His Temporary Mistress

by Bethany Sefchick

  Getting through the infamous Peacock Door had been something of a challenge. The ticket she had was “outdated” the gold and teal color having been used for the masquerade several weeks before. There were suspicions that she had somehow forged the ticket or that she was a spy sent by a gossip rag in an attempt to destroy the club. She had pleaded her case, though she was certain it would be to no avail. The doorman didn’t look friendly, but when she mentioned that she was a friend of Lord Hugh Hunt, that had given him pause.

  Dory had been terrified that she was going to either be tossed out or sent straight to Bow Street for trespassing, but after the doorman consulted with someone wearing an elaborate stag mask trimmed in gold, jet, copper, and amber beads, she had been allowed admittance, though she did have to sign a form that stated she would not reveal anything about what she saw within the club to anyone. Even if she knew them to be a fellow ticket holder.

  She had also had to agree that she would wear no other costume than the one she wore that night because the members became “known” by the masks they wore. That was no great hardship because she adored the costume she and Helen had quickly assembled, though continuing to sneak out of the house while wearing it would prove challenging. Hence the idea of the St. James Street rooms was born.

  To her surprise, Dory did not have to leave her given name that first night, though she was almost certain she had seen the name “Lord Trenton Pike” next to the words “snake mask.” However, she assumed she was mistaken because once they noted that she wore a peacock mask (and not a peahen as would have been more appropriate for her sex), that was it. She allowed entrance to the club without any further fuss or confirmation of her true identity.

  Dory also discovered that once a person had one of those much-sought-after masquerade tickets, that ticket could then be redeemed for another one when one left the club that night. However, if she missed a week, she could not return. Nor could she ever bring a guest, meaning that introducing Harry to this world would likely be impossible.

  Not that she minded, really, because after her first night inside Dionysus, she had quickly concluded that such a place was not for him. He was too stuffy and boring to enjoy himself within the club walls, though had he agreed to come with her this evening, she would have at least attempted to gain his admission.

  No, this place was not for Harry, but it was a perfect place for her, mostly because it was a place where she could stop being plain, boring, unremarkable Dory and be someone else for a time. She could change who she was or at least use a mask to cover the illusion of who she pretended to be on a daily basis. Here, she could be a woman that men desired, which she quickly learned that they did.

  But more than that, Dory could become a woman who desired the most handsome man in the room – and quite possibly actually attract his attention as well.

  That was why she continued to return to the scandalous masquerade every week. Not because men ogled her, though that was a refreshing change too, but mostly because one man in particular ogled her. A man who was here every single week without fail.

  Because this was his club. This was his masquerade.

  And because Lord Jeremy Dunn would never allow either of them to go on without him.

  Dory knew better than to lust after a man like Jeremy Dunn. The second son of the supposedly rather wretched late Duke of Wyncliffe, there were rumors that Lord Dunn had fathered a young daughter with a French actress, though nothing had ever been proven, of course. Though the rumors all said he had a ward stashed somewhere.

  His youngest brother was deceased; that much was true. But whether his death had come at Jeremy’s hands as the rumors suggested? Well, who could say? Just as no one could say for certain whether or not the oldest Dunn brother was perfectly normal, mad as a hatter, in a vegetative state, or none of the above, possibly leaving Jeremy as the true Wyncliffe heir.

  Some described the man, also known within the masquerade as Lord Raven, as wicked and sinful. Others, mostly women, referred to him as sexual and seductive. Others said he could not be trusted, while still others swore their allegiance to him and him alone.

  No matter the truth, however, there was no denying that it was difficult to be in the same room as Lord Jeremy Dunn and not feel an almost magnetic pull towards him. Standing at nearly six foot five of nearly solid muscle, he towered over other men, his close-cropped raven black hair and sparkling emerald green eyes hinting at Irish heritage, which the family as a whole neither confirmed nor denied. His aquiline nose and high cheekbones spoke of noble ancestors, to be sure, but it was the constant hint of scandal attached to him that seemed to attract most women to his side.

