An Introduction to Pleasure: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 1

by Jess Michaels

  Andrew jerked his head up in surprise. “I—”

  She turned back to Weatherfield. “You will excuse us, just for a moment, won’t you, my lord? I have a sudden need to discuss something of importance with Callis.”

  Both Weatherfield’s eyebrows lifted, but then he chuckled. “Of course, Lysandra. I will wait here patiently for your return.”

  She got up, snapped her skirts into place and marched past Andrew to the doors out to the terrace. Without waiting for him, she stormed onto the wide stone patio and then turned to watch him follow her. He shut the door and crossed to her.

  “What is it?”

  “You are selling me off to your friend?” she snapped.

  He frowned. “Mind your tone, Lysandra, you’ll bring the house down.”

  “That isn’t a damn answer, Andrew,” she said, though she did temper her voice. No use letting the other man hear everything she was about to say. “Did you bring this man here in order to offer me up, like you are some kind of…of…mistress matchmaker? Like Vivien? Because I hadn’t realized that was a business you were interested in pursuing in your spare time.”

  Andrew flinched but didn’t stop looking at her. “Lysandra, we both know this affair is swiftly coming to an end. I simply want to make sure you are taken care of when our time together is done.”

  She stepped forward, her hands trembling, her lips trembling. “Why?”

  He looked at her in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Why do you feel this sudden drive to foist me off on a new man?” she asked, her voice rising again, despite her attempts to control its level.

  He shook his head. “I’m not foisting you off. We both know that I cannot provide what you need.” He turned his face. “What you deserve.”

  Lysandra pursed her lips, but remained silent, too afraid to speak for fear she would reveal far, far too much.

  “And I worry about you and your future,” Andrew continued. “I’ve been thinking about it for some time now. I want to be sure you are with a man who will treat you well, who will take care of you and your mother. If that is all I can give you, I want to make sure I do.”

  She fisted her hands at her sides and tried not to feel the shattering of her heart. Impossible. It ached in every part of her. She had been a foolish mistress and fallen in love with this temporary protector. Now she suffered for it as keenly as if he had stabbed her in the chest without regard for the lifeblood that would spill out on the stone terrace.

  “I see,” she said, her tone curiously flat when she felt so much high emotion on the subject. “And you think this man, Weatherfield, would be the right man for me.”

  He shrugged. “As much as he is considered a rake, he is also a decent man. He will think of your comfort and your…your pleasure.”

  Lysandra squeezed her eyes shut. Were they truly having this conversation? Was this truly what their affair had come to? Or was this all a nightmare?

  But when she opened her eyes she was still standing on his terrace, looking at a man who seemed sick with the idea of what he was proposing. However, he made no effort to back away from it.

  She nodded. Then this was his choice. Very well.

  “I suppose I should thank you for going to all this trouble to ensure my comfort and my pleasure.” She sighed. “But I think if this is the path we are now taking, I should move out of your chamber into a separate one of my own, as you offered when I first arrived at Rutholm Park.”

  He tensed. “And what if I want you in my bed?”

  She stared at him, filled with disbelief and even more humiliation. “You would continue to take me, even while this other man decides if he wants to…to woo me to him?”

  Andrew swallowed. “It isn’t entirely uncommon.”

  “How comforting,” Lysandra said, her voice as cold as an icy dawn. “Well, then you can call on me and I will fulfill whatever duties I still owe to you. Will that suit you?”

  He folded his arms. “Lysandra—”

  “I should go back inside,” she said, turning away from him.

  “Why?” he asked, his voice cracking.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “If I’m to determine whether I want to put myself in this man’s bed for months, perhaps even years, I should put myself to the task. I assume he will only be here for a short time.”

  With that, she strode back into the office and the man who awaited her there. And left behind the one she loved, the one who refused to keep her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The supper had seemed like a benign enough idea when Andrew suggested it. But he had underestimated Weatherfield’s single-mindedness when it came to his interest in a mistress, and Lysandra’s focus when she put her mind to a task was equal to the Marquis’. Now the two sat close together at the small table, talking as if Andrew were not even in the room at all.

  “Four horses?” Lysandra burst out with laughter at some silly story Weatherfield had been telling. Andrew hadn’t been listening, but he doubted it deserved so much mirth.

  “Yes, and I swear that the poor groom must have run five miles that day trying to catch them.” Weatherfield chuckled.

  “Miles,” Lysandra said, wiping her eyes with her napkin. “That poor man!”

  Andrew tensed. She had called Weatherfield by his given name, an intimacy that meant a great deal to men of his station who were usually addressed by their title or simply “my lord”. Anything more was a privilege.

  He fisted his napkin in his hand and shoved back from the table with a screech of his chair. “I think perhaps we should retire to the parlor for drinks,” he said with a forced smile that he was certain resembled a grimace more than anything else.

  The other two glanced at him like they had forgotten he was even in the room.

  “I suppose we have been finished with our meal for some time,” Weatherfield laughed. “I had quite lost track thanks to my charming companion.”

  Lysandra blushed like a schoolgirl, and Andrew’s stomach turned. Thank God he hadn’t eaten much of that supper to begin with or it would be roiling most unpleasantly.

