Her Perfect Match: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 3

by Jess Michaels

  Was it?

  She bit her lip with anxiety and avoided his stare as she whispered, “Not now. Not…yet.”

  He moved forward slightly. “But perhaps someday?”

  She heard his hope and it both inspired a brief vision of a future she could never have and broke her heart.

  And yet she did not refuse him. She couldn’t, somehow, even if it was best for them both. She would leave soon, so the unnamed “someday” would never come. What harm would it do to leave that dream alive awhile longer, for both of them?

  “Perhaps,” she whispered. “But for now, why don’t we go to the other chamber as we always have? There will be pleasure there, I promise you.”

  He cupped her chin and tilted it up to stare into her eyes. She shivered at how deeply he seemed to see. There was a connection there that terrified her. Thrilled her.

  “There is always pleasure, Vivien,” he said softly. “And one day I think there could be even more. If you let me in even a little.”

  She pulled back and moved to the door. She motioned him out, but as she followed him down the hallway toward the other bedchamber, she couldn’t help but ponder the fact that his words mirrored Mariah’s. Both encouraged her to allow someone past the walls she had built, into the heart she had long left cold and empty.

  If only both of them could understand how impossible that request was.

  He pushed the door open and briefly looked around at the false bedroom. She did the same and felt a curious emptiness that had never touched her before. There was nothing special about the big bed, the sensual lighting, the soft colors meant to seduce. There would be pleasure here tonight, but she feared she might regret not taking the other sensations Benedict had offered her a moment before.

  Her regret softened, though, when he turned toward her, drew her to his chest and brought his mouth to hers in a kiss that melted her very bones with its heat and intention. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself against him as she prayed he would feel how much she did truly want and feel for him. That was all she could give him at the moment and it would have to be enough.

  If he sensed the desperation behind her touch, he didn’t speak of it, but merely guided her back to lie her across the bed. She watched as he slowly removed his clothing, tossing each item away until he stood totally and gloriously naked before her.

  She leaned forward against her will, driven to touch him as if she had never touched a man before. She quivered with excitement, her body humming with a need to please him, taste him, claim him even if she never spoke words of love out loud.

  Reaching out, she caught the smooth perfection of his cock in one palm, stroking him from base to tip. He let out a growl of pleasure, thrusting into her hand a second time as his cheeks flushed and cock hardened even more.

  She licked her lips and then took him deep into her mouth, deep enough that he touched her throat and filled her entirely. She groaned at the sensation, how good it felt to give him this pleasure. It had always excited her to do so, and never with anyone more than him.

  She pumped him deep within her mouth, rolling her tongue around him, feeling him twitch with pleasure he battled to control. She fought just as hard to steal that control as she added the pumping grip of her hand to her pleasuring.

  He reached out and gripped the headrest, his eyes shut, and he moaned out her name low and sweet. His hips began to move in time to her strokes, maneuvering him closer and closer to exactly where she wanted him to be.

  She smiled. Yes, she could still manipulate him when it came to sex. And that gave her some solace that her power remained.

  But just as her smug satisfaction allowed her to relax, he tugged his cock from her lips and pushed her back to lie on the bed. He covered her body before she could protest and his mouth came down on hers with as much insistence and drive as she had exhibited a moment ago.

  She melted into the kiss despite herself, lifting to be closer as he shoved her dress around her waist and covered her sex with his hand. He began to tease at her entrance, dragging his fingers across the weeping slit, just dipping their tips into the warmth there.

  She gasped at the sensation and a sudden realization that flashed into her addled mind. This was a war. Both of them were battling for supremacy, control, surrender. In most relationships, those terms would be violent, but here they were about passion and emotion. She wanted only one, he demanded the other. She feared she was slipping, losing their battle, for feelings were creeping into her heart that gripped her with terror and regret.

  She gasped as she shoved the thought away and instead opened her legs wider and lifted to force his fingertips inside her clenching sheath. He laughed.

  “Always demanding,” he whispered before he lowered himself over her, pinning her to the bed as he positioned his cock at her entrance.

  Instead of taking her, though, he merely stared down at her, tenderly stroking her cheek.

  “Don’t you know, Vivien? You never have to demand from me. Simply ask for what you desire and I would give you anything.” He kissed her. “Anything at all.”

  Unexpected tears leapt to her eyes as he slid deep within her in one slow stroke. She buried her face into his shoulder and lifted her hips to him, giving him with her body what she could not afford to share in her heart.

  The electric explosion of orgasm hit her suddenly, without warning, so powerful that she screamed out against his flesh, digging her fingers into his back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. He grunted in response and clutched her closer, his hips jerking erratically before she felt the hot splash of his seed inside her.

  He went limp over her, cradling her to him as their panting breaths merged into one over seconds, moments. She clung to him, smoothing her hands over his back, pressing her lips to his flesh and knowing, more than she had ever known anything, that what she felt for him had gone too far.

  She loved him. That fact was so clear that she couldn’t believe she had ever doubted it. She loved him, just as she had loved him when they parted three years before. Just as she had loved him all throughout the interim of years that separated them.