  Not Dory, however. For her, it was the way he looked at her when they danced – and they had danced at least three times, and often more, at each masquerade she attended. Jeremy – for she had long ago ceased to think of him as “Lord Dunn” even though she had never used his Christian name to address him – looked at her as if he saw her. Truly saw her and was not just looking through her to find his next dance partner, someone more interesting and yes, with more curves than she possessed. That happened to Dory at more balls than she cared to remember, but here at Dionysus? It had never happened once. At least not when she was in Jeremy’s arms.

  His voice was like rough silk, making her shiver a little when he spoke. A single look from him could make her toes curl in her slippers and she was certain she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. His lips were full and sensual and looked perfect for kissing. Not that she ever had the pleasure, of course. Despite his rather wicked reputation, the man in the glittering, diamond-encrusted raven mask had never behaved improperly toward her – much to Dory’s annoyance.

  In another situation, she would have assumed that he didn’t find her appealing, just as most men didn’t. However, Jeremy didn’t kiss or grope any woman and there had been more than one female on numerous occasions down on her knees in front of him begging for his attentions. He simply smiled at them, wished them well and then handed them off to the man in the stag mask. After that? She couldn’t remember seeing any of those women – or at least their distinctive masks – ever again.

  Which was why, no matter how much Dory longed for a single kiss from Jeremy, she would never debase herself in that manner. She didn’t want to lose her coveted ticket for the masquerades. If she did, she would never see Jeremy again.

  Nor would she ever be as free as she was right now.

  She was being foolish and silly, of course. This feeling was nothing more than a school-girl crush on a man she could never have and he would never look at her in “that” sort of fashion. Dory did not delude herself otherwise, for she wasn’t some stupid, feathers-for-brains chit like most of the aging debutantes of the ton.

  No, this was a chance, however, brief to live in a fantasy world where she was more than the unremarkable sister of Viscount Chillton and the future wife of a man who had as much passion for her as he did his favorite chair. Here at Dionysus, hiding behind her bejeweled peacock mask, Dory could be something more. She could be the woman she longed to be deep within her heart, the one that men lusted after and wished to bed, all the while knowing that they could never truly have her. She could feel beautiful and dance with the most handsome man in the place.

  Here she could be Lady Peacock, a woman of her own creation who played by no man’s rules and took what she desired for her own.

  This was all an illusion, of course, but before resigning herself to an unremarkable, passionless life with Harry (for deep inside she wasn’t certain she could every really break free of her family’s expectations, as Lavinia had urged) Dory was determined to have this little slice of rebellion as her own. She didn’t just want it. She craved it in ways she could not describe.

  Still, as with all illusions, it couldn’t last. The Season would end in four weeks and, provided her mother was well enough and Lavinia had not yet delivered, Dory and her family would pack up and depart for Hallowby Grange, their c
ountry seat. The masquerades might continue, but Dory would not be able to attend them. Her entry into this world would be revoked. As would her access to Jeremy Dunn.

  Therefore, she would take what she could get while she could get it and would not do anything to risk this fantasy world ending before she was ready. If she ever was ready.

  Given the way her heart fluttered madly and her stomach clenched tightly, she wasn’t certain she ever would be. Especially since once she left this place for the last time, she would never see Jeremy again. He would be forbidden to her and she to him. That was simply how it had to be.

  But oh, how she wished it wasn’t.

  Then again, perhaps it was for the best that her fantasy world with him lived only within these walls. For outside of them? He would never find her attractive. Not as he did here, hidden as she was behind her mask. Out there? She would only be disappointed when he, too, looked through her rather than at her, knowing that he truly didn’t desire her as she desired him.

  That would crush her.

  Which, unfortunately, was often the way reality worked. Much to her annoyance. And occasional heartbreak.

