An Introduction to Pleasure: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 1

by Jess Michaels

  Andrew stepped forward to charge a second time, but before he could the door between the parlor they were currently in and the one next to it slid open to reveal Culpepper’s wife. Lady Culpepper was willowy, and she glided into the room with the dignity of a queen even though her cheeks flamed red and her eyes snapped with anger and humiliation.

  “My dear,” Culpepper choked as he stared at the adjoining doors. “I did not realize you were in the next chamber.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, cold as a frozen winter. “But I could hear every word you two said. And all it did was verify what I have long suspected about why we’ve lost so many good servants over the years. Including Lysandra, who I actually liked a great deal.”

  She shot Andrew a look, but he couldn’t read her intentions.

  “You may have the title, my dear,” she said to her husband softly. “But the money comes from my family and a good deal of it remains in my control. So I will add my own threat to the one of Lord Callis: if you attack this girl, in private or in public, I will do something about it. And I have the capability to do so. As for her acceptance…” She turned to Andrew with a sad expression. “I think you know it will be difficult for her. But I will certainly try to make her transition into Society as easy as possible if you truly intend to marry her.”

  Andrew stared at her. He had barely ever interacted with Lady Culpepper, but here she was, offering to help Lysandra. In that moment, she became one of his favorite people.

  “I do, if she’ll overlook my many faults and take my hand,” he said softly.

  She smiled and waved him toward the door. “It seems you have someplace to be.” She glared at her husband who was still shifting, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish out of water. “I have this situation under control, I assure you.”

  Andrew bowed toward her, then strode past Culpepper without hesitating and toward the door. But as he moved into the foyer, he skidded to a stop. His father stood there, staring at him.

  “I heard you,” he said without preamble.

  Andrew shook his head. “Apparently Culpepper needs to invest in thicker walls. Why are you here?”

  His father shifted. “I saw the girl today. Miss Keates.”

  That stopped any movement Andrew had been making. He stared at his father. “Where?”

  “I looked for her at the place you put her and when I realized she was with Weatherfield, I pursued her to the home he let for her.”

  Andrew rubbed his face. This was it. Any chance he had with Lysandra had to be dashed if his father had gotten hold of her. The amount of damage he could have done might very well be irreversible.

  “What did you do?” he whispered.

  His father shrugged. “I went there fully intending to pay her off to leave you be. To make sure that she wouldn’t take advantage of you. But what I found when I met her was something quite different from my expectations based on the…well, apparently the lies Culpepper told me.”

  Andrew tilted his head. “So you did hear everything.”

  His father nodded. “But it was when I told her that you were wrecked, moping about since your return to London that I realized something.”

  Andrew flinched. That wasn’t exactly how he wanted Lysandra to know that he needed her. “What did you realize?”

  “As I heard the words come out of my mouth, I recognized that you must care for this woman, very deeply, to be so hurt by losing her.” His father sighed. “And I never thought you would or could care for anyone ever again after you lost Rebecca. This woman gave you a gift, a gift of emotion. Of living again, not just looking for a way to die faster. And I suddenly appreciated that a great deal.”

  Andrew stared in utter shock at his father. “I see.”

  “I may seem too proper for you, but the truth is that I almost lost you two and a half years ago, and I hated that moment, that feeling.” His father shook his head. “I’m not certain I approve of the plans I overheard in the parlor. That you plan to marry this woman. But in truth, I would rather see you chose to live and be happy than see you proper and alone and desperate. So I will not interfere. I will accept her. Because…” His father shifted and Andrew saw his utter discomfort. “I do love you, boy.”

  Andrew blinked. His father hadn’t said such an intimate thing since he was a child. He knew it, of course, despite his father’s propensity toward propriety over emotion, Andrew had never doubted his father’s love, but hearing it meant something. Knowing his father was in his corner in this war meant a great deal more.

  “Thank you,” he said, clapping his father on the back. “Thank you.”

