Only a Mistress Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  It had been weeks since she’d seen him, the morning he’d met with her and Lord Manning. Not weeks but a lifetime. Her heart filled with sadness. Soon she would see him much more seldom, and eventually not at all. Still, she could not make herself turn and look at him. She stood slowly, straightening her spine inch by inch, all the while willing him to leave because she didn’t know how long she could restrain herself.

  “Violet.”

  Her back prickled with gooseflesh. He stood so close she could feel his warm breath on her nape. So close that if she turned around she would be in his arms. She wanted that. Wanted it more than she wanted air to breathe. Yet he was not hers to have.

  He slid his hands over her shoulders, the big, warm, strong hands she remembered so very well. Hands that had explored her body and given her the utmost pleasure. Tugging gently, he turned her toward him.

  Dreading each inch that brought her to face him, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear seeing his desire for her again. The scent of his cologne, spicy bergamot steeped in citrus, filled her head. She breathed him in, like coming home.

  He cradled her head, guiding it until he found her lips, then plunging his tongue home.

  An exquisite hunger swept through her body, as though she’d been starving and suddenly been given a feast. She slid her arms around his neck, pressing her eager body along his, seeking to touch every inch she could. The world stopped and they stood frozen in this one blessed moment in time.

  He came to his senses first, pulling away, though he still cupped her face. “Oh, Violet. I do love you. I have missed you so much, my love.”

  Tears started from her eyes. Her throat threatened to close completely as her heart beat painfully in her breast. She stepped back, staring into the beautiful sapphire eyes and shook her head, flinging drops to and fro. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I don’t give a fiddler’s damn about what we should and should not do.” He crushed her to his chest. “I cannot do this, Violet. I cannot marry Dora and condemn us to a life of misery.”

  She struggled to push away from him, though she was loath to do so. Her body sought his warmth like steel to a magnet. He was her true North. “You would condemn her too then?” She wiped at her streaming eyes with the back of her hand, then groped in her pocket for a handkerchief. “You cannot abandon her, Tris. She needs you. Needs to leave this house before it kills her spirit.”

  “I know her circumstances. Believe me, I know.” He grabbed her shoulders and gave her comforting squeeze. “Her father is a right bastard to her. Her brother too. I’ve seen the way they treat her. It is an impossible situation.” He dropped his hands and stared into her eyes with an intensity that scared her. “But I cannot rescue you both, Violet. She’s managed to cope with her family’s disdain thus far. Certainly Downing will arrange another marriage for her.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I cannot lose you, Violet. I cannot.”

  “Tris.” It cost every ounce of her resolve to step back from him. “You must marry her, not only for honor, but for her sake.” She clutched the handkerchief, already damp with tears. “And for my sake you must never see me again.”

  “Violet!”

  “No, my dear.” She swallowed hard, but met his eyes unflinchingly. “My dearest love, if you love me, you must swear you will not seek me out again. To do so will rekindle this unbearable pain that even now rips at my breast.”

  “My love.” He ran his hand around the back of his neck where the tendons had popped up in thick, rigid lines. With a groan he stepped toward her, arms outstretched.

  She threw her hands up to fend him off. “Tris, no. Do not touch me. I swear to you my heart will break if you do.” A lie, of course. Her heart already lay in a thousand throbbing pieces, so painful she could scarcely draw breath. But what else could she do to preserve his honor and Dora’s salvation?

  “I cannot—”

  “You must, my dear. For me.” Violet choked on the words, but forced herself to continue. “Promise me you will marry her and be kind. She deserves that, Tris. She will make you a good and loving wife, one who only wants to please you if you give her the chance. For my sake, my love, give her that chance.” Completely overcome, Violet turned and fled the room. Tears streamed down her cheeks once more as she ran toward the safety of the nursery, toward a life of service. To a life without Tris.

