Mistress - Amanda Quick [1]
decision. Never get involved with virgins or other men’s wives.
Marcus looked up from his contemplation of the brandy glass. He had never particularly cared for Trescott. The man was typical of so many of the self-indulgent, licentious rakes of the ton, men whose own personal rules allowed them to prey on the innocent and those whose social ranking was lower than their own.
“Tell me what the lady has been doing to cause such comment,” Marcus said in a deliberately disinterested tone.
Trescott’s gaze glittered with malice. “Rumor has it that she has dismissed you and is trolling for a new lover. All of London is agog.”
“Indeed.”
“Mrs. Bright descended on the ton a fortnight ago and has taken it by storm. No one can believe that you have actually allowed your mistress to hand you your congé. Really quite extraordinary, given your, shall we say, notorious reputation?”
Marcus smiled slightly but said nothing.
Unsatisfied with that reaction, Trescott recklessly tried another sort of prod. “You know very well that you are considered to be the most mysterious and quite possibly the most dangerous man in all of London.”
“As is the case with beauty, Trescott, mystery and danger are in the eyes of the beholder.”
“The rumors about your past guarantee that you qualify as a full-fledged legend, Masters. Naturally any woman who has the nerve to throw you over is bound to excite comment and speculation.”
“Naturally.”
Trescott narrowed his eyes. “I will allow that the lady is unusual, even for you, sir. Where did you ever discover such a charming widow?”
“You have seen her?”
“Of course.” Trescott chuckled. “Mrs. Bright is seen everywhere. No soiree or ball is a success without her. Your mistress is by far the most fascinating creature Society has viewed in years.”
“Do you find her fascinating, Trescott?”
“Certainly. Everyone does. They call her Lady Starlight, you know.”
“Do they?”
Trescott shrugged. “Not that she’s a great beauty, of course. But then, you would know that better than anyone. Still, there’s something about her that draws the eye, is there not? Expect her nickname was derived from her choice of attire.”
“Ah, yes. Her gowns.”
Trescott grinned malevolently. “Imagine, the recent paramour of the most notorious lord of the ton going about in purest white as though she were a bloody virgin. Utterly outrageous.”
Marcus stopped rotating the brandy glass in his hands. He looked at Trescott. “She still favors white?”
“Never wears anything else,” Trescott assured him. “A genuine Original. By the bye, that ridiculous little white and gilt carriage of hers is the envy of every woman in town. I’ll wager it cost you a packet. Mind if I ask how much of the ready you put out for it?”
“I do not seem to recall at the moment.” Marcus glanced into the fire.
“I expect you bought her so many expensive trinkets and baubles that the white carriage and those excellent white mares that go with it went unnoticed, hmm?”
“I pay very little attention to such matters.”
Trescott groaned. “Must be pleasant to be as rich as Croesus. Well, no offense, sir, but it’s obvious that she got her little claws rather deeply into you before she decided to look for another lover.”
“Widows frequently inherit vast sums from their late husbands.”
“Word is that the late Mr. Bright was quite elderly and lived a reclusive life somewhere in Devon.” Trescott gave Marcus a shrewd glance. “He may have left her some money, but the whole world suspects that she did very well out of you, Masters.”
“You know how these things are. A man must pay for his pleasures.”
Trescott smiled thinly and then boldly stuck his hand all the way into the lion’s cage. “How does it feel to have been well and truly fleeced by a scheming mistress who is now determined to find another man to replace you in her bed?”
“The sensation I am experiencing at the moment is somewhat difficult to describe, Trescott.”
“I vow, there’s scarcely a man in Society who would not give a fortune to take your place in her boudoir.”
“Indeed.”
“Certainly all of your acquaintances,