Only a Mistress Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  “Miss Harper is an exemplary choice for a wife on many fronts. Young, sweet, likely fertile. You’ll have an heir in your nursery inside a year.” Duncan slapped him on the back. “Even if you haven’t had any practice, I’ll lay a wager you find your mark and introduce Lady Trevor to the pleasures of the bed with little fuss.”

  “Is that what has turned your marriage around, Duncan? You and Kat were less than cordial when I first met her. Did you manage to win her in the bedroom after you wed?” Tris fought to keep the despair out of his voice. “For I fear Miss Harper’s charms for me lie in the fertile fields of Yorkshire, not the one I’ll plow and sow on my wedding night.” Try as he might to banish it, Violet’s lovely face and naked body, sprawled and beckoning on the crisp sheets, appeared whenever he thought about a wedding night.

  Shaking his head, Duncan steered him to the doorway. “Katarina and I had perhaps the most uncertain first few weeks of married life in the history of England. Yet we weathered it and now are the most content couple in Christendom. I suggest you woo Miss Harper, find something you have in common, and let nature take its course. If it doesn’t,” Duncan gave him a lecherous grin, “you can always return to your mistresses once she gives you an heir.”

  Tris gave his farewell automatically and left for Lord Downing’s. That last bit of advice sat ill with him, even though he longed to take it. Trouble was, the mistress he wanted to keep was the woman he’d sworn to protect from such a life.

  No one had said rescuing a damsel in distress would be easy.

  Chapter 6

  After breakfast, Violet let Susan coax her upstairs and into a steaming bath. As she soaked, the tensions of the past days slipped easily away and she let her mind drift as she breathed in the soothing scented steam. At first she assumed the maid had added lavender oil, but the smell was less sweet, more astringent. Unusual. She breathed deeper, trying to puzzle it out.

  “Violet.”

  She jumped and water sloshed out of the tub.

  Susan had entered the room with a pale blue silk comforter. “The scent is violet. A bit different, but it was in my box of oils and I thought you might like it, as it is your namesake.” She smiled and began to make up the bed. “I’ve been known to have a touch of whimsy.”

  “Thank you, Susan.” Violet returned the smile and sank lower in the water. It had been so long since she’d had the luxury of a maid. A lifetime ago it seemed. And this woman was good at her job. Apparently, Lord Trevor spared no expense for his paramours.

  She’d enjoy her services while they lasted. Once she became a companion or governess or seamstress, she’d have to fend for herself again.

  Unless she became Lord Trevor’s mistress in earnest.

  Her face blazed like a furnace. How could she think of such a thing? Although whenever the memory of his heavy body pressing her into the mattress returned, as it did with an alarming frequency, it didn’t fill her with fear or disgust as before. Thought of his hands on her, his fingers circling her nipples, his palms hot against her thighs, filled her instead with a strange longing deep within. Oh, but she was turning into a wicked woman. The House of Pleasure had changed her despite her brief residency.

  “Are you ready for me to wash your hair, miss?”

  Violet snapped out of her indecent reverie and sat up quickly. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Susan lathered and rinsed her hair, then squeezed it in a thick piece of toweling. “We need to have you ready just after luncheon.”

  “Ready for what?” Violet jerked her head up. Tristan had put her fears to rest, or so she’d thought. Still she was living here under his protection in the guise of his mistress. How easy it would be for him to make the arrangement a true one.

  “Lord Trevor’s sent for Madame Angelique, the mantua maker, to outfit you, miss. She’ll be here at two o’clock sharp.” Alternating between cloth and brush, Susan worked methodically to dry and untangle her hair.

  “Madame Angelique?” Dear Lord, the premiere dressmaker in all of London coming to outfit her?

  “You have heard of Madame Angelique, haven’t you?” Susan’s eyebrows swooped up like startled birds.

  “Of course I have heard of her.” But she scarcely dared to dream of having one of the woman’s legendary creations. “I just had no idea Lord Trevor would choose to outfit me so grandly.”

