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«The Once-a-Mistress Wife» - Дженни Лукас

The Once-a-Mistress Wife Katherine Garbera

The Once-a-Mistress Wife

Katherine Garbera

This book is dedicated to the ladies of Nation Drive—

Kim, Michele and Kathy—who’ve made me feel

welcome and at home in Texas.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Coming Next Month

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Katherine Garbera for her contribution to the

SECRET LIVES OF SOCIETY WIVES miniseries.

Acknowledgments:

Thanks to the other Society Wives ladies

who made working on this book such a pleasure…

Maureen, Metsy, Pat, Alison and Bronwyn.

Also a special thanks to Wanda Ottewell and

Melissa Jeglinski, for asking me to participate

in this fun series!

One

Mary Duvall stood over the open casket of her grandfather, David Duvall. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she kept them in check, very conscious that Grandfather David had always wanted her to be composed in public. That’s why she’d closed the doors to the viewing room and entered it alone.

The old Mary would have wept loudly and cried her grief with sobs and moans, doing everything in her power to get those emotions out. But now she buttoned them down. Ignored everything but the need to touch his face one last time.

She touched his cold, makeup-covered skin and shivered inside. She felt so alone. She was all alone now. Her parents had died years ago in a car accident—not that they’d ever been close. And her younger brother, their perfect child, had been in the car with them—also gone.

She liked the new life she was carving for herself in Eastwick, Connecticut, at her grandfather’s behest. She’d returned from Paris when she’d learned his health was failing. He’d offered to make her his heir if she proved she was no longer the rebellious wild child he remembered.

“I’m going to make you proud, Grandfather. No more embarrassment over my behavior.”

She leaned down, brushing her lips over his dry forehead and wishing for just one second that he could embrace her. Her childhood had been difficult to say the least and Grandfather David had been as disapproving as everyone else in the Duvall clan, but he’d always hugged her as she left.

He was the only one to ever do anything like that. She would miss him more than she’d realized.

A knock on the door interrupted her farewell.

She glanced at her watch. Damn, it was almost time for the public viewing. No doubt her cousins would be outside demanding some private time with a man they cared about only for his money.

Mary wanted to use the Duvall estate to benefit others. She intended to establish a trust that would be used to create neonatal units at hospitals in lower-income areas. She also hoped to sponsor an art-focused summer camp for underprivileged children. She had never been encouraged to paint as a child, even though her earliest memories were of having a paintbrush in her hand. She loved to create new worlds on canvas.

Her work was garnering attention in Europe and she enjoyed the money she’d made selling the serial rights to several of her pieces for a print series.

But for now, she had the viewing to get through. Before opening the door, she tucked the short note she’d written last night into the breast pocket of his suit, under his handkerchief, right over his heart.

Then she wiped the moisture from beneath her eyes and confronted her second cousins. Channing and Lorette Moorehead were the children of her grandfather’s sister.

“How touching. I almost believe you cared for the old man,” Channing said, escorting his sister Lorette to the casket.

“I did care for him,” Mary said.

“Then why did you spend so many years breaking his heart?” Lorette asked.

Mary swallowed hard, biting back a retort that wouldn’t be ladylike. Wouldn’t fit the image that Grandfather wanted her to portray.

“We made our peace, Grandfather and I.”

“You may have fooled Uncle David, but we aren’t convinced you’ve changed. I will be keeping an eye on you,” Channing said.

He was almost ten years older than she was, and from her earliest memories he’d always been a pompous ass. She had no fondness for Channing, but Lorette, who was only two years older than Mary, had been a close friend when they were younger. They’d roamed all over Grandfather’s mansion playing games and getting into trouble. It had all ended when Lorette had turned ten and declared herself too old for childish pursuits.

“I’ll leave you two to your private grieving.”

The anteroom was almost empty except for a few of her friends. Their long history and regular luncheons had garnered them the name the Debs Club.

Everyone in their group seemed to be getting engaged or married; something Mary had no desire to do herself. She’d been deeply in love with a man once, and when he’d left her to marry the “right” kind of woman, she’d promised herself she’d never live with that kind of pain again.

Yet another example of how her wild lifestyle—which wasn’t really that wild—had resulted in her being alone. The problem was that for most of her life Mary had never wanted to follow the rules. Almost in contradiction to the plain name—and possibly plain aspirations—her parents had given her at birth, Mary had come out of the womb a rebel.

But not any longer. She’d paid a high price for her rebelliousness, and her deathbed promise to Grandfather David meant she’d toe the line from now on.

Mary started toward her friends. They all wore black for mourning, and Mary appreciated having them here. Maybe she wasn’t completely alone. She did have her friends, and they’d proven to be a solid support to her in a way that she’d never experienced before.

The outer door opened before she reached her friends, and she turned to greet the newcomer. The blood rushed to her head and she heard the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears as she recognized the one man she’d never thought to see again.

