by Jenna Jaxon
The story shook Tris. As he’d told the marquess, he didn’t remember the scandal, but then he’d just been back from the continent, still feeling in fine fettle and spoiling for a bit of skirt after six weeks of voyage without female companionship. Society’s doings had interested him not at all at the time. Now they did. Still he shrugged it off. “I already hold my title and estates, Duncan. No one can disinherit me. My sisters may well never speak to me again, but I will bear that as well as I can.” He shot his friend an inquisitive look. “I suppose you and the marchioness will be forced to join the throng and stone us figuratively if not literally?”
Duncan grunted and waved a hand at him. “Short of a royal command I doubt anything would sever our friendship. And God forbid anyone tell Kat she could not honor you and your wife. Heaven help the society matrons who try to cross her.” He chuckled, a glint in his eye.
The tension that ached behind Tris’s eyes eased.
“So you are determined to proceed with this madness? I’m frankly surprised Miss Carlton accepted you after you told her about our part in the duel and the death of her brother.”
Tris stiffened. Hell. Oh, hell and damnation. When Violet had mentioned the duel this morning he had known he must confess to her. Not telling her then had been the one cowardly act he’d ever committed.
“You did tell her, didn’t you?” Duncan’s eyes had narrowed, his brows furrowed in a monstrous frown.
“I thought I’d never see her again after we said goodbye yesterday. Then last night happened so quickly…” Raising his chin, Tris stared him down. “No, I didn’t tell her.”
“Christ, Tris.” The scars on his friend’s left cheek reddened. “You must tell her what happened before you break your betrothal. She may well refuse you and then where would you be?”
In hell, most likely. “I know she might,” he snapped. “I’ll go now.” He drained his glass and set it on Duncan’s desk. He looked up, hopefully. “If it all comes right, you’ll go with me to Lord Downing’s? I may very well have need of a second.”
“Of course. There was never need to ask.”
“I know.” Tris grinned, though his heart sank. Facing Downing would be pleasure compared to the interview he now must undertake with Violet. Pray God he still need worry about Downing when it was over.
Chapter 14
Violet sat before the mirror of her toilette table, rapt as Susan put the finishing touches on her hair. The maid had curled her straight locks with a heated iron poker so now curly wisps of her plain brown hair framed her face. The majority of it, however, lay confined by pins under a lacy cap that exactly matched the dark pink in her deep blue and salmon print gown.
“I’ve never before made so much fuss over my appearance just to stay at home.” Laughing, Violet turned her head this way and that. The bouncy curls swung with every twist, making her smile. “Only when I was about to attend a ball or an assembly.”
“Well, miss, you’d better get used to it. Lord Trevor likes his lady well-dressed when entertaining at home. Here.” Susan placed a red velvet box on the table in front of her. “His lordship sent this for you.”
Violet caught her breath. Tris had sent her a gift? Heart beating frantically, she opened the box and removed a piece of paper, revealing a pair of exquisite girandole earrings. The three pendants in each earring contained brilliant sapphires that danced when she lifted them from the case. Joy washed through her at this tangible proof of his regard. Smiling broadly, she opened the note.
My dearest one,
I am sorry I could not be there to present these to you myself. However, I wished you to have your morning gift while it was still morning. I must conduct the business of which we spoke earlier, so I will be with you later today and all through this night and every night.
All my love and regard,
Tris
Delight warred with confusion. “Do you know what a morning gift is, Susan?”
Her only answer was a shrug. “No, miss. I’ve not heard of such a thing.” She grinned at Violet. “I suppose it means his lordship had a pleasant night.”
Cheeks burning, she glared at the woman. “Likely so.”
“I’d say it’s a good thing, Violet. They are beautiful and complete your outfit perfectly.” Susan grabbed Violet’s green silk-figured banyan, shaking it out as she headed toward the dressing room.
The girl might be saucy, but she must know Tris’s tastes well. She’d been maid and companion to three of his mistresses, not counting Violet. That information had made her grit her teeth and clench her fists when Susan had mentioned it in passing. Still no need to deny or ignore the fact Tris had had powerful appetites before he met her. Her duty now was to fulfill those as best she could. Fortunately, Susan would prove a wealth of knowledge on how to please him.
Her nether regions tingled at the prospect. Of course, it would be hard to say who would be giving whom the most pleasure. She’d been sore when she’d bathed earlier—the hot water had stung as she washed streaks of blood from her inner thighs. Still, she eagerly waited for Tris’s return and the continuation of last night’s passions.
“Did Lord Trevor say when he would arrive?”
“No, miss.” Susan emerged with an armful of linens. “Only the box and that note arrived. No other word.”
Tris had dressed, eaten scarcely a bite of breakfast, and hurried out to his carriage to call on his friend the marquess. That was all well and good, however, nothing short of a consultation with the king himself would change her mind about Tris’s offer to marry her. She couldn’t live with herself if she caused irreparable harm to his honor. She could live here quietly as his mistress and share a life together. Not the perfect life perhaps, but better than her prospects had been a short time ago.
Children would be a problem, although she could begin Madame Vestry’s herb tea immediately to prevent increasing. The dried flowers and seeds of Queen Anne’s Lace, the Madame said, taken each morning after “entertaining,” kept her girls from conceiving. Violet had a pouch full of the concoction. She’d have to find it and have Mrs. Parker brew her some. Perhaps later, once their lives were more settled, she and Tris could discuss children. If he could establish them in a home on one of his outlying estates, she’d be more than happy. Often, she’d heard, noblemen would set their mistresses up in a separate establishment just like Lammas House. Why not in the country?
“Will there be anything else, miss?” Susan had finished gathering the laundry and stood at the door.
“Could you have Mrs. Parker send up tea and some of her delicious scones? I fear I didn’t eat enough breakfast.” Her stomach had been in knots, worry over their situation preventing her from doing more than nibble a piece of toast.
“Very good, miss.” Susan nodded and shut the door.
Violet dabbed jasmine perfume behind her ears, then slid the cool glass stopper against her neck. She trembled, thinking of Tris nuzzling her there as the sweet scent filled his head. Hastily, she dragged the stopper between her breasts. Yes, she’d love for him to bury his face there, feel his warm breath tickle the valley between. She’d press his head to her hot flesh and never let him go. Closing her eyes, she groaned, wanting him here now.
Perhaps she should instruct Susan to have their supper laid here, in the bedroom. Although she had little true experience with a man’s appetites, she understood the power of food and could think of several ways she could use their repast to arouse her lover. She was finding being a mistress more to her liking than she had believed possible. Being wicked and wanton with Tristan, in ways a wife might not be willing to explore, carried a strong appeal. God knew she understood little of the expectations of either wife or mistress. Still her pulse raced when she thought of the things from Madame Vestry’s instruction she could do to her willing victim.
Shortly, Susan entered with a tray and Violet pounced on the hot, sweet tea and tender scones.
“You haven’t put y
our earrings in, miss.” Susan nodded at the jewelry still lying in the open case.
“I fear I was woolgathering for far too long.” Violet sipped her tea and then slipped the heavy gold earrings into her ears. Hard to believe they were truly hers. She watched herself in the mirror and touched the sparkling gems, stilling them as they swung with her movement. A plan to thank Tris very thoroughly for her morning gift began to form.
All now in readiness for his return, Violet finished the last bite of the delicious scone and headed downstairs to the music room. The moment she entered, the scene from last night played itself out before her, as though she were watching a drama on the stage. She and Tristan locked in that bone-crushing embrace. Her cheeks flamed even as her body quivered. He could not arrive too soon.
Violet shook herself, discipline returning, and sat down at the harp. She strummed the strings softly, a caress for an old lover. No, this would never do. Determined to focus on her task, she forced herself to play some scales, limbering up her fingers. The final one flowed into the opening strains of the composition she’d written for Tris. She hadn’t given it a name until the hasty one last night. Before she’d merely thought of it as Tris’s Air. But if he liked that one, then so be it. Plucking the familiar strings, she lost herself as always. This time, however, not in the music, but in the memory. The candlelight, the warmth of the room, the faint scent of beeswax. Tristan’s gaze on her, his eyes black with desire. She reached the crescendo of the piece, pouring all her heart, her passion, her soul into the music until it engulfed her, as if in a lover’s embrace.
The last of the quivering strings fell silent and she sat back, almost as sated as this morning. Movement to her right. She turned.
Tris stood in the doorway, breathtakingly splendid in a jacket of emerald green, embellished with gold braid and topaz buttons over brown leather breeches that hugged every curve of his magnificent body.
She jumped up, the harp thumping to the floor, ran to him and threw her arms around him.
He bent his head, seizing her lips, crushing her body against him so tightly her ribs ached. Without warning, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, possessing her totally. The word “mine” echoed in her head.
Catching the urgency of his passion, she strained into him, kissing him back with sweet abandon fueled by the power of the music that still coursed through her.
At last he broke the kiss and cupped her cheek with his palm. His gaze bore into her, revealing a longing she didn’t understand.
After that kiss she’d expect flaming hot desire, not sadness. “What’s wrong, Tris? Didn’t you get to see your friend, the marquess?”
He dropped his hands from her face and turned from her.
“Did he convince you not to marry me?” What else would cause such devastation in his eyes? “Truly, it’s all right, my love. I told you as long as we can be together, I don’t care if we are married or not.”
“Violet.” He reached toward her, then jerked his hand back. “Can we sit down, please?”
“Of, course.” Concern welled within, frightening her, though she schooled her face to nothing but a pleasant smile. Truly, he looked very ill. “Come, let’s go into the parlor where it will be more comfortable.” She took his arm as they sedately walked the few steps.
The parlor fire had burned low, but she didn’t want to wait for a servant to build it up. Whatever it was, he needed to tell her now. She should have known it would take him some time to agree they could never marry. As long as she assured him of her love and that she would stay with him despite society’s censure, he would find a way to accept it.
They sat on the sofa and she took his hand. It lay limp in hers and her concern rose. He had never acted this despairing before. “Please tell me what troubles you, my love. I cannot bear to see you so distressed. Did the marquess dissuade you from breaking your betrothal to Miss Harper?”
