My Lady of Misrule: Wicked Winter Nights, Book One

by Amy Rose Bennett

  When Tristan at last stilled, she lifted her head and wiped a shaking hand across her mouth. “So, did I pass my first lesson in cock sucking, good sir?”

  Tristan laughed. “With flying colors, my lady.” He passed his kerchief to her so she could clean herself up. When they’d both finished putting their clothing to rights, Tristan instructed his driver to head to her townhouse in Cavendish Square. Then he retrieved the rug from the floor, draped it around her shoulders, and drew her into the shelter of his arms.

  Minerva couldn’t wipe the contented smile from her face as she snuggled into Tristan’s wide shoulder. “When can we do this again?” she murmured. This was how sexual congress was meant to be, exciting and mutually satisfying. “I’ve heard the Earl of Preston holds a licentious ball on Twelfth Night and that you’re usually invited...”

  Silence greeted her. Tristan’s chest muscles tensed beneath her cheek. Oh no, had she misread everything? Assumed too much? Was this the only lesson Tristan would give her?

  Dragging the remnants of her failing courage together, Minerva tried to lighten the moment. “I’m rather intrigued about the prospect of trying bent-over-the-sofa sport, or even up-against-the-wall sport,” she said in a voice that she hoped sounded playful.

  Another minute passed, and just when she thought Tristan wasn’t going to respond at all, he at last spoke. “If we’re really going to continue this, I must warn you, I won’t hide who I really am. And you might not like what you see. It might... it might affect our relationship. Are you prepared for that?”

  Minerva swallowed. Pushing herself up, she stroked Tristan’s jaw. It was tense beneath her fingertips. “I don’t want you to hide. I don’t want to hide from you either. Sharing my past with you, showing you who I really am, it has been a liberating experience. I truly hope that it has been for you too.”

  The small, wistful smile Tristan gave her made Minerva wonder if he was beginning to regret what they’d just done. Nevertheless he said, “I’ll make arrangements for you to join me on Twelfth Night. But be prepared, Minerva, the Lord of Misrule will be coming out to lead you astray.”

  “Well, I’m more than happy to be your Lady of Misrule for the night.”

  He dipped his head and kissed her gently. “I look forward to it.”

  And all the way home, Minerva prayed he really meant it.

  Chapter 6

  Emberfield House, Richmond

  Twelfth Night, 1819

  * * *

  “Did I tell you how utterly ravishing you look this evening, my lovely Lady of Misrule? Or would you prefer it if I call you Persephone?”

  Tristan squeezed Minerva’s hand reassuringly beneath the folds of her satin-lined cloak, and she offered him a nervous smile in return. They were presently waiting in the receiving line in the grand vestibule of Emberfield House and her heart was skipping about like the winged cherubs and naked sylphs on the frescoed ceiling above. “Thank you,” she murmured, appreciating both his praise and the attempt to distract her. “And either name will suffice. Although,” she added, “if we are to be a pigeon-pair tonight, perhaps I should match my name to yours.”

  She ran her gaze over Tristan’s costume for the evening. Save for his white cambric shirt, open at the throat, everything else he wore was in shades of black: figure-hugging breeches and Hessian boots, an elegantly cut brocade waistcoat, a dark-as-midnight superfine evening coat, and a black satin domino cloak. As the Earl of Preston’s ball was a masquerade, he was also wearing a black half-mask and tricorn hat, which sported a long, curling black feather. “Are you pretending to be the Lord of Misrule or Hades?” Unable to resist giving him a humorous poke she added, “Or perhaps even a musketeer or a highwayman? A buccaneer?”

  There was a dangerously appealing twinkle in Tristan’s blue eyes as he replied, “I’m not pretending, my lady, for you know me to be a wicked blackguard to my very bones. A man who’s more than capable of leading a woman down dark paths and stealing more than kisses. But perhaps we could combine sobriquets. I shall be Sir Hades if you will be my Lady Persephone.”

  Minerva nodded. “Done.”

  Tristan grinned. “Very good.” Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “As much as I adore your goddess’s gown, I can’t wait to remove it later on.”

