by Jenna Jaxon
“Ahhh.” The absolute fullness of him, touching every inch inside her almost brought her to immediate completion.
He smiled up at her, hunger in his eyes.
Her heart stuttered so she could hardly breathe. “I love you, Tris.”
“And I love you, Violet.” He thrust his hips upward, touching the farthest reaches of her.
“Ohhh, you know just what to do, don’t you?” She strained upwards, then slid slowly down him.
“To do what?” He rocked them, grinding into her with a circular motion.
“To drive me mad.” God, she never wanted this to end.
He stroked through her curls, finding the little nub he’d shown her last night. “Yes, I do.” With his thumb, he brushed it, circled it, faster and faster until she spun out of control.
“Tris, Tris. Oh, yes.” She gasped as the tension gathered, spiking within her. “Almost there.”
“Ahhh.” He pounded harder, kneading the sensitive part with skillful changes of rhythm.
Until she burst, shimmering pulses throbbing within, sending her over the edge.
“Violet.” Moments later he cried out, thrust again, and drenched her with his hot seed.
She collapsed on top of him, sweaty cheek meeting sweaty chest, his heart hammering in her ear. Her own thudded dully, slowing bit by bit. She didn’t care if it took wing and escaped her chest. Serenity settled over her. If she never moved again, she would be satisfied.
Tris drew the covers over them, and gathered her into his arms.
His heart calmed, the strong regular beat lulling her toward sleep. As long as she and Tris were together she would be content. “I could stay like this forever.”
“You say that now,” he chuckled, the vibration tickling her ear. “But if it came down to you having to miss a meal, I believe you would throw me over for a nice minced pie or Mrs. Parker’s Yorkshire pudding.”
She giggled. “I have more willpower than that.”
“But you forget, my dear, I’ve seen you eat.”
“Wretch. How ignoble of you.” Running her hand through the silky hairs on his chest, she closed them in her fingers, made patterns in the thick mat, delighting in the feel of him. “My other appetites are stronger now.” A growl from her stomach set her to laughing. “I don’t suppose we could have breakfast in bed?”
He laughed and slid her over to the side. “Kill two birds with one stone?”
“I am nothing if not efficient.” She trailed her hand along his sleek body, reveling again at the beauty of it. “And I have no plans for the day other than to serve your pleasure, my lord.”
Tris tensed, ran his hand over his face, lines emerging where an instant before there had been none. “Christ.” He pulled her to him and buried his face in her neck.
“What’s wrong?” A glimmer of foreboding rose in her.
He sighed and lay back, his hand flopping over to cover his eyes. “I am supposed to travel into Wiltshire to Lord Downing’s estate near Devizes. I am to spend the New Year with them.”
Cold dread threaded its way through Violet’s veins. She slid off him and pulled the cover over her shoulder. In the joy of discovering their passion, she’d forgotten he wasn’t hers to keep. Her stomach churned, all idea of hunger fled. He’d have to leave her to be with the woman who had a claim on his name, if not his heart. In this world, unfortunately, the former held more importance. She stifled a sob, even though tears had begun to flow.
“Violet.” He put a hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off.
“Violet, love, I must go. I have to see Lord Downing so I may tell him I wish to withdraw from the betrothal.”
She spun around, her heart beating wildly. “You can’t do that. You’d be ruined.”
“My love, I’ve just ruined you.”
Chills crawled down her spine and she shuddered. It was true. Her circumstances had altered irrevocably last night. Any hope of a respectable marriage had vanished with her maidenhead. She didn’t regret it one iota, however her future prospects, never good, now seemed bleaker than a mid-winter’s night. She clenched her teeth, biting back a sob.
He gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair, his cheek pressed to her head. “Shhh, love. I promise it will be all right. I’ll pay a call on my friend, the marquess. If anyone knows how to survive scandal, he does. I suppose we will not be completely beyond the pale of Society if the Marquess and Marchioness of Dalbury stand by us.”