  So, with a trembling hand, Dory now gave the required three perfunctory knocks, a pause, and then three more before she stood back and waited for the Peacock Door to open, her ticket – purple and gold this time – in hand. When it swung back on silent hinges as if by magic, her nose was teased with the scents of jasmine and sandalwood. Heady and intoxicating and so very much the scents she associated with this place. And with Jeremy.

  She should turn back. She should go home and be the good and proper lady she had been raised to be. If she didn’t? One of these days Harry or one of his men would discover where she was going. Or someone else would. Someone who recognized her. Then she would be so deeply mired in scandal that she would wish she was boring and unremarkable once again.

  It was the same argument she had with herself every time she stood before the secret back door to Dionysus. The door that was trimmed in blue, teal, green, and gold. The colors of a peacock that had inspired her costume when she had overheard Hugh speaking of this very door.

  And each time she had the argument with herself, the old Dory lost. The “new and improved” Dory won. And she was never sorry about that particular outcome.

  Old Dory would return soon enough. She would marry Harry and live the life her family had planned out for her.

  For now, though, it was enough to allow New Dory to exist, for she would have to go back into hiding soon enough. But not quite yet. Not when she had this tiny bit of freedom, something that would likely never come again.

  With a deep breath, Dory straightened her mask, quickly checked her corset ribbons, and squared her shoulders before stepping through the door and into the fantasy world where she could be anything she wanted. A world where she could imagine herself as Jeremy’s lover. A world where she longed for things that could never be.

  Chapter Three

  “She has arrived, my lord.”

  Lord Jeremy Dunn, the second son of the truly despicable, now-deceased, and not-much-missed Duke of Wyncliffe, looked up from the scotch he was nursing in his back office. He had retreated back here to wait when a female guest dressed as a lioness had become a bit too familiar with his backside. He might be a rake, a wastrel, a scoundrel and any number of other unsavory things, but he was not, at least in general, given to leading women on and making them believe they might have his cock for the night when that was never going to bloody well happen.

  While these sensual, hedonistic masquerades had initially been conceived as a way for him to meet delectable Society women he would not be allowed to otherwise approach (and, of course, bed as frequently as possible), Jeremy found that he quickly grew tired of the teasing dance these women led him on night after night. Especially when all of them simply reached for his cock within moments of meeting him and assumed that, with the promise they would not require him to use a French letter, they would be in his bed within moments.

  While Jeremy enjoyed sensual pleasure, he was no fool and had no wish to contract the pox or any other sort of disease that would lead to his untimely demise. Nor did he enjoy hunting the women of the ton as potential sexual prey as much as he had assumed he would when he had first opened Dionysus. Actually, the entire idea of bedding a different chit each night simply because he could (and because the women allowed it in hopes of some kind of benefit to them) left a surprisingly bad taste in his mouth.

  So while he had little use for the cheap and tawdry couplings that were offered up to him each night, he did still enjoy the coin his patrons brought through his doors and willingly placed into his coffers. He enjoyed their money, even if, to his amazement, he enjoyed little else about them or the world he had created with this weekly masked ball and the elaborate gaming floor beyond. At one time, Lord Jeremy Dunn had reveled in sin and debauchery. Not so much any longer, it seemed.

  Still, the grand masquerades had grown in popularity within a few shorts weeks, and he did still enjoy watching otherwise prim and proper members of London Society crawl all over each other in search of willing bed partners for the evening. It helped to remind him that, no matter how much they pretended otherwise, when the lights dimmed and there were masks to protect identities, those people were really no different than him. They simply liked to pretend they were.

  “Are you certain it is the real Lady Peacock? You told me she had arrived earlier. Twice, in fact. It was not her on either occasion.” Jeremy picked up his raven mask and tied it around his head, the thing weighting an obscene amount with all of the silver, diamonds and other trim on it that made the mask sparkle and catch the light as he moved.