  “Yes, well…” he began, moving around the table toward Lysandra.

  “May I escort you?” Miles asked her before Andrew could reach her side.

  Andrew shook his head. This was quite enough. “I think I shall take her,” he snapped.

  Lysandra stared at him, her face pinched with anger and frustration, though he wasn’t certain if that was because she so desperately wanted to hold on to Weatherfield’s arm or that she was still angry at Andrew. He found himself wishing for the second as he reached out his elbow toward her.

  She sent Weatherfield a slightly apologetic glance, then slipped her hand into the crook of Andrew’s elbow and let him lead her from the dining room with Weatherfield trailing behind them at a polite distance.

  “Seems as though you are no longer so hesitant about the idea of a new protector,” Andrew said, his tone tight with emotion.

  She refused to look at him as they entered the parlor.

  “Just remember that this was your idea, Andrew. And who am I to question my betters? After all, once a mistress loses her protector, she must find another. This is what you wish me to do, for you no longer want me.” She shrugged as he let him go. “So please keep your judgmental tone to yourself.”

  Andrew heard the pain in her voice as she turned on her heel and crossed back to Weatherfield at the fire. He had hurt her, as he always seemed to hurt her, but Lysandra was a resourceful woman. It was all but programmed in her to make the best of the worst situations. Something he admired except for this moment when making the best seemed to mean turning all her considerable wiles on Weatherfield. It was evident the other man was already quite taken with her.

  And that meant she would be in Miles’s bed, and out of Andrew’s life, in record time.

  He poured himself a drink and downed half of it before he turned away from the poorboy and found Weatherfield and Lysand
ra both staring at him. His friend cleared his throat and said, “Miss Keates, it’s a lovely night. What do you think about taking a stroll out on the terrace with me to enjoy the moon?”

  Lysandra hesitated a fraction, which made Andrew’s heart swell with pleasure. At least she was still a little bit torn about what was happening. But the high emotion faded the moment she smiled.

  “Yes, I think that would be lovely.” She glanced at Andrew. “As long as Lord Callis doesn’t mind that we are abandoning him for a short time.”

  Andrew bit his lip. He could refuse. But that would effectively end Weatherfield’s pursuit of Lysandra. A short-term win for him, a long-term loss for her. As much as it pained him, he found himself nodding.

  “Y-yes,” he choked. “A fine idea, indeed.”

  Lysandra stared at him for a fraction too long, but then she dipped her chin and took Weatherfield’s arm, disappearing out onto the terrace with another man. And all but disappearing to a new life where Andrew would no longer be able to call her his own.

  Lysandra could hardly keep her breath as the terrace door closed behind her and left her alone with Lord Weatherfield. Not only was she with a man who would possibly be her next protector, but Andrew had sent her here, practically wrapped her as a gift for Miles.

  A fact that made her want to cry, even though she didn’t do so.

  “Ah yes,” Miles said as he guided her to the edge of the terrace and leaned against the wall there. “Our moon.”

  Lysandra glanced up and a bit of her tension faded. It was a beautiful night. The moon was full and big in the sky, casting a glow down on them that was, by all accountings one could make, very romantic.

  “Do you want to talk about the real reason I am here?” Miles asked her softly.

  Lysandra stared at him for a brief moment, then swallowed hard. “Is that what happens next?”

  He nodded. “I think for us, it should. Clearly you know that Callis has asked me here because you will soon be in the market for a new protector. And perhaps I am the man for that most pleasurable job.”

  Lysandra shifted. Miles was very different from Andrew. Andrew was reserved, almost swept away by desire he did not want. But this man…he was something different. There was an attitude about him of pure confidence. And he didn’t seem the kind who would apologize for what he wanted or felt.

  “I must let you know,” she said on the barest of squeaks, “although I have been…er…trained on the subjects of desire, I have little experience. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed once you made a bargain with me or feel that I, or Andrew, tried to trick you into taking something you did not expect.”

  Miles’s eyes grew wide and he edged closer to her. “You are a very unique woman, Lysandra.”

  She looked at him, framed by moonlight. He was so different from Andrew. Almost his polar opposite in looks, where Andrew was blond and with bright eyes and Miles dark as a more moonless night.

  But she couldn’t deny Miles was wickedly handsome. And she was, to her shock, attracted to him.

  “Is unique a bad thing?” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Oh no. Not at all.”

  He moved closer again and tilted his head as he lowered his lips to hers. Lysandra sucked in her breath as he brushed his lips over hers and then gently probed her lips with his tongue. He tasted of mint and a faint hint of whiskey. A pleasant, masculine combination. But she hadn’t expected to be kissing another man on Andrew’s terrace, of all places.

  She had to admit, though, the experience was not unpleasant, and soon her body took the control her mind could not. She slowly glided her hands to Miles’s forearms and held there, as close to an embrace as she could manage in this moment. She tilted her head and granted him greater access to her mouth while she parted her lips and darted her tongue to meet his in an erotic, slow dance.

  He made a sound of desire deep in his throat and to her surprise, her body reacted even further. She felt her nipples tighten against the silk of her gown. Her sex grew wet, and a dull, familiar ache began between her legs.

