by Jenna Jaxon
“It’s just you have been so kind and generous to me, Tris.” She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. “I kept thinking of all the gowns I ordered from Madame Angelique. They must be terribly expensive. And the house, the servants, Susan. I simply wanted to do something to show how grateful I am.” She bent her head. “I thought you wanted me…like that.”
The last words were spoken so low Tris had to lean in to hear them. Damn. If only she knew the truth. He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face until she looked him in the eyes.
“Violet, you are correct. I do want you like that. You knew that last night, I believe.”
Slowly, she nodded, trying to turn her head, but he held her so she would have to see him. She needed to hear his story and understand why any relationship between them was impossible.
“I also told you I am betrothed. I signed the settlement papers today. Once I have given my word, I will not go back on it. That would be unfair to my betrothed.”
With a jerk that reverberated up his arm, she pulled her chin out of his hands and sat back, clutching the napkin. “I know how society works, Tris. Such things are expected of an honorable man.” Her unwavering stare unnerved him. “I also know, married or not, many men keep mistresses. When you ordered so much for me, were so particular about my clothing, I thought you had changed your mind.” She bit her bottom lip and twisted the napkin. “I have no other way to repay your kindnesses.”
“I do not seek repayment, Violet.” He’d be angry with her, if she didn’t look so forlorn. Her eyes were downcast again, her mouth taut, without a glimmer of a smile. He wanted nothing so much as to take her in his arms and stroke her hair, tell her everything would be all right. But that was impossible. “And much as I might desire you, I will not dishonor you. You should not dishonor yourself by agreeing to such a scheme with me or any other man. Especially not a married man.” The melancholy mood she had created touched him as well. “A bachelor may sow his wild oats, but once a man marries, he is duty-bound to cherish his wife. No matter where his heart may lie.”
“More men should think as you do.” She picked up her teacup, sipped, then grimaced and set it hastily down.
“It is not always easy.” He should ring for fresh tea, but had the idea she wanted it as little as he.
“Yet you are choosing the more difficult path. That is commendable.”
“I have seen first-hand the devastation such actions produce. A whole family could be destroyed.” His had been.
She cocked her head, but wouldn’t ask.
Then he’d tell her. Lay it to rest once and for all.
“My father had a mistress. I didn’t find out about her for years, but he kept her from the first year of his marriage to my mother.”
“Oh, Tris.” Violet’s eyes became sadder. “Then why did he marry her?”
“An arranged marriage, very common in their generation. They liked one another well enough and there was respect in the beginning. At least my mother professed there was. But they didn’t fall in love.” Why hadn’t he poured himself some brandy before beginning his tale? “While she was increasing with my eldest sister, my father hired a woman to take care of his ‘needs’ because my mother was indisposed. It was regarded as being considerate of a woman in a delicate condition.”
“Indeed.” She snorted and Tris couldn’t help but laugh. Violet had a fiery streak in her to be sure.
“I never met this woman, but Father loved her desperately. She wasn’t of the nobility of course, but her family was genteel and had fallen on hard times.”
Violet gasped.
She’d likely agree to a brandy now as well. Why the hell not? He rose and headed for the writing desk that held a decanter and glasses. Bless Mrs. Parker for replenishing it today.
“A remarkably familiar story, isn’t it, my dear? Would you like some?” He held the bottle up and she stared at it so long he thought she meant to refuse. But at last she nodded and he poured two fingers of the smooth cognac into each tumbler. If she didn’t want it all, he’d be happy to finish hers off. “What is sad is that it’s not in the least a remarkable occurrence. It happens all the time, even now.” He handed her the glass.
She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose.
Charming in a completely devastating way.
Cautiously, she took a sip. Her eyes widened and she struggled to swallow.
He wanted to laugh. She surprised him in so many ways.
Then she recovered, gulped, and cradled the glass in her hands. “And did your mother learn of the mistress?”