“But it would not only be us, Tris.” She took his and, threading their fingers together, as if to bind him to her. “It would be our children and Miss Harper as well. Her reputation would be in shreds. Her father might even call you out.” Violet bolted up in bed, her heart freezing. “No, no, no you cannot do it. I will not risk you.” Tears spilled down her cheeks and she sniffed and wiped her eyes. Damn, but she seemed to cry at everything this morning.
Tris looked defeated. Obviously, he hadn’t yet thought of it, but Violet could remedy the situation quickly and with very little fuss.
“I’ll become your mistress, Tris. Then there won’t be a scandal, nor possibility of a duel.”
A storm swept across his face, a squall followed by steady thunderclouds.
“We will have each other.”
He glared at her.
“It is done all the time in polite society.”
“I know.” His voice was stern, emotionless. “It will not, however, be done by me.” Lips pursed, he narrowed his eyes until they glittered like hard jet. “I told you about my father. My feelings about that have not changed. God knows I understand perfectly now how he felt, but that does not excuse how miserable he made my mother all those years. Or his children. Believe me, we were not a happy household. I will not put you, myself, nor Miss Harper through it.”
“Tris, you must see sense.” Lord, if he decided to be stubborn she feared she would lose the battle. “It will be less hurtful to all concerned if you marry Miss Harper.”
“You cannot know what you are saying, Violet.” The sharp lines of pain around his eyes stabbed her heart. “I will never be free to be with you publicly. I will not be able to spend time with you as I have, but will have to spend time with her and her family.” He came to a complete stop and his face reddened. “I will have to get heirs on her. Did you think of that?”
“Of course I did.” The image of Tris holding the golden-haired Miss Harper in his arms in a bed tightened a band of iron around her chest. “I’ve thought of nothing else but you and her together, dining, talking, laughing, making...” She didn’t want to think it, much less give voice to the idea, but it must become real to her. “Making love to her. Having children with her. Oh, yes, I have thought of all that and more. Still, I would bear the heartache of sharing you gladly if it kept you free from scandal and the threat of a duel.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks and she threw herself on his chest, clutching him to her. “My brother was killed in a duel. Did you forget that? His death sent me eventually down the path that led me to you. If you were to be killed, I….” She choked and buried her face in his shoulder. “I would never recover. I went to Madame Vestry’s before because I didn’t want to die. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t want to live.”
Wrapping his arms around her consoled her somewhat and her trembling lessened. His silence lengthened so she finally dried her eyes and twisted to look at him. He stared at the canopy overhead, his jaw firm, brows knit.
The inscrutable look caused her to shiver again, but she could be firm too. Although he wouldn’t want to give in and take her as his mistress, he would see the necessity of it in time. God knew she didn’t want to share him with anyone, but better to share him than lose him. “Don’t be sad, my love.” She kissed his mouth, trying to tease a smile from his stern countenance. “It is still Christmas. We must be merry a little.” When that didn’t seem to work, she raised his hand and kissed it. “We certainly made merry last n
ight.” Still no response, so she continued kissing his knuckles, then turned his hand over and pressed her mouth fiercely to his palm.
That seemed to awaken him from his reverie. He caught her to him, pulling her hard to his chest, enfolding and holding her close. “No matter what, love, you must remember I love you. Above all others and to my dying breath.”
“Tris.” She started up out of bed, his hopeless tone sending a wave of fear through her. “You are scaring me. Please don’t talk like that.”
He grazed her forehead with his lips. “It will be all right. Trust me.” The smile he gave her was forced, which boded ill. “Now I think you should ring for breakfast before Mrs. Parker complains we don’t appreciate her.” At last he produced a real grin, all gloom gone. “That would be a tragedy.”
Chapter 13
Tris pushed past Grayson, the Marquess of Dalbury’s butler, and strode down the hallway into his friend’s office unannounced. He’d made a muddle of everything, but if anyone could help him sort it out, Duncan could.
The marquess, sitting behind his huge mahogany desk, penning some missive, jerked his head up, rose and drew his sword in one liquid movement.
Skidding to a halt, Tris pulled his own weapon from its scabbard.
“Oh, hell, it’s you.” Duncan’s shoulders relaxed, he sheathed his sword, and sank back into his leather chair.
