“Season’s in full swing, milord,” the voice of his driver proclaimed at full volume. “Can’t light a fart in this crush!”
“Roskins!” Daniel scraped out and banged on the roof as the woman beside him choked on a laugh. At least he hoped it was mirth and not disgust. Did the man forget ’twas not Louise he squired about?
As though he’d leaned close and lowered his voice, a muffled, “Beggin’ your pardon, milord! Milord’s lady friend, I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken,” Thea hollered back to his driver, “I assure you.” Her lilting voice reassured him. Then stole his wits when she continued, “Had I a lucifer and the bodily urge, I might try it myself!”
Both men chuckled. And the carriage lurched ahead yet again.
Silence descended.
Weighed heavily.
Threatened to drown him.
Had air always been this thick? Or was his throat truly that swollen?
Long minutes later, when the horses had done nothing but inch forward a foot, Roskins yelled that there was no hope for it. He eased from the crush and took a sharp turn, coming to a complete stop (which was rather hard to discern, given how little they’d progressed). The man jumped down and opened the door, asking to confer with Lord Tremayne who gratefully stepped out at the unusual request.
Jointly, they moved toward the horses, out of earshot of the door, where Roskins continued. “The roads are clogged tighter than Prinny’s privy, milord.” He nodded toward his elevated seat. “Don’t see it getting none better, either. Here’s wot I’m thinking…” The man went on to offer several suggestions: take a longer route around, choose a different destination, try again another night.
Daniel latched on to the second option. “Anywhere,” he told his trusted driver, waving his arm and encompassing the whole of London. “Any p-p-pu-b-blic—”
He tripped over the words so bad he was surprised his tongue didn’t flap out and flay them both. But Roskins had been with him a long time, knew how to interpret. “Another playhouse, milord, instead of the one we was aiming for? Will that do the trick?”
A nod and they each returned to their previous seats, Daniel only partially jealous of his driver’s freedom up top, and alone.
How could he regret even one moment spent in her presence?
Easily, when he worried every one might be the last…
“Orreries!” exploded from his mouth as Roskins took off, the sudden forward motion jarring the occupants—and likewise his jaw. “Like orreries,” he said more sedately in belated response to Thea’s last note.
He wasn’t yet ready to talk about family. (What would he do? Tell her his sister fancied herself a witch?) Neither was he comfortable with the notion of declaring what he dreamed about. (Did he even dream? Other than a good night’s sleep and a fetching, accommodating mistress to help bring it about, Daniel didn’t think he’d dreamed of much in years.) But he could tell her of his interests (if he could talk, that was).
Though the planetary models he’d loved since childhood had been popular for decades, they were definitely playtime fodder for the privileged class. Not something those untitled were often familiar with. Rather than assume she knew what he meant, he’d better explain. “They’re pl-pl—” He licked his lips, tried again. “Pl-pl—”
Goddammit! The multiple, massacred efforts met his ears and he cringed. Even now, years later, there were times he had to remind himself a sharp birching wasn’t on the other side of a hashed-up word.
Why in blazes had he decided to start answering her litany of questions now? When they were stuck in such a confined space? Where all he was left with was dreaded, deathly silence? Or…or he could kiss her senseless, toss her silky skirt over her head and plunder her pu—“’Lanetary miniatures!”
“Orreries,” Thea responded in a delighted tone as though he hadn’t just been flailing about in a stupid stew of his own making. “You have an interest in them? I’m familiar with them too, especially the inner workings.”
Especially the inner workings?
She couldn’t have stunned him more if she’d been a bolt of lightning. “Y’ are?”
“Fancy trappings powered by clock mechanisms. That’s the part I know about—the turning mechanism. I’ve seen a number of the smaller ones operating above clocks and a tabletop model or two”—she sounded wistful—“but I’ve never seen the larger, floor models.”
“How?” It didn’t seem to bother her—that he’d been reduced to monosyllables.
“My husba—” But she did seem to think better of that beginning because she immediately started over. “Mr. Hurwell operated a clock and watch service, you see.”
Recognition snapped. The Time Piece.
That’s why her name had sounded vaguely familiar when they’d been introduced. She’d been married to that? An older, slightly effeminate man who was bland nearly to the point of offense.
Daniel had stopped by the establishment twice, once to ask advice (which was given only grudgingly, even after the proffered coin was swiftly snatched away) and a second time to inquire whether the man would come to Daniel’s residence and look at the broken arm on Uranus. I don’t make house calls, he’d been dourly informed. I’m a watchmaker, Lord Tremayne, not a physician.
Damn. To think he’d been so close to her and had never known what a treasure the disagreeable Hurwell had stashed upstairs.
“My bosom!” Thea suddenly said, startling him away from the shadowy, crowded, ticking emporium he remembered and back to their brightly lit and now swiftly rolling carriage. “It’s not, not this, well…” Her hands waved the air in front of her chest, fingers fluttering incriminatingly toward the creamy expanse of skin above the neckline. Skin he’d admired from the moment he’d seen her. The graceful neck, the beautiful, beckoning area below—luscious skin he should have thought to adorn with a jewel.