  Even though Minerva knew she needed to leave not only her cloak but most of her inhibitions at the door, she felt a scalding blush flood her face beneath her own gold half-mask. She and Tristan would soon be alone together. And naked. This would be an occasion like no other, full of salacious surprises. Ever since their erotic bout of carriage sport, Minerva had simultaneously been fearing and looking forward to this evening.

  Perhaps sensing she was ill-at-ease, Tristan raised her hand to his lips and feathered a kiss across her bare knuckles. “My Lady Persephone, I can see you’re nervous, but never fear,” he murmured. “I shall take good care of you. Just stay by my side. And if you ever feel uncomfortable, for whatever reason, you must tell me immediately. I’m happy to take you back to the White Swan Inn at a moment’s notice.”

  She nodded, grateful for Tristan’s care and consideration. Even though he was a guest of Lord Preston’s and had secured one of Emberfield’s bedchambers for the night, he’d also arranged accommodation for Minerva at the nearby, well-appointed coaching inn just in case she found the Twelfth Night celebrations too wild and didn’t want to stay.

  Minerva’s maid, Betsy, her two footmen, and coachman were also installed at the White Swan, and not a small degree of subterfuge had been involved getting ready for the evening. After Betsy had dressed Minerva’s hair in an elaborate style involving a complicated arrangement of cascading curls threaded with seed pearls, she’d then promptly dismissed the girl, telling her she would be summoned the next morning only when required.

  Betsy didn’t need to see what her mistress was, or rather wasn’t, going to wear to the masquerade ball. Or indeed, whether she’d actually spend the night at the inn at all.

  As soon as the suspicious maid quit the room, Minerva promptly stripped, slathered fragrant oil—a rich mixture of jasmine and neroli—all over her limbs, breasts, and torso, before finally donning the most revealing gown she’d ever worn. If one could even call the sleeveless, Grecian style costume a gown. The barely-there white muslin and split overskirt of gold tissue were all but transparent. It was clearly a garment designed to titillate.

  But it was a gift from Tristan and apparently a creation of one of the ton’s most exclusive modistes, so Minerva had decided to bury her misgivings and wear it. It was Tristan who had also insisted she wear absolutely nothing beneath the gown—well, nothing but a slick layer of the perfumed oil. Aside from her gold mask and slippers, her only other accouterments were a smudge of kohl around her eyes and red rouge upon her lips.

  When Minerva had checked her appearance in the looking-glass at the inn, she’d nearly fainted. The plunging neckline exposed a good deal of her ample breasts and the gossamer-thin muslin clung to her oiled body highlighting her jutting nipples, the long line of her legs, and the shadowy triangle at the apex of her thighs.

  Tristan had also informed her that she’d look out of place if she covered up too much. Apparently, many of the women attending the masquerade—a mixture of noblewomen with a taste for the risqué, courtesans, and prostitutes—would be wearing much less. In fact, as Minerva waited in line, she could see through to Emberfield’s opulent ballroom and it appeared Tristan was correct; many of the female guests were just as scantily clad as she was. She even spied two women who wore nothing but masks, stockings, and heeled slippers as they strolled past on the arm of a gentleman dressed as a Roman centurion. Thank goodness there was an enormous fire roaring at the far end of the ballroom, otherwise the women would be half-frozen before the night ended.

  One of Lord Preston’s footmen appeared beside them and Tristan handed over his cloak. “Are you ready to dazzle, Lady Persephone?” he asked as she reached for the black satin ribbon securi
ng her own domino cape.

  Drawing a shaky breath, she nodded. “Yes I am, Sir Hades.” And then she slid her domino off.

  Tristan’s hungry blue gaze ate her up. His warm breath brushed her ear as he leaned close and whispered, “Minerva. You are simply superb. I’m starting to get a cockstand already.”

  A rush of pleasure washed through her. Her nipples tingled and her face burned. “I’m sure it’s just the gown,” she whispered back. Lord Preston would be greeting them at any moment so she needed to school her features; she didn’t want to appear nonplussed by Tristan’s suggestive words or any of the goings-on in the ballroom. Or indeed, by the presence of the host. Tristan had already warned her that the earl had been the ‘rider’ she’d seen at Pimpernel House. Nevertheless, her belly was fluttering madly at the prospect of meeting such a wicked rakehell in the flesh.

  “I know it’s not just the gown,” replied Tristan. “And if bloody Preston tries to—”

  “If bloody Preston tries to what, old chap? Steal this divine beauty on your arm?”

