Only a Mistress Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  He chuckled and slid her back into her seat. “I fear we must abate our ardor for the moment, my love.”

  The trap opened and the coachman peered down at them. “The Black Horse Inn, my lord.”

  Chapter 30

  Tris forced himself to calm. His major worry since leaving Harper’s Grange was Violet’s reputation. If a simple lie would suffice, he could proclaim them man and wife. Unfortunately, he was somewhat known in the area, so gossip would bubble up. He could say she was his sister and since they’d be in different rooms, it might serve. However, if she was known in the area as governess to Lord Downing’s granddaughter, there would be hell to pay in the rumor mill. Of course, honesty was likely the best policy, but even that was never a sure thing. Guess he’d have to take this one on the fly.

  He scarcely waited for the carriage to stop before jumping to the muddy ground and handing Violet down the step. Grasping her waist, hardly bigger than his hands’ span, he whirled her off the step onto the less muddy cobbles of the doorway.

  Just touching her, even through layers of clothing and cloak, set his cock to aching. She had ever afflicted him thus. It had been so long since they had been together, just themselves in an embrace that stretched forever. His blood raced hotly through his veins, igniting a fire within him he never wanted to quench save in her sweet self.

  “What are you going to tell them?” Violet whispered when he lifted her.

  “Allow me to handle it all, my dear.” Firmly, he put the distraction of her presence aside. He must concentrate on securing two rooms with no harm to her reputation. Given her lack of a maid, this could be a challenge. He strode to the bar in the Black Horse’s taproom and raised his voice. “Innkeeper?”

  A moment later a familiar thin, older woman appeared from somewhere in the shadowy recesses of the inn, a mug in one hand, a towel in the other. “May I help you, my lord?” Her eyebrows rose. “Lord Trevor. An honor, milord.” She gazed first at Violet, then back to him, a sly smile on her lips. “How may I help you?”

  Tris could see the wheels turning in her greedy little mind. How much she could charge for her silence and how much she could sell the information for. He’d squash that directly. Summoning all his charm, he smiled at her. “How kind of you to remember me. I require two rooms and a parlor, if you please, for myself and my ward, Miss Carlton.” He spoke with deliberation. “I will also require the services of one of your maids for the night.”

  The wild look the woman shot him made him bite back a laugh. Oh, yes, she’d be telling tales the moment he headed to his room.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lord. The Black Horse is a respectable inn.” She managed to sound outraged, although the excitement showed plainly in her wide eyes and raised brows. She tapped the bar with her towel.

  “My ward has lost her maid due to an injury.” A stretching of the truth, but still a plausible lie. “She will require the services of one of your maids to fill the breech until other arrangements can be made. Do you have such a girl you can spare for the evening?”

  “Oh, ah, well.” The woman cut her eyes from him to Violet once more, clearly puzzled. “I s’pose I could spare Betsy for the night. ‘Specially as how we’re not full up.” She shrugged and handed him a key. “I’ll send her out to show you to your rooms. Dinner’s past, but I’ve got some keeping hot in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Roast chicken with a ragout of vegetables, potatoes en croute, and there’s still some apple tart.”

  Food was the last thing on his mind, but Violet might need something to fortify her. One glance at her told him she was nearing the end of her strength. She’d stood this entire time, speechless, almost in a trance, a vacant look on her usually animated face.

  “That sounds delicious, doesn’t it, my dear? And apple tart is your favorite, isn’t it?”

  Violet nodded vigorously, a frozen smile and glassy eyes heightening his concern.

  “We will be down directly we refresh ourselves and change.” Thank goodness the taproom held only a handful of men sipping ale and talking quietly.

  “You don’t want to dine in your parlor? Privately?” The woman cocked her head. Her beady eyes flicked from him to Violet.

  Tris would love nothing better. What he truly wanted to feast on was not chicken and vegetables. But for the sake of Violet’s reputation, the game must be played out down here. “I believe we would enjoy a little company this evening, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Carlton?” He affected a careless demeanor, all the while willing her to agree.