“S’blood, Duncan. Who the devil did you think it was?” Tris eyed him warily. He’d never seen his friend so edgy.
“That French fiend, St. Cyr. I expect him to come demanding Juliet at any moment.” A dangerous scowl appeared as Duncan frowned, then picked up an engraved tumbler of what looked like very good whisky, and gulped a third of the contents.
“Christ, what happened on Christmas Eve?” Thinking it apparently hadn’t been a merry holiday for any of them, Tris sauntered over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. God, he needed more than one. “I was at the back of the ballroom, talking to Lord and Lady Bellamy, when that ruckus broke out at the entrance. By the time I’d excused myself and made it to the foyer, I could find no one who would tell me a thing.”
“Servants who wouldn’t talk? Perhaps it is the Second Coming.” Duncan sobered. “That damned scoundrel St. Cyr brought a Runner and a warrant and forced Juliet to leave with him.”
Tris snorted and whiskey went the wrong way down his throat. Coughing and sputtering, he tried to draw breath.
Duncan watched him, fear in his face. “Are you all right, Tris?” He sprang up, but Tris waved him back.
“I’m fine,” he wheezed. “Why aren’t you out looking for Juliet this minute?” Tris cleared his throat one last time and the spasm passed.
“My father died of such a coughing fit at the dinner table.” Jaw quivering, he shifted in his seat, averting his eyes from Tris. “Morley followed them and found her an hour or so later. His military skills are top notch, I must say. Tracked her like a hound to the hunt. She’s now in hiding until either the marriage is annulled, proven false, or someone kills the bastard.” Duncan swallowed the rest of his drink at a gulp. “I thought it was him when you burst in.” The haunted look in his eyes ceased, and he reared back in his chair, eying Tris. “What brings you here? I thought you were to go into Wiltshire to Downings’s after Christmas.”
Tris slumped into a worn leather chair. “I was. Now I can’t.”
“Can’t? Why ever not?”
Suddenly preoccupied with his drink, Tris dreaded the next few minutes. We who are about to die salute you. “I need you to help me break the betrothal with Miss Harper.”
“What?” Tension snapped back into his body as Duncan sat bolt upright. “Are you mad? You can’t jilt the daughter of a peer. You can’t jilt anyone and hope to escape the ton unscathed. But Downing’s daughter? The man’s related to half the kingdom and has more money than Croesus.” He narrowed his eyes and drummed a finger on the desk. “Talk sense, Tris. What has happened?”
“Miss Carlton happened.” God he hated to give this confession to Duncan of all people.
“What do you mean?” The voice dripped ice.
“I mean that I love her. I want to marry her and be happy for the rest of my life instead of tied to a woman I will never love.”
“You’ll be ruined, as will Miss Harper.” Drawing himself up like some avenging god, the marquess rose. “I forbid it. I will not allow you to commit social suicide and live in exile for the rest of your life, much less help you do it.” He marched over to the decanter. “You are merely infatuated with Miss Carlton. You need a good and thorough bedding is all. You’ll forget all about her.”
“Like the ones I had last night? And again this morning?” The memory of those encounters made him long to hold Violet’s body against him again. Never to let go. “I assure you, I’ve forgotten nothing about her.”
“What the devil does that mean?” Duncan stared at him, his hand poised with the decanter over his glass.
Tris met his stare and shrugged.
“Good Christ in heaven. You didn’t…After I told you to get as far away from her as possible you took her to bed?” The decanter thumped down on the sideboard.
“I tried, tried damn hard to stay away from her.” Jumping to his feet, Tris headed toward his friend. “Managed it for a week or so, although I thought about her constantly. And when she asked me to visit her on Christmas Day, I thought we would say goodbye.” After seizing the bottle, Tris sloshed brandy into his glass and took a long sip. “Donningham had shown an interest, you see. So I was sure she wanted to tell me she’d be leaving soon.”
“Well, at least she had the good sense to know you couldn’t marry.”
“Yes, but then instead of saying goodbye, she played a composition she’d written for me. And it was over. I couldn’t resist her any longer. Didn’t want to.”