  * * * *

  Tristan stood in the cold receiving room furious and forlorn by turns, which infuriated him even more. How could she refuse him when he was willing to sacrifice everything for her? They deserved to be together. Why could she not see beyond the scandal and come away with him now? His hand itched to throttle someone—Violet, Downing, his father, himself. The latter more so than anyone else. God, what a muddle he’d made of his life.

  A glance showed the room held no comforting decanter. If this affair lasted much longer he’d become a tosspot and probably happier so. With an effort, he unclenched his fists and dropped his shoulders, although the ache of tension lingered in his body.

  For the past two weeks he’d consciously avoided any contact with Violet, though he’d been peculiarly aware of her presence in the house. Several times he’d enter a room and feel her essence, as though the ghost of her lingered on the currents in the air. Temptation had gnawed at him, urging him to seek her out, see her beautiful face, hear her lovely voice if only for a fleeting moment. He’d quelled every impulse until today, when the unexpected arrival of the duchess had thrown the household into a panic.

  Lady Downing had set the maids to freshening the second-best guest room, then nervously requested him to move to that chamber, allowing the duchess to occupy the best chamber. He’d graciously acquiesced, smiling at the woman’s shattered poise. When Lady Downing rang the bell for a footman to find Dora and none was forthcoming, Tris had volunteered to go.

  That had been a grave mistake.

  As he had approached the upstairs sitting room, where he’d been directed, he’d been amazed to hear two voices raised in laughter. His heart had given a fierce jolt that shook his chest. He’d recognize Violet’s laughter anywhere. Amazed anew at the beautiful strains of harp music, punctuated by the murmur of voices, he’d eased into the doorway and stood transfixed. His bride-to-be and the mistress of his heart laughed together as Violet strummed the strings in demonstration. The picture they presented made his heart ache.

  Dora, blue eyes shining, trim figure shown off to perfection in a fashionable pink gown d’Anglais, was absorbed in her fingering. Unselfconscious, she exuded a grace and joie de vive he’d never seen in her before. No man could resist her like this, unless he looked beyond her to her companion.

  Violet sat easily in her chair, natural poise and charm in every line of her. The green saque gown, one of Madame Angelique’s creations, subtly emphasized her full breasts and neat waist. Her hair glinted in the lamplight, strands straggling as they always did from beneath her pinner. Eyes sparkling and laughter bubbling from her lips—lips he’d give anything to kiss once more—she could be the goddess of love incarnate.

  The vision disintegrated into the chilly room where he stood staring at the harp, all illusion of warmth dispelled. He strode to the harp, touched the strings reverently, hoping for a trace of her presence on them. The strings whispered the discordant notes he’d raised, but no more. Violet had gone from this place, gone from him, and by her word, gone forever.

  Much as he hated to do so, he must honor her wishes and cease his pursuit of her. How many times had he vowed that very thing, yet here he stood, once again guilty of trying to persuade her to run away with him. Would this madness in his blood ever cease? He feared it unlikely. She had bound him to her with ties sunk bone-deep in his heart. That would never change. His manner, however, must.

  Resting his hand on the shaft of the harp, he lifted his head. “I vow, from this day forward, I will not see nor speak to Violet, though she be my own true love. I will abide by her
decree and take Dora as my wife to honor and cherish above all others. I swear it on my life.”

  He hoped the oath would give him peace and a renewed sense of purpose. It did not. Indeed, nothing save an icy desolation swept through him so he stood empty as the harp strings awaiting Violet’s hand to bring them to life once more. At least they had the hope of such. He had none.

  With a muttered curse, he quit the haunted chamber in search of an empty room with a full decanter. He could deal with the pain as long as the brandy held out.

  Chapter 26

  Violet smoothed the covers over the angelic sleeping child and turned down the lamp on the mantle. The late afternoons were so dim she left a light on for Anna who feared the dark. One more fond look and Violet left the girl to her nap.

  She stretched as she made her way to the schoolroom where she had begun eating her lunch. Anna tended to dawdle whenever they ate together, prattling on and on about her dolls, her dogs, anything and everything she could think of to avoid the inevitable naptime.

