An Introduction to Pleasure: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 1

by Jess Michaels

  “Are you saying you no longer want me here?” she asked, and her trembling words returned his attention to her.

  “What?” he asked and shook his head. “No, of course not. I meant don’t bother repairing the gown. You need new ones. I should have arranged for a dressmaker straight away, but I hadn’t thought of it.”

  Lysandra blinked up at him. “New gowns? No, I cannot afford that.”

  His eyes went wide. “Do you think I was suggesting you would pay? Dear Lord, you are innocent when it comes to the ways of the protector/mistress bond. Your protector does a great many things, Lysandra. He pays for your home, your food, your servants, and he ensures that you have all the gowns and jewelry you need.”

  She folded her arms. “The necessities I understand, my lord. But gowns? That is pure frivolity. I could not allow for you to pay—”

  He cut her off by lifting his hand. “You cannot be seen out with me or any other man in the ton dressed in a gown that is three seasons or more out of date, a size too large and designed for a middle-class merchant’s daughter.”

  She sucked in a breath and turned her face as if he had slapped her. For a long moment, she was silent and stared at the floor. Then she nodded.

  “Very well. I will see your dressmaker. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

  He shut his eyes. Once again, he had hurt her when he was trying to give her something as a gift. And he shouldn’t have cared, but he did.

  He softened his tone. “You have a household account, Lysandra. So that you don’t have to ask me for things that you need. And your pin money is also available to you. You only need to write to the solicitor, whose name and direction I will leave with your butler. That money is for things like clothing, shoes, hats, lunches with friends, whatever you choose to do with it. I’ll make sure extra funds are deposited for the gowns.”

  Lysandra shifted, utterly naked, but he could see her discomfort stemmed more from the idea that he would provide her with money rather than her nudity. He supposed that was a step forward in her training.

  “Andrew, you are only meant to be my ‘protector’ for a few weeks, aren’t you? You didn’t want more than that. How could I ever repay you for giving me so much money?”

  He wrinkled his brow. “I am not asking you to repay me beyond your company and your desire. That is the point of the protector/mistress bond. As brief or as long as it lasts, there is parity in the roles, I assure you.”

  She shook her head as she stepped into her gown and covered her lush curves with the ugly fabric. She buttoned the dress as best she could with a shake of her head that told Andrew she didn’t fully trust his account of their relationship.

  He sighed. “We shall not speak of this again, Lysandra. The money is yours and I expect you to spend it accordingly.”

  He could see she wanted to argue further, but she pressed her lips together with a brief nod instead. “Very well. Thank you.”

  He nodded. Good, that was resolved. At least there was something in this complicated relationship that was.

  “I would like to take you to the opera in a few days,” he said as he shrugged into his shirt. “And I’ll be certain the dressmaker I’m sending over knows that she should focus on that dress so that it will be ready before we are to attend.”

  Lysandra swallowed and any remnants of the boldness she had shown him earlier vanished in a flash. “The opera? Vivien said you would begin to take me out, but…”

  She trailed off and Andrew stared at her. “You seem truly worried by this, Lysandra, but you must know that going out is part of a mistress’s duty. And you will love the opera. Many go only to gossip, but there is a singer with a beautiful voice at the current showing who I am certain you will enjoy.”

  She nodded, but he could still see her hesitation, her lack of faith that she would belong in such a place, alongside the cream of Society. And he wanted to comfort her. To reassure her. To protect her, beyond what the role of “protector” entailed.

  He shook his head. That was enough of this. He had to get away from her and the spell she apparently weaved on him. Before he lost himself and his own goals entirely.

  “I will pick you up Saturday night. Your servants will have the particulars later in the week. Until then, I—” He stopped, for he could think of nothing better to say. “Goodbye.”

  She nodded and accepted the brief kiss he pressed to her cheek as he passed her by and left the room, but as he called for his horse, Andrew knew he had, once again, hurt her. And in the process, he seemed to hurt himself.

