Only a Mistress Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  The countess shook her head, clucking her tongue. “No, I fear my cousin has been indisposed for quite a while now. She has not been able to receive anyone for several weeks. Ever since our Christmas ball.”

  Damn. “I wondered because Miss Carlton mentioned she intended to call on Miss Forsythe.”

  Lady Braeton sighed and sipped her tea. “No, I’m sorry to say we have not seen Miss Carlton since the ball. Alethea took such a fancy to her last summer. I encouraged it as my poor cousin had made so few friends since her arrival in London. I do wish she had called. I’m sure Alethea would have made an exception for her. Perhaps Miss Carlton’s presence would have raised my cousin’s spirits.”

  Damn. If Violet wasn’t here, where the devil was she?

  He remained with the Braeton’s another agonizing quarter of an hour, although he wanted to flee and continue his search. But search where? He’d thought of every place she might have gone and discarded them all as impossible due to her lack of funds.

  When he took his leave of the Braetons, he headed back to Lammas House. Perhaps the woman had come to her senses and returned. If so, he’d shake her until her teeth rattled. If she had not made herself known by tomorrow morning, he’d contact Duncan. His wife had a relation employed by Bow Street. Perhaps the man could locate her.

  Susan met him at the door, her eyes hopeful until she realized he was alone, and slumped.

  “Any word?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Nothing. I’ve sent a message to my family in Shotesham St. Mary to see if by chance she’d gone there.”

  Tris frowned and pushed forward into the house. “Why would she visit your family?”

  “We had talked of the possibility of her moving there, posing as a widow so she could get a well-to-do husband with no expectations of her virtue.” Candle in hand, Susan pursed her lips and led the way into the parlor. She lit the lamps and faced Tris. “She could have stayed here in London, my lord, and married Lord Donningham. But she said she couldn’t deceive a decent man like him and she’d rather die than tell him she was no longer a virgin.” She glared at him, her breast heaving. “If you needed to lie with a woman that bad, begging your pardon, my lord, you should have gone back to the House of Pleasure. It’s not like you’ve never been there before. You should have left Miss Carlton alone.” She turned on her heel and stamped up the stairs.

  Impertinent wench. Tris trudged to the sideboard looking for a drink. Still he couldn’t summon true anger at Susan. She was as worried as he about Violet. She was also right. He poured a short shot of brandy and tossed it back. If only he’d kept as tight a rein on his cock as he had that night at Madame Vestry’s.

  He stopped mid-toss, his breath stilled in his chest. The brandy hit his throat and Tris choked. “Good Christ, no.” He slammed the glass down, wheezing and coughing as he grabbed his cloak and ran for the door. Fear flooded his mind and heart. Now he knew where she had gone, damn her. Dear God, if he was right please let him be in time.

  Chapter 17

  Violet stood once more—cold, tired, and hungry but determined—on Madame Vestry’s doorstep in the thin afternoon sunlight. Willie opened the door and his eyes widened. With a leer, he silently led her into the Madame’s office.

  Pen poised over an open ledger, Madame Vestry raised her head and met her gaze evenly. “You have returned Miss Carlton? Or is it now Cassandra?”

  Violet squared her shoulders. The long walk from Lammas House, made even longer by the circuitous route she’d taken, just in case Susan or, God forbid, Lord Trevor had tried to follow her, had given her time to make peace with her decision to return to Madame Vestry. “Cassandra.”

  “Your other option did not work out, I suppose?”

  “No.” She’d returned to the House of Pleasure where a ruined woman belonged. Ruined by her own folly in letting the guard down around her heart and allowing herself to be swept away by Lord Trevor’s charm and attentions. “I discovered I had no other options after all.”

  Of course, she could have left for Susan’s village; no one would have been the wiser. Or begged Alethea to take her in and pursued a marriage with Lord Donningham or some other man of the ton. She could even have tried again to gain employment with a mantua maker.

  “That is truly a pity.” Madame Vestry’s big brown eyes flickered with compassion for an instant before hardening once more. “I don’t suppose we are still able to sell your virtue?”

