Only a Mistress Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  “If you will stay here, please, I’ll just check upstairs to see what’s available.” He frowned and apologized. “I’m afraid you may have rough quarters for tonight.”

  She laughed, and her shoulders slumped beneath her cloak. “I assure you, Lord Trevor, this is a palace compared to the places I have had to sleep in recently.” Gingerly at first, she eased onto the chair, then settled quickly into its depths. “I’m so comfortable, I would be quite content to curl up right here.”

  What a delightful damsel in distress. With a nod he headed upstairs.

  Automatically, his feet turned toward what had been Serena’s bedchamber. Well, it would still have to serve. The house had been fitted out with only one bed. The light of his candle revealed a clean-swept room, orderly if severe. All of the former occupant’s frilly and colorful decor had been stripped away, leaving a chest of drawers, a full-length mirror, washstand, and of course the massive bed where he’d so often frolicked.

  No sheets or covers. Where would they be kept? He shook his head. The efficient Mrs. Parker would have left nothing that did not come with the furnished house. Tris sighed and left. Miss Carlton would have to make do until he could remedy the situation tomorrow.

  “I’m afraid you will find the chamber—” Tris stopped as he crossed the threshold.

  Miss Carlton sat curled in the chair, asleep. The exhausted lines in her face had gone, smoothed out in her peaceful slumber. She reminded him of an innocent child. A very beautiful child, with delicately arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, and creamy skin that begged for him to touch it.

  He set the candle on the mantelpiece and approached her quietly, uncertain whether to wake her or let her sleep. She would be stiff and sore if he allowed her to remain cramped in the chair. Still he hated to waken that cherubic face. Could he move her without awakening her? Even the nearby sofa would be better for her to stretch out on.

  Gently, he eased his arm around her shoulders and rolled her toward him.

  She stirred briefly, then lay still, her head on his shoulder.

  He stifled a groan as her touch sent a new wave of anguish to his groin. Damn, but he must take care of that as soon as possible. If he was going to help this woman, he couldn’t have an erection every time she touched him. Tris slid his other arm under her legs and lifted her.

  She nestled into his chest, which wreaked further havoc with his cock.

  Carefully, he climbed the dark stairs, praying he did not waken her. His face brushed against her hair and her womanly scent, sweet and clean, furthered his agony. He wanted to bury himself in that smell, in her, so badly he almost shook. What was it about this woman that undid him so? He’d lusted after women from an early age, and had been gratified with their attentions most of his life. Yet his yearning for Miss Carlton surpassed anything he’d ever experienced before. Forbidden fruit, perhaps? That made about as much sense as anything. Not that the explanation would ease his need at all.

  At last, he entered the bedchamber once again and laid his burden on the bare mattress. She touched the cold fabric, shivered, and drew her legs up, making herself into a compact ball, but did not wake. The room was chilled as well. She would be freezing until the servants arrived and made up the fire.

  Tris untied his black wool cloak and spread it over his sleeping charge, tucking it around her as he had the carriage robe earlier.

  She sighed in her sleep and her body relaxed further into the mattress.

  The room’s cold proved a welcome damper to his hot blood and he backed away from the bed. He’d return to the parlor and await the servants. So much to be done.

  He sped down the steps, making plans as he went. A call on Duncan was the first order of business tomorrow. If his normal cadre of servants wasn’t available, he’d have to find others, including a maid for Miss Carlton. And of course, he must begin inquiries about a position for her. He’d need to concoct a story to account for his relationship to her. The truth certainly wouldn’t do. A distant relation who had sought his help? It might serve. As long as his sister, Theodora, didn’t get wind of it.

  As he rounded the doorway into the parlor, his foot hit a soft object and sent it flying. He reached over and snagged Miss Carlton’s satchel. It weighed almost nothing, and when he shook it, the muffled sound of small items rattling around in it suggested the woman truly had little to her name.

  Tris smiled into the empty room. That, at least, he could remedy.