  His father shook his head. “I think you have someplace to go.”

  “Yes.” Andrew grew sober. “Weatherfield’s house to try to convince Lysandra to end her affair with him.”

  His father cocked his head. “Don’t you know? After I met with her, I had three of my best men do some research. They quickly discovered that Lysandra has not entered into an affair with Weatherfield. But I do believe that mistress woman…Vivien Manning, I think her name is, will be presenting her tonight at a soiree.”

  Andrew’s heart leapt and sank in the same moment. Leapt at the thought that Lysandra had never taken her relationship with his friend so far. And sank because if she was going to Vivien’s, it meant she continued to seek a permanent protector.

  “Then I’d best go now. Before it’s too late.”

  His father smiled. “Don’t forget, son, it’s never truly too late. Good luck.”

  Andrew smiled as he departed the house and bounded to his carriage below. Luck he would need.

  Lysandra’s body was standing in the ballroom at Vivien Manning’s home, but her heart wasn’t in this place at all. It wasn’t that the gathering was bad. She had imagined so much when she thought of coming here for a ball and to look for a protector. But the music was good, the punch much stronger than in the few gatherings she had attended or served at in the upper class, and the company was friendly.

  Yes, there were some shocking displays of passion in the hallway and on the stair and sounds of them coming from parlor after parlor, but Lysandra could see they were displays enjoyed by both parties, so she could look the other way with a blush and a tingle in her pussy that told her she would have plenty of images to pleasure herself by for weeks to come.

  As for the company…it was also pleasant enough. Several gentlemen had approached her for conversation, indicating their interest in her if she was interested in return. None were horrible. Many were actually very handsome men with good humor.

  Only none of them were Andrew, and that was the central problem. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t focus, she couldn’t begin to imagine starting an affair with anyone else.

  “Stupid girl,” she muttered.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say stupid.”

  She turned to find Vivien approaching. Her friend slipped a hand about her waist and squeezed. “What can I do to make this easier, for I can see it is tearing you apart?”

  Lysandra sighed. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Only to someone who is more interested in your well-being than your lovely bosom, my dear.” Vivien laughed. “So in other words, none of the men will have even noticed your mood.”

  Lysandra laughed, though the comment made her shift with discomfort. The idea that these men were judging her on her bosom and didn’t give a damn about anything above it was not a particularly comforting one.

  “You are distracted,” Vivien continued. “Why don’t you go onto the terrace for a little while? Get some fresh air, though I would avoid the southwest corner…unless you want to watch Sabrina make love to both Lord Nightengale and Lord Jazby.”

  Lysandra swallowed. Under any other circumstance, she just might go spy on a woman with two lovers. It sounded quite…bracing. But for now, she couldn’t think about something so brash when her mind was racing.

  “Yes, I think I shall go outside for a bit. I promise to
gather my senses and return as a far more pleasant guest.”

  Vivien patted her arm, then strolled away into a crowd of men who watched her like she was candy. With a sigh, Lysandra slipped onto the terrace. She sent a longing look toward that wicked southwest corner, but then turned to the north, away from the crowd, away from any wicked activities.

  She stared up at the stars let out a sigh. On Andrew’s estate, they had taken a walk in the moonlight and made love under stars as pretty as this. Would he think of that night the next time he looked at the stars?

  She heard the faint closing of the terrace door behind her, but she ignored the sound. She didn’t want to be disturbed, so perhaps pretending as if she didn’t know someone else was with her would be message enough of that fact.

  Footsteps moved toward her, but before she could turn, there was a warm chest pressed to her back and arms came around her. She tensed, knowing she should be afraid. Or at least affronted that a drunken partygoer had pinned her like this.

  But she wasn’t. There was something comforting about this man’s touch.

  “I hear,” he whispered, his voice odd in the darkness behind her, “that you are seeking a protector.”

  She shivered. “Yes,” she managed to squeak out.

