His Mistress by Morning Read Free Page B

causing. The reins sat in her hands with an easy grace, belying the fact that her horses looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
    It wasn’t that Mrs. Fornett was a beautiful woman, for in truth she wasn’t that unlike Charlotte in coloring, with her brown hair and fair brow; rather it was the confidence with which she carried herself that set her apart from every other female on the street.
    With the traffic parting before her, like Cleopatra making her entrance into Rome, Mrs. Fornett took her due as if it was her birthright, no matter that popular gossip held that she was the bastard daughter of a smuggler and a serving wench. Cousin Finella’s opinion or the petty gossip of matrons held no sway over the lady. She wasn’t cowed by propriety—rather quite the opposite. She let her notoriety and very improper reputation spread out before her like a wave.
    Charlotte raised herself up a little bit straighter and took one last peek at Sebastian before he turned the corner.
    He too was taking another appreciative look at Mrs. Fornett, until he glanced down at the flowers in his hand. The slight smile on his lips faded, and he turned to continue on toward Miss Burke’s.
    If only, Charlotte thought…If only, she wished…
    I could be the woman he loved.
    For a moment, all the hubbub and clatter of the street faded away, leaving Charlotte in a swirling void. The ring on her finger grew oddly warm, and a wave of dizziness swept over her.
    She swayed and teetered on the uneven cobbles. Dear heavens, whatever is wrong? For the first time in her life, she thought she was going to faint.
    “There now,” Finella said with a bit of uncharacteristic concern in her voice. She took Charlotte’s arm and steadied her. “You’ve had a trying day as well, I imagine. Poor child. Come home, and once your mother is done with her wailing, we’ll make the best of all this. There is nothing else that can be done.”
    The finality of her words snapped Charlotte out of her odd reverie. And then just as quickly as the odd sensations had overcome her, they were gone and once again, London came alive around her, and there was nothing left to do but fall in step beside Finella and hurry home.
    To her dull life, and to a future with no hope of love.
    Meanwhile, the old woman selling flowers paused. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she whispered after Charlotte. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Chapter 2
    May 10, 1810
A Thursday of Some Note
    W hen Charlotte awoke the next morning, she could feel the warmth of the sun on her face, but she kept her eyes closed, if only to avoid facing the day for a few moments more.
    Her mother had spent the entire evening decrying Aunt Ursula’s cruelty, lamenting how the ancient lady had led them on for years about Charlotte’s supposedly priceless inheritance, and then leaving her just a small, worthless ring.
    Lady Wilmont had even gone so far as to demand the object of her distress from her daughter, with every intention of consigning the mocking bit of gold to the fire. But oddly enough, Charlotte had been unable to pull it from her finger. The little ring, despite a good bit of soap and lard, had remained on her hand as if only to vex Lady Wilmont further. So Charlotte, at Cousin Finella’s quieturging, had sought out her bed and taken refuge in a night of dreamless sleep.
    She stretched a little, wishing she could spend the entire day in the drowsy warmth of her bed, that is until she stretched a little further under the covers and her toes bumped into something warm and solid.
    And alive, for it moved and stretched right along beside her.
    “O-o-o-oh!” she gasped, her eyes springing open.
    Then, just as suddenly, her shock over finding something, or rather, someone, in her bed gave way to a newfound horror—she wasn’t in her own bed.
    And this certainly wasn’t her room.
    She blinked and gaped at her opulent surroundings, perhaps more stunned by the unfettered wealth around