  She didn’t know if Miles sensed that shift in her desire or if he merely wished to test her willingness to express it, but he moved his hand, which had been resting against her hip, slowly upward until he cupped one breast.

  She arched her back at the intimate touch, even as her mind raced with thoughts of Andrew. Andrew doing the same thing, Andrew making love to her sweetly, violently, pleasuring her.

  She moaned against Miles’s lips and he strummed a thumb against her nipple as she swayed closer to him. When they parted, she looked up at him.

  There was no doubt a man like this would give her security and pleasure. Clearly, her body would and did react to his touch. But when she stared at him, she felt none of the complex feelings that Andrew inspired. There wasn’t even a twinge of feeling that stirred her soul. She liked him, insofar as she knew him, but that was all.

  And perhaps that was what she needed. To forget Andrew. To nurse her broken heart back to something that would never again be so foolish as to love a man who was incapable of returning that feeling.

  “What do you think?” Miles asked.

  She blinked, clearing her head of the wayward thoughts that troubled her. “Think?”

  “You are staring at me with a most appraising gleam in your eyes, I can only guess you are rating my kiss, my touch, and I am more than curious about what your conclusions are. Am I the kind of man you could take as a lover?”

  Lysandra swallowed. This frank talk was not something she was yet accustomed to, but this was the life she had chosen and she had to adapt.

  “I think it’s clear that we could be…good together in very important ways.” She blushed, and he chuckled.

  “Oh yes, that is more than obvious to me.” He became more serious. “I know your mother is a part of your life as a mistress. Andrew tells me she has been put up in a home and I will pay for her upkeep, as well as generously provide for your own. If you are interested in leaving your current position, that is.”

  Lysandra hesitated, then shook her head sadly. “I believe that decision is entirely out of my hands. And I need a protector, so if you are willing to become that to me, I think we would be a good fit.”

  He leaned down and brushed his lips back and forth against hers a second time, sending shocking desire through her already humming body.

  “I look forward to testing that fit very soon, Lysandra,” he murmured against her mouth. “But I think for now we should return to the parlor. Andrew and I will have much to settle. I return to London tomorrow. Will you want to travel with me, or wait a few days to…” He trailed off. “Finish your business here?”

  Lysandra froze. Tomorrow? So soon? Part of her wanted to cling to this place. To what she had shared here with Andrew. But in truth, wouldn’t that hurt even more?

  She sucked in a ragged breath and said, “I think I should return with you, Miles. There is no use dragging out the inevitable.”

  He looked at her for a long, charged moment and then nodded. “Very well, then, Lysandra. I will take care of the arrangements. Now let us go inside.”

  She took his arm, but as they turned toward the parlor, she couldn’t help but blink at tears that stung her eyes. Tears she refused to shed. She couldn’t afford the pain they would bring.

  Andrew stood at the window, staring out onto the terrace from a darkened room down the hall from his parlor. In the moonlight, he could clearly see everything Lysandra and Miles were doing. And he hated it.

  They were talking so close and then the moment he had been dreading happened. Miles kissed her.

  Andrew leaned closer to the glass, his breath short as he watched their kiss deepen and its passion intensify. He jolted as he realized that this moment of voyeurism wasn’t only inspiring anger, as he expected, but something more. He was growing hard as he watched the woman he had bedded so many times that he’d lost count become aroused by another man.

  A thousand questi
ons rolled through his head. Was she wet with desire? When Miles glided his hand up to cup her breast, did her gasp sound like it did when he did the same thing?

  Worst of all, was she thinking of him as they gently ground together in a precursor to a bedding? He wanted to go out onto the terrace and touch her as Miles kissed her. To physically imprint himself on their relationship so that he would always be a part of it.

  But although he and Miles had shared women before, often during very drunken nights half a dozen years before, he didn’t think he could manage that now. Not with Lysandra. Not with someone he cared for so deeply.

  They were talking now, their bodies still touching, their heads close together, and the desire Andrew felt faded to nothingness. The passion he could take. That was Lysandra’s body. But this intimacy in the way they spoke was proof that he was going to lose her.

  Soon.

  They turned toward the door and he scurried to get back into the parlor where they’d left him, but his mind was racing.

  What would he do when Lysandra was gone?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Andrew could control a great many things about his emotions. He’d had plenty of practice in doing so since the death of his wife. But as Lysandra and Weatherfield walked into the parlor from the terrace, he was fully aware that his expression was of anything but friendliness. He felt angry and he was sure he looked the same.

  Not that Lysandra even noticed. She hardly spared him a glance as she wandered, wide-eyed, away from Weatherfield and took a long, bracing sip of brandy from her abandoned glass.

  Weatherfield watched her as closely as Andrew did, and with as much concern on his face.

  “My dear,” the Marquis said before Andrew could speak. “You look tired and with good reason. You’ve had a most trying night. Why don’t you go up to bed? It won’t offend us.”

  Andrew clenched his fists as his sides. Who was fucking Weatherfield to order his mistress up to bed?

  Lysandra didn’t have the same reaction. She sent Andrew the briefest of glances and then nodded. “I am tired. Good night to you both.”