Mistress By Mistake
Susan Gee Heino
Warwickshire, England, 16 May, 1816
Evaline woke up to a gray, drizzly morning and a splitting headache that hurt all the way down to her toes. Her first
thoughts were that her misery was so acute, she must be dying. When at last she cracked her eyes open to view her
blurry surroundings, she discovered she was lying in the center of the most enormous bed she could ever imagine. It
was quite comfortable, too, with fresh scented linens and nothing lumpy or dubious in the mattress. If not for the
headache she might have assumed she had already died and gone to heaven.
Because of the headache, it seemed more likely she had died, but this was certainly not heaven. Suddenly the events
of last night came back to her in a deluge of images and she realized she might have every reason to expect herself to
end up somewhere other than saintly paradise.
Good God, what had she done? She’d drunk an entire bottle of wine then allowed a strange man to… No, she
couldn’t even think about that! What on earth had come over her? It had to have been a dream, but even that was
shocking. She was Evaline Pinchley, prim and proper and the very picture of maidenly caution. That couldn’t possibly
have been her last night, writhing around on a bench with an unknown man! Sweet saints above, all these dreadful
memories simply couldn’t be her own!
She peeped around the room. No man in sight. Thankfully, she appeared to be quite alone. A quick look under the
covers assured her she was still wearing her night clothes, although they were a bit rumpled. But at least they were
there! Perhaps it had all been simply a dream, after all.
That didn’t explain her presence in this bed, though. This was clearly not the cozy, feminine room she had been
assigned when she and her aunt had arrived at Hartwood yesterday. No, this was someone else’s room—grand and
decidedly masculine. But whose?
She simply needed to be calm and think for a moment. What was the last thing she remembered? Oh, yes. Her
breasts. In the moonlight. And him touching them, touching her… good lord, but she remembered that, all right.
Gracious, just thinking of it now sent waves of something tingly all through her body. That really didn't help the
headache one bit, either.
Dear heavens but she simply couldn't have done those things last night! She never would have allowed it, would
she? Her traitorous body told her she had most definitely allowed it. And liked it! Heavens, what was she to do?
Oh, this was dreadful. If anyone found out about it, there’d be no end to the shame. All of England would hear how
she'd lived up to expectations and become a wanton woman; a woman just like her grandmother. She’d become what
her parents had tried so hard to protect her from. And worst of all, she couldn't even remember it!
One good thing, though. She may not have gotten the gentleman's name, but at least she knew who it was not: Lord
Dashford himself.
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