Mistress By Mistake by Maggie Robinson

estate by her papa. The scandal had been fierce. After a month of it, Bay had enlisted and directed his anger at the citizenry of France.
    He placed a hand on Frazier’s and squeezed to stop him from dragging him down the street. “Halt. I’ll not run away.”
    “Now, Major, you told me after the last time that I’m to talk sense into you. I’m just doing my duty.”
    Bay pulled away and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “How long has Lady Whitley been here?”
    “Over an hour, sir. I tried to get her to leave but the b—woman won’t budge.”
    Bay thought to reprimand Frazier for his hostility, but had learned when to pick his battles with the old Scot. To be fair, Frazier had every reason to dislike Anne. The man had dragged Bay away from enough bottles and beds after encounters with her. Bay had gotten better over the years, but Anne still had the power to make him feel like a jilted schoolboy.
    “What does she want?”
    “What she always wants, not that she’d bother to confide in me. You watch yourself, Major. Since that husband of hers died, she wants you back. And not just to diddle this time.”
    Bay shut his eyes, hoping his neighbors were not peering out their front windows while he argued with his manservant. He was thirty-three years old. A decorated soldier, some might even say hero. The owner of three properties and sound investments. He was not going to let his past get the better of him, no matter how Anne’s lips moved in entreaty or her lush body beckoned. He had a mistress for all that.
    “Tell you what, Frazier. Station yourself right outside the parlor door. When you hear me say—” He paused. What would make a good code word he could work into conversation?
    “Bloody cow,” Frazier offered.
    Bay cast him a stern look. “Hyde Park. Come in and tell me I have an urgent message. Speaking of which, any word from Mr. Mulgrew?”
    “Aye. I meant to tell you that, too. Said he’s been to see the earl, and he has a lead. Has a man on his way to France. He’ll call on you tomorrow morning.”
    Damn. He devoutly hoped for Charlie’s sake Mulgrew had not spilled the beans about Deborah taking the necklace. He’d definitely have to have a chat with Arthur’s father now, on some pretext or other. They didn’t precisely run in the same social circles.
    Bay nodded and turned back toward his house. Frazier pulled on his sleeve again.
    “Stay strong, Major. You’ve been in tougher battles.”
    Bay barked out a laugh. He’d almost rather don a uniform again than face Anne Whitley in his own parlor.
     
    He straightened and slid open the pocket door. She really had not changed at all since the last time he saw her. Of course, that was only weeks ago, soon after Whitley died and before he went to Dorset. She looked magnificent in black, like the ultimate chess queen carved by a master craftsman. She looked even more magnificent out of her widow’s weeds. It had not taken her long to shed them then, and would not take much to persuade her to go upstairs right now. Were he not so exhausted from his interlude on Jane Street, he might have been tempted for old times’ sake. They had fallen into such a routine over the years that he almost dreaded coming home on leave. She was sure to find him, and he was sure to wind up right where he knew he shouldn’t be.
    But Whitley had been a bastard to her, or so she said. It had eased his guilty conscience some at the time to cuckold the man, but had not eased his heart.
    “You look well, Lady Whitley. How may I be of service to you?”
    “Bay, don’t be silly! Come sit down right next to me. I have been waiting for you for ages and ages.” She patted the sofa with a black-gloved hand, but she had removed her hat. Her hair was coiled neatly, wayward curls deliberately escaping around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the color of the autumn sky. He’d once placed a sapphire just their color on her finger.
    “I’m afraid I’m not home for