To Claim His Mistress: Mistress at a Price / Mother and Mistress / His Mistress's Secret

‘Indeed I am.’ And wishing that she could be anywhere else in the world, she thought wretchedly.

Oh, God, she whispered inwardly. How can this be happening to me? How could I have jumped to the conclusion that the flowers had to be from Liam? And the message.

Well, wishful thinking was the short answer to that. She’d wanted it so badly to be him that she’d suspended rational thought. Ignored the bitter rancour of their parting. And poor Tony, of course, had simply passed through her consciousness without touching the edges. She hadn’t given him a single thought, or anyone else either. Had never doubted her own conviction for a moment.

But she could have borne the disappointment somehow if only Liam had not been here—waiting, she’d thought, for her.

Oh, why—why should he choose to visit this particular restaurant out of all others on this particular night? Cat wailed silently. It was crazy—impossible. Cruel.

On the other hand, there wasn’t the slightest reason for him not to patronise Mignonette. It was high-profile and popular. The date of his visit was just one of life’s bitter ironies.

She supposed in a perverse way she should be thankful for Tony’s intervention. Otherwise she would have walked straight to Liam and probably suffered a crushing humiliation in the process.

And now she had to sit here, pretending to take an interest in food and wine when in truth she was wired up, every sense in overdrive, as she waited for Liam to enter the restaurant itself.

Mignonette was a series of rooms, opening out from each other, all decorated in cool pastels and divided into booths. The lights were shaded, the conversation hushed, and a pianist just inside the archway was softly playing a medley of romantic standards.

All in all, it was an ideal place for lovers, but not so good if you were here with entirely the wrong man.

And downright bad when you knew the man you really wanted was going to walk past your table at any moment.

It was like knowing a gun was about to go off, she told herself. You were excited and scared all at the same time. And hoping against hope that you wouldn’t receive a fatal wound.

‘I got your address from Freddie at the reception,’ Tony went on, a faint note of self-congratulation in his tone. ‘He was tickled pink at the thought of us getting together.’

But we’re not together, she thought. And we never would be in a thousand years, even though you’re good-looking, well-dressed, pleasant and a serious earner. And if Belinda doesn’t murder bloody Freddie, I might have a go.

She sipped her dry martini. She said lightly, ‘Then that makes everything all right.’

‘Freddie and Belinda will be great,’ he said after a pause. ‘He can be a bit of a fool sometimes, but she’ll make him toe the line.’

I bet she’s already started, Cat thought drily, remembering her cousin’s set face as she departed on honeymoon.

She heard approaching footsteps and tensed, knowing beyond all doubt who it was. She began to concentrate so furiously on the à la carte section that the words blurred and danced in front of her eyes.

He walked past without even a glance in her direction. He was not alone, and of course she had not expected him to be. But, all the same, she’d hoped so badly…

The girl with him was tall and slim, with long chestnut hair confined at the nape of her neck with a bow of black ribbon. Her skirt was black too, and the silk tunic she wore over it was striped in black and white. She had good legs, and moved well. And Cat didn’t have to get a direct look at her face to know that she would be strikingly beautiful.

She would also have known her again anywhere, even if she was blind and in the dark. The image of them walking together into the adjoining room was etched with razor sharpness into her mind.

But at least they weren’t sitting at the next table, and she had to be thankful for that, at least. Her voice was over-bright as she told Tony she would have the queen scallops, followed by poulet Normande.

Tony ordered cassoulet. ‘Peasant food,’ he said with satisfaction.

Very rich peasants, if they can afford these prices, thought Cat wearily, wondering how soon she could make an excuse and leave.

The food was delicious, but she ate embarrassingly little, simply pushing it round her plate. She barely touched the wine either, confining herself to sips of mineral water.

I should have done the same the other night, she thought wearily. Then I wouldn’t be sitting here with a knife twisting inside me.

Although it was wrong to blame alcohol for her passionate surrender to Liam. It had been sheer, stark animal attraction that had brought them together. Fusing them into an explosion of physical desire which she’d never experienced before and had been unable to resist.

