Only a Mistress Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  When he finally entered the parlor, Violet perched next to Manning, who had seated himself—or been seated—on the sofa.

  In Tristan’s accustomed place.

  Fiendish woman. Determined to show him he’d been replaced. Well, he could play that game as well.

  Tris shrugged off his cloak and strode to the sideboard. A drink, always welcome, was especially appreciated tonight. He poured a hefty libation and held the tumbler out to Manning who stared into the glowing hearth. “You’ll take one against the cold, I trust?”

  The earl leaped to his feet and joined him at the sideboard. “Thank you, yes. As you say, it’s a bitter night.” He seized the glass and bolted a large mouthful.

  The man seemed skittish, although anyone might be unnerved having gone to a brothel for an evening of sport and come away with a wife.

  “Good vintage.” Manning nodded and took another sip. “Will you stay here tonight with Miss Carlton?”

  “He most certainly will not.” All but forgotten on the sofa, Violet now marched toward them, a glint in her eye like an avenging fury. “I have always stayed here with only the servants. I see no reason to change that plan now.”

  Tris fought the urge to remind her that had been true of all save one night. Then his shoulders slumped and he poured himself a full glass. What would such a declaration accomplish? He should be pleased Violet would be well taken care of. Still he could muster very little pleasure from the situation. “Miss Carlton is correct, Manning. She will be perfectly safe here for as long as she needs to stay. You have my word on it.”

  One scathing look at him, then Violet took her seat again.

  “Much obliged.” Contemplating the contents of his glass, the earl swirled the liquid slowly around, knitting his brows into a frown as he sat once more on the sofa.

  Of course, the man must be puzzled over his relationship to Violet. God knew what she had told him, although the current look on his face suggested she’d mentioned some aspect of it. Still, Manning had accepted her, virgin or not. It was none of Tris’s concern any more. He had to convince himself of that.

  An awkward silence settled over them, Tris glancing from one figure on the sofa to the other. They sat like opponents over a game of chess, neither one wanting to make a move. Tension wound him up, each tick of the clock on the mantle accusing him of folly in letting her go. As if he could have stopped her from accepting Manning.

  “Miss Carlton! Thank goodness you’re all right.” Susan sailed into the room, making everyone jump. She swooped down on her mistress like a hawk grabbing a mouse. “Where have you been?”

  Manning sprang to his feet, wide-eyed as an owl.

  Eyes narrowed, Susan appraised first the earl then Tris. After a long moment, she sniffed and returned her attention to her charge. “You had me in three kinds of fits and Lord Trevor worried to death.” She continued tsk-tsking as she took Violet by the arm. “You come right along with me, miss. Look done in, you do.”

  Tris smiled as Violet opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, though she had no chance.

  “I’ll brook no argument, miss.” Susan urged Violet toward the door with a none-too-gentle hand. “You need a bath and some hot broth, a hot brick at your feet to help you sleep and we’ll pray this madness didn’t cause you any mischief.”

  Violet shrugged sheepishly as Susan propelled her out the door. “You see I am taken captive. Good night, Lord Manning,” she called from the staircase.

  “Captive my eye,” the maid grumbled as she headed up the stairs behind her mistress. “You’ll be lucky not to catch your death. Mark my words.”

  Some of the tension eased from Tris’s neck. Susan had her charge well under control. “You see Miss Carlton is in very capable hands. Rest assured no harm will come to her here.”

  “Indeed.” The young man smiled, the first time he had done so all evening. “Will this woman accompany Miss Carlton to our home when we marry?”

  The words stabbed Tris like an unexpected knife in the dark. He sobered immediately, his mask firmly back in place. He shrugged and tipped another good tot of the brandy into his glass. “That is for Susan to decide. I’ve employed her for several years now…” Damn. How much could he say and reveal nothing?

  “Yes, for your mistresses.” Manning tossed back the contents of his tumbler. “Of whom Miss Carlton is your most recent.”

  God, this would be awkward. “Not exactly. Is that what she told you?”

  “She told me enough.”

  The dark countenance of Manning’s face—brows taut, nose flared, mouth set with a downward turn—made Tris wish he had not given his sword to Thomas when he entered the house. Lord Manning had a legitimate grievance with him as the debaucher of his bride-to-be.

  “I would have married her myself when I found her at the House of Pleasure a month ago. But I had just affianced myself to Lord Downing’s daughter. I couldn’t go back on my word.” Fool. “And there is the matter of her brother.”

  “Yes, she told me that as well.”

  “She’s been quite the chatterbox this evening, hasn’t she?” Tris stared evenly at the earl, then downed his drink. “The situation has been intolerable from the start. I am sorely grieved by my own shortcomings in regards to my actions toward Miss Carlson, whom I hold blameless. Your brother-in-law told me to get as far away from her as possible and I paid him no heed.” Despite his strong desire for another drink, Tris set his glass down. Getting drunk again would do no good either. “She is a delightful woman, intelligent, talented. I am sure she will make you the perfect wife.” The words wanted to stick in his throat but he forced them out.

  “Not when she’s in love with another man.”

  Tris hefted the decanter, the liquor making a high-pitched glug glug as he topped his tumbler off. So much for not getting drunk. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Manning. She abhors me. I killed her brother for Christ’s sake.”

  “Yes, and she’d like to hate you for it, I’m sure.” Grim-faced, Manning set his glass down and picked up his hat. “Much to her distress, however, she doesn’t. She told me in great detail how you’d found her at the House of Pleasure and taken her away. Rescued her, she said. The look in her eyes when she said that did not bespeak hatred.”

  Tris’s heart thudded against his chest. If only that were true. And yet…

  “As I cannot marry her, it still doesn’t matter whether or not she would have me.” Slowly, he curled his hands into fists. “She has agreed to be your wife. That should be the end of it.”

  “Somehow I doubt it will be.” Manning donned his black tricorne, elegantly appointed with gold trim. “I could never have left her in that place any more than you could. I did the only thing I could do, as you say, and offered to marry her.” With precise motions, he adjusted the hat to a jaunty angle. “I had to insist upon it, in fact. The woman was deucedly unwilling. And although she told me a great deal about her life here, what she didn’t tell me is why she left it and returned to the House of Pleasure.” The earl’s cold stare unnerved Tris. “Can you perhaps shed some light on her motive?”

  More weary than ever before, Tris slumped into the Chippendale chair. “I have no idea, although I suppose I can conjecture. When I told her I had killed her brother, I suspect she felt so betrayed she wanted to punish me in turn. I don’t know how she knew what a blow her returning to that place would be to me, but it was a master plan. To think I drove her back to that life…well, suffice it to say when I realized where she had gone, having my heart cut out with a dull dessert spoon would have been a treat in comparison.”

  “You will make sure she does not attempt to return a second time, won’t you?” Manning’s voice blew through Tris like a cold wind.

  “I will leave strict instructions for her to be watched. She won’t be able to use a chamber pot without someone knowing she’s done it.” Thought of Violet stealing away to Madame Vestