Page 20 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
Zander rubbed his palms together. “We’ll not fail you.”
Theo swirled the port in the glass before taking a sip. “I need a woman.” He looked up at them.
They wore identical expressions of shock, then Zander broke into laughter. “We…” He wheezed. “We know that!” He doubled over, shaking, wrapping his arms around his belly.
Maggie seemed to be holding herself in utter stillness to avoid laughter of her own, her lips rolled beneath her teeth as if she must pinch them together to keep a bit of humor from breaking free.
“What”—she closed her eyes, took a breath—“do you mean by that?”
He’d hashed it. Knew it as soon as the words had escaped his lips. “I mean there’s a house party I need entrance to, but the only people receiving invitations are painters and their… muses. I can pretend to paint. Icanpaint, if not that well. But the muse bit”—he took another slug of port—“I need a woman.”
“Why do you wish to go to this painter’s house party?” Maggie asked.
Zander appeared to be recovering but not quite enough to speak yet.
“I’ve had word the men attending are mostly titled, self-righteous prigs, and the muses they plan to bring with them are their mistresses. And their mistresses are unknown to their wives. I intend to reveal them for who they really are.” Ruiners of families. Men with power who wielded it for pleasure instead of for the good of others.
“Out for blood again, brother,” Zander finally said.
Theo nodded.
Zander scratched his jaw, darted a glance at Maggie. “Cover your ears, sister.”
She glared, pulled her ears out wide.
Zander rolled his eyes. “Do you have a former mistress who might help you?”
“No.” Theo shook his head. “I’ve not had a mistress since before Father’s death, and even then, they weren’t mistresses so much as friendly acquaintances who werequitefriendly at times.”
“You can”—Zander glanced at Maggie—“hirea woman, then. Mags, you really shouldn’t be listening to this.”
“I shall listen to what I please. I have been married longer than you, and I did grow up in the same family. I know what you know, brother.”
Zander shivered.
“Focus,” Theo pleaded. “I cannot ask a stranger to accompany me. What if they discover why I’m really there? Who I really am?” No one knew who Sir George was, the satirist who signed his drawings with the small sketch of a knight’s helmet. A bit of egotistical fancy, that, but one that served to remind him of his purpose—to slay the dragons of London society.
“I don’t like that,” Maggie said, pulling her legs up under her skirts and wrapping her arms around them. “You’ve drawn some nasty things about powerful men. Your anonymity protects you.”
“I’ve drawntruethings—which makes them even nastier—about men with too much power. And I would like to continue doing so. But I would also like to continue doing so undetected.”
“So, no, you can’t trust a stranger,” Maggie concluded. “Perhaps you should not go at all. There is enough for you to write about just here in London.” She nodded, as if she’d decided it all.
Zander pushed off his legs to stand. “I think you should go. Sounds like an… interesting event. Take if from a former slightly nefarious man, what you need is not just a woman, but a woman who wants something you have. Other than, naturally, your appealing personality.” He winked then sauntered from the room. “Fiona!” he called out once in the hallway.
Maggie jumped to her feet, eyes wide, face drained of color. “Shh! You cad!” She rushed after him. “You’ll wake the baby!”
Alone, Theo pondered the ceiling once more. Two failures in as many days. A woman who would not be moved though she must move and accept his help or find herself without a home in a month’s time. Hell, he wanted to help her. The Sir George bit of him wanted to save her—find her a new home, financial backers for her school. Her every wink drove him wild, but the last few days had taught him to see her as more than a tease, more than a thorn. He saw now the intelligence in her eyes, the softness of her heart.
He could not help but melt a bit. Another problem, that.
Best to put all Cordelia-shaped problems behind him. He could do nothing about them if she refused to be sensible. The house party remained the more pressing problem. He needed to find a woman he could trust in half a day or a woman to exchange favors with. Her help and her silence for whatever she wanted. That he could give her.
His breath hitched and his hands, pushing through his hair, froze. Hell. The two problems, their solutions, knit together in his mind.
He couldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