  A curt shake of her head told the tale. She’d refused to be party to deceit, to foisting herself off on an unsuspecting suitor. It would only be a matter of time until her shame was known throughout the ton. She might as well get on with the life she was fated to live as Cassandra. The life she deserved. Tris had ruined her in more ways than one.

  “A shame. You’d have fetched a pretty price once more.” With a shrug, the Madame turned over another page in her ledger and wrote the name Cassandra at its top. “The green room tonight at eight o’clock.”

  * * * *

  “What pleasure my I give you this evening, my lord?” The question came back all too quickly as Violet sat once again in the green room at the House of Pleasure. She adjusted her skirt for the hundredth time, her gaze locked on the door.

  The latch rattled.

  She jerked up straight in the velvet chair. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. It would be all right. This was the life she was fit for now. She would see it through.

  The door opened and she rose. “What pleasure may I give you—” The words cut off in her throat.

  Fashionably dressed in brown and buff, the gentleman stepped smiling into the room. Then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Miss Carlton?”

  * * * *

  Tris pushed through the throng of merry gentlemen, laughing and drinking in the public rooms of the House of Pleasure. He had no idea where Violet might be, but one person would certainly know.

  “Trevor. Over here.” An acquaintance from White’s waved him over, but Tris shook his head and continued wading through the packed room, with even greater urgency. A terrible constriction in his chest persuaded him he would be too late.

  “Lord Trevor. Didn’t think I’d see you here so close to your wedding. Getting in one last bit of skirt before you don the shackle, what?” The man put a hand on Tris’s shoulder.

  He threw it off and shoved the startled patron out of his way. God in heaven, where was the doorway? Fighting his way through another tangle of guests, he turned a corner, out of the raucous fog and into a dim corridor. He hurried forward to the Madame’s office where he pounded on the door then hit the latch.

  The door swung inward revealing Madame Vestry seated behind her enormous black lacquer desk. Tonight she had dressed in an expensive blue silk gown, cut daringly low. Ready for business.

  “Where is she?” Tris strode up to the desk, his sword banging against the shiny wood. He wasn’t above using intimidation if the woman proved reluctant to give him what he wanted.

  “Where is who, Lord Trevor?” A slight smile on her too red lips, the Madame rose. “You were not scheduled for an appointment this evening, my lord, however, for such a good customer I can always make—”

  “Damn you to hell.” He leaned over the shiny desk until his nose hovered a mere inch from her dark, brooding eyes. “Where is Miss Carlton?”

  Madame Vestry shrugged. “There is no one of that name here.” Seating herself once more, she picked up her pen. “As I was saying before the interruption, I believe I can accommodate you despite the lack of a prior arrangement.” She consulted the ledger before her, turned a page. “Daphne is new and available now. Perhaps not to your exact taste—”

  “To hell with Daphne, to hell with you, and to hell with this accursed place.” If she didn’t tell him he would go mad. “Where is Violet Carlton?” He clenched his fists, blood roaring in his ears. By God, he’d not be responsible if he throttled the bitch. Every second counted if he were to
stop Violet.

  Mirth danced in Vestry’s dark eyes for a fleeting moment. “Violet Carlton is a gently born woman who has never worked in this house. A sultry temptress named Cassandra, however, has returned.”

  “’Sblood, I’ll wring your neck” Tris raised his hands, and his gaze fell on the ledger. He seized it with fingers that shook. “Where is she?”

  “The green room.” Vestry smiled and ice slid down his spine. “With a gentleman, of course.”

  Tris tossed the book at the smiling face and bounded out of the room. She’d cost him precious minutes. If he was too late to save Violet, he’d kill Vestry with his own hands. He pelted down the familiar corridor, his cloak billowing behind him like an ominous black sail.

  Before the door, suddenly terrified of what he might find behind it, he froze. Pressing his ear to the gray-streaked panel, he strained to hear something, anything.

  Silence.

  His breath rasped in his own ears. Had he come too late? Were they even now in bed, the man already spent?