“Not at first. My father strove hard to keep it from her. As I said, he did respect her and wanted to keep her from any unnecessary pain.” Especially while she might be carrying his heir. Tris downed his drink. “She found out just before I was born. It was fortunate I was the hoped-for heir, because afterward she wouldn’t let him into her bed.” He shook his head. His home life had been hell growing up. “I’ve always suspected my name had something to do with the old legend of Tristan, Iseult, and King Mark. A lovers’ triangle from before the Round Table.” He poured another two fingers for himself.
“Did your father send your mother away?” Violet took a sip and puckered her lips. At last she swallowed. She still had a good bit left.
“He tried, but she refused to go. She was Viscountess Trevor and would let no one forget it, least of all my father. She begged, pleaded, even berated him to give the woman up, but he refused. He’d fallen in love with her, you see.” Tris stared at Violet, his heart beating with little jerks. He gripped the goblet then reminded himself not to break the stem. “In all those years, he never let her go. He and my mother lived estranged under one roof for more than twenty years before she died. Two years later Father’s mistress died as well. He was inconsolable. Her death broke him inside and he followed her to the grave within two months.” Tris tossed back the remainder of his cognac. He wanted to smash the glass into the fireplace, but what good would that do? “I’ve vowed not to repeat my father’s mistake. So you can best repay my kindness, Violet, by being happy in your life, no matter if it’s work, music, or marriage. Just be happy.”
Her eyes fixed firmly on the glass, she toyed with it, swirling the contents to and fro. “Then you are in love with your betrothed? I didn’t understand that.” When she raised her head, her gaze was cool. “I supposed since you had come to the House of Pleasure, to me, you did not love her.”
Tris bit his tongue and clenched his fist. Violet was damned intelligent, even when somewhat foxed. The drink had freed her tongue. She wouldn’t have asked such a question had she been sober. “It is a typical arranged marriage.”
Incredibly, her eyes filled with pain. “Why in the name of God would you agree to such a thing, Tris? Knowing what your parents’ lives had been like?”
“I never meant it to happen like this, Violet.” Seen from her point of view his actions must seem those of a lunatic. Perhaps they were. “My father’s dying wish was for me to marry Miss Harper in order to bring a valuable piece of property back into the family.”
“A piece of property?” She gazed at him, as though he had indeed lost his mind. “You’ve sacrificed your happiness for a piece of land?”
He drew himself up. She didn’t understand. “My family has waited generations to reacquire it. My father made me promise and I will not go back on my word.”
“He should never have asked that of you if he loved you.”
“I am not quite sure he did.” Tris set his glass down on the desk, then strode across the room to stand beside her. “Nevertheless, he begged me and I agreed. Do not let it distress you, my dear. I have made my peace with it.”
“I beg your pardon.” The wooden response smote him. “It is not my place to pry into your personal affairs.”
“It will always be your place, as my friend, to keep me from harm, as it will be mine to do the same with you.”
“Ever the prot
ector, Tris?”
“Guilty, I’m afraid.” He offered his hand. “If I do not love the lady now, perhaps it will come in time. She is sweet and accomplished, worthy of any man’s love. I will endeavor to make myself worthy of her. It will be my life’s aim to protect her from any unkindness.” Though it hurt like the devil, he smiled and helped her to her feet. Her warm hand was a knife in his heart. “Come. You must rest and refresh yourself before dinner.”
“Thank you. I do feel a bit fatigued.” She twined her hand in the crook of his elbow.
“You will need all of your strength, for I intend to find out all about your gown selection.” He nodded at the stylish cream print dress. “And I am sure you have much to tell me about your meeting with Madame Angelique.”
A smile lit her face. “Yes, it was the most enjoyable afternoon.” She pulled the skirt out a little.
“How very lovely, my dear. It becomes you.” A good color choice for her. It also showed off her figure nicely. His gaze had continually strayed to her breasts, pushed up by her stays and, without the covering of a fichu, very much on display.
“This was only one of the selections.” When she arched her neck, her breasts swelled even more. “Wait until you hear about the ball gowns.”
