Filed To Story: Alessia Mistaken as Mistress Book PDF Free
And she never wanted to.
But the kiss. Lord, the kiss. The first time had been an accident, and could have been forgotten as a slip on both their parts. This one had been no accident. She’d seen it coming by the desire in his eyes and the aggressive stance of his body.
And she’d stepped right into it. Welcomed it.
Enjoyed it.
The sight of his bare torso had made her palms itch to touch him. His scent when he came near gave her the scandalous desire to wrap herself around him and mold herself to him and-
Alessia stopped pacing and placed her palms against her quivering stomach. What kind of woman was she that she desired the man so badly? She’d already gotten herself into more trouble than she’d been able to handle by allowing one man to override her common sense. She’d permitted shameful liberties with Gaylen. Had that and falling from her father’s grace turned her into some kind of strumpet?
Her face flamed with shame. Was she one of those foolish women who thought she loved every man she’d ever known? Nicholas wasn’t even lovable.
Her fluttering heart contradicted that thought.
She was an idiot to even be thinking of him with wanton ideas at this moment. She was going to the train station to face the woman who could seal her fate with the Hallidays.
Could they have her thrown in jail for impersonating a family member? Would they?
The clomp of horses’ hooves and jingle of harnesses alerted her to the elegant black carriage being drawn up the drive by a lustrous black team. Gruver jumped down and opened the door, lowering the steps. “Sorry I’m not on time, ma’am. Mr. Halliday got a late start this morning.”
How well she knew! She accepted his hand. “I know, Gruver. We still have time.” Before he could shut the door, she leaned forward. “Gruver. My leg is giving me a problem this morning. I don’t know how much walking I can do on it. I’ll need you to have a porter page Mrs. Patrick. Once you’ve located her, bring her to the carriage where I’ll be waiting.”
He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
The door closed and she leaned back, her heart hammering. The ride to the station was far too short, even though it was nearly an hour’s drive. She rehearsed the words she would say when Claire’s mother climbed in looking for her daughter.
Gruver left her waiting and went in search of their visitor. Alessia feared she would faint or throw up. She opened the shade and gulped in heavy, rain-laden air. Beneath her uncomfortably stiff corsets and black gabardine suit, she perspired.
The black bonnet would keep the woman from seeing her face until she’d been settled and Gruver had climbed aboard and pulled them away from the station.
She heard the porter’s page. His voice rose above the other station sounds and rang in her head like a death knell.
She peered into the throng of people on the platform, heard the hiss of steam from an engine. The sound of crashing metal and the lurching sensation of that awful night came back to her in a rush, and she closed her eyes against a sense of vertigo.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she didn’t open her eyes until she’d quashed the nightmarish memories. Two men in black with an oddly draped form between them broke apart from the crowd, and Alessia hurriedly latched the leather shade and sat back against the seat.
Boots on cinders outside alerted her to their nearness. Her stomach quaked.
The door opened.
She looked at her lap.
Someone grunted.
Another male voice grunted, and a strained curse followed.
Fabric rustled, the carriage rocked, and Gruver’s blackclad rear end appeared directly in front of Alessia’s face.
At that she looked up.
He had backed into the carriage and, with both hands under the woman’s arms, pulled her inside while a profusely sweating black porter tried to wrestle her limp legs through the opening.
Was the woman dead?
Alessia stared at their awkward burden. Gruver’s hat fell off, and the porter stepped on it as he got her lower body inside the coach. They hauled her onto the opposite bench, and situated her there, her legs stacked on the leather seat, one arm fallen and her hand nearly touching the floor.
Immediately the porter backed out. Gruver stepped to the stairs, picked up his hat and, winded, used his thumbs to pop out the crown.
The woman’s hat hung to one side, her gray-shot wild red hair tangled in the ribbons. Her mouth gaped open, and an unladylike snore gusted forth. The smell of liquor assailed Alessia all at once, and she gaped from the drunken woman to Gruver.
He appeared decidedly embarrassed-for her!
He thought this was her mother, of course.
Alessia looked at her again, trying to see some resemblance to the young woman she’d met so briefly on the train. Same brassy red hair. Same pale, freckled skin.
Claire’s mother was intoxicated!
“Uh, I’m sorry, Gruver. Is the porter still out here?”
He glanced aside. “Yes, ma’am.”
She fished in her reticule and pulled out a few coins. “Tip him, please.”
Gruver took the money.
A minute later, the sounds of luggage being strapped on the back became evident. Mind awhirl, she stared at the unconscious woman. Gruver placed the step inside, his worried gaze darting to their passenger, and closed the door.
The rank smell of liquor drifted to Alessia and turned her stomach. Perhaps the poor thing didn’t travel well and drank to dull the experience. Her unconscious state didn’t suggest someone who’d had a few nips for the road, however. But it could be worse, she assured herself. At least no one but Gruver had seen her like this.
After nearly an hour of listening to her irritating snore, they arrived home.
Gruver appeared in the doorway in his misshapen hat, a look of dread on his face. “Upstairs?”
“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.
“It’s not that she’s fat or nothin’, ma’am,” he said. “It’s just that she’s such-“
“Deadweight?”
He nodded.
“If there were some other way…” she said. “But I don’t want to leave her here-or downstairs-until Nicholas comes home.”
“No,” he agreed sympathetically. “Don’t you worry,
Mrs. Halliday. I can get her, and Mr. Halliday will never have to know.”
“Thank you, Gruver.”
She helped him maneuver her out of the coach and as far as the foyer. There, he shot Alessia an apologetic glance before awkwardly hoisting the woman over his shoulder. He clamped both forearms securely beneath her ample derriere and carried her up the stairs, her head and arms dangling, her hat flopping.
Alessia raced ahead to the room they’d prepared, and flung open the door. Mrs. Patrick landed none too gently on the mattress seconds later.
Gruver straightened and grimaced, the back of one hand in the hollow of his back, and watched Alessia remove the woman’s shoes. “I think I’ll rest a few minutes before I bring the trunks up.”
“Of course! Bless you! I’ll see that Penelope and Mrs. Pratt fix you something special for dinner-for the rest of the week.”