An Experienced Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

you.”
    Genevieve regained her composure as the maid pattered off. “Do sit down,” she said, taking a seat herself. What was the matter with her, that a surprise visit from a man made her light-headed? Heaven knew she was too old for such girlish idiocy.
    She’d have hoped she was also too wise.
    “I shall speak directly to the point,” her visitor said. He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.
    Genevieve was acutely aware of the shortening distance between them. As correct and formal as his manner was, she sensed something behind it, a barely contained force. Her breath shook. He nearly frightened her.
    “I apologize for having paid such an unexpected visit, but I have a proposal that I believe might be beneficial to both of us.”
    “Indeed?” This became stranger by the moment.
    “Yes.” His intelligent brown eyes held hers in his gaze. “I understand that your—arrangement with Micajah Visser is at an end. Am I correct?”
    Genevieve swallowed. She’d been sure that very few people knew of the arrangement to begin with, let alone its dissolution the other night. How the gossip flew in the art world! And who was this gentleman, that he’d already gotten wind of it? Clearly, he was an art lover himself.
    Perhaps he wished to commission something! Her friend Percy Wentworth had told her it was fashionable for these young men to buy a new painting or two, to mix in with the ones they inherited from their fathers.
    “That is true. Mr. Visser and I no longer have an agreement. I find myself an independent woman again.”
    When he did not reply, she added, “I hope you will not think too ill of me, now that you know my secret.” What she and Cage did was hardly honest, after all. “It can be very difficult for a woman—”
    “No need to explain,” he said quickly. “I would never judge. Indeed, I am in no position to judge...” He broke off as Flory entered with the tea-tray.
    The maid’s hand wobbled as she handed the cup to the gentleman. He reached both hands up to steady the saucer.
    “Oh, dear—your hand,” Genevieve blurted out. “Whatever happened to it?”
    As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she regretted them. “I beg your pardon—I should not have mentioned it,” she said, even as the man opened his mouth to reply. She took the teacup from Flory’s tray. “So rude of me. You must tire of people asking about it.”
    “No. No one asks about it.” He looked surprised, but not angry. That was some relief, at least. She’d never aspired to much in the way of social niceties, but she didn’t wish to cause anyone real discomfort.
    Or he was uncomfortable, even offended, and too much of a gentleman to say so? Ashamed at her tactlessness, Genevieve stared down at her tea.
    “Truly, you needn’t trouble yourself.” The straightforward tone of his voice encouraged her to meet his eyes again. “It happened in the war. Frostbite.”
    “You were in Crimea?”
    Terrible images flickered through her brain: men dying of cholera, the bodies of the cavalry soldiers slaughtered in the Light Brigade. “Good gracious, how you must have suffered!”
    “You know something about it?”
    “I read all of Mr. Russell’s stories in the Times . As everyone else did, I imagine.”
    “I do not believe everyone read them.”
    “But I’m certain they must have.”
    His lips twisted in a cynical smile. “I daresay that many people of my acquaintance find the Society pages more entertaining.”
    Genevieve gave an unladylike snort of disapproval. “I have never found them to be so.”
    “I suppose that for someone in your—profession, exclusive balls and parties are not of much interest.”
    “Exactly.” The man understood her, it seemed. “Well, what I read about the war was terrible. And I should guess the papers didn’t tell the half of it.”
    “I suspect you are correct.”
    Her blood warmed again, thinking of what she read. Mysterious as her visitor was, every