  “Why ever not?” The maid’s words were muffled through a mouthful of hairpins as she brushed and twisted and pinned her hair up. “Lord Trevor is most particular that his mistresses be as fashionable as possible. He is a long-time customer of Madame.”

  Was this more proof he intended to make her his mistress? What other explanation could there be? She had no claim on him, save for a passing acquaintance with her brother. So why would he take such pains to dress her well if not for his own enjoyment? The more Violet thought of it, the angrier she became. Why didn’t he just come out and tell her that’s what he wanted from her? Why keep denying it? Did he think after giving her the clothes, the food, and the servants, she wouldn’t be able to say no when he finally asked her?

  Finished with the coiffure, Susan darted into the dressing room and emerged with a simple robe de chambre in green silk damask. She held it out to Violet and the lovely garment slid smoothly over her skin, soft and soothing as the bathwater.

  “Wherever did this come from?” Violet asked, rubbing her cheek against the sleek fabric. She hadn’t enjoyed the luxury of silk for over a year.

  “His lordship sent to Madame Angelique for it first thing this morning. He said he believed you would like to wear something other than your one gown.” Susan tied the sash for her then sat her down in front of the mirror on the toilette table.

  “Lord Trevor is a very thoughtful man.” Reveling in the richness of the garment, Violet trailed her fingers slowly down the arms of the robe. She’d been dreading putting the lavender gown on again. Somehow she didn’t feel clean in it any more.

  “He knows how to treat women, I can tell you that.” Susan gave a quick nod, then hurried into the dressing room again, this time returning with a pair of pale green satin mules, embroidered with pink rosebuds. “Here, try these on.”

  Violet stared at the shoes then cut her eyes over at Susan. “I suppose Madame Angelique happened to have a pair of shoes in her shop as well?”

  “No, miss.” The woman laughed. “These are mine. Miss Starke gave them to me when she left. When Lord Trevor sent me for the robe, I stopped back at home and got them.” Susan laid her hand on Violet’s shoulder. “I thought you’d like to have new shoes as well.”

  Violet put her hand over Susan’s. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for Lord Trevor and you.” A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away. No reason to start the waterworks now.

  “Let me go down and get Mrs. Parker to make you some tea.” A swift squeeze of her hand, and Susan left.

  Violet sighed. She scarcely recognized the woman staring back at her from the mirror. Oh, of course the clothes were different and her hair had been coiled on her head and a lace handkerchief pinned over its shiny chestnut mass. But the eyes that looked back at her weren’t those of the woman she had been a week before. Before the House of Pleasure and Madame Vestry. Before Lord Trevor had opened the door of the green room and showed her a glimpse of what men and women did in the night together. This new woman must decide if that glimpse was enough for her or if she had changed into a woman who would give more if only he would ask.

  * * * *

  Tris rapped on the door of Lord Downing’s study. The viscount had kept him waiting for the better part of half an hour. Their appointment had been made for one o’clock, which should have given him plenty of time to take care of the settlements and return to the Weldon Street house in time for Madame Angelique’s visit. He did so enjoy watching as Madame plied her trade so skillfully. Not that Angelique held any charms for him. However, watching wom
en take off and put on clothes was one of the pleasures in which he always indulged himself. He loved women dressed in the first stare of fashion. He loved them undressed as well. And watching Violet try on all the outfits he had suggested to the mantua maker would be incredibly fun and arousing. Of course, today’s appointment would be primarily measurements, although his note to Angelique had specified at least two gowns to be made up to the point they could be fitted, finished, and returned completed by first thing in the morning. Violet couldn’t sit around in her one purple gown.

  “Come.”

  Tris pressed the latch and entered the dim study.

  His future father-in-law stood behind his desk, bent over, making notations on various papers strewed over the surface. He didn’t look up.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Downing.” Tris bowed and approached the desk.

  Nothing resembling marriage settlements occupied the untidy surface. The largest piece of paper, embellished with a pair of cherubs holding a shield, bore the words, A Map of the Manor and Haven of Bromley in Yorkshire. Ah, Downing was contemplating the settlement.