  Smiling, she laid her napkin in her lap. She and Jamie had resisted naptime and bedtime, going so far once as to set a book on fire to create an alarm and thus postpone the dreaded nap. They hadn’t been model children by any means, but they’d never managed to run off a governess either. Miss Baker had remained with them until Jamie had gone to school, at which point she’d left and Miss Connors had taken over Violet’s education.

  Her own predecessors’ behavior at Harper’s Grange still puzzled her. Anna could not be a sweeter child. What could she have done to drive away not one but two governesses in the span of three months? Had her mother’s illness affected her in some way Violet had yet to discover? She sipped her tea, letting the deliciously sweet brew sooth her.

  She needed soothing after yesterday’s encounter with Tris. Every time she closed her eyes his face appeared, as though it had been etched on the inside of her eyelids. Her hands trembled so the cup chattered in the saucer and she set it down.

  Think about something else.

  She pushed away her uneaten lunch—the pork pie would choke her if she attempted it—and rose. Perhaps another chapter or two of Pamela would take her mind off her misery. If it truly loved company, then she could find it in Mr. Richardson’s plucky heroine. She turned toward the end of Volume One. When last she’d stopped, Pamela had tried to escape the clutches of Mr. B, her employer, but had been frightened by a pair of bulls, who actually turned out to be cows, and had returned to Mr. B’s house. What would the maid do now? Violet bent her head and dove into the perils of Pamela.

  The creak of the door opening jolted her from the novel just as Pamela discovered the person in bed with her was not Nan the maid, but Mr. B himself. Violet started up, wheeling toward the nursery door, but it remained ajar. No small figure there.

  Her attention swerved to the door to the East Wing corridor to find Simon Harper standing at the doorway, grinning at her discomposure. He lounged against the frame, his suit of uncut burgundy velvet the height of fashion, although the dark color with his dark hair and pale face gave him an almost sinister air.

  “Mr. Harper, you gave me a fright.” Violet closed her book and set it neatly on the table. “I am sorry, but Anna is asleep. I know how disappointed she’ll be to have missed your visit.” She straightened the dishes and cutlery, wishing Mr. Harper had come a bit later. Then he could have seen Anna and she would have had time to clear the lunch things.

  “Ah, yes, a pity that.” Mr. Harper strolled over to one of the chairs before the fire and sat, looking expectantly at her. “How is Anna getting on?”

  Dear Lord, he must want to discuss his daughter’s progress, although she had little to report really. They’d only been together for a few weeks. Of course, her report would be quite a good diversion, if only Mr. Harper scrutiny wasn’t quite so keen. “For such a short time, she has gotten along very well. She is progressing well in both reading and writing so we have started her on French lessons as well.” Violet’s quick smile as she praised her pupil dimmed.

  Mr. Harper was not attending her report. He lounged far back in his chair, hands laced over his stomach, a smug smile on his lips. Every so often he chuckled. How rude of the man. Why had he sought her out to tell him about Anna if he didn’t want to listen to the report?

  “Did I say something amusing, Mr. Harper?” She forgot to keep the acid out of her tone. If she didn’t come up with a suitable manner for dealing with her employers and their son, she’d likely end up out of a position. She wanted to keep this job, needed to keep it if she wanted to live. Her difficulty in finding a post before this one had shown her the precarious nature of her foothold here. One slip, one disrespectful word and they would sack her and put her out on the streets again. As she dared not return to Madame Vestry for fear of the wrath of Tris and Lord Manning, she could very easily starve in a matter of weeks. She must curb her tongue. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to be impertinent, but I did wonder what you were laughing at.”

  Mr. Harper, all warm eyes and merry mouth, fell silent, the chuckling replaced by a salacious leer. “Why at you, Miss Carlton.”

  “At me?” Unaccountably the hairs on the nape of her neck bristled.

  “Yes.” He stood, towering over her, a giant in the small nursery.

  Wary, Violet inched her way to the far side of the table. “I had no idea I was so amusing.”

