Once a Mistress

Drew recoiled from the force of her words as if she’d physically struck him. He went weak in the knees and all the air seemed to leave the room. He gasped. “What?”

  Wren sank onto the leather ottoman at the foot of Drew’s favorite chair. “He raped me.”

  Drew looked stunned. “I don’t believe it,” he breathed. “Julian’s my friend. We were at school together. We stood shoulder to shoulder against the French. He’s a man of honor. An officer and a gentleman and I wouldn’t hesitate to trust him with my life.” He knelt beside the ottoman.

  Wren looked Drew in the eye. “And you didn’t hesitate to trust him with my life,” she said. “Your mistake was in trusting him with my virtue.”

  “I never…”

  “That last night at Vauxhall,” Wren reminded him.

  “I didn’t see Julian or speak to him, so I couldn’t have asked him to escort you and your aunt home.”

  Drew reached for her hand, but Wren pulled it back out of his reach. “I asked my father to escort you.”

  Wren read the look in his eyes. “And all this time you’ve believed that George was responsible for what happened to me…”

  Drew focused his gaze on the Turkey carpet and raked his fingers through his hair. “I believed I could depend on my father to accompany you to your home. I asked him to escort you and your aunt home from the concert that night and I didn’t see you for six years. When I do see you again, you’re living on my father’s estate and proclaiming yourself to be the mother of his son. It wasn’t so hard to understand. Not when I knew my father had a weakness for younger women and that he kept several mistresses.” He shook his head. “But Julian? Never in a thousand years would I have believed Julian capable of what you’re accusing him of.”

  “Believe me,” Wren said bitterly. “He’s quite capable of grabbing a woman—even his best friend’s fiancée—in a coach and forcing himself on her.”

  “Not Julian. Not my friend.”

  “Why is it that you were perfectly willing to believe I was your father’s mistress, but unwilling to believe that a fellow officer and a gentleman is capable of rape? You went to war, Drew. You know the terrible crimes of which men are capable. Your friend is no different. He may be an officer and a gentleman, but he was quite willing to strike a woman across the face, grab her by the back of the neck, shove her face down into the dusty seat cushions of the marquess of Templeston’s carriage, tear off her undergarments, and push his way inside her without regard for his friendship with the man she was about to marry or the fact that the wedding was two days away.”

  “You go too far, madam!” Lord St. Jacque shouted. “You defame my son by accusing him of a heinous act.”

  “I haven’t defamed your son. I haven’t said anything about your son except the truth.” She took a deep breath. “When he was done with me, he dropped me off at the front door of my aunt’s town house and drove away.” She turned to Drew. “The day we were to be married, my face was bruised and swollen and my eye was black. How could I face you without telling you what happened? And how could I tell you that your best friend had raped me?”

  Drew buried his face in his hands. “That night at Vauxhall, I asked my father to escort you safely home because I knew I could count on him to do it.”

  “George didn’t escort either of us home,” Wren replied wearily. “Aunt Edwina begged a ride home from her friends and Lord and Lady St. Jacque’s son came to the coach and told me that you’d asked him to see me home.”

  “I didn’t speak to Julian that night…and I didn’t tell anyone about the message except you and my father.”

  “He told me you sent him to escort me home,” Wren said. “And I believed him because I knew that you would never send anyone who would do me harm. But the man who raped me was your closest friend. I trusted him because you did and my life changed beyond recognition.”

  “Ian?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Ian. He was the reason Bertrand Stafford agreed to marry me.”

  Drew shook his head once again. “I can’t believe this of Julian.”

  Wren managed a grim laugh. “I know,” she said. “That’s the sad irony. I told him that you’d kill him if you ever found out what he’d done to me and he laughed at me. He laughed and said that he intended to live a very long life as the earl of Ramsey’s best friend because you were an honorable man who could never conceive of dishonor in his friends.” She stood up and walked to the door. “And it seems he was right.” Wren reached for the doorknob, then turned back to Lord and Lady St. Jacque. “Kit is my son and if you ever attempt to do so much as speak to him, I’ll make certain you live to regret it.”

  With those final angry words, Wren opened the door of the study and walked away.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” Drew demanded. “Or did you plan to keep me in the dark forever?”