  The Bromley estate, five hundred acres and a large manor house, abutted Tris’s family lands in Northern Yorkshire. Several generations of Marshalls had lusted after the piece of property. The Harper family, however, had a tendency to produce mostly male children. Dora Harper was the first female in three generations suitable in age to be a bride for a Trevor. Tris’s father had impressed it upon him for years to do his duty and marry the girl to secure the land. His father hadn’t lived to see the union. Still, Tris could imagine the old man rubbing his hands together and gloating over his triumph. Tris had been waiting most of his life for the girl to grow up so he could marry her. Well, finally the day was at hand.

  “I finished the settlements this morning, Trevor. The original agreement, between your father and I, has now been codified with specific instructions for the transfer of the property upon your marriage to my daughter. Sign here.” The shrewd little man with a slight paunch and a knife-edged nose handed him the quill.

  Forcing himself to think only of his duty, Tris signed the document with a flourish of pure bravado. Damn, he wished he hadn’t promised his father. But he couldn’t go back on his word. He stared at the map. So this was how it felt to sell your soul to the devil.

  “Now for her jointure.” Lord Downing drew forth another piece of parchment. His quill scratched busily over the yellowish surface. “We must see to Dora’s welfare, should you pre-decease her.”

  The sinking feeling in his stomach would pass, he hoped. He’d given his word, now doubly so. Stand firm. Show no emotion. Yet, despair at the thought of Violet Carlton’s exquisite amber-colored eyes washed over him. Damn. Let him get on with it and be done. Tris took the proffered pen and dipped the point in the inkwell one more time.

  * * * *

  Tristan closed the door and let his shoulders slump. Lord Downing had droned on and on about the impeccable bloodlines his daughter came from. The man must breed horses. He was so obsessed with his lineage. Dora was a sweet girl, undoubtedly docile from her reactions both times he’d met her. He should probably speak to her before he left, let her know the betrothal had been officially arranged.

  He looked at the clock in the main hall. Almost three o’clock. Damn, he’d missed Violet’s fitting. He headed for the front reception hall to ask Pratt, the butler, to tell Miss Harper he wished to speak to her. Well, he’d get Violet to show him the gowns tomorrow.

  Tris stopped dead, heat rushing into his face. What the hell was he thinking? He was betrothed to an innocent of eighteen and contemplating the enjoyment of watching another innocent woman under his protection disrobe. Had he become so truly depraved? Of course, he could not watch Violet try on her gowns. She was not Serena. Not his mistress. She would be nothing to him as soon as he could find her a position. Duncan had been right. Best for all their sakes to get rid of Miss Carlton as quickly as possible and forget their heated interlude.

  He continued down the corridor, determined to control this ungodly appetite for the woman. Concentrate instead on igniting passion in his bride-to-be. Fortunately, he found Pratt outside the reception room and sent him to fetch Miss Harper. Her father had suggested waiting a mere three weeks before the wedding, although Tris found no need for such haste. Still, perhaps given his current preoccupation, it would be best for them to marry swiftly and begin a new life for the New Year.

  Miss Harper entered the room, a pleasant smile pasted on her face, though her gaze darted nervously around the room. When she discovered they were alone, her eyes widened and she retreated a step.

  “How good of you to call, Lord Trevor. Would you like for me to fetch my father?” In two steps she had reached the door, but Tris was determined to make the most of this encounter. If they only had three weeks until they wed, they would need to get used to one another.

  “No, Miss Harper, please stay. I have already been in conference with Lord Downing this afternoon.”

  Escape cut off, she tensed and closed her eyes, as if expecting a blow.

  “We have agreed on the settlements and as soon as I have the traditional family sapphire fetched from my estate in Yorkshire, we shall be formally betrothed.” He’d thought she’d be happier at the news, although it could be no surprise to her.

  “Indeed, my lord.” Her face had drained of color, until her cream-colored gown stood out starkly against her skin. “I had no idea Father intended to move forward with his plans so soon. I thought I would have at least until the spring.” The wistful timbre dropped her voice almost to a whisper.