  “Hmm,” he said, though his arms came around her even tighter. “I’m afraid I am not looking for a mistress.”

  She frowned. What in the world did this stranger mean? “Then why are you accosting me on the terrace at Vivien Manning’s? Don’t all men come here looking for a mistress?”

  He laughed, and she froze. She knew that laugh. Knew it as well as her own.

  “This man isn’t seeking that. I am looking for a wife, you see.”

  She spun around and found Andrew standing before her, holding her ever so gently against his chest. Without demand, but also without releasing her.

  “Andrew, what are you doing here?”

  He lifted one hand to stroke her cheek. “I have loved two women in my life. I lost one through chance and for three years regretted the way I treated her. The second woman I lost through utter foolishness. Fear. Panic. But I wonder if I might be able to get her…you…back.”

  Lysandra sucked in her breath. “Are you…are you saying you love me?”

  He nodded slowly, never breaking their stare. Joy flooded her, overcame her, mobbed her with pleasure so intense it was pain. She sobbed out her breath.

  “Andrew, you must know I love you,” she admitted and adored how his face lit up with a joy she’d never seen from him before. It was a gift and she cherished it. Only she had to crush it. That was clear. “We couldn’t marry.”

  He shook his head. “Why?”

  “I’m not of your rank, I’m not of your class, your father despises me, I would create a scandal for you thanks to my former employer, your brother is getting married and his future wife is too important for me to ruin that, I was a mistress—”

  He lifted his hand to cut off her stream of reasons they couldn’t ever be together.

  “Let me address these before you go on to your secondary list,” he laughed. “I do not care about your rank, nor your class. I’ve learned how empty those labels can be. My father does not hate you. In fact, he blessed my desire to marry you this very afternoon.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “After he came to me, blustering?”

  Andrew laughed. “He does bluster, but I assure you he is a good man. And he was impressed both by the way you handled yourself and by the fact that I love you. He wishes for my happiness, and I think he recognized that you are my only path for that to happen.”

  Tears stung Lysandra’s eyes, but she refused to let their joyful streams fall.

  “What of the rest?” she whispered.

  He laughed. “Where did we leave off? Oh yes, the scandal created by Culpepper.” She gasped and he nodded. “Oh yes, I know who he is. He has already been admonished, first by me and then by his wife, who also said she would accept you if you were mine.”

  “Lady Culpepper?” Lysandra repeated. “She was always so lovely, but I thought—”

  “Oh, she is far stronger and much more aware than perhaps any of us, including her husband, gave her credit for. As is Adela, our future sister-in-law, although she may not know the particulars, she gave me quite a lecture about love. I think she would welcome a scandal if it were for a romantic reason like the fact that I adore you.”

  He bent and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. Lysandra gasped at the gentle, intimate and loving gesture. He truly did love her. This wasn’t some odd attempt just to win her because he was angry or a desire to win something he felt he had lost. He loved her.

  Her!

  “And then there is the last point you have made,” he said with a somber shake of his head. “That you were a mistress.”

  She nodded.

  He smiled slightly. “It has come to my attention, and caused me great happiness, that you have only ever been my mistress. My lover. My love.”

  “But no one else will know—”

  He covered her lips with his fingertip. “Society can hang. I would be happy to squire you away to my country home and make love to you day in and day out if they won’t have us.”

  Lysandra shivered at the images that created in her wicked mind.

  “Now let me ask you again. Will you marry me?”

  She closed her eyes. All she wanted was this man’s love, this man’s company, this man at her side for the rest of her life. She would be a fool to throw it all away for fear and for worry.

  With a smile, she looked at him. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He gathered her to his chest and dropped his mouth to hers in a passionate kiss. She melted, pulling him closer, trying to mold herself to him in every way possible.

  He drew back. “On the terrace, my dear?” he chuckled.

  She smiled, for the first time in years feeling the weight lifted off of her shoulders and leaving only love of the deepest kind, joy of the brightest variety, hope that only a guaranteed future could bring.

