interest—and because I’m irredeemably nosy—how do you come to be here? Mark’s the last person in the world I can envision taking in a lodger.’

Tallie’s smile was wintry. ‘I’m the one who was taken in. The offer came from Kit Benedict, who made me think the flat belonged to him.’

‘Kit the Curst, eh?’ Penny gave a short laugh. ‘Now, why didn’t I guess? Egged on by his ghastly mother, no doubt. Sticking like glue to Ravenshurst clearly isn’t enough. It must really gall her to know there’s another desirable piece of real estate that she can’t stake a claim on.’

‘Ravenshurst?’ Tallie queried.

‘The family home in Suffolk. Lovely old house where Mark was born, and was growing up perfectly happily until the frightful Veronica got her hooks into his father and played the “I’m pregnant” card.

‘Which was bloody clever of her, because Mark’s mother couldn’t have any more children. My parents have said it was the most frightful, heartbreaking time, but after the divorce Aunt Clare put herself back together and bought this flat with some money Grandfather had left her. And she got custody of Mark, although he had to spend part of each school holiday under the new regime at Ravenshurst.’ She grimaced. ‘You can imagine what that must have been like.’

Tallie thought of the love and security she’d always taken for granted, and shivered. ‘Yes—I suppose I can—almost.’

‘And as soon as his father died, Veronica sold the house without reference to Mark, who was abroad at the time. She moved to London on the proceeds and had a high old time. Then, within six months she’d got married again—to Charles Melrose of Melrose and Sons, the wine people.’

‘Oh,’ Tallie said slowly, ‘I see.’ So that was where Kit’s job had come from. ‘Did Mark mind very much about the house?’

‘He doesn’t mention it. But I don’t think his memories of the latter years were good ones.’

She paused. ‘And he had another problem too.’

‘And what problem is that?’ Neither of them had heard Mark’s approach but he was there, just the same, standing in the doorway, making Tallie wonder apprehensively how much he’d heard and, at the same time, be thankful she hadn’t contributed her own viewpoint to the topic under discussion.

He’d changed, she realised, into close-fitting black trousers and a matching shirt, open at the neck and the long sleeves rolled back over his tanned forearms.

He looked stunning but dangerous, she thought with a sudden intake of breath. Like a panther.

Penny sent him a wide-eyed look. ‘Why, the late Sonia Randall, of course. Can’t you get her better-trained, darling?’ She sent him an impish grin. ‘Although I suppose punctuality’s hardly her most appealing attribute where you’re concerned.’

Mark reached for a tress of her dark curling hair and tugged it gently. ‘Behave.’ He looked across at Tallie. ‘However, I do apologise for this delay. Will the food be ruined?’

‘No.’ She turned away, putting the jar of oregano back in the cupboard. ‘It—it’s very good-natured.’

‘Unlike dear Sonia,’ Penny added. ‘So how is it she’s joining us tonight at some point? What happened to Maggie? I liked her.’

‘Working in Brussels for three months.’

‘Well, Caitlin, then?’

‘Got engaged to her boss.’

‘Decided to cut her losses, eh?’ Penny enquired dulcetly, then pulled a repentant face as she encountered Mark’s cold glance. ‘Okay, I’m sorry—I’m sorry, and I’ll write out a hundred times “I must mind my own business.”’

‘If I could only believe it would work.’ He paused. ‘Have you persuaded Tallie to join us while we wait?’

Penny shook her head. ‘Cinderella refuses point-blank to come to the ball. You seem to have turned her into a recluse—one of the few women in the world who finds you undesirable, cousin dear.’

He said dryly, ‘Perhaps that’s just as well, under the current circumstances.’

‘You mean someone you can’t send home in the morning?’ Penny’s eyes danced. ‘Now there’s a thought. And you’ve persuaded her to cook for you, too. What next, I wonder?’

‘We’re going to leave her in peace,’ Mark said with great firmness. ‘Before she misunderstands your warped sense of humour and walks out on me altogether.’

He looked at Tallie, who was standing in rigid silence, her face warming helplessly.

He said lightly, ‘Tallie, I apologise for my female relative. There’s no excuse for her.’

She found a voice from somewhere. Used it with an approximation of normality. ‘I feel much the same about my brother.’

She watched them leave, heard him say something that she couldn’t catch and Penny’s gurgle of laughter in response as they walked away down the passage.

Stayed where she was, leaning back against the work-top, looking ahead of her with eyes that saw nothing.

Undesirable …

She tried the word tentatively under her breath. Was that really how she thought of Mark Benedict? Or how she wanted to think?

And found herself remembering with odd disquiet the way her pulse had quickened when she’d seen him standing in the doorway. And how her mouth had suddenly dried …

But I was startled, she told herself defensively. He gave me a shock by … suddenly appearing like that—as if he was some kind of Demon King.

On the other hand, he does it all the time, so there’s nothing to get stirred up about.

All the same, she was sharply aware that the sooner she was away from this flat and out of his life altogether, the better it would be for her—personally if not professionally.

And, in spite of the warmth of the kitchen, she realised she was shivering.