  And yet, even knowing that, she also knew that she could never have him. All the reasons that kept that from being possible still existed. Would always exist. So she would have to find a way to let him go, to cross him off her list, even though she would leave her heart with him in London when she finally swept out of the city for the last time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vivien sat at her dressing table, staring at the list before her. Her list of unfinished business, which she had stuffed into a drawer when Benedict stumbled upon it three nights before. She hadn’t dared to look at it since, knowing that she had not truly completed any of the items written on the heavy paper.

  Knowing that certain items, like Benedict, would be left unfinished thanks to the foolish beating of her heart.

  “Tonight I shall cross an item off,” she said, looking at herself in the mirror.

  Her appearance was the same, but how could that be? She was irrevocably changed now—how could it not be written all over her face?

  “Foolish girl,” she snapped as she got to her feet and smoothed her gown. “You will not become a ninny because of this man. Just because you feel something does not mean it will change you.”

  She stormed from the room and down the stairs to the parlor. She knew Mariah was waiting for her there and she refused to show her friend any difference in her demeanor.

  Forcing a smile, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Mariah was wearing a pretty gown, dark blue and covered in a fall of lighter flowers along the skirt. She looked…like a lady, which was, of course, what she was by marriage, but also by something deeper.

  Suddenly Vivien felt quite out of place, even with her best friend.

  “Oh, I do love that gown,” Mariah gushed as she crossed the room to give her friend a quick squeeze.

  Vivien looked down. Suddenly her green dress
felt too low-cut, too revealing of both her body and who and what she was. Everyone would look at her, everyone would see…

  “Thank you,” she said, but her voice cracked.

  Mariah stepped back to look at her closely. “What is it?”

  “Am I so transparent?” Vivien asked on a sigh as she extracted herself from her friend’s embrace and walked to the sideboard to pour herself a drink. “This does not bode well.”

  And it didn’t. The last thing she wished to do was reveal too much of herself to the other guests at tonight’s gathering or to Benedict, who was always looking for a revelation. She was teetering on a very dangerous edge now. She couldn’t afford to fall.

  “I do not think I’ve ever seen you so flustered,” Mariah said, taking a seat on the settee and motioning her over to join her.

  Reluctantly, Vivien did so and allowed Mariah to take both her hands.

  “What is it?” her friend encouraged.

  Vivien had spent a lifetime pretending away her thoughts and feelings, pushing them aside so no one would see. Tonight, she found she had no energy to do so.

  “I do not belong at this party,” she whispered as hot blood rushed to her cheeks.

  Mariah tilted her head and there was true surprise on her face. “My dearest, you are nervous. I had no idea. But you have been to many a public gathering with lovers in the past.”

  Vivien bit her lip. “There is a great deal of difference between a small gathering at a home of a lover or his friend, or even the opera or the theatre, and a soiree like this one.”

  Mariah smiled. “Yes, there is. But again, you have come to these sorts of things before, and your friends who are mistresses have attended them with your specific orders to keep their chins up and proud. What makes it different that you are so anxious now?”

  Vivien swallowed and turned away, not wanting Mariah to see what she feared she couldn’t keep from her face. She drew a few breaths to calm herself, to formulate some kind of answer that would diffuse her friend’s curiosity before she delved too deep. But it was all too late. Mariah leaned back.

  “It is because of Benedict Greystone, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  Vivien squeezed her eyes shut. “No, of course not.”

  But there was no strength to her refusal and Mariah was too clever not to know that. Her face crumpled with pity and understanding.

  “He asked you to attend tonight, Vivien. He is not ashamed and neither should you be. He wants you there.”

  Vivien nodded slowly. He did want her there, and not only because they would enact their plans against Dersingham tonight.

  “I’m certain his brother will be none too pleased to see me, though,” Vivien said with an empty laugh as she got up and paced to the fire.

  “And since when do you care what a lover’s family thinks?” Mariah chuckled.

  Vivien bit her lip. It was a valid question. But she did care, and always had. Hell, it was partly because of the Earl of Abbotton that she had parted ways from Benedict before. Not that he knew that. Nor would he ever know it.

  “Are you in love with Benedict Greystone?” Mariah suddenly asked.

  Vivien turned on her. Her friend had not moved from her place on the settee, but there was tension in her stare and a knowing in her eyes that unsettled Vivien. Was the truth so patently clear? Or had Mariah just managed to get close enough to see it?

  And how to respond? Part of her wanted to admit the truth, to admit everything, including how she had decided to leave London, that she was pursuing this list of loose ends, that she didn’t know what to do. If she confessed all, Mariah would be sympathetic and helpful. Her friend would do anything and everything in her power to assist.

  And yet, as she opened her mouth, Vivien found she could not do it. She couldn’t reveal herself, not even to her friend. The weight of her loneliness crushed her as she said, “Of course not. Don’t be foolish.”

  Mariah hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “Very well. But I hope you know that—”

  Vivien bit her lip. Mariah was going to keep pushing. “Oh, look at the time,” she interrupted, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “We have chattered too long. We should depart now.”