  A chair scraped the wooden floor.

  Tris hit the latch with enough force to snap the handle off in his hand. He gazed at it, amazed, then with an anguished cry, raised his booted foot and kicked the door. It crashed inward, rebounding off the wall and jolting his shoulder as he strode into the room.

  Violet, eyes so wide they looked like tiny red-gold dots in a sea of white, rose from her chair by the fireplace clutching her chest, still covered by the fabric of her bedraggled purple dress, thank God.

  “Violet, are you all right?” He strode into the room, hands outstretched.

  A blur of movement to his right and the tip of a rapier pricked his chest.

  “What the devil?” Tris danced backward, sweeping his cloak aside and drawing his own weapon to meet the unknown threat.

  “You may retire, my lord.” His tall, solidly built opponent stood directly in front of Violet, shielding her from sight. “You have no business with this woman.” The man raised his sword into the high en garde of the second position. “I’ll thank you to leave us.” His face remained in shadow, however his rich voice had a familiar ring.

  “The devil I will.” Tris countered by lowering his arm into the fourth position, tearing at the strings of his cloak and tossing it aside. He squinted in the poor firelight, still trying to make out the identity of the stranger. “The lady is under my protection.”

  “I am not!” Violet’s voice rang out. “He has nothing to do with me anymore.”

  The denial cut like a dagger to Tris’s heart.

  “I am afraid the lady is correct, my lord.” The shadowy figure rotated his hand, the blade twisting inches from Tris’s face. “It’s Lord Trevor, is it not?”

  “Who the deuce are you?”

  “I beg your pardon.” The man lowered his weapon. “Lord Manning at your service.”

  “Manning? Good God.” Breathing a sigh of relief, Tris sheathed his sword.

  The Earl of Manning took a step into the light, revealing the dark hair and chiseled features of Duncan’s brother-in-law. Thank goodness the scandal would go no further. “What are you doing here?”

  The young man’s face darkened. Was he actually blushing?

  Heat rose in Tristan’s as well. Damn it, he had nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Hrmph.” Manning cleared his throat and glanced at Violet who had come from behind him, glaring at Tris. “No need to go into reasons for my presence tonight. Suffice it to say I have rescued a damsel in distress.”

  The sight of her in that rumpled purple dress—the one she’d been wearing when he met her—almost undid him. He wanted nothing so much as to enfold her in his arms, feel her heart beat against his chest, and never let go. His own heart thundered like a sudden storm that drenched his body in cold sweat even as his mouth dried to dust. Damn it, what could he do? He blew out an explosive breath. Stop staring at her for a start.

  Violet raised her chin and met his gaze. Her piercing eyes and stubborn jaw made his stomach clench.

  “Thank you for your rescue, Manning. I hope we can keep this whole unfortunate episode private.” By God, when he got her home he’d shake the woman like a terrier with a rat. How dare she run off to this place?

  “My desire as well, Trevor.” Manning picked up his cloak and draped it around Violet’s shoulders. “I would not want it to get about the ton that my wife had been seen in a brothel.”

  “Your what?” Tris jerked his attention back to the handsome lord. Had the man gone mad? “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “Lord Manning asked for my hand in marriage. I had just accepted his proposal when you burst in and interrupted us.” Violet straightened, a triumphant smile settling like a mantle over her face. “Will you wish me happy, Lord Trevor?”

  Tris nodded, the ice in his belly freezing the rest of him. She’d accepted another man. Numbness spread from his middle outward, like rays of a dead sun. Dead or not, he must show nothing. “Of course, Miss Carlton. My heartfelt felicitations.”

  Her gaze searched his face without finding what she sought. Her smile slackened to a pitiful drooping of the lips.

  Manning’s frown darkened his face. He tugged on the sleeves of his golden brown jacket. “You cannot imagine my shock and dismay when I discovered Miss Carlton here. I immediately thought of Kat’s ordeal.”

  The earl’s sister had been kidnapped and sold in the House of Pleasure not quite a year ago.