“She composed a song for you?”
“She’s an accomplished musician and I had given her a harp—”
“You did what?”
Tris frowned. “She mentioned she loved playing the harp, so I bought her one. What was the harm in that?”
“I suppose you visited daily, had late suppers with her, and took her driving in the park?” Duncan’s lips had twisted into a sardonic smile.
“And if I did, what of it? I did nothing improper.” His friend’s attitude had become irritating in the extreme.
“What you did was treat her like a mistress in all ways save one, until last night.”
“I did no such thing.” The nascent protest died on his lips. Save for not sharing a bed with Violet, he had indeed treated her much as he had Serena, Grace, and Fanny. “And if I did so, what was the harm?”
“Had you stayed strictly away from her, your infatuation would not have been allowed to grow.” Returning to the chair behind the desk, Duncan continued his admonishments. “This predicament would never have come to pass.”
“Perhaps.” Tris doubted it though. “I somehow believe Miss Carlton and I would still have forged a bond. Something about her touched me from the moment I saw her.”
Duncan snorted. “You met her in a brothel, Tris. I know what touched you about her.”
Tris met his friend’s gaze unwavering. “Yes, I’m sure you do. You met your wife in the same brothel, as I remember.”
The marquess paled. “That was totally different. She’d been kidnapped and brought there.”
“And you paid for her just as I did for Violet. I know—” He waved away the protest brewing in Duncan’s face. “The circumstances were quite different. But the question is this. Had you been betrothed when you met Lady Dalbury, would you have been satisfied to keep her as your mistress? Or would you have fought to make her your marchioness?”
“Huh.” Duncan swirled the liquid remaining in the glass, first one way then the other. “Katarina didn’t want to be my wife, much less my mistress. God help the man who asked such a thing of her. But I take your point.” Slowl
y sipping the rest of the spirits, he studied Tris. “And now you’ve ruined Miss Carlton, you want to marry her?”
“I’ve wanted to marry her from the beginning. At first for honor’s sake, true, but now, not only do I love her, but it’s become more urgent. After last night she could be increasing.” Tris ran a hand through his hair, wanting to tear it out. That thought had occurred to him as he galloped Lucifer to Dunham House.
“Then you must pray it has not come to pass as you cannot marry the lady. Do you not remember Lord Staunton?”
“I’ve heard the name, and associate it with something vaguely scandalous. Why?”
“He set the ton tongues to wagging the year we went on the Grand Tour. That’s why you don’t remember him. It was all over by the time we made it home. I had to ask my father what the whispering was all about when Staunton’s name came up.” Shaking his head, Duncan drained his glass. “Nasty bit of business, the whole affair. Staunton was engaged to Lady Mary Cafford, but then ran off with Lady Georgina Myers. It was two months after Hardwick’s Law had been put into effect, so they had to go to Coldstream Bridge in Scotland to marry. The scandal raged the whole time we were abroad. I’m mightily surprised we didn’t get wind of it in Italy.”
Tris laughed. “They could have shouted it from the rooftops of Venice and I’d have no recollection of it. Signora Maccari, however, I still remember very well.”
Duncan chuckled and sent him a sly glance. “As you say.” He sobered again. “Here in England, however, they received the cut by every person in the ton. My mother knew Lady Georgina’s mother. She said the episode tore the family apart, for they couldn’t defend the couple nor receive them either. Such ugliness upset my mother greatly. Staunton was refused admittance at White’s, at Vanes, even at Charbury’s.”
“Impossible.” That brought Tris upright, alarmed. Charbury’s was the notorious gaming hell he frequented sometimes. They allowed the dregs in if they had the money to gamble.
“True, nevertheless.” Duncan leaned all the way back in his chair. “The other patrons complained about his presence so loudly and threatened to riot if he wasn’t removed, so they escorted him out. The last straw for Staunton, though, was his father’s reaction. He disinherited him, stripped him of every means of income and publicly declared him no longer his son. The next day Staunton put a ball through his head.” With a shudder, Duncan poured another drink. “And Lady Mary, although everyone held her blameless, has never married.”