  The charismatic earl bent over Minerva’s hand and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss… and her blush deepened. He truly was a handsome man. Tonight he was wearing a Tudor-style costume, which reminded her of a nobleman from the time of King Henry VIII. Or perhaps he was pretending to be the king himself. His muscular legs were encased in gold hose and his bejeweled doublet, brocade jerkin, fur-trimmed overcoat, mask, and velvet cap were also in hues of rich brown and gold.

  Tristan arched a dark brow. “You know I love you like a brother, Preston, but my partner, Lady Persephone, is very much all mine tonight.”

  “And does the lady agree?” A glimmer of interest danced in Lord Preston’s brown eyes as he looked up at Minerva. He still hadn’t released her hand and his thumb danced lazily over her skin, raising gooseflesh. Her breath quickened

  Oh, my. The earl’s innate sensuality and breath-stealing good looks were certainly a potent combination. However, while Minerva was flattered by Preston’s appreciative gaze and praise, tonight she was most definitely Tristan’s. “Yes, I do,” she replied and she was certain Tristan released a small sigh of relief. Was he really jealous? Before she had time to ponder such a fantastical notion, Lord Preston was speaking again.

  “Such a pity, but perhaps another time,” he said in low, velvet-smooth voice clearly meant just for her as he released her hand. But then he laughed and clapped Tristan on the back. “Have fun, you two. It’s Twelfth Night so anything and everything goes.” He gestured toward the wide arched entrance to the ballroom. “Enjoy.”

  “We most certainly will,” murmured Tristan as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her through to the room beyond. “Looking the way you do tonight, you might find that you are propositioned by more than a few guests. Not just other men but women too.”

  Minerva laughed. “I very much doubt it.”

  “You wait and see.” After accepting glasses of champagne from a passing footman, they paused by a massive arrangement of hothouse lilies, orange blossom, crimson roses, and trailing ivy tendrils. As a small chamber orchestra played an exotic melody, a trio of women, who were dressed as though they belonged in a sultan’s seraglio, moved about the dance floor, gossamer veils flowing, hips undulating, oiled flesh glistening in the light of the huge chandelier above. When Minerva realized the dancers were in the process of removing their veils, she looked away. But then her gaze snagged on a woman who was sharing amorous kisses with two other male guests in a nearby window alcove. One man devoured her mouth whilst the other pushed her gown off her shoulder and claimed her bare breast.

  My goodness. Minerva took a large sip of champagne, then another. There were decadent spectacles everywhere her gaze landed: a group of rowdy guests appeared to be playing a game of strip vingt-et-un in a side parlor; and on the other side of the ballroom, a woman wearing little more than a smile and a fig leaf at the juncture of her thighs reclined between the platters of roast meat, glazed vegetables, fruit, and sweetmeats on a long, marble-topped banquet table. It was like being at Pimpernel House all over again and she hardly knew where to look.

  “Are you all right?” asked Tristan. “I understand if all of this might be a bit much.”

  Minerva grimaced. “I’m such a naive ninny. Of course I was expecting this occasion to be licentious, but imagining what it would be like and then experiencing it are two different things entirely. And there are so many other beautiful women here...” Her gaze flitted to the lithe dancers and their seductive, sinuous movements.

  Tristan’s fingers threaded through hers and he drew her closer to his side. “You’re not a ninny and the only reason I’m here is so I can spend a whole, uninterrupted night alone with you. No one else.” Bending his head, he gently tugged on her ear lobe with his teeth, making her shiver. When he spoke again, his voice was a low seductive caress. “I promise you, I’m all yours tonight. And I trust that you are all mine?”

  Minerva leaned into his warm, hard body as her bones suddenly felt as though they were melting. “Of course,” she whispered. “However, someone who rather reminds me of an ancient Egyptian deity, or perhaps Cleopatra, is headed our way and she’s making eyes at you.”

  Tristan’s attention shifted to the approaching woman but then his eyes creased with amusement. “Mmm, I think you’ll find she has you in her sights, Lady Persephone.”

  “I don’t think so. And even if she were interested in me, it won’t do her any good. I’m not interested in other—”

  At that moment, Minerva felt a feather light touch on her other arm. “Lovely lady, I can’t help but notice that you are standing directly beneath a kissing bough. And considering the Yuletide season is not quite over...”