  Wren started at the fury in Drew’s voice. He had followed her up the stairs, past the nursery, to the master suite, where he’d flung open the door and shouted her name. She met him in the doorway of her bedroom. Drew took hold of her arm and guided her back inside the room, slamming the door behind him with such force that it shook the frame.

  “No.” Her heart seemed to tighten in her chest. “Yes.”

  Drew stared at her. “Which is it?”

  “Both,” she answered. “I never planned to tell you because I never wanted the man I loved to know that his closest friend had betrayed him and because a part of me was afraid that he knew you better than I did. I was afraid that he was right—that you’d believe him and not me. And if I had to miss our wedding to keep you from finding out what he had done, I was willing to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “What could you do, Drew?” She met his piercing gaze without flinching. “Change what happened? Kill the man you loved like a brother? Believe me? Believe him? Blame him? Blame me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How could you know what to do? When you don’t know whom to believe.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you,” he attempted to defend himself.

  “You never said you did, either.”

  That stopped him in his tracks. “Kathryn, you’re asking me to question everything I’ve ever believed about Julian St. Jacque and myself.”

  “No, Drew.” Wren shook her head. “I’ve told you the truth. That’s all I can do. You either believe me or you don’t.”

  He didn’t reply.

  She was tempted to let go and walk away, but she loved him and she couldn’t let go without one last fight to win his love. “I don’t understand why he did what he did to me. I don’t know why he used me to hurt you. I only know that he seemed to think it was a great joke— something he could do to get back at you or to get even with you—as if I were some sort of prize to be won. He wanted me to marry you. Bruising my face was a mistake. Even as he raped me, he apologized for hitting me. He told me he hoped he hadn’t ruined my appearance because he wanted me to look my best on my wedding day.” Tears rolled down her face, but she was unaware of them. “He seemed to think that you would know I wasn’t a virgin and that that would be a great trick to play on you.”

  She turned away from Drew and began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, occasionally stopping long enough to extend her hands toward the low-burning flames in an attempt to warm them. “And I never understood why George was always so kind to me or why he felt compelled to help me after the embarrassment and humiliation I caused you,” she said. “Until Martin remarked that I could always count on George to see to my future. You said almost the same thing when you said you knew you could count on your father to see me and my aunt safely home. You escorted me to your coach and left me alone there while you set out to ask your father to see me home.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “But George didn’t come to the coach; your friend came in his place,” she continued, “and he told me that you’d been summoned to the War Office by your commanding of
ficer. You say you didn’t see your friend at Vauxhall that night or tell anyone except George and me about the urgent message.”

  “I didn’t,” Drew said. “It was confidential.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” Wren said. “So your friend could only have known about it if he delivered it to you or if he spoke to George.”

  Or unless he wrote it. The unbidden thought popped into Drew’s mind and refused to leave. But he didn’t give voice to it. It hurt too much to say the words aloud because saying those words aloud meant that Julian had planned to betray him, had planned Kathryn’s rape.

  She wanted him to say something—anything—to give her an idea of what he was thinking, what he felt. But Drew didn’t say a word. He simply continued to watch her.

  Unable to bear his silence a moment longer, Wren walked over to Drew and handed him the gold and sapphire wedding ring he’d placed on her finger three days before.

  He shook his head.

  “I believe I have something that belongs to you. I’m giving it back because it’s much too dear for me. I don’t deserve it. After all, we aren’t really married. We repeated words but they’re only vows if you believe in them. And apparently, only one of us did.” She stared at him as if she were memorizing his face. “You paid the archbishop for the special license to marry us, so you should be able to pay him to marry us. There hasn’t been an announcement of our marriage and the archbishop has the register we signed, so dissolving our union should be a simple matter of scratching through our signatures and pretending it never happened.” Her words stuck in her throat along with the burning tears she had yet to shed.

  He looked stricken.

  “I wanted to marry you more than anything in the world. But marriage is nothing without trust and I don’t want to share a bed or a life with a man who would rather believe his friend’s vicious lies than admit that his wife might be telling the truth.” Wren touched two fingers to her lips before pressing those fingers against Drew’s mouth. “Good-bye, my love,” she murmured.

  “Kathryn…” He finally found his voice. “You’re my wife and the mother of my adopted son and heir. You belong here with me.”