  Chapter 4

  Sunshine streaming into Violet’s face pulled her out of a delicious dream of having tea with her grandmother. She groaned and grabbed the pillow from under her head and dragged it across her face. The almost real dream-smell of fresh baked scones with clotted cream and hot, fragrant tea urged her to return to slumber.

  “Good morning, miss.”

  She bolted up, fully awake. A strange woman in an unfamiliar room held a tray containing a teapot and cup. Who was that? Where was she? What was she doing here? Her gaze came to rest on the black cloak covering her. Memory of the past night came flooding back and she clutched the material as her face burned. Dear Lord, had that really happened?

  “Are you all right, miss?” The young maid, dressed soberly in gray, smiled tentatively, a small frown creasing her forehead.

  “Yes, I’m fine thank you.” Violet rubbed her face, trying to remove the final cobwebs of sleep. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

  “Susan.” She bustled forward, put the tray on the bedside table, and poured a cup. “Sugar and milk?”

  “Yes, please.” The steam tickled Violet’s nose with the familiar, earthy smell. She sipped, and relaxed against the headboard.

  “Lord Trevor asked for you to come breakfast with him downstairs, when you’re ready.”

  Violet clutched the delicate teacup, then carefully released it. There seemed no need to be afraid of the viscount. He’d been kindness itself last night after finding out who she was. Still, he’d seen her naked and taken outrageous liberties. How could she talk to him, or even look at him, without dying of shame, wondering if he was remembering her that way? Nevertheless, she’d have to put it out of her mind, because as long as he assisted her, she would have to see him. She nodded, gulped another mouthful of tea, and threw off the cloak.

  “Do you know where your clothes were put last night? This is all I could find this morning.” Susan produced Violet’s satchel.

  “I’m afraid these are the only clothes I have at the moment.” Suddenly aware of her dishabille, Violet brushed at the sadly wrinkled petticoat. She certainly looked like a fugitive from a brothel this morning.

  Susan frowned, then shrugged. “Then we will make you as presentable as possible, Miss Carlton.”

  Violet jerked violently. Lord Trevor had given the servant her real name. She needed to remain anonymous, although what other name could he have given? “Thank you, but you don’t need to bother about the clothes. I’m really no one special.” Despite her words, she continued to fluff and straighten her outfit. Best look as presentable as possible.

  “Somehow I doubt that, miss. Lord Trevor’s very particular.” The girl eyed the gown critically. “Let me pop down and fan it with some steaming water and see if that will take out the worst of the wrinkles. Here, I’ll help with that.” In seconds, Susan had expertly stripped off the rumpled garment, leaving Violet once again naked.

  Her face heated, yet the maid didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

  Instead, she laid the dress on the bed and opened the satchel. “Ah, good. These stays are a little worn but will do nicely for the time being. I’ll assist you when I return.” She nodded to a screen, painted with a huge peacock to which real feathers had been attached. “I brought water for washing there. When I get back, we’ll see how well I can turn you out for the day.” With a toss of her head, she snatched the gown off the bed and left.

  Violet leaned back against the bed. Her life had become a whirlwind, ever since L
ord Trevor had intervened in it. She’d best get used to his routine and expectations. Perhaps she could question Susan when she returned. In the meantime, a wash was well in order.

  By the time she had finished and stood before the fire to stay warm, Susan had reappeared, the purple dress looking miraculously refreshed as well. Given the original state of the garment, the maid had done wonders.

  Taking over completely, Susan cinched, fluffed, combed and curled Violet until she couldn’t believe the woman who stared back at her from the small mirror atop the dresser. Her hair had been swept up and pinned cleverly to allow little tendrils of chestnut to emerge from the knot at the back of her head. Her gown, second best and worn to begin with, had been transformed into a serviceable outfit. The width of the skirt had been reduced slightly, the frayed panel at the side gone. The already low neckline of the bodice had been lowered even more to disguise a tear in the fabric, but a fichu had been added to give a demurer look, fitting for a breakfast rather than a ball.