  Mariah stared, but then slowly got to her feet and nodded. She turned toward the foyer. Vivien nodded as she followed Mariah out to her carriage.

  Mariah’s husband had been out of London on business for two days and they would reunite at the ball tonight. And since Vivien hadn’t wanted to share a carriage with Benedict thanks to her raw emotions, she had agreed to ride with her friend instead and meet him there.

  But as she stepped into the vehicle and settled across from Mariah, Vivien couldn’t help but think that somehow this was all a terrible mistake. That she would come to regret this night. But the carriage was already moving and it was too late to turn back.

  Benedict glanced down yet again and soaked in the image of Vivien on his arm. This was everything he had ever imagined in troubling dreams over the past few years.

  She shifted and glanced up at him. Through clenched teeth, she managed, “They are all looking at me.”

  Benedict looked into the crowd. Most were very content to talk to their friends, but a few extra glances were being spared his way. The gentlemen had knowing in those glances, which was not unexpected. Most did have an awareness of who Vivien was. The women seemed to look for another reason.

  “I believe they may be looking at me, not you,” he said with as much reassurance as he could put in his tone since she seemed unexpectedly uncomfortable.

  She blinked. “Because you are on the market?”

  He nodded and just held back a sigh at the thought. His mother, who was not in attendance tonight thanks to a prior engagement, had been working at a massive rate to ensure every chaperone and debutante knew that he was on the lookout for a bride sooner rather than later. The result was all these appraising stares.

  “So even though you are with a mystery woman, they would still pursue you?”

  He glanced at her again. Her tone and face were both perturbed. “Jealous?” he asked.

  She jerked her face toward him, but before she could answer, she looked past him and squeezed his arm. “There is your American,” she whispered.

  He glanced over his shoulder and found that Felicity Beecher and her father were indeed coming across the ballroom together.

  “Excellent, then the game begins,” Benedict said and maneuvered them into the path of the pair. He felt Vivien tense as the pair stopped.

  “Ah, Mr. Beecher,” Benedict said with a slight bow to the gentleman and his daughter. “And Miss Felicity. I did not know you two would be in attendance tonight.”

  Beecher eyed him in the same way all chaperones did now—with interest, even though this man intended his daughter for someone else. But Beecher wanted a title, which Benedict did not and would never have, so he felt quite safe in the other man’s analysis.

  “Mr. Greystone,” Beecher finally said with a slight smile. “I have not seen you since that gathering at Rockholm Center a few weeks ago.”

  “Quite a boring fete,” Benedict laughed and it was genuine.

  “I certainly thought so,” Felicity interjected with a bright smile for him. Then her gaze flitted to Vivien. “I’m sorry, we haven’t met.”

  Benedict jolted as if he had all but forgotten his companion. “Great God, my manners. This is Miss Vivien, a friend of mine.”

  “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Beecher, Miss Felicity.” Vivien’s tone seemed strained as she extended a hand, but Benedict assumed this was because of their plan.

  Benedict leaned a fraction closer to Beecher as Vivien made vague small talk with Felicity.

  “I have heard that there are congratulations in order.”

  Beecher arched a brow. “Congratulations?”

  Benedict grinned. “Come now, do not be coy. It is common knowledge that your daughter has matched with the Earl of Dersingham’s son. I believ
e he is currently Viscount Topperly?”

  Beecher smiled slightly. “Ah, word does get around in a Society such as this. We have not announced the engagement yet, but yes, we intend to do so tonight.”

  Right on cue, Vivien turned from Felicity with a laugh. “Oh, did I hear you say Topperly?”

  Beecher glanced at her with uncertainty and Benedict almost had to laugh. Americans who were hurtled into their realm were almost always staggered by the connections of their Society. At this moment, the poor man was probably trying to figure out exactly who and what Vivien was. In a moment, he would know.

  “Yes, indeed I did,” Beecher said with a quick glance around due to the loudness with which Vivien had asked the question.

  “Good old Tops,” Vivien said with a sentimental sigh. “Most men aren’t like him.”

  “What do you mean?” Felicity asked slowly and her stare was quickly becoming concerned.

  Vivien leaned toward her father instead. “You needn’t worry about him, sir. The man has taken very good care of his other families. I’m certain he will take care of the one he creates with your daughter.”

  Both the Beechers gasped in unison and Felicity took a step away from Vivien like she had suddenly become poison. Benedict stifled a smile. This was perfect.

  “Oh dear,” Vivien said with a glance up toward Benedict. “I thought they knew…”

  Benedict patted her hand. “My dear, we do not usually speak of such delicate topics at events such as these.”

  Vivien’s expression of embarrassment was so true that even Benedict almost believed it. “Oh my,” she said, her tone strained. “I do apologize!”

  Beecher was sputtering, maneuvering his daughter away from them as he stared at Vivien almost as if she had sprouted a second head. “I—I…good evening!”

  With that, he grabbed his daughter and dragged her away. Benedict grinned after them. “Now he will go to some friend he trusts and ask about what you’ve said.”

  Vivien nodded slowly. “And I’m certain said friend will tell them exactly who and what I am, which will lend credence to my accusations.”