  “Did you happen to mention that fact to the St. Jacques? Or did you allow them to continue in their belief that I’m the faithless and mercenary whore who broke their son’s heart and stole their grandchild?”

  Drew sighed. His world was falling apart and he had no idea how to prevent it. “They’re grieving parents, Kathryn. Parents who wanted to believe that the boy they saw here today was their grandson.”

  “The product of their son’s romantic clandestine liaison with his best friend’s betrothed. What a charming portrait they’ve painted of me. I’m sure they can’t wait to tell all their friends how they rescued their grandson by snatching him from my clutches.”

  He frowned at her. “I’ve known them most of my life. The St. Jacques are good people. They were upset and angry this afternoon, but they would never try to take Kit away from here or do him any harm.”

  “I pray you’re right,” she told him. “But I don’t trust them and I won’t feel safe until they’re gone.”

  “They’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “Not a moment too soon.” Wren walked past him.

  He watched her leave. “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  I cannot rest easy in my grave until you know that I never meant to fail you. You counted on me and my momentary thoughtlessness drastically altered your life’s path in a manner neither of us could have foreseen. I hope that one day you’ll forgive me. I hear a heavy guilt for my misplaced trust.

  Drew nearly cried out as his father’s confession returned to haunt him. But even more of an indictment were his own words, spoken the day he’d taken her riding in the rain: You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready. And whenever you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be ready to listen.

  Spoken when his heart was full of love and forgotten when it filled with fear.

  Drew knew in his heart that Kathryn had spoken the truth about Julian. And she’d been right about him as well. He didn’t want to admit that the man he loved like a brother was capable of betraying his love and trust. It was easier to believe the worst of her than it was to face the fact that a lifelong friendship was based on a lie.

  If he believed her, he would lose the one friend he trusted most in the world. If he chose not to believe her, he would lose Kathryn—for the second time in his life.

  And Drew was just beginning to understand the magnitude of that loss and the fact that he wouldn’t get another opportunity to win her love. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. That last night at Vauxhall Gardens sprang to mind as crisp and clear in detail as if it had happened yesterday.

  The urgent message from Lieutenant Colonel Grant summoning him back to the War Office hadn’t arrived by military messenger or in a military pouch. Drew hadn’t noticed the irregularity at the time, but he remembered it now. That urgent message had been hand-delivered by a street urchin who told him that a dandy swell had pointed him out.

  And although the message had been written on official stationery, it hadn’t carried the seal or signature of his commanding officer and it hadn’t been written in code.

  Because Lieutenant Colonel Grant hadn’t sent it.

  Someone else had.

  He had recognized familiar handwriting and accepted the message as authentic, but the note was a forgery. He hadn’t noticed the irregularities in the way the message was written or in the way it had been delivered at the time because the handwriting had been as familiar to him as his own. An hour ago he would never have suspected Julian but now he knew that his best friend had forged the note because the familiar handwriting had been Julian’s. And Drew had been too distracted by thoughts of his upcoming nuptials to notice.

  He’d walked Kathryn to the coach and left her there while he set off in search of his father, never doubting for a moment that the coachmen and me driver would keep her safe until his father arrived to escort her home.

  But his father hadn’t arrived. Julian St. Jacque had arrived instead and he’d raped Kathryn before depositing her at her aunt’s front door as if nothing had ever happened.

  And on the day of their wedding, Julian St. Jacque had stood beside him at the altar watching and waiting for Kathryn’s arrival. Thinking back on it now, Drew realized that Julian had fully expected Kathryn to appear at the church and go through with the wedding as scheduled. Julian had been as outraged as the groom because he had wanted Kathryn to marry him so that by the time Drew found out his bride wasn’t a virgin, it would be too late.

  When she failed to appear, Julian had been the first to condemn her. He had been the first to call her a heartless bitch for disappointing Drew and breaking his heart. And Julian had been the first to encourage Drew to forget her.

  But forgetting her had proved impossible then and it would be just as impossible now. He couldn’t forget the only woman he loved. He didn’t want to forget the only woman he would ever love. Nor did he want to lose her. But he would lose her if he didn’t make amends. If he didn’t show her how much he loved her.

  Drew sprang into action. There was much to be done and very little time in which to do it. He must dress carefully for the occasion and assemble the cast of characters.

  Chapter Thirty-two