Temporary Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

tonight, she would have thought them mad.
    As Mrs. Crocker noted, she still had time to consider alternatives. But the savory aroma of her supper was causing her to salivate, and even if she hadn't been damp and dirty from her flight through the rain, the hot, scented bath would have been potent lure. She had the entire night to consider solutions to her dilemma. Just then both her supper and bath were getting cold.
    Short moments later, she was seated in the luxurious warmth of the bath, the supper tray balanced on the rim of the tub, her mouth full of dover sole that was as near to heaven as culinary art allowed. Guillaume needn't worry about his food coming back untasted. She intended to eat every morsel and perhaps lick the plate as well. She'd eaten very little in the days past with her grandfather's life slipping away, and for the first time she'd become aware of her hunger.
    Not until the last fragment of the lemon genoise was gone did she look up with a satisfied sigh and set the tray on the floor. A half bottle of very good champagne had come with the meal, and whether it was the food or wine or the soothing warmth of the bath, she felt lulled and appeased.
    After a time, she dried herself, and wrapping the luxurious white cashmere robe around her, rested on a chaise conveniently placed near the fire. Her grandfather's long illness had taken its toll on her stamina. She'd not slept through the night for almost a month. And within minutes, she'd fallen asleep.
    Molly quietly came in to check on her some hours later and covered Isabella with a blanket where she lay. The firelight gilded her pale skin and golden hair, the white robe clothed her in softness, the picture of innocence so breathtaking, even Greuze couldn't have improved on it.

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Chapter Three

     
    THE SUN WAS SHINING brightly through the lace-and-muslin curtains when Isabella woke with a start.
    Her grandfather's funeral!
    She sat bolt upright, threw off the blanket, and leaped to her feet. Running to the bellpull, she yanked on it and then nervously paced until a servant responded.
    "I must see Mrs. Crocker at once. Which room is hers?"
    Agitation rang through her voice, and the maid, wide-eyed and nervous, pointed through the open portal across the sitting room toward a closed door. "She be havin' breakfast, miss."
    "Thank you," Isabella briskly replied, already moving in the indicated direction. Reaching the door, she knocked firmly and without waiting for an answer, turned the latch and walked into the room.
    She came to an abrupt standstill and flushed to a bright shade of pink. A shockingly handsome man, barefoot and shirtless, was seated across from Mrs. Crocker, having breakfast.
    Good God, Dermott thought, his gaze on the woman he'd glimpsed the previous night. She was even more beautiful at close range. And barely clothed, he pleasantly noted. His body instantly responded to the opulent vision, the lady's sumptuous breasts, narrow waist, the soft curve of her hips, and slender legs conspicuous beneath the fragile fabric of her robe.
    "Come in, my dear," Molly invited Isabella. "Join us for breakfast."
    "No thank you—that is—I need"—she tried not to look at his half-naked body—"I mean, I'd like to talk to you immediately."
    "Let me excuse myself." Dermott began to rise.
    "No need." Molly waved him back down. "I'll come to your room," she said, smiling at Isabella, who had taken startling note of the muscles rippling across the man's shoulders when he moved. Coming to her feet, Mrs. Crocker spoke to her companion affectionately. "You eat. I know how you need food in the morning." With a smile for the earl, she ushered Isabella out of the room, followed her into her bedchamber, and shut the door. "Now, tell me what I can do for you."
    The few moments it had taken to reach her room had given Isabella time to compose herself—Mrs. Crocker's breakfast companion had nothing to do with her. "I came to tell you I
must
see to the arrangements