The Prince's Mistress

PROLOGUE

The earl's footsteps echoed loudly throughout the foyer, swept down the salon and met Honor's ear with muted thuds. Nervous energy shot through her, making her hands tremble slightly. She clasped them in front of her at the waist to still the tell-tale quiver. She strode determinedly towards the sound, but slowed as she took in the visage that was the new Earl of Carlisle.

Mikhail Petrovich Howard, Earl of Carlisle was beautiful. His thick black hair was a touch too long to be fashionable and his indigo eyes were shot with a starburst of white that gave them an air of frost. He had a straight Roman nose that would have looked too large on any other man, but it suited him perfectly. His lips were full and dark, almost as though he had just finished kissing someone. He was tall, much taller than the men that stood on either side of him. His skin was lightly tanned and his body was muscled, which indicated that he spent more time pursuing active pleasures instead of the more sedentary activities that plagued the upper classes.

His clothing was dark, expensive, and tailored to perfection. A lazy arrogance seemed to emanate from him, as if the world bowed to him and owed him its very existence. He was the ruler of all he surveyed and in the wilds of Northumbria, there was no one to gainsay him.

His eyes met hers and his steps halted for the briefest of moments, then continued at a slower gait, but just as sure as before. She heard one of his companions say jovially, "Carlisle, you didn't say you had a mistress installed here." The earl looked down at his handsome companion and replied, "I don't. I believe she is a servant of some sort." The friend's smile grew wider, "I do love good service." His friend's comment stopped Honor abruptly, but the earl closed the last space between them until he was close to her; so close that when she met his eyes, she could see the lines of frost in them.

He lifted one eyebrow and asked, "And who might you be?" The men at his side had halted as well, both looking on with interest. Before Honor could reply, Davenport, Castlemaine's erstwhile butler, appeared from the adjoining salon and introduced her, "My lord, this is Mrs. Reed, your housekeeper. Mrs. Reed, Mikhail Howard, Earl of Carlisle." Honor curtseyed politely, "My lord."

The earl inclined his head towards her and turned to his friends. He gestured toward the first of his companions who despite the fact that it was immaculate, was brushing a speck of invisible dust from his sleeve as if Honor and Davenport were not worth his time. "This is Lord Tremayne," Carlisle next indicated a very solid looking man with dark brown hair and a bushy mustache, "And this is Lord Humphreys."

Carlisle instructed Davenport to see to his guests comfort. Davenport escorted the two men up the grand staircase, leaving Honor alone with Carlisle.He regarded her with blank eyes that indicated nothing of what he thought. "Mrs. Reed, please have tea sent to the library. I will need to see you there in half an hour to discuss some arrangements for this week."

"Yes, your lordship."

Honor curtseyed once more and set off to the kitchens. The cook, Caron, was busy directing his small army of helpers and didn't see Honor at first. She stood quietly, politely allowing him to finish speaking before clearing her throat loudly and drawing his attention. His face clouded immediately before he thundered, "Why was I not told his lordship was arriving with guests! I have nothing prepared--nothing!"

Honor gave him a pleading smile and cajoled, "Caron, I know that you've had no warning and I am sorry, but I had none either. I know you're brilliant and will have little trouble creating something that will do on such short notice. Just keep it simple with elegant touches and no one will be unhappy. In the meantime, his lordship would like tea in the library."

Caron scowled, threw up his hands and began cursing under his breath in French. Honor didn't turn a hair at his profanity. Her father and his dissolute friends had said far worse and in English. In Honor's opinion, cursing was almost elegant in French.