“I am breathless with anticipation.” He kissed her hand and led her to the staircase. “Rest well.” The gentle sway of her hips as she mounted the steps set his blood to pounding. Damn, but he must stop ogling her. Turning on his heel, he strode back to the music room. Another libation might help dull the ache in his groin—and his heart.
She’d been right, of course. How had he managed to put himself in the same intolerable position as his father? Odd, but the thought of an arranged marriage hadn’t seemed odious when he’d made the promise to marry Miss Harper. The girl was pretty enough and sweet, although painfully shy. He’d believed he could coax her out of her shell, a challenge to his charm and talents of seduction. A good possibility had existed they might develop an affection for one another that would grow, especially after he introduced her to the pleasures of the marriage bed. That would have satisfied him, even if it had not inflamed his passions.
Little hope of that now.
Tris drained another glass of the cognac, relishing the burn that erupted in his stomach. Nothing for it, he must find suitable employment for Miss Carlton immediately. Strict reminders to himself that that particular avenue was closed to him would only work for so long if the tempting woman remained practically under his nose. Violet was a woman meant for passion and love. She’d revealed that much while playing the spinet. She had poured her heart, her longings into every note. Such a passionate nature should not be denied.
He didn’t want to deny it or himself.
Christ, he’d best focus on wooing his bride. He needed to find a way to put her at ease with him, to encourage an affection, to make her stir his soul like the woman who had, too late, captured his heart.
Chapter 9
Violet finished the last measure of the Scarlatti sonata with a flourish and sat back, smiling. The final chords rang a moment longer in the deserted music room. She wished Tris had been here to hear it. Still, excitement bubbled up, causing gooseflesh to appear on her arms. In a single week, with diligent practice morning and afternoon, she had mastered the piece, surpassing even her previous efforts when she’d lived with her grandmother in Surrey.
Of course, there had been precious little else to occupy her time this past week. The delivery of the “at hand” gowns on Monday had caused a flurry of activity for an afternoon. Yesterday a marathon session of fittings with Madame Angelique for the rest of her wardrobe had provided a welcome distraction from brooding about Tristan. The remainder of the gowns were promised for next week, although she foresaw little use for most of them as apparently she was to neither be seen nor heard in society.
Tris had called on her every evening, to share Mrs. Parker’s delicious cuisine and to relate the news of his progress in securing her a position. A distinct lack of progress, actually. With all the people Tristan appeared to know, in London and all over England, she’d steeled herself for the inevitability of a swift departure from Lammas House. To her surprise, he’d had no success at all. Surely, one person, somewhere in all his acquaintance, needed a companion or governess.
After the third evening of disappointing results, Violet had decided to take the reins into her own hands. She proposed to go out herself in search of a position with one of London’s less illustrious seamstresses. It was respectable work and usually plenty of it, as long as the seamstress didn’t think she’d be absconding with Tris’s mistress.
She’d have thought she’d plotted to steal the crown jewels.
“Absolutely not!” Tris had paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, the flickering light catching glints of gold in his brown Jacquard silk suit. “You cannot venture out of the house, Violet. It’s not safe.”
“Thomas or Charles and Susan can accompany me. No one would dare accost me with such an entourage.” Patience with the situation at an end, she’d pointed this out while clinging to her temper.
“But someone might recognize you.” He’d made it sound like she was a criminal.
“What if they do? They don’t know where I’ve been living for the past week. You are worrying needlessly, Tristan.”
“What if they saw you come out of the house? Or go back into it? Certain men know this was my mistresses’ house. If there were even a hint of a suspicion you lived here under my protection—”
“I know. I’d be ruined beyond even your repair. You have mentioned it.” Of course, he feared for her safety and thought her a retiring woman who couldn’t take care of herself. She must disabuse him of that notion as soon as possible. For the sake of peace, and against her better judgment, however, she had agreed not to go out of the house except for the back garden, a small patch with wilted grass and a few half-hearted blooms in pots. The air at least was fresh, except for the days when the smoke and fog lay heavy on the city.