  Lysandra had expected the dressmaker, of course, but not within two hours of Andrew’s departure from her home. And yet here she was, standing on a stool in her dressing room, with the woman, Madame Bertrande, measuring her for gowns and chatting away pleasantly in the prettiest French accent Lysandra had ever heard. If the seamstress knew she was Andrew’s mistress, Madame Bertrande treated her no differently and was polite and kind in every way.

  “You have a very nice figure,” the woman said as she measured around the circumference of Lysandra’s chest. “Built exactly as a man likes it, without being too showy.”

  Lysandra blushed. That comment answered her unasked question about the mantua-maker knowing she was a mistress. She somehow doubted she said such a thing to men’s wives or daughters as she measured them for gowns.

  “That is all, my dear,” she said as she offered Lysandra a hand to come down from the stool. “Your ballgown will be made first, as per Lord Callis’s instructions. I will call on you for a second fitting in two days and will deliver the dress before four on the day of the opera.”

  “It must put you out to do something so quickly,” Lysandra said with a blush.

  Madame Bertrande laughed. “I suppose it does, but Lord Callis pays exceedingly well for that privilege.”

  Lysandra stifled a sigh. Once again, it came down to money. Andrew showered her with it, even though she was but a temporary mistress at best. Not to mention the fact that he could scarce be in the same room with her once he had made love to her.

  “He has chosen a beautiful fabric for that dress, as well,” Madame Bertrande continued, oblivious to Lysandra’s thoughts. “It will suit you very well. But for the other five gowns, I will need you to choose what fabric to make them in. I brought samples.”

  Lysandra staggered. She couldn’t have heard that correctly. “Five gowns? Did you say five?”

  The dressmaker nodded, her gaze reflecting confusion. “Yes. His lordship said you need a full wardrobe. This will be a start to that and will get you through most events. It will take me a fortnight to complete them all, but I will do it.”

  Lysandra shook her head as the world swam before her eyes. She had seen a glimpse of a ledger sheet when Madame Bertrande was measuring her and the cost for each gown was so high. For the price of just one, she could pay her cousin’s demands for the care of her mother for two months, perhaps even three!

  “I do appreciate your and Lord Callis’s desire to see me well-dressed,” she said, treading carefully as she didn’t want to offend when Madame Bertrande had been so kind to her. “But I cannot demand five gowns. Six when you count the ball gown.”

  The other woman tilted her head and looked her up and down. “My dear, you clearly need the clothes.”

  Lysandra fought the urge to huff out her breath. That was twice her clothing had been maligned in the span of a few hours. She knew she wasn’t ready to meet the Queen, but for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t as if she was running around in a sackcloth.

  “Yes, apparently I do,” she said through gritted teeth. “But why don’t we start with the ball gown—” she thought of the dress Andrew had torn “—and one other that I can wear for everyday use. And once those are finished, we can talk again.”

  Madame Bertrande looked at her evenly, but then shrugged as she gathered her things. “Very well. If that is your wish. It was a great pleasure meeting you, Miss Keates. You are a very interesting woman. I�
��ll send word to make an appointment when I’m ready to do the next fitting.”

  Lysandra nodded and walked her to the door of the chamber. “Thank you. I do look forward to seeing the gowns. Your own dress is so beautiful, I know I shall feel just like a princess in a story in my own.”

  That made the other woman’s expression soften, and she smiled as she slipped into the hallway.

  Lysandra shut the door behind her and leaned against it briefly. What a day. Between her spying on Vivien’s friends to her erotic encounter with Andrew and now the dresses… it was almost too much.

  But thoughts of her mother had brought her back to earth. She could not spend the money Andrew was providing her so frivolously. She had no idea if she would ever find another protector…or one so generous…once her time with Andrew was done. She had to be certain she protected her mother before she swung into a hollow life where her biggest questions were what gown to wear to what ridiculous soiree.