  “You are pleased, miss?” Susan beamed with satisfaction.

  “I cannot believe it is the same dress. The same me.” Violet couldn’t take her eyes off the image in the mirror.

  “Lord Trevor has always been pleased with my efforts for his mistresses.”

  Violet froze, the smile still on her lips.

  “His last one, Miss Starke, was delighted as well. She wished for me to go with her when she left, but unfortunately could not afford to employ me.” Pinning up a final curl, Susan gave a nod of approval to Violet’s coiffure. “So I was happy to receive his lordship’s summons last night.”

  Violet’s mouth had dried. The roaring in her ears kept her standing, staring at the image in the mirror. Mistress.

  “Shall I draw a bath for you for after breakfast? Do you know if Lord Trevor will require you today?” The maid had bundled up the cloak and put her satchel in the wardrobe. “I will take this down and bring up fresh linens before you have done.” She looked pointedly at the door.

  Still unable to form a word, Violet made herself turn from the mirror and walk stiffly down the stairs. Mistress. He had said she would be that, but in name only. Had it been true? She’d believed him last night, but now…. Taking hold of herself, she continued toward the murmur of voices at the bottom of the stairs. The room to the left seemed a parlor, empty save for a sofa, end tables, and the chair she remembered sitting in last night. Apparently, she’d fallen asleep. Then how had she awakened upstairs?

  She turned toward the right hand room, and away from all thoughts of that question.

  “Well, if Gates has taken another position, I cannot blame the man.” Seated at the small dining table, Lord Trevor, impeccably groomed and dressed in an elegant suit of dark blue wool, raised a cup to his lips. Coffee to judge by the savory aroma. He spoke to a footman who nodded at regular intervals. “However, I must have a butler nonetheless. Put your ear to the ground, Thomas, and come up with some sort of solution. There must be one butler in London currently without a position.”

  When she entered, the quiet young man stood even straighter.

  Lord Trevor marked the man’s movement, noted her, and rose. “Miss Carlton.” He stopped, his mouth still slightly open, but wordless.

  What was wrong? A thousand possibilities bloomed in Violet’s imagination. Fearful her dress had suddenly popped open at the site of the repair, she glanced down. When she raised her head, Lord Trevor had managed to close his mouth, but that hungry look still smoldered in his eyes.

  “Miss Carlton, excuse me.” He cleared his throat, sipped the coffee, and tried again. “Please be seated.” He pulled out the chair next to him. “Another plate, Thomas.”

  With a lurching bow, the footman hurried out of the room.

  “I trust you slept well? I apologize for the lack of creature comforts. However, you look as though the night’s adversities never happened.” His sapphire gaze hadn’t left her face since she entered the room. “You are a most beautiful woman.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “Susan is a very skilled ladies’ maid, my lord. She believes me to be your current mistress and insisted on turning me out for your satisfaction.” The words were a challenge. Let him deny what he would.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Carlton. I wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed.” Lord Trevor sat back in his chair, shoulders sagging. “I’m in two minds about the situation, you see.” He folded his napkin and laid it neatly on the table before looking at her. “What we do not wish to happen is for anyone to discover I’m keeping you here. You’d be as ruined as if you were found at Madame Vestry’s, no matter the true circumstances. Last night I had no choice but to bring you here, since you had no companion or maid and could scarcely be left alone. It may be that in several days I can move you to more suitable lodgings. With Susan accompanying you it may serve.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Thomas entered with a plate filled with sausage, smoked herring, grilled kidneys, potatoes, and hot rolls. Enough food to feed her for a week.

  She inhaled and the rich scent of the kidneys mingled with the yeasty smell of the rolls made her sway. A quick indulgence before she shook off the delicious distraction. “That is most kind of you. However, why did you tell her I am your mistress?” Violet forced herself to remain calm. Lord Trevor seemed to trust the maid to remain silent, so she must as well.

