His Mistress by Morning by Elizabeth Boyle

get toLittle Titchfield Street, as she hadn’t been paying attention earlier.
    “Oh, yes,” she said. “I would be in your debt.”
    He laughed at her prim speech. “You are in an odd mood today. ‘In my debt,’ indeed!” He bowed formally, deep and low, and when he arose, there was that mischievous light in his eyes. “Come along, Lottie, my love. I have a better idea. Let us see how this day fares. Forget the Burkes, forget my mother, forgo your fittings and interminable admirers, forget everything but us. Will you? Will you spend the day with me?”
    Her heart quaked, for wasn’t this what she had always dreamed? Wanted more than anything? Wished for all these years?
    So what else could she do but take his hand….

Chapter 5
    T he horses set out smartly and quickly, and Charlotte caught hold of the first thing she could find to hang onto, which happened to be Lord Trent’s solid arm. She’d never ridden in anything so high, and now she found herself almost dizzy, what with the way it swayed and the speed with which Sebastian drove.
    “Must you go so fast?” she asked as he wheeled daringly around a corner.
    “How else can I get you to hold me so?” he teased, glancing down to where she had a tight grip on his sleeve. “Of course, father’s valet will be in a pique over the creases.” He winked at her and tore around another corner.
    The ribbons of her bonnet flapped wildly, and her heart beat with the same incoherent flutter.
    Whatever am I doing here? she thought. This is utter madness. Proper ladies certainly didn’t ride about unescorted and in such a madcap fashion.
    But never in her wildest dreams (which, given hercurrent circumstances, had been rather tame) would she have imagined what it was like to be the object of Lord Trent’s affections.
    His very heart.
    She slanted a glance up at him, and right then he turned and grinned at her, the kind of bonny, shared bon vivant sort of look that tugged at her heart. As if he knew just how to please her and delighted in doing so.
    “Why aren’t you at Arbuckle’s?” he asked. “Studio too cold for you?”
    Charlotte colored. The temperature had been the least of her concerns.
    “I wasn’t inclined to pose today,” she said quite honestly. She didn’t care what Quince said; she and this Lottie creature were about as far apart as King George and the poor man’s sanity.
    Standing about in her altogether? Charlotte shuddered.
    He laughed and shifted the reins from one hand to the other. “No wonder you turned up in Mayfair—you’ve put that old fusspot Arbuckle in knots, and I gather you’ve left Finny in a snit.” He turned and smiled at her. “To be honest, I don’t like the idea of you posing for him.”
    “You don’t?” she said, feeling thrilled to have someone on her side.
    “Certainly not,” he told her, buoying her convictions for a moment until he continued, “can’t afford to buy the demmed thing myself, and it will cause a regular riot when Arbuckle exhibits it. Not that you care—you’ll be purring over the added attention. Buried in flowers and offerings.”
    “Exhibit it?” Charlotte barely heard the rest of his lament, still stuck on the notion that this painting would behanging for all to see. Her stomach sank with dread.
    “It will be last year all over,” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “You’ll be the talk of the town for weeks.” He turned and looked at her almost wistfully. “Sometimes I wish you were plain and proper, a regular miss like one of my sisters.”
    “But I am,” she protested.
    Sebastian burst out laughing, as if he’d never heard anything so funny. “You? Ordinary?” His gaze swept over her artful gown and fancy bonnet. “Lottie, there isn’t an ordinary bone in your body.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. She didn’t feel anything but ordinary. Certainly the clothes and hair were different, but she was the same Charlotte Wilmont he’d overlooked so easily