  “Let us say the situation is amusing rather than your lovely self.” The leer on his face deepened.

  Violet glanced about, searching for some sort of makeshift weapon. The man was speaking and acting exceedingly strange. Better safe than sorry. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I am sure you do.” Quick as a lightning strike he shot his hand out, snaring her arm and wrenching her across the table.

  “Mr. Harper!” Off-balance, Violet fell hard, scattering the dishes.

  In a flash the man was behind her. He grabbed her hair and pulled her up, arching her against him until her back bowed. “Wouldn’t you call it most amusing that my father hired a whore to teach my daughter how to be a lady?” He wrapped his arm around her neck.

  She gasped for breath, hoping a scream would bring someone in time to save her.

  Harper clasped his hand over her mouth. “I’d think twice before raising an alarm, my girl. You wouldn’t want Anna to wake up while I’m taking my pleasure with you, now would you?”

  Violet whimpered, terror making her arms and legs numb. He meant to rape her here, not ten feet from where his daughter slumbered, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She sobbed against his hand. “Why? Why would you do this?” Though indistinct, he seemed to understand her question.

  “Let us say your talents are being wasted in the nursery.” He chuckled and jerked her head back. “Except for today.” Keeping one hand over her mouth, her neck bent cruelly back against his shoulder, he grasped her skirts and hauled them upward.

  Cool air on her bare backside jolted Violet into action. “Hup. Hup!” She squirmed and kicked at him even as she dug her nails into the hand muffling her cries. Why couldn’t a footman appear? Or the maid? Or even Dora? Better discovered than violated so brutally by this fiend.

  She continued to struggle, hope of rescue waning with each passing second.

  He slapped her buttocks and pushed her legs apart with his knee.

  Violet opened her mouth impossibly wide and bit down on the side of his hand. Blood spurted into her mouth.

  Harper yelped, releasing her so suddenly she sprawled across the table, sending the lunch things crashing to the floor.

  Before he could recover, she kicked out, connecting with his leg and propelling her the rest of the way across the table. She slithered onto the floor then popped up on her feet, gasping for breath as her heart pounded. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She spit it out and swiped the back of her hand across her lips.

  Harper shook his hand, ruby drops flyi
ng along the tabletop. “You’ll pay for that, bitch. See if you don’t.”

  “You’ve gone stark staring mad.” Violet couldn’t stop shaking. She kept a wary eye on her attacker, but couldn’t help glancing at the doorway. Too far to make a dash and Harper stood closer to it than she did.

  “Don’t you believe it.” He sucked the wound, his dark stare promising dire retribution.

  “Why else would you attack me?” She rubbed her neck and her hand came away bloody. Her blood or his? He sported a large square-cut ruby on his index finger.

  “Because you’ll warm my bed and say nothing about it unless you want me to reveal your secret.” He pulled out a handkerchief and wound it around his hand.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Violet stiffened and locked her knees before they buckled. He knew. Knew about her night with Tris, although how he could have found out boggled her mind. Suddenly dizzy, she swayed then fought the urge to collapse. He’d be on her like a jackal on a fresh kill if she didn’t stay alert. “I have no secrets.”

  “Hah.”

  She cringed. He knew. But how? Tris would never have told him.

  “Seeing is believing, although I admit I didn’t place you at first.”

  “What are you talking about, Mr. Harper? I’ve never met you before. You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else.” She eyed the door again. Anna would be in no danger from him. She had to get out of here, find Tris, and leave.

  “We didn’t meet, true. But I never forget a face. Especially not a looker like you.” He licked his lips, sending a sudden chill down her back.

  “But if we didn’t meet—”

  “I saw you. With Trevor. At the House of Pleasure.”

  All the spirit ran out of her, leaving a great hollow shell in which her racing heart echoed. But they’d seen no one there save Madame Vestry. She saw again the small dim office, the darkened foyer where…Damn. Tris had spoken to three masqueraders. She recalled Zeus and the scantily clad shepherd with the jeweled ring that had caught the candlelight.