  It smote his heart. He wished to force this girl as little as he had Violet. Yet arranged marriages still occurred with great frequency. How did a gentleman proceed without frightening his bride? A speedy courtship then, with lesson number one immediately.

  “I’m certain this is sudden, my dear, yet I hope we may be better acquainted before the wedding in three weeks.” Forward into the breach.

  “Three weeks!” She swayed and Tris grasped her arm, taking the opportunity to draw her closer.

  “Soon, yes, however,” he gathered her hands into his, “we will spend much of the time in conversation, getting to know one another. Would you like that, Dora?”

  She jerked her head up at the familiar use of her name, then hesitated, her mouth open.

  Would she protest? He had the right now, although it was the first time he’d ever used it with her.

  “Yes, I would like that, Lord Trevor.” The assent had come out almost too low to hear, but she’d accepted his proposal. That was something, surely.

  “You may call me Tristan or Tris when we are private. In public, of course, simply Trevor will do.” He kissed her hands and she shivered. They would need to further their acquaintance a bit more rapidly. “Have you never been kissed before, Dora?”

  She turned her head to the side and shook it, then tried to slip her hands out of his.

  “No need to be afraid, my dear. I won’t hurt you.” Slowly, sensually, he brushed the back of her hand with his lips, then turned it over and grazed her palm as well. “Kisses are a normal part of married life.”

  “I know.” Her voice was stronger than a whisper, but still low. “I’ve seen my brother Simon kissing his wife Judith.”

  “Would you like for me to kiss you?” He stared into her clear blue eyes and cupped her cheek.

  An almost imperceptible nod.

  Good.

  Tris angled her face toward him and pressed his lips against hers, gently at first, then more insistently. He slid his other hand around her back and pulled her even closer, until he could feel her small breasts against his chest. Carefully, he opened his mouth and ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her tightly clamped lips.

  She gasped and stumbled away. “My lord.”

  He let her go. Her stricken stare told him this would be an uphill battle, near impossible to win in such a sh
ort time. Still, he smiled at her. “Did you enjoy your first kiss, Dora?”

  Raising her fingers to her lips, she rubbed them lightly, as if she could feel the kiss better that way. “I don’t know, my lord.”

  “Tristan, please.”

  A brief nod. “Tristan.”

  “Then we will have to try again, when next I come.” He smiled gently, trying to reassure her as he would a skittish colt. “Perhaps then you will know.”

  “Did...did you enjoy it, my...Tristan?” The big blue eyes held out the hope of his approval.

  “I did, Dora, very much. Soon I hope you will feel the same.”

  Her smile stretched the width of her face, banishing her uneasiness and lightening her eyes to a dazzling azure. “Oh, I am sure I will, Tristan.” She bobbed her head and scurried out.

  Tris collected his cloak from Pratt and sent for his horse. What a damnable mess. He hated to lie, but the hesitant hope in Dora’s face when she asked if he enjoyed the kiss had squeezed his conscience into that pathetic admission. Perhaps it would be better next time. The girl was sweet, too sweet for his tastes if truth be told. So he should not be surprised she stirred not one iota of passion in him, even pressed firmly against his cock. There hadn’t been so much as an inkling of a stirring down below.

  That might concern him except for the immediate response when he thought of kissing Violet. If he had been engaged even in this light a dalliance with her, his ride home would have become damned uncomfortable. In fact, if he didn’t stop thinking of her right this minute he might regret it, though he doubted that.

  Stepping out onto the portico in the brisk wind, his ardor abated somewhat. Still, it didn’t matter. He’d be tortured by thoughts of Violet in his arms long after her departure and his wedding were things of the past.

  Chapter 7

  “Hold your arms straight out, mademoiselle. Do not move.” Madame Angelique’s voice was firm as she passed a measuring tape around Violet’s chest and pulled it tight across her breasts. The mantua maker had arrived promptly at two o’clock. Once she had been ushered to Violet’s chamber, she set to work immediately. With quick, sure movements, the petite woman in the fashionable ecru gown plied her tape and recorded measurements for chest, waist, and hips, then lengths for her arms and legs.