I made my choices, she thought flatly, and now I have to live with the consequences.

Tony, she noticed, had none of her reservations about the wine. He quickly finished off the first bottle and asked for a second.

The wine loosened his tongue, too. When they’d first sat down they’d talked about work, which Cat had found infinitely preferable to discussing more personal matters. But a chance remark of hers about lawyers had opened the floodgates, and she found herself being treated to a blow-by-blow account of divorce in the twenty-first century. He was clearly labouring under a strong sense of injury, and before too long Cat wanted to scream.

‘Somebody’s making Cheryl do this,’ he kept declaring truculently. ‘She doesn’t need the money.’

By the time the second bottle was only a memory his speech was slurred, and he was beginning to get amorous, and a little maudlin.

Not an ideal combination, Cat thought, signalling discreetly to the waiter. But a perfect excuse to forego dessert.

She paid the bill, then, with the waiter’s help, and praying that Liam would stay well out of the way and not witness her struggles, she managed to get Tony outside without causing too much fuss, and into a cruising cab. He tried tipsily to persuade her to accompany him, but she declined tersely, freeing herself forcefully from his wandering hand.

And a minute later another cab was speeding her in the opposite direction. Back to safety.

She leaned back in her corner and closed her eyes. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ she muttered under her breath, somewhere between laughter and tears, then paused, the breath catching in her throat as she recognised the fuller implications of her words.

Her hands clenched together in her lap, and she turned to look out of the window in an attempt to refocus her thoughts on the brightly lit shops they were passing. But all in vain.

The only thing she was aware of was her own reflection in the glass—a pale girl, with quivering lips and an ocean’s depth of pain in her eyes. And from that there was no distraction—and no retreat.

Cat walked into her flat the following evening, closed the door and leaned back against it, her shoulders slumped in weariness. The weekend stretched ahead of her like a desert, punctuated only by such excitements as dusting, vacuuming, and doing some laundry.

She might even stir up a frenzy by sorting her DVDs into alphabetical order. Hell. She pulled a face. How sad was that?

One thing she was determined on. She was not going to cry herself to sleep for a second time tonight. As soon as she’d turned off her lamp the previous evening all the suppressed emotion had come welling up inside her and she’d started to sob hopelessly—desperately—her tears soaking the pillow.

And even when exhaustion had finally claimed her there had been no respite. She’d woken near dawn to find her face wet again, and the taste of salt on her lips.

So, she would start as she meant to go on tonight—plan her evening like a campaign. A relaxing bath, she thought, with the new toiletries that held no inconvenient memories, then into the dear old velour robe. Some music, naturally—probably Mozart. And, because she’d had lunch with a potential client, just a light supper. A cheese omelette, maybe, with a glass of wine. And then she’d get her laptop and start mapping out some preliminary ideas for the new suite of offices, which had been the reason for the lunch. That should fill the time nicely.

Even two weeks ago I’d have been perfectly content with an evening like that, she told herself. And I can be again. I just need to take control.

She put on the horn concerto while her bath was running, then lay back in the water, hair pinned on top of her head, eyes closed, letting the glorious notes drive any lingering demons from her soul.

She was safely covered in her comfort blanket, and on her way to the kitchen, when her doorbell sounded. She paused, frowning slightly, wondering who the caller could be. God forbid it should be Tony, come to do penance.

She was in two minds whether to answer the door or not when she remembered that it might be her neighbour, with a parcel that she’d taken in. Those books, perhaps, that Cat had ordered on the Internet.

As the bell sounded again she called, ‘Yes, I’m here.’ She dealt swiftly with the safety lock and flung open the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ she began, then stopped dead, her eyes dilating in shock and the apologetic smile fading as she saw who was confronting her.

‘Good evening,’ Liam said quietly. He was in full City gear this evening—dark blue suit with a faint pinstripe, crisp white shirt and silk tie. His face was unsmiling and weary, his mouth taut.