  Minerva sensed rather than heard Tristan’s chuckle as she turned to face the stunning, ebon-haired Egyptian queen. The young woman’s dark, kohl-rimmed eyes peered out from behind her turquoise mask, and a thin silk shift trimmed with lapis lazuli and gold beading clung to her slender frame. A gold bracelet shaped like a serpent with sapphire eyes encircled her upper arm and a golden circlet crowned her raven locks.

  Minerva’s tongue darted out to moisten dry lips. “I think you are mistaken.”

  The woman curled a long finger beneath Minerva’s chin and gently tilted her head up. “No, I’m not,” she purred. “Look.”

  Oh, bother. She spoke the truth. Even though it was Twelfth Night, it appeared Lord Preston hadn’t taken down all his Christmastide decorations yet, including this particular ball of mistletoe. Minerva swallowed as her gaze returned to Cleopatra’s. “I’m not really one for—”

  “Shhh.” The woman’s fingertip slid to Minerva’s lips before stroking her flushed cheek. “I assure you, I don’t bite. Well,” her dark eyes sparkled with mischief, “I do on occasion, but only when invited.”

  Cleopatra’s strangely entrancing gaze fell to Minerva’s mouth and an unexpected spark of curiosity sprang to life inside her breast. What harm could it do to try something new? It was Twelfth Night after all. And she was standing beneath a kissing bough. Surely it was poor form to break with tradition.

  Perhaps sensing the change in Minerva, the dark-haired woman’s mouth curved in a sultry, feline smile. Tilting her head, she leaned in and brushed her blood-red lips against Minerva’s. The teasing caress was like hot, smooth satin. When her tongue flickered against the seam of Minerva’s lips, Minerva gasped and pulled away. She hadn’t expected the kiss to be quite so... sexual.

  “Mmm, delicious.” The masked Cleopatra turned to Tristan and wrapped her fingers around his firmly muscled upper arm. “Would you care to join us, sir? Or you if you both agree,” she glanced between Minerva and Tristan, “we could all liaise in my private chamber upstairs. The more the merrier as they say...”

  Trepidation tripping its way down Minerva’s spine, she held her breath as her gaze locked with Tristan’s. He looked at her with hooded eyes, his expression inscrutable. What would his answer be? O
nly moments ago they’d vowed not to share themselves with others. It seemed she may have just thoughtlessly broken her promise. And even though the kiss had been pleasant enough, she didn’t want to take things further with this woman or anyone else, male or female, for that matter. But what if Tristan wanted that after all?

  She needn’t have worried though. Tristan was true to his word. Turning his attention to Cleopatra, one corner of his mouth tilted into a charming half-smile. “As tempting as you are, fair lady, I’m afraid I will have to decline your offer.”

  “Yes, me too,” said Minerva, relief flooding through her.

  The woman gave a dramatic sigh and relinquished her hold on Tristan. “Ah, well. It was worth a try.” To Minerva she said, “You’re a very lucky woman, my dear. But if you grow tired of your steadfast, handsome man, do seek me out.” She gave Minerva, then Tristan a light kiss on the cheek before sauntering into the crowd.

  “Tristan, I’m so sorry—”

  One of Tristan’s hands slid around Minerva’s waist and he drew her hard against him. “Oh, you will be, my dear Lady Persephone,” he groaned. “Feel that? I’m harder than the marble pillars in this room after watching your provocative display.”

  She’d made Tristan that hard? His eyes might be alive with blue fire, but surely arousing him wasn’t a bad thing. So she said, “I could hardly refuse her. I am standing beneath the mistle—”

  “Mistletoe or no, you flagrantly broke your promise to me.”

  Guilt pinched Minerva’s heart. “Yes. I did.”

  “So now, not only do I have a throbbing cockstand,” continued Tristan, “I also have a twitchy palm.”

  Twitchy palm?

  A vivid picture of Lord Preston slapping one of the prostitute’s bare bottoms with gay abandon sprang into Minerva’s mind. She’d paid Madame Heloise well to share her knowledge of Tristan’s tastes. And during their carriage tryst, Tristan had warned her there was a side to him she might not like ...