  He shrugged and sipped his coffee again. “I told her only that I wished to employ her services again, immediately, for a guest at Lammas House. She assumed our relationship based on past occupants.”

  “Then you don’t intend to make me your mistress, Lord Trevor?” Her voice came out harder than she had intended, but she was coiled like a spring inside.

  “Would you like to be, Miss Carlton?”

  Her throat closed as if she’d swallowed a peach pit. Worse, her entire face flamed.

  He eyed her coolly. “I believe we covered that subject last night, however, if you have reconsidered, I’d be delighted to discuss the terms.”

  “Terms?” Her squeak startled her. What terms would a woman be able to dictate to a man?

  “Yes, the terms of your employment as my mistress. Do you think such arrangements are done on the fly?” His boisterous laugh made her shrink back in her seat. “I’ve heard of marriage settlements that were less advantageous to a bride-to-be. Mistresses, if they are canny and the protector generous, can negotiate everything from amounts, times and places, to how many trips to the opera or the numbers of pieces of jewelry she can expect to receive each year of the arrangement.”

  That such dealings involved detailed contracts had never crossed Violet’s mind. She gawked at Lord Trevor as he sipped his coffee, watching her every move. Of course, she’d never had cause to wonder about anything like this at all, until now. Still, it sounded almost like a settlement. With a kind and handsome man like Lord Trevor, such an agreement might almost seem like a marriage.

  Lord Trevor sat up, the lascivious twist to his mouth replaced by a sober line. “I beg your pardon, Miss Carlton. Such information is not within the purview of genteel ladies. And at any rate, as I informed you, I am no longer inclined to take a mistress, due to my impending nuptials.”

  Of course. He’d told her last night he couldn’t make her as his mistress because he would shortly marry. Unaccountably disappointed, Violet raised a forkful of kidneys to her mouth. The brief temptation had been absurd. Lord Trevor had promised to find a respectable position for her. That was the next goal.

  “If you do not mind,” Trevor said, “it may be best for the servants to think you are my mistress. They have been discreet in the past. I have no reason to believe they will be any less so now.”

  Trying to mask her disappointment, Violet sipped her tea and said brightly, “Then I will not disabuse Susan of my true status, my lord.”

  Trevor set his cup back in its saucer, then ran a finger around the delicate rim. “I suppose Susan may be le
t in on the secret. You will spend more time with her than the other servants, at any rate.” He left off playing with the cup. “If I can indeed manage to get a butler for you. You may have to make do with Thomas.”

  “I’m sure Thomas would do admirably, my lord.”

  “You’ve not been used to having servants I take it, Miss Carlton?” Lord Trevor shook his head, his jaw rigid. “I’ll arrange something.” He peered at her, one eyebrow shooting upward. “Would you object to my calling you by your given name? It has been my custom in the past with my previous mistresses. The servants will expect it.” His voice had softened, giving a little wrench to her heart.

  “Of course, my lord.” She ducked her head. The familiarity such address implied would take getting used to.

  “And you must call me Tristan or Tris.” He smiled and his eyes darkened. “My closest friends do and I believe we have reached that level of intimacy, my dear. If you are to have my protection in all ways, you must give me my name as well.”

  “Yes, Tristan.” The sound of his name on her tongue sent a flurry of chill bumps down her arms.

  “Delightful.” His gaze lingered on her mouth a second too long, and then he rose. “I am off to appointments for the rest of the morning and afternoon, but if you are willing, I would like to have supper with you this evening. See how you are progressing.”

  “Of course, my—”

  “Uh-huh.” He wagged a finger at her, trying to pull a stern face. “Not my lord, Violet.”

  “Tristan.” As she had suspected, her protector had a playful streak. “I would be honored to have supper with you, although I fear my conversation will be dull in the extreme. I will have to ask Susan for suggestions of something to keep me employed.”