  “I…” She cleared her throat. “I think I would like that, my lord.”

  Sighing in relief, he beamed at Violet. “Then it’s settled, Mrs.…”

  “Cheeley, my lord. Mrs. Elmira Cheeley. My husband’s the innkeeper, but he’s been called away to his grandda’s funeral and left me to run things.” Mrs. Cheeley bobbed her head, a new respect in her eyes.

  “My condolences to your husband. If you would be so kind as to fetch Betsy and some warm water for washing, we can be back down by the time you’ve set our places.” Tris allowed himself to relax a trifle as the woman headed into the kitchen, calling for Betsy in a shrill voice. He returned his attention to Violet, who stared at him, wry amusement on her drawn face.

  “Your ward?”

  “The best I could think of when the woman recognized me.”

  “How?”

  “Downing and I stopped here once for a drink on our way from London. I thought it had been the Black Swan, which is why I told Stokes to make for the Black Horse. I was unfortunately mistaken. I’d rather not be known, but I believe it will be all right.” He helped her off with her cloak, breathing in the soft jasmine scent of her hair. Soothing and exciting in the same instant.

  “What will be all right? And why are you engaging a maid for me?” Her eyes flashed a deeper amber, almost golden in the uneven light. She must be recovering her faculties. “I don’t need a maid, especially when I want to be with you tonight.”

  “And I with you, my love.” He ran his hand down her arm and shuddered as the need to enfold her almost overtook him. “If we wish to preserve our reputations, however, we must wait a little longer and play out this blasted charade.”

  “But I don’t want—”

  “It’s only until Duncan arrives, which with any luck will be tomorrow evening.” Thought of the commission he’d charged his friend with shot a jolt of desire through his body. God, it would be agony to control himself tonight.

  “What difference will the marquess’s presence make?” She’d set her mouth in a peevish pout.

  “He’s bringing a special license.” Grinning broadly, Tris couldn’t hold back the news any longer.

  “A special license for what? Dueling?” Her golden eyes flashed beneath threatening brows.

  Tris bit back a laugh. God, but she was beautiful when she was angry. And arousing. His cock was stiff as a maypole. He must remember to enrage her more often. “No, my love. A special license to allow me to marry you.”

  * * * *

  The room spun. Violet staggered back, so shocked she groped for something to hold her up. He wanted to marry her?

  Tris grabbed her arm and drew her to him. “Be careful, love. We’ve come too far for you to fall and do yourself a mischief.”

  She stared at the beloved face, mind churning, unable to utter a sound.

  “You cannot truly be shocked, Violet.” He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand. “I’ve told you for months if I were free I would marry you.”

  “But…” That single word was all she could summon. If she could only think what to say.

  “Did you think me a liar?” Quick as a wink, he pounced on her inability to speak.

  “No, but—”

  He rubbed his knuckles across her hand. “Then all it requires is your answer, love.”

  Her heart beat strangely, first pounding in her chest as if trying to hammer its way to freedom,
then constricting so hard it hurt. She opened her mouth, not knowing if anything would come out.

  A short woman, dressed in a dark green striped skirt and modest rust-colored bodice rounded the corner from the kitchen. “I’ll take ye up to yer rooms now. This way m’lord, m’lady.” With a disinterested air, Betsy grabbed a taper and led the way to the stairs at the end of the bar.

  “I’m not ‘my lady,’ Betsy.” Violet hastened to put the matter straight. She couldn’t allow herself to think the girl might soon be correct in her address. “Miss Carlton will do.”

  “As you will, mistress.” They had reached the first floor landing. “Here you go. Your bed chamber is this first one, on the right.” She indicated a dark, stout door. “M’lord, ye’re in this one, across the hall.” Shouldering her way past Tris, she marched into the dim room on the left.

  Light glowed suddenly and the maid reappeared.

  “I’ve laid the fire and lit your candles, m’lord.” Betsy headed back to Violet’s chamber. “Just here, mistress.” She opened the door and hurried inside.