So she had poured herself into her music, reveling in the familiar thrill of the keyboard under her fingers. If only she had her harp she wouldn’t mind being locked away so much. At least she did have Tris’s company, although it was brief. His nightly visits were the most welcome part of her day. They dined and chatted together on so many evenings he became as comfortable to be around as an old shoe. They never ventured into such personal subjects as they had over tea last week, still she watched him when he wasn’t looking. His carefree nature showed itself in full force as he laughed and teased her. Yet, she had caught him several times in unguarded moments when he stared at nothing, a frown marring his otherwise handsome features. Did he think of Miss Harper during those pensive moments? Or of her?
“You will not entertain those thoughts, my girl,” she scolded herself as she swept the music from the stand and stacked it on the music chest. Any thought of Tristan other than as a friend or protector would lead to nothing but disappointment or worse. Life was seldom fair. Best for her to acknowledge that and find a way to move on, despite the ache in her heart each time she saw him.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She whirled around to face Tristan, standing in the doorway, so handsome in a rust and jade striped jacket she had to catch hold of the chest as her heart beat wildly. “You of course.” She tried her best to sound flippant and flirtatious.
“Indeed.” His brows rose, a mischievous twinkle in the blue eyes. “Wondering if I’d abandoned you completely because of the glorious weather?” He nodded toward the widow and the brilliant sunshine that drenched the small back garden.
“Hardly.” Steadying herself, she walked nonchalantly toward him. “You’ve been as faithful as a puppy, visiting me every evening. I wouldn’t blame you if you had more interesting things to do than have dinner with me.” The afternoon shadows had scarcely begun to creep across the yard. “You’re very early today, however. Does th
at mean you have news?” Elation warred with despair. If he’d been successful she’d soon be on her way to her employer and out of his life.
“It just so happens I do. And it was such a lovely day, quite exceptional for early December, wouldn’t you say, I thought you might venture out in the carriage with me?” He grinned broadly and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. “Show off one of those devilishly pretty gowns, perhaps?”
Violet squealed and threw her arms around him. “Oh, yes, Tris. Thank you, thank you! I would love to go riding with you.” She let go reluctantly, aware as always of how good he felt pressed against her. “I confess I’d been fretting because I couldn’t go out. The beautiful weather just made it worse. You are an answer to a prayer.” As he’d always been. She stood on tiptoe and brushed a kiss on his cheek.
Heat sizzled as her lips touched him. The shock rippled through her, rocking her back on her heels. Had he felt that?
His jaw tightened, and his eyes, so blue at first, now darkest black with desire. Her own eyes must be as dark.
She dropped her gaze and stepped back.
“Violet.” His hoarse whisper rasped in her ears, tempting her to stay and appease their mutual hunger.
“Let me fetch my cloak and bonnet.” Quickly, she backed away from him, then turned and fled the room, pounding up the stairs as though a fiend nipped at her heels. Dear God, she needed to leave this house, leave him before her willpower snapped and she did something disastrous they would glory in and regret.
* * * *
Tris clenched his fist, fighting the urge to run after her, seize her and give in to the passion raging within them both. He breathed in slowly, willing the storm to pass. God, the past week had been torture. Sitting across the dinner table from Violet, watching spellbound as she sipped her wine, or laughed, or teased him. He seemed to hang on her every movement, like a besotted stripling with his first lass. As soon as that became apparent, he should have stopped the visits. However, like a reckless moth compelled toward the blaze with the ultimate power to destroy it, he had returned again and again, fluttering closer and closer to her entrancing flame. Now he teetered on the verge. A touch, a kiss, hell, a smoldering look from those amber eyes might push him off the precipice into an act of unspeakable folly. One night he’d dreamed of marching into Lord Downing’s study to break the betrothal and awoken in a cold sweat. Society’s censure in such a case would be absolute. No honorable man would jilt an innocent woman, thus destroying her reputation. He’d end up a pariah. But he’d have Violet.