  She sat down at the little desk in her dressing area and withdrew a heavy, expensive sheet of paper. On it, she scribbled a request to the solicitor and gave the direction for her cousin’s home, along with instructions for him on its use. She let out a sigh as she folded the paper and rang for a servant to fetch it.

  At the very least, she would leave this arrangement with her mother’s future safe for a few months. If that was all she obtained, then she would have to be happy with that. After all, she already knew she could ask for nothing more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lysandra shifted nervously and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. The ballgown Madame Bertrande had made for her fit perfectly and was made of a beautiful scarlet satin trimmed in a dusty rose. The neckline swooped, not too low, but low enough that there was a hint of her bosom for Andrew to enjoy. Her hair had been curled and twisted and maneuvered into a beautiful style and her cheeks rouged ever so slightly to give her pale skin a hint of color.

  She felt…beautiful. Alluring. She felt like a stranger had somehow forced her way into the mirror and was staring back at her.

  There was a light knock at her door, and Lysandra jumped. As her maid peeked inside, she smiled. “Lord Callis is here for you, miss. He’s in the parlor.”

  Lysandra managed a nod of acknowledgment and stared at herself again. Would he like what he saw or be disappointed? Would he even care? It seemed when they were not tangled up in sex, he was able to completely divorce himself from any interest in her.

  “Oh, stop dallying and go downstairs, you foolish girl,” she admonished herself in the mirror before she turned on her heel and stalked to the stairs.

  She was down the first three when Andrew stepped from the parlor and moved toward the staircase. He looked up at her, and their eyes met.

  Lysandra kept moving, though she had no idea how with Andrew’s stare boring into her like fire. He said nothing, yet she knew that he did like the way she looked in her new attire. Desire lit in his stare…and a smidge of pride. Both caused her heart to swell unexpectedly.

  “Good evening,” she said as she stepped into the hallway.

  He offered her a hand and, when he took it, stepped back. “Dear God, you are a vision.”

  Lysandra blushed and dipped her head. “Thank you. The dress is divine.”

  “The dress is a few scraps of fabric bound together by a talented seamstress.” Andrew slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “You are divine.”

  Lysandra hoped he wouldn’t see how his compliment made her quiver like a schoolgirl. It had been so long since anyone told her she was pretty, at least not in a lurid, unpleasant way, she could scarce recall it. And certainly the last man to do so had been no Andrew Callis.

  “Shall we go?” he asked, snapping her from her reverie.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He escorted her from the house toward his carriage. It was larger than the one she rode in and much finer, with its crest on the door and expensively liveried servants to assist them into place on either side of the interior.

  Once the door shut and the vehicle jolted forward, Andrew slid across to sit beside her. He tilted her chin up. The light was dim, but she saw his eyes sparkle as he examined her face. And when his lips moved down to hers, she needed no light, no air, no sustenance of any kind except for his kiss.

  After a moment, though, he drew back. “More of that and I shall be forced to turn the carriage around and make love to you all night instead.”

  “Why don’t you?” Lysandra breathed, her body trembling at the thought.

  He laughed. “I would normally, but we are meant to meet someone at the opera and he would come looking for me.”

  She straightened up. “Oh? Who?”

  He shifted back to his own seat and the wall of distance that so often crashed between them did so again, quietly.

  “My younger brother, Samuel Callis.” His tone reflected no emotion on that subject.

  Lysandra shifted as a sudden thought gripped her. “But I… How will you explain… I mean, will he know that…”

  “That you are my mistress?” Andrew finished for her. “I told him I was bringing you along tonight, so yes.”

  Lysandra lifted her hand to her lips and blinked at the sting of humiliated tears behind her eyes. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this moment would come, but now that it was here, it was more difficult than she would have guessed.

  “Lysandra, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Andrew said softly. “My brother will not judge you on your…position in life. He has had mistresses in the past, just as most men of rank and power have had.”