  Following her into a good-sized room, Violet gazed about at the ample furnishings: a high wooden poster bed, a trundle beneath, a nightstand, and a screened corner.

  The maid lit the candle beside the bed. “The parlor’s yon, through that door.” She picked the candlestick up and stabbed it toward another stout door, just past the bed. “Mrs. Cheeley tells me ye’ve lost yer maid, mistress, and have need of one for the night?”

  Violet nodded, her mind a jumble.

  “I’ve never been maid to anyone afore, but I’ll help ye with yer farthin’gales and fol-de-rols as best I can.”

  “Thank you, Betsy.” Tris broke in, God bless him. “If you would fetch us both some warm water to wash with, then you can come back and help Miss Carlton change.”

  “Very good, m’lord.” With a brief bob of a curtsey, the maid vanished out the door.

  Alone with Tris once more, Violet found herself trembling in anticipation. Dare she dream he would continue their conversation from the taproom?

  In answer to the unspoken question, he dropped to one knee and clasped her hands.

  Blood roared in her ears. Her hands went from dry and hot to icy, as though all heat had fled her body. A metallic taste flooded her mouth.

  His eyes were deep sapphire, a private ocean crashing over her, sweeping her out to sea.

  “Violet, I love you.” The quiet conviction in his voice would have melted her heart had it not already belonged to him.

  Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she let them flow rather than release his grip and lose the power of his touch on her skin.

  “I own I have betrayed you, have caused irreparable damage to your family. Yet, I would beg your forgiveness once more. Violet, please show me mercy beyond grace, beyond forgiveness, beyond my hope of heaven, by agreeing to become my wife.” His beloved face shone with love, his mouth parted in a smile both fearful and expectant.

  Gallant fool.

  “Oh, Tris.” She struggled to speak louder than the whispery words he had to cock his head to hear. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you, my love.”

  He jumped to his feet, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her madly before she could draw another breath. His lips crushed hers and her happy tears drenched them both.

  “You are caught now,” he said, pausing to whisper in her ear. “You cannot take it back. I won’t let you.”

  “Nor I you, my darling.” She threw her arms around his neck, happiness throbbing in every inch of her being. “You will have to kill me to get rid of me.”

  “If I may slay you with pleasure, then you may indeed have fear for your life.” Expertly, he settled her between his legs. “For I mean to give you every pleasure invented by man, and a few by women.”

  “I will die a happy woman, then.” She rained kisses over his face, his neck, enjoying anew the very taste of him. Never had she believed such a thing would come to pass. How could she wait these two long days? When she’d had no expectation of his love and happiness time had proceeded at a normal pace. Now that she possessed those things, a snail’s pace would be fast in comparison to the crawl of time.

  “I prefer you to live a happy woman, Violet, so I may live a happy man.” He kissed her hand, an eagerness about him he’d never shown before. “You’ve made me so very happy, love.”

  “And we can marry as soon as your friend arrives?” She could scarcely believe it still.

  “Yes.” Pressed this close, the citrusy smell of him filled her head. “First thing tomorrow we’ll discover the local church and seek out the vicar. I shall entreat him to marry us as soon as the special license arrives. We will have no time to waste.” He ran his hands lightly over her back, the movement soothing and arousing all at once.

  “Ummm.” She settled herself against him, trying to touch every inch. “You will find no argument from me, my lord.” The sooner they could be man and wife, the sooner they could lay the past to rest. “But why such haste, my love? We could marry in London once this business of the duel is over. Then your friends could be present to wish you happy.”

  Stepping back, he left her bereft of his warm comfort and took her hands once more. “I would have us married and you my viscountess before the duel.” He twined their fingers together, smiling at them, though not at her. “In case things go badly wrong, I would have you provided for. Duncan will make certain you will never want for anything.”