  Still, heavy or not, the mask was part of who he was. At least out there.

  He was Lord Raven. There could be no other. There was not supposed to be a duplicate of any of the animal-themed masked required for admittance to his masquerades, actually. That was his rule and he expected his guests to abide by it. Yet twice tonight, women had appeared in peacock masks, though none of them as finely crafted or exquisite as the one worn by the woman he was hoping would arrive soon.

  The footman shuffled a bit, obviously afraid of being fired, though he wouldn’t be. It wasn’t this man’s fault that others at the masquerade had noticed the raven’s interest in the mysterious peacock. Everyone knew he was Lord Raven, and Jeremy made no secret of it. So it only stood to reason that one of those women who wanted in his bed so very badly would break the rules and change her mask in the hope that he might mistake one peacock for the other and bed her without thought or consideration.

  But Jeremy wouldn’t. He couldn’t. For once he had laid eyes upon his magnificent peacock that first night, he was certain he would never forget her.

  “I am certain this time, my lord.” The footman’s head bobbed up and down. “Golden beak. Rubies for eyes just above the mask’s slits. Emeralds and sapphires on the feathers with diamond and gold tips. Just as you described. There’s no mistaking it. Not this time.”

  With a sharp nod, Jeremy quickly glanced in the mirror to make certain his mask covered most of his face, as intended. His lips and chin were visible, as were his eyes. Right now, they glittered a dark green, so dark they were almost black. That wasn’t surprising, Jeremy had been aroused nearly all night just thinking about her – and about whether or not she would lower her corset a bit as he had requested.

  “Very well, Adams. Make certain Lady Peacock has a drink and that no one disturbs her until I reach her side. I won’t have that blasted bear pawing at her again as he did last week.” The bear was really the repulsive Lord Emsworth, a man that should have never been allowed into the masquerades in the first place. Jeremy still wasn’t sure how the man had made it onto the list in the first place but removing now would cause a scandal he didn’t need. Besides, time would take care of the matter, as it did all things.

  At the end of the Season, all of the current names on the masquerade’s
guest list would be reevaluated. Everyone knew that just because they had a ticket to attend this year didn’t mean they would receive one for the next Season. Jeremy intended to make certain that Emsworth was off the list for good when the masquerades started again after a month or two’s break.

  “Emsworth is the least of your problems, you know.”

  Jeremy turned to see his friend and business partner, Lord Richard Haywood, the fourth son of the Earl of Law, leaning against the door jam. In his hand was the elaborate stag mask that he wore in the club each night. Despite everyone knowing that Jeremy was the raven, it was only a select few that knew that the club’s other owner hid behind the face of the stag.

  “You are rather nosey for a man who says he doesn’t care to meddle in the affairs of others, Haywood.”

  Jeremy gave the ties on his mask one last tug. The fake peacock from earlier had made a grab for it, loosening one of the strings. He would have it repaired tomorrow but for now, the mask needed to be secure enough to remain in place while he moved about on the floor below. Especially if he had any hope of getting close to his real Lady Peacock this evening. She was a skittish one, to be certain.

  “And you are a fool who thinks only with his cock. At least in this case, and I can’t understand why.” Richard came into the office so that he could use the mirror to reaffix his own mask and briefly, Jeremy wondered why the other man had removed it in the first place. Not that it was really his concern. “Toying with Frost’s last remaining unwed sister cannot lead to anything good. For anyone. Including her.”

  “She is here of her own volition,” Jeremy replied dryly, hoping to avoid the coming conversation. This was the same discussion he had every week when Richard questioned him about what, exactly, Jeremy was doing with the delectable Lady Dory Tillsbury. “I did not force her through those doors.”

  “Perhaps not, but you allowed her entry that first night when she had Hunt’s ticket,” Richard groused, though after so many weeks his annoyance with the matter had lessened. “That was a mistake, Jeremy. She should never have made it past Carson and his guest list.”