A Mistress for M'Lord

Prologue

Prologue

April

London 1812

Brigham Summerfield, Baron of Worthington, sipped his brandy and attempted to ignore the unladylike swearing coming from the upstairs rooms of the modest townhouse he had rented for his mistress. The sound of shattering glass drifted down from the second floor. Well, ex-mistress. Elizabeth Windley was none too happy with the recent change of her status in his life. From pampered courtesan to spurned lover with the flick of his wrist.

Theirs had been a business arrangement from the start. Or so he had assumed. What was supposed to be a pairing that was beneficial to them both had somehow turned into a desperate attempt by Elizabeth to land him as a husband…or spend his fortune, whichever came first.

Brigham drained the amber liquid from his glass and placed it on the wooden table by the front window. Gray clouds rolled in over the city casting ominous shadows across the streets mirroring his emotions. Dark and sullen. “Elizabeth, may we discuss this like adults rather than resorting to temper tantrums and name calling?” He turned and gazed up the stairway that led to the second floor as the first drops of rain splattered against the panes of glass.

“Tantrums?” Elizabeth walked gracefully from her room and stopped at the top of the stairs. Her bright yellow morning dress in stark contrast to the emotions currently rolling off her in waves. She clutched the railing with her left hand until her knuckles turned white. “Do you not think I have the right to be miffed? Have I not been on your arm at all the events of the season thus far to keep the match-making mothers at bay?” Golden curls had escaped their pins and now hung in disarray about her perfect face.

He bit back a chuckle. Her perfectly angry face at the moment. While few would argue the beauty of Lady Windley’s countenance, nary a soul would speak to the widow’s ability to be civil to another person unless she thought she could gain something from their association. The death of her husband and her subsequent removal from the family estate  by her husband’s younger brother had left her bitter and full of rage. Not that one could blame her. She had been married off during her first season but the marriage, while not a love match, had been amicable. Lord Windley had made sure Elizabeth had all her heart desires in exchange for her turning the other cheek at his many indiscretions in the gaming hells. Sadly, the Lord’s younger brother and successor did not share his brother’s penchant for a pretty face.

Accustomed to living the high life, Elizabeth had discreetly advertised that she was accepting offers and he had accepted. Of course, had he only known then what he did now, he would have heeded the advice of the new Lord Windley. Elizabeth did not seek a protector. She wanted a financier to keep her in the fashion she had grown to love. While Brigham was not a stingy man, he also was not about to let his mistress bankrupt him by ordering new gowns for every social event nor was he going to stand idly by while she flaunted her wares to every rake in London in case one of them offered her a better arrangement.  She wanted for nothing. He made sure of it, but Elizabeth wanted more. She wanted it all.

Brigham picked up his gloves and hat from the table near the door. “Yes, my dear. Tantrums. I warned you before about your spending but you failed to heed me. I am afraid this is the end.” He motioned to the townhome. “You may remain here until the end of the season as I have already paid for it, but once that time is done you must either vacate the premises or find another man who can quench your insatiable thirst for money.”

“How dare you.” She stomped her foot. The curls around her face danced from the motion. “Are you implying that I am nothing more than a gold digger? A mere child whom isn’t happy unless she gets her way?”

Brigham placed his hat atop his head, smiled and opened the door to meet the rain. “Your words, my dear. Not mine.” Without waiting for a response he stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him. The sound of glass shattering against the heavy oak at his back caused a chuckled to escape from between his lips.

Rain pelted his coat and hat as he walked down the front steps. His tiger, Richard, opened the door to his waiting coach. “Richard? I believe I have had enough of London for the season.” Shaking the rain from his coat, Brigham sank onto the plush seat and silently made a list of details to see to before he headed back to his country estate.

Perhaps all was as it should be.