  “Tris.” She pulled her hands away, cold dread filling the spaces where moments before there had been only joy and warmth. “You mustn’t say such things. Jamie…” As her brother’s face rose before her, she winced. Their situation had been much different, and he had been most confident of returning. Still, he’d had the forethought to give her the advice that had led her in the end to Madame Vestry.

  Tris ran a hand through his hair. It came loose from its tie, giving him a wild, forbidding look. “I must make sure you are safe.” He stared at her with an intensity that sent her back a step. “I believe myself the better swordsman, though even the best have met their match to their dismay.” With an effort, he relaxed his face and forced a smile. “I’d be even happier to know I’d left you with my child in your belly, but I trust you would have told me by now if you even suspected you were increasing.” His smile turned rueful, so he looked like nothing so much as a small boy about to be scolded. “I confess I have prayed you’d come to me with such news, for with that circumstance alone I would have cried off the marriage with Dora despite yours or Duncan’s protests.”

  She sighed and hung her head. “No, my lord, I have had my courses since we were together at Christmas.” That circumstance had occurred to her as well, and knowing what Tris’s reaction would likely be, she’d resolved to simply disappear. If she’d sold all her things, she could have lived quietly in Susan’s village until the child was born. Thankfully, she’d been spared that decision when her courses had appeared a week later. “But let us not speak of such things now.” She forced a smile to her lips. “We are to be married, which means we should make merry this evening.”

  “Indeed we must.” Tris’s brooding countenance lightened. “Let me retire to my chamber. Betsy will return any moment to dress you. Wear something blue for me, love. You are a vision in blue gowns.” His gaze roved eagerly over her figure and her cheeks burned.

  “I will do so, my lord, and happily so, if you in turn will wear a certain blue velvet suit if you have it with you.” Despite their history, or perhaps because of it, the thought of him in that garment always lit her with desire.

  With a grin, he pulled her to him once more, cradling her against him. “Your wish shall be my command.”

  * * * *

  The candle in her bedchamber had burned low as Violet tossed and turned in the big four-poster. A comfortable bed, a well-banked, and a room toasty warm should have sent her to sleep immediately. Instead, she sat up, punched her pillow, an
d lay down again, no more or less comfortable.

  She wanted Tris in her bed.

  After they’d finished the late supper in the taproom, Betsy had helped her undress, wash, and dress for bed. Violet had attempted to send the girl away, back to the kitchen or her room. Anywhere but here where she would know if Violet stole across the corridor to her “guardian’s” chamber for a night of passion.

  Betsy now slumbered peacefully on the trundle bed beneath her, snoring loudly enough to drown out a full orchestra.

  Another reason she couldn’t fall asleep.

  Violet peered over the edge of the bed at the maid’s swaddled figure, the edge of her mob cap fluttering with every breath and rattling of noise. How deeply did the girl sleep was the question.

  With the stealth of a starving tiger, she eased back the covers and slithered to the end of the bed. Inch by agonizing inch she slid off the mattress until her toes touched the icy floor. Peeking around the bedpost, she held her breath.

  Betsy slumbered on.

  Still refusing to breathe, Violet crept to the door, her gaze fixed on the figure lying in the trundle. She’d insisted on the candle remaining lit in a strange bedroom and now she was doubly glad of it. When she reached the door she exhaled at last. So far so good. A quick turn of the key and she was ready. Grasping the handle oh so gently, she closed her eyes and pressed down, praying the latch wouldn’t click so loud, nor the door creak. She was so focused on easing the door open, when it swung wide easily she stumbled backward in surprise, trod on a discarded shoe and almost cried out.

  Violet clamped her hands over her mouth, staring in horror as Betsy sat up in the bed.

  The girl blinked unseeing eyes, grunted, and turned over to face the big bed. She settled down in the covers once more and the rattling snores began afresh.

  Clutching her chest, Violet was certain she’d have a seizure of some sort. Her heart gave a huge thump, then subsided to a normal beat. The dim corridor remained quiet as well. Perhaps the Fates would stand on her side tonight. She stepped over the threshold and closed the door as carefully as she could, then sped across to the door on the left.