“He asked me to put it off until I had talked to you.” Hard lines etched themselves into his familiar face, turning it to granite.
“About becoming your mistress?” She clasped his hand, cold as a midwinter’s morn, and squeezed it. He obviously didn’t believe she loved him enough to sacrifice her honor for his. For him and no other.
“No, my dear. Not that.”
“Then what, my love? Why are you so distraught?”
“Because I have a tale to tell you I would give my fortune and title not to have to tell.” He lifted her head, his palm cradling her face. “Let me look at you, Violet, as you are at this moment.” He gazed intently into her eyes, the sadness in his even deeper.
Dread seized her heart and squeezed it with icy fingers.
“Please believe I love you. That will not change until the land falls into the boiling sea at Judgment Day.”
“Tell me.” The croak emerged from a mouth gone bone dry with fear.
He kissed her hand, then released it and stood up. “When we met at the House of Pleasure, I told you I knew your brother.”
“Yes, you said you had a slight acquaintance with him. You never told me how you met.” The abrupt change of subject confused her. Why bring up Jamie now?
“I did know him briefly, just before he died.” Tris paced to the sideboard and poured a full tumbler of brandy.
“How did you know him?” Jamie had never spoken of a Lord Trevor to her recollection. He certainly hadn’t traveled in the same circles as Tris.
“In the spring of 1760, Duncan, my friend the marquess, was obliged to fight several duels defending the honor of his sister, Lady Juliet. Her fiancé had broken off their engagement because rumors had surfaced regarding insanity in the Ferrers family. You remember the scandal regarding the Earl Ferrers?”
Violet nodded. When the earl had killed his steward, the ton had been shocked. He’d actually been hanged for the crime, creating an even bigger sensation. “They are part of that family?”
“Through marriage only, but of course, people will spread wild stories. One of the men who slandered Lady Juliet was Christopher Davies.”
“Kit?” Her cousin. A chill swept through her. The marquess, Tristan’s friend, had fought Kit? “When did you say this was?” A hothead all his life, Kit had fought several duels.
“May of 1760.”
“Oh, God.” On May 25, 1760 Kit had been killed in a duel. She leaped to her feet. “Your friend killed my cousin and my brother?” Blood throbbed in her ears. Tris had known. He’d been there and had seen it. And he hadn’t told her.
“No.” Tris shook his head. “Duncan fought your cousin and, yes, killed him in a fair fight.” He set his glass on the table and looked her in the face. “I killed your brother.”
Chapter 15
Roaring deafened her. She couldn’t comprehend what he had said. He hadn’t said what she thought he’d said. He hadn’t. She was mistaken. Black spots crowded out the sight of Tristan’s face, white as parchment, shouting something.
Violet sat up and gasped.
“There you are, miss.” Susan stood up, a vial of smelling salts in her hand. “She’ll be all right now, my lord.” She left and closed the door.
Violet lay on the pink parlor sofa, her feet atop a pile of pillows.
“Are you all right, Violet?” Tris sat down beside her. “You swooned.”
Had she? “Oh, God.” She did remember. “Get away! Get away from me!” With a shriek, she sprang off the sofa and ran behind it. “You killed him. You killed Jamie.” She burst into tears, the rage and pain of betrayal licking through her veins. How could he have done such a thing?
“I had no choice, Violet. Don’t you know what happened?” He took a slow step toward her.
“Stop. Don’t come near me.” Oh, but she wanted to die. The sharp sorrow of Jamie’s death reared itself from the shallow grave she’d fought to keep it in all these months. She’d had to move past the agony of grief in order to survive. That hurt, however, paled in comparison to the raw agony of Tri
s’s betrayal. “How could you?”
“I had to, Violet. You told me you knew what happened.” Misery stared out of his eyes. “Duncan had just pierced your cousin below the heart. As he lay dying, your brother knelt beside him, comforting him for the few minutes he had left.” Pacing between the sofa and the sideboard, he opened and closed his fists. “I was standing next to Duncan when from the corner of my eye I saw your brother leap to his feet, draw his sword, and run toward Duncan.” Sudden anger flashed in Tris’s face. “Duncan had his back to them. I had only seconds to act. I pushed Duncan out of the way. I drew my sword as your brother lunged and he ran onto my blade.”
Despicable man. She glared at Tris and backed up. Oh, she’d known Jamie’s actions were dishonorable. That was why she’d been shunned by almost all the ton. But he hadn’t deserved to die. Tears tumbled down her face.
“It’s all your fault.” She managed to stop the tears long enough to throw that at him. “If you hadn’t killed Jamie I wouldn’t have ended up at Madame Vestry’s to be bought by you.” Betrayed. Betrayed by the man who had killed her brother and stolen her heart. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me that night? You knew and you didn’t tell me you had killed him.”
“Because I wanted to help you and I feared you wouldn’t take my help if you knew.” Slowly, he shifted from one foot to another.
“Of course I wouldn’t have gone with you if I’d known.” He must be mad himself. She squeezed her temples, praying the doors of Bedlam would open and swallow her, making this a lunatic’s dream.