Damn him again, why could he not seem to remember the most basic rules around her? Of course he owed her a bauble (after forgetting to outfit the woman, he likely owed her an entire jewelry store), but more than that, he wanted to see a stone he’d picked out, one that shone brilliantly and was cut to perfection, decorating the exquisite creature at his side.
In fact, he’d love to see her wearing jewels he’d ordered made up and nothing else.
But lack of a gemstone-encrusted necklace didn’t appear to be the root of her dismay.
Thea stared at him, guilt in her eyes, a frown on her lips. “It’s a complete deception. These…” She looked straight down and scowled at the gentle swells hinted at by the fitted dress. Then she looked back at him. “They’re fake. Cotton. Padded!”
Mashing her lips together, she ruthlessly clasped her hands and stared off to the side. “Forgive me. I told Madame V ’twas not honest, to counterfeit my charms, but she wouldn’t heed my opinions. Not on this. But there. I’ve told you now.” She shot him a fast glance. “So why do I still feel as though we’ve tricked you? Lied about my form?”
I’ve seen your form, he wanted to tell her. Have you heard a single complaint cross my lips?
Other than her thinness, which was lessening by the day it seemed, he had no objection to anything about her. And yet, she was so obviously worried he might take offense. At something he had no doubt half the women who would be present tonight did as a matter of course.
It was charmingly sweet, Thea’s earnestness. When had anyone so cared about warranting his good opinion?
He gave her a smile meant to reassure.
She still looked unconvinced.
“Thea.” He had to waste time giving thought to his words. Preparing not to wince at the pain. “Know of men, re…spected ones, who enhance their own ana…tomy with filling.”
For a moment he thought he’d have to try again. Then, simultaneously, her gaze dropped to his crotch and her cheeks flamed scarlet.
“You don’t mean—” Lifting her lashes to face him, her blush deepened. “Oh, heavens to hades, you do mean. But you
…”
Her arm stretched out between them as though she intended to test whether he did or didn’t. Daniel would have let her. Would’ve been happy to have her hands on his body, but she snatched her arm back on a groan.
“I mean, you don’t. I know you don’t. Not that I would have any complaint if you did, you see, because I have tonight—have padded my bosom as I’ve just admitted. But I know you don’t. Of course you don’t. I’ve seen you up close, remember?”
By the last, her voice squeaked so high, it was a wonder the glass around the lantern didn’t shatter.
Daniel couldn’t help it.
He shoved across the carriage to sit next to her. Taking one gloved hand in his, he promptly placed it atop his non-enhanced masculine attributes.
“No…filling,” he told her, gently curving her fingers around his hardening flesh. “Just you.”
“Me?” The query was a soft sigh.
“Want of you enhances me,” he eked out, hearing the harsh edge in his tone. “’T-tis all I need.”
At the slip, he wanted to curse his blasted mouth. But she obliterated the urge the second she raised her head and meshed their lips.
He felt her smile against his mouth, couldn’t help smiling in return.
He released his loose hold on the back of her hand—she caressed him now without any encouragement—and brought his fingers up to her shoulder, her neck, tilting her head as they jointly deepened the kiss, lips opening, tongues touching.
Like a spectacular display of pyrotechnics, desire exploded through him—
“Here we be, milord!” Roskins called out as the carriage bobbed to a halt. “The King’s Theatre.”
King’s Theatre. The Royal Opera House. Where he had a private box, Daniel thought with supreme satisfaction. Where they could continue the kiss and, if they were both feeling bold, even deepen the intimacy…
“We don’t have to stay,” Thea breathed against his chin as they reluctantly broke apart. “Take me home and—”
“Nay. Show you off. Your new…” Dress. Gown. Attire. Gads, every word had an abhorred letter.
Easier to let it hang, especially when Roskins climbed down and opened the door. Especially when Thea playfully grumped, “If you insist,” then jumped to the ground as though she were seven and a candy store awaited.
Aye. She deserved a fanciful night in her fancy new dress.
And Daniel? Well, he’d just count the minutes until it was time to take the blasted new dress off her.
Thanks for reading Mistress in the Making, Book Two - LUSTY LETTERS. If you have a chance to write a review, it’s always appreciated. Reviews and word-of-mouth are two of the best things you can do for authors you enjoy.
Thea and Daniel both surprised me once they started exchanging notes. I had no idea Daniel had such a sense of humor, nor that Thea, in all her relative innocence, would be ready to respond in kind. I love it when characters take on a life of their own and break out of whatever personality box I thought they fit into.
Now that Daniel’s ready to claim his mistress in public, just how far will he go?
Turn the page for a look at DARING DECLARATIONS, the final book in the Mistress in the Making Trilogy, where these two finally get their Happily Forever After.
Excerpt from DARING DECLARATIONS
Chapter 1
Both Pleasure and Suffering
You who know what love is,
Ladies, see if I have it in my heart.
I have a feeling full of desire,
That now, is both pleasure and suffering…
Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), a popular opera first performed in 1786
Thea was afraid to blink. What if she missed something?
Bypassing the ticket booth, Lord Tremayne conferred briefly with an employee before guiding her straight through the foyer and up one of several sweeping staircases.