  “Oh yes,” she whispered as she drew him into the darkness. “If it’s good enough for the southwest corner, it’s good enough for us.”

  He laughed, though it was clear he had no idea of the reference she was making. And then he pulled her against him and claimed her as his for once, for all.

  Forever.

  About the Author

  Jess Michaels is the award-winning author of over ten erotic romances. She lives in Arizona with her fantastic husband and two adorable cats. While not writing about sexy gentleman and wicked ladies, she can be found doing geeky things like playing video games and performing aunt duties to two nephews. You can find her online at www.jennapetersen.com/jess.htm and on Twitter @jennaromance

  Look for these titles by Jess Michaels

  Coming Soon:

  Mistress Matchmaker

  For Desire Alone

  Her Perfect Match

  They can escape winter’s cold, but their nemesis has a long, icy reach.

  Lisbon

  © 2012 Lynne Connolly

  Richard and Rose, Book 8

  On a ship bound for Portugal with her children and the man she loves, Rose should be blissfully happy. Except Richard treats her like she’s made of porcelain. She’s recovered from the childbed fever that nearly killed her, yet he won’t share her bed and it’s driving her mad.

  To win him back body and soul, she resolves to use every wicked, seductive trick he’s taught her. Until a possible attempted murder on board puts them both on alert for the trouble that seems to dog their every move.

  Richard is almost relieved to have something to investigate. He loves Rose too much to risk losing her—which is exactly what could happen if he gets her pregnant again. When it becomes clear a series of accidents is no such thing, they realize an old enemy has caught up with them.

  It’s imperative for Richard and Rose to work together to defeat this foe, but their new distance co
uld prove their undoing. Especially when Mother Nature conspires to make them endure one last, desperate test of their love…

  Warning: The earth is moving for Richard and Rose, but this time it’s not entirely their fault.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Lisbon:

  Richard’s scolding continued as he undressed me. I still loved his voice, the quiet cadence, the rasp hidden under his customary congenial tones that grew pronounced in the throes of physical ecstasy. I wanted to hear that again. So much. Feel the touch of his hands, hot on my body, the soft, moist movement of his mouth on my skin, the hard suction when he sucked my nipple—I had to stop. I could feel the moisture forming at the top of my thighs. I let his voice float over me, listening to the tone rather than the meaning.

  “You have to preserve yourself, let me care for you—”

  But I had to respond to that remark. I snapped, “Like veal in aspic?” I hated veal in aspic. Slimy and cold. “You want to keep me wrapped up against all danger? You can’t, Richard, it’s impossible.”

  A small pause, then, “I know.”

  His hands left my body and the stays fell away. I caught them and dropped them on the chair, then bent to retrieve my gown and drape it over the chair too. I unfastened my petticoats myself.

  I stood in shift and under-petticoat, still wearing stockings and shoes and my hair pinned up in its knot on the top of my head. Keeping my gaze on his face, I reached up and took out the pins, one by one. I knew the action lifted my breasts. It would make the nipples press against the thin lawn fabric. I would force him to suffer.

  Because of my earlier thoughts, my nipples had peaked, and as I moved, the extra sensitivity made me shiver. He stared at me, his eyes cool but a small frown furrowing his brow. At least I’d had some effect. Desperation filled me.

  “Do we stay like this forever?” I asked. “Do we draw further apart until you can’t bear it anymore and search for something outside the marriage bed?” He opened his mouth to protest, but I wouldn’t let him speak yet. “It would be meaningless, and that’s what you’d tell me when I found out. Because I would find out, you know that, don’t you? There are people longing for it to happen, for you to stray, people who will run to me to see how I’m taking your betrayal. And I’ll have to smile and pretend I don’t care, just as other wives do. You’ll be sparing me, you’ll say, stopping me from bearing more children, wearing me out with childbirth. During my time in society, I’ve heard it all, Richard, and the excuses, and I’ve seen the hurt in their eyes.”