  Lysandra shifted. She hadn’t thought of that. “And will he bring his mistress with him tonight?”

  Andrew hesitated. “No. My brother isn’t currently connected with a mistress. He is recently engaged.”

  “His fiancée, then?” she asked.

  He was quiet for a long moment, and Lysandra thought of the question she had just asked. Of course there would be no fiancée at the opera tonight. No man would bring his innocent future bride to an event where his brother’s lover would be. She was a lady. Lysandra was not. The two worlds did not, could not, collide.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was a foolish question.”

  “No,” he said. “It wasn’t. Under normal circumstances, though, a man wouldn’t—”

  Lysandra raised her hand. “Of course. There is no need to explain.” When Andrew said nothing, she shrugged. “You must understand, I am still adjusting to my new place in the world. But I realize that it is unlikely I would have met your brother’s fiancée if I were still a servant. Why would I ever meet her as a mistress, a far more shocking position?”

  Andrew shifted. “If it helps, I have not yet met Adela either.”

  Lysandra drew back. “Your brother’s future bride?”

  He nodded. “I am more often out of town than in it, and since my return I’ve been most busy with my own business concerns…and you.” He sighed and turned his face to look out the window at the city lights rushing past. “And I fear my brother may be hiding her away from me.”

  Lysandra stared for a moment. Was Andrew actually offering her a little glimpse into his life that went beyond his lusts?

  “Why would he do that?” she asked. “Do you not get along?”

  “Sam and I?” he asked, and true surprise was in his voice at the concept. “No. I adore my brother and I know he loves me. But that is why he might hide the girl. To protect me. To keep me from being hurt by her existence. Because of Rebecca’s death.”

  Lysandra sucked in a breath. “Your wife.”

  Andrew jerked his face toward hers. He hesitated and then said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up such a thing.”

  She worried her lip. “Is that not part of my duties as your mistress? To offer you some kind of comfort in your…difficulties?”

  “No.” His tone was even and not to be argued with. “Perhaps some men would like that, but I wou
ldn’t.”

  Lysandra flopped back against the carriage seat, deflated. She knew so little about Andrew beyond their connection in bed. What she did know intrigued her, but he kept her locked out, a continual reminder that she was a bedmate, not a life mate.

  The carriage came to a stop and Andrew smiled at her as if their exchange had never occurred.

  “And we are here. Are you ready?”

  Lysandra forced a smile and nodded as the footman opened the door and helped her out. Once she stepped down, her worries about Andrew faded. She looked up at the big, beautiful lit-up opera house with its Grecian pillars and marble stairs. Impeccably dressed people milled about on the stairs and in the entryway above, talking and laughing until the sound was nothing more than a din in the air.

  “It is…amazing,” she breathed.

  Andrew smiled as he took her hand and led her up the staircase. “Wait until you get inside,” he said.

  She tensed as they neared the top of the stairs. People were beginning to look at them. Their conversations slowed as their eyes followed first Andrew, then her. The ladies lifted their fans and whispered behind them and even the gentlemen arched brows and muttered softly to each other.

  Her tension was mirrored in Andrew. His lips thinned as they neared the groups of people.

  “They’re talking about us,” Lysandra whispered.

  He nodded. “Indeed they are. About me, more likely than you. I rarely come out in Society anymore.”

  She might have pressed more on that subject, but before she could, a man’s voice boomed from behind them.

  “Callis!”

  Andrew turned, maneuvering her with him, and his face lit up with a wide, true smile. Lysandra couldn’t help but stare. He was always beautiful, of course, an Adonis sent from the gods themselves to tempt her. But when he smiled… it was incredible how much his stern face changed. There was lightness there, laughter, a glimpse of a whole other man.

  “Sam,” he said, extending his hand as he released Lysandra.

  The other man, apparently Andrew’s brother Sam, bypassed the hand and enveloped his brother in a hard hug. He clapped him on the back a few times and then drew away.