Muted music indicated the performance was well underway.
Mayhap arriving late was to their benefit? (No one to see her gawking like a chicken.) Of a certainty, the large rounded lobby they came out at on the second level was only sparsely populated.
Lord Tremayne paused before entering either of the two opposing corridors that she assumed led to the private boxes, some costing in excess of two thousand pounds per season she’d heard. That was a vast sum more than most people earned in years, abundantly more than she’d ever come across—and she was here, as his guest. An occurrence he still seemed less-than-thrilled about.
“You have a box?” She hazarded conversation once again.
Stone-faced, he nodded, then gestured toward refreshments available for a coin.
“Thank you, but no,” she told him, far too uncomfortably aware to eat or drink anything. She patted her hair, afraid the feathers might incinerate if his glare became any fiercer. For a man who insisted he wanted to be out with her, he seemed remarkably disgruntled. “I’m not thirsty, but if you—”
He grunted and took off toward the right, her light hold on his forearm whisking her down the passageway as effectively as if he’d picked her up and tossed her ahead. Practically skipping to keep up with him, she prayed the figure-filling padding would stay put. The last thing she needed was to leave a trail of dropped cotton marking her every step.
Narrow doors flanked the corridor, spaced every few feet. They passed a dozen or more before he slowed to find the one he sought. Like most, it was closed. He turned the handle and stepped back, gesturing for her to precede him.
After the well-lit hallway, it took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkened interior. In that short time, she was showered with a wealth of impressions.
Smaller than she’d expected, the box itself was a cozy space, extending only a few paces in either direction. From about waist high, it opened out in the front, overlooking not only the massive stage currently occupied by twirling ballerinas—what an unexpected boon!—but the opening also allowed a glimpse into the noisy gallery below and beyond that—
Thea gasped at the magnitude of it all. Why, there had to be five levels of private boxes, all filled with an assortment of gaily dressed people. Branches of candles extended out every few boxes, illuminating some areas better than others, but everywhere her flitting glance landed, a new and dazzling sight met her eyes.
The spinning, jumping ballerinas cavorting across the stage; a full orchestra playing in front; and behind the musicians, the writhing pit of masculine voices and shapes, only half of whose attention was focused on the performers, the others—like Thea—craned their heads to inspect the individuals lining the boxes on either side.
Some of the occupants stood near the openings, gazing raptly at the stage, others conversed, paying no heed to the spectacle they’d come to see, and others…well, more than one box had the curtain pulled for complete privacy and if she wasn’t mistaken—it was difficult to be certain, given the distance and amount of smoke the many candles gave off—but across the expanse, in one of the highest boxes, she thought she glimpsed a pair of exposed breasts just before they were covered by two broad palms and both bodies disappeared into the shadowed recess—
Thea swallowed hard and quickly returned her attention to the private box she was privileged enough to enjoy tonight.
Chairs. There were several. She blinked as they came into focus.
Oh Lord, levitate me right to Lincolnshire! Lord Tremayne had barged into the wrong box—for two of the chairs were occupied.
The impressions of grandeur still brimming in her mind, one thought screamed above the others: Escape!
She reversed direction but he’d come up behind her, his hard body preventing retreat. His breath caught audibly as he took notice of their company.
Then everyone spoke at once.
“Tremayne?”
“Daniel?”
“Ellie!” burst from the man behind her, the immovable force who curved one hand around the side of her waist with a tense grip that should have hurt—but oddl
y didn’t. “Wylde. What…”
The other man gained his feet, giving the impression of pure, lean elegance. He was immaculately turned out, not a strand of dark blond hair askew. But his lips? Those were definitely off-kilter as he shot her a contemplative look. A single look that conveyed various emotions: curiosity, speculation, censure perhaps? (And she’d thought Lord Tremayne had an intense manner?) Stepping toward them, he said, “Appears we both chose the same night.”
When the woman stood and came to his side, Thea tried again to edge around Lord Tremayne. The bite of his fingers stayed the impulse.
What should she do?
The slight blonde fixed her with a decidedly inquisitive stare.
Under ordinary circumstances, Thea was confident she could hold her own. But this was anything but ordinary. Associating with Sarah and Lord Penry and others of the demimonde ilk was one thing. But a man did not mingle his mistress with his—
His what?
Who were these people to Lord Tremayne? His friends?
Strangling the strings of her reticule so tightly it was a wonder they didn’t snap, she gave a fast, modest curtsy to both the lord and his lady (as competently a curtsy as one can make when their waist is shackled). “Pardon us for the interruption,” she said since no one else seemed inclined to speak since the initial outbursts. “We’ll take ourselves off, let you return to your evening alone. Forgive us.”
But though she again pressed into the brick wall that was Lord Tremayne, he refused to waver. And though Thea knew they had to leave, the scrutiny on the other couple’s faces was growing.
It was as though she dreamed the next few moments when the woman stepped forward, ignoring the indrawn hiss of her companion, to offer a shallow curtsy of her own. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Thea and the man behind her. “Daniel, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Lusty Letters: A Fun and Steamy Historical Regency (Mistress in the Making Book 2) Page 13