  “Naturally, I assumed the same circumstances applied to Miss Carlton but she explained her unfortunate situation.” He shook his head, his jaw firming, as he stared at Violet. “Of course, as a gentleman I could do nothing less than offer her the protection of my name.” His gaze swung toward Tris, skewering him with an accusatory glare.

  Tris ground his teeth, aching to clarify his relationship with Violet to the earl. But it was done. He’d lost her. Years of training to withhold any outward display of emotion rose automatically to mind. He summoned an inscrutable mask and donned it without thought. “Miss Carlton has been most fortunate to encounter you, my lord. You will wed immediately, I assume?”

  Certainly for the best if they did. Remove any sort of temptation to renege on the betrothal. Manning was a good sort, according to Duncan. He could be sure the man would treat Violet well enough. How she’d cope with keeping regular company with the marquess who’d had a hand in her brother’s death was anyone’s guess. Had she even stopped to consider that? At least she wouldn’t have to see him every day.

  “We were about to leave when you came in, Trevor.” Lord Manning stared pointedly at the broken door behind Tris. He sighed and shrugged. “Although I’m deucedly at a loss for where to lodge Miss Carlton this evening. Tomorrow I can hire a maid and set her up at a reputable inn until I can procure a special license. But tonight…I suppose I could take her to Dalbury’s, although he’s still in an uproar over Juliet.”

  Violet started, then backed away from the earl, wringing her hands. The dim light cast mottled shadows on her strained, pale face.

  “That would not be wise, I think.” Perhaps the last place she should go, save one. Still, under the circumstances, he’d have to offer it.

  “Do not worry, my dear.” Manning took Violet’s hand. “Good Lord, your fingers are like ice.” He set to chaffing it vigorously. “Something will come to mind.”

  Tris dug his nails into his palms until the ache became intolerable. “If I may suggest it, Manning, allow Miss Carlton to return to Lammas House for the night. Or until you marry. She has a maid and a full staff there to attend her.”

  The earl left off rubbing her hands, now rosy with his attentions, and frowned. “Lammas House?”

  “Where I stayed when I was under Lord Trevor’s protection, my lord.” Violet’s lips trembled, but she stared at the earl calmly.

  Manning shrugged. “Will that arrangement be acceptable, Miss Carlton?”

  With a searing l
ook at Tris, she opened her mouth.

  Steeling himself for a resounding “No,” he wondered what the hell they were to do with her then, but she closed her mouth and nodded, not meeting either his or Manning’s eyes.

  Manning relaxed, a boyish smile lighting his face. He’d been worried as well it seemed. “Good. Much obliged, Trevor.” He nodded and motioned for Violet to go to the door. “I’ll send the boy for my carriage. What’s the direction?”

  “It’s in Soho, not far, off of…”

  Resting his hand on the small of Violet’s back, Manning ushered her out the door.

  “I’ll lead you there.” He’d thought he’d gotten himself in hand, but the intimate gesture from Manning had jerked the response from him as though he’d been stabbed with a hot poker.

  They passed Madame Vestry’s office on the way out, but the room was dark; the woman had wisely made herself scarce. Just as well. He might have kept his promise to throttle her if he’d found her there.

  Chapter 18

  The damp cold soaked into Tris’s bones although he kept Lucifer to a quick trot all the way to Lammas House. The ride seemed interminable and not just because of the chill weather. He could scarcely wait to be alone with Violet. He’d pounce upon her so hard her ears would fall off. Why in God’s name had she gone back to The House of Pleasure? To insult him? Obviously. She’d done that when she’d left everything he’d given her. That should have been enough to wound him to the quick. So why hadn’t she gone to her friend? Round and round the arguments raced, with answers unlikely to present themselves.

  At last they drew up before the small, comfortable, lapped board front of Lammas House. Tris rode around to the mews, handing Lucifer over to a groom with strict instructions for the horse’s care. Unnecessary, of course. The groom had been here for years. The knots in his stomach, however, told him he needed time to steel himself for the coming confrontation.