CHAPTER SIX

ANOTHER forty minutes passed before the door buzzer signalled the arrival of the final guest.

‘About bloody time,’ Tallie muttered as she lowered the oven temperature yet again. Her chicken dish might indeed be good-tempered enough not to resent being kept waiting. She, however, felt no such obligation.

There was a murmur of conversation in the hall and then a woman’s remembered voice rising effortlessly above it, pitched just right to reach anyone who might be listening, especially in the kitchen. ‘Mark, honey, you’re actually letting this waif you’ve acquired do the cooking? Are you crazy? My God, we’ll be lucky if we don’t all end up in Casualty having our stomachs pumped.’

If there was some way I could arrange for it to happen to you, and the arrogant Mr Benedict, without the other guests being affected, the ambulance would be already on its way, Tallie thought grimly. ‘This waif’ indeed.

‘But I need drinkies first,’ the newcomer added with decisive clarity. ‘And I’ve brought some lovely fizz to celebrate the success of my most recent shopping expedition. Yes, darling, I absolutely insist. A few more minutes won’t matter, for heaven’s sake. You see, I heard this whisper that Maddie Gould wasn’t terribly happy …’

A door closed and the rest of the revelation was lost.

Maddie Gould … Tallie repeated to herself as she took the smoked salmon from the fridge and arranged it carefully on the plates before adding the garnish. Now, why does that name seem familiar?

She was still trying to remember when a voice from the doorway said, ‘Can I carry anything into the dining room?’

Tallie glanced round and stiffened, her eyes widening. Because, for one shocked, ludicrous moment, it seemed to be Gareth standing there smiling at her.

But of course it wasn’t. This man might be the same height, with blond hair cut in a similar, slightly dishevelled style and blue eyes, but there, she realised, the resemblance ceased.

He was built on broader lines than Gareth and his features were pleasant rather than classically handsome.

He said ruefully, ‘Oh, God, I’ve startled you, and that certainly wasn’t the intention. I was lured here by this heavenly smell of cooking.’

Tallie added the final bunch of watercress to the plate in front of her. She said coolly, ‘You’re not worried about food-poisoning?’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘So you heard that?’

‘Wasn’t that the intention?’

He pulled a face. ‘Yes, of course. That’s why I’m here, really—to make sure you haven’t thrown a wobbly and dumped the whole meal in the bin.’ He looked at her solemnly. ‘Promise me you haven’t—not when I’m starving.’

Tallie found she was smiling. ‘No, you’re quite safe.’

‘I’m Justin Brent, by the way,’ he went on. ‘And you’re—Tallie? Is that right?’

‘My full name is Natalie Paget,’ she said. ‘But Tallie will do fine.’

‘My sentiments exactly,’ he said, and his own smile warmed he unexpectedly, making her wish she wasn’t flushed from cooking, with untidy hair and still wearing a damned tea towel.

No, she thought. Not Gareth, in spite of the physical resemblance, but someone very different, with kindness as well as charm. Someone she could possibly learn to like, given the opportunity.

‘Let’s take in the starters,’ he added, seizing a couple of plates and starting towards the dining room. ‘Maybe other desperate refugees will realise and join us before I pass out.’

As Tallie followed him in, he paused, looking round the table. ‘Six places? You’re not eating with us?’

‘No, I’m quite definitely below the salt this evening. My own choice entirely,’ she added hastily as his brows rose. ‘I’d already eaten when I volunteered to cook.’

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That’s awfully generous of you.’

She said stiltedly, ‘Well, Mr Benedict has also been very kind, allowing me to stay here.’

His mouth slid into a grin. ‘And I’d say that response lacks real conviction. But Mark’s an old mate, and if he’s … wary about being used, then it’s fairly understandable.’

‘So I gather,’ she said wryly, then paused as she remembered that her information had come from Mark’s cousin. And that this man she was chatting to was Penny’s—what? Partner? No, that wasn’t it. ‘Current companion’ was the phrase Mark Benedict had used, whatever that meant.

And just being agreeable to the help did not make him available—something she needed to remember unless, of course, she was planning to take a leaf from Josie’s book, which she would not dream of doing. Even if she looked halfway decent.

Your place, she told herself firmly, is back in the kitchen, cooking rice.

She made a business of looking at her watch. ‘Heavens, I must get on. Perhaps you’d tell Mr Benedict that dinner is served.’

As she turned to go, her smile was brief and impersonal. And, she intended, final.

All the same, she found herself hoping, now that the dinner party was actually under way, that it would be Justin who’d bring the used plates from the first course back to the kitchen and collect the platter of chicken, in its thick delectable sauce of tomatoes, peppers, olives, with tiny spicy cubes of Spanish sausage, and the bowl of perfectly fluffy golden rice.

But of course—inevitably—it was Mark Benedict.

He looked at her, brows lifting. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Not a thing,’ she denied too swiftly, angry that she’d allowed even a glimpse of her disappointment to show. She indicated a pair of oven gloves. ‘Be careful, the dishes are very hot.’