Kane Brentwood—English lord and her ex-lover.

“Kane?”

“Mary,” he said. Just her name in that deep voice of his never failed to send shivers coursing through her body.

She couldn’t face him now. Not today, when she was struggling to keep her composure carefully in place. Not when she was so close to losing it.

At the sight of him, she was overwhelmed with the weight of the secrets between them. Secrets that, if revealed, would cost her everything—Grandfather’s inheritance, Kane’s respect and her own hard-won peace.

She tried to regain her composure, but she saw stars dancing in front of her eyes as he approached her. And then everything went black.

Kane Brentwood caught Mary just before she hit the floor. He was aware of the murmuring of voices behind him, but he didn’t pay attention to anyone save the woman in his arms. His woman. She hadn’t been taking very good care of herself. She’d lost weight and her skin was pale. He wondered if she’d mended bridges with her grandfather and what that had cost her.

He cupped her face. “Mary.”

Her eyes blinked open, and he stared into that familiar Caribbean-blue color, reminding him of the month they’d spent at his vacation home in the British Virgin Islands. “Mary-Belle, are you okay?”

“Kane?”

“Yes, darling.”

As she looked up at him, confusion knitted her brow. “I’m not your darling anymore.”

A spear of anger went through him and he had to tamp down on his instinctive response, which was to take her in his arms and prove that she was still his. To prove that Mary would react to him the way she had from the first moment they met. But she was a married woman now, and he knew the way she felt about married people and affairs.

“We can discuss that later,” he said.

A spark lit her eyes, the kind that in the past had always led to a spirited argument and then eventually to the bedroom. “Will your wife take part in the discussion?”

“I’m divorced. And your husband?”

She flushed and shook her head. “No husband.”

No husband. She was free. He felt a surge of possessive determination. Now that he had her back in his arms, he wasn’t going to let her go again.

“Mary? Are you okay?”

He glanced over his shoulder to see four women walking toward him with a group of men a few steps behind. He tightened his hold on Mary.

“I’m fine, Emma. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

He wondered how much of that was due to her child. He didn’t know much about the little blighters, but every book he’d read had said that they were time-consuming.

There were dark circles under her eyes, and he wished for a moment he still had the right to carry her out of this room, to find a private place. But he didn’t. He lowered her to the ground, deliberately torturing himself by allowing her body to rub against his.

There were too many people around to have the discussion they needed to have. And he wanted—no, needed—to simply hold this woman who looked too fragile.

She took a step away from him, but he held onto her wrist.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Claiming what is mine,” he said, stating the truth of why he was in Eastwick, especially now that he knew there was no husband. When he’d first read the announcement of David Duvall’s death in the Wall Street Journal, he’d barely taken note of the fact—until he’d seen Mary’s name listed as next of kin.

He’d been quietly searching for her for over a year now. His men hadn’t been able to find any trace of her at the Paris apartment building where he’d last known her to live.

“I’m not yours anymore,” she said again, tugging hard and pulling her hand away from him.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Why?”

“I want to speak to you,” he said, ignoring her friends.

“We are speaking, Mr. Brentwood.”

“Alone,” he said, using his hold on her waist to draw her closer to him. She had always had the ability to make him forget all rules of good breeding and react like a man. He felt the urge to do something horribly crass, such as toss her over his shoulder and carry her out of this room.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He should never have put her on her feet. He should have kept her in his arms…where she belonged. “Don’t push me, Mary-Belle. I’m not in the mood for it.”

She stiffened at the nickname and gave him a hard glare. He lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers. A surge of arousal shot through his body as her mouth opened under his—the same way it always had. He slipped his tongue between her lips, hungry for her taste. It had been too damned long since he’d sated himself on Mary.

Someone cleared their throat, and Mary pulled away from him. Kane kept his hand on her waist and gave the man who was glaring at them a withering stare.

“Who is this?” the man asked. He had thinning hair and a pinched expression on his face. He looked at Mary with ill-disguised loathing, and Kane pulled her more fully against his side, under his shoulder. Offering her his protection.

She elbowed him in the ribs, and he frowned at her but did not release her. Mary had always been so ethereal, dancing in and out of his life in a way that made him suspect he’d never be able to hold her for long. He would not waste this opportunity.

“Channing, I’d like you to meet Kane Brentwood. We met when I was living in London. Kane, this is my cousin Channing Moorehead, and his sister Lorette.”

He shook hands with both of them. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“We were very close to Uncle David,” Lorette said. “We’ve always lived our lives in an exemplary manner…to show our respect for him.”

“We’re all impressed, Lorette,” Emma said with a touch of sarcasm.

Mary smiled gratefully at her friend, and Kane realized, with his usual sense of great timing where Mary was concerned, he’d bungled into a moment where he shouldn’t have. There was a real tension between Mary and her cousins—something not unlike the tension between him and his family.

Lorette turned toward Emma to say something and Mary quietly withdrew, stepping away from the others in the anteroom. The behavior was so unlike the Mary he’d known, but grief did make people vulnerable.

He cupped her elbow and drew her farther away from the others. “What’s their problem?”

“Don’t worry about it, Kane. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m not so sure you’re right, Mary-Belle. I’m not going to simply walk now that I know we’re both free.”

“I’m a different woman now, Kane. I have an image to uphold,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no one was near. “One that makes it impossible to be your mistress.”

“What image? I saw your work in a London gallery last spring. Your canvases were always remarkable, but there is something…breathtaking about these new ones.”

“Thank you, Kane. But it’s not my image as an artist that I’m concerned with. No one here knows anything about that part of my life.”

Kane couldn’t believe that she’d keep something that was such an integral part of who she was a secret. Mary had lived and breathed painting the entire time they’d been together—almost ten years. He’d had to resort to being her model a time or two to get her attention.

“What image are you concerned with, darling? That of being a mother?”

“No. My child was stillborn,” she said softly, and he felt the pain in her words. He wanted to comfort her, but she shook her head.

“I was speaking of the Duvall family image. I came home to claim my heritage, Kane. A heritage that isn’t as old as yours but is every bit as stringent. I have to go now. Thanks for coming.”

He nodded and let her walk away. He wasn’t sure what to make of the new Mary or her words. But one thing was very certain—now that he’d found her, he wasn’t leaving Eastwick without laying a claim on her. The kind of claim he should have made when they’d first met, instead of letting his own arrogance force them into roles from which there was no escape.

The funeral wasn’t long but went by very slowly for Mary. Afterward, everyone came to the Duvall mansion for the wake. In the midst of the crowd and condolences, Mary retreated to Grandfather David’s study for a few moments of solitude. She sat in his big leather chair that smelled faintly of the tobacco he’d always smoked. She inhaled deeply, wrapping her senses in her grandfather’s memory.

There was a knock on the door, and Mary knew the interruption signaled she’d been gone from the wake long enough. She answered the summons to find Emma, Caroline and Lily standing there.

“We thought we’d find you hiding out,” Emma said, closing the door firmly once they were all inside.

“I’m not hiding,” Mary said. Though she suspected her friends knew that she was lying, they’d never call her on it. And she needed time away from the pressure of making nice to all those people. After she was forced to be her society self for too long, she felt an itching deep inside to do something bold and crazy. To shake things up. She had no idea how her friends could survive the daily grind that was society life.

“Not even from Channing? God, that man is an ass,” Caroline said.

“Maybe. Is he looking for me? Is that why you came to find me?” Mary asked.

“No Felicity and Vanessa are running interference with Channing, and Abby cornered Lorette. We’re here to find out more about that dreamy man with the British accent.”

The last thing she wanted to talk about was Kane. She didn’t even know where to begin or what to say to her good friends. “That couldn’t wait until the next Debs lunch?”

“Who knows when we’ll have time for the next one with everyone getting engaged and planning weddings,” Caroline said, her eyes glittering with that effervescent joy she brought to everything.

“There’s really not much to tell. I met him when I was in London.”

“When?” Emma asked.

“My second week there. I was working in Harrods,” Mary said. She remembered the way he’d stopped at the display of women’s scarves and lingered for almost thirty minutes, never once pretending he was going to buy one but just flirting with her.

“And that’s it?” Caroline’s voice held a disbelieving tone. “That was ten years ago. The man today looked like he was more to you than a customer.”

“He was. We had an…affair,” Mary said because she thought her friends would understand that better than knowing that she’d lived in an apartment he’d paid for and that she’d made herself available to him whenever he’d wanted her. She’d been a kept woman.

“I knew there was more between you,” Lily said. “There was something about he way he looked at you. And that kiss…”

Mary’s lips still tingled, but she was trying very hard to forget that. To forget everything about Kane except the fact that he was no longer a part of her life.

“I haven’t seen him in almost three years.” To be honest, she didn’t want to remember the last time she’d seen Kane.

She’d been so hurt and angry that she’d said something she never should have. When she’d returned to Eastwick, Grandfather had said that her behavior had caused pain to others and herself, and she’d immediately thought of Kane. If she’d had the comportment then that she had now, maybe things would have turned out differently and she would still have her son…alive today.

“He definitely looked like a man who wanted to rekindle the relationship with you,” Caroline stated.

“I can’t. Not now. I have too much going on.”

“Sure you can,” Lily said. “You could at least explore the possibility.”

Mary shook her head. Kane wasn’t going to be a part of her life again. He was her weakness, and she knew if she allowed him back into her life, she’d have to face her past and the lies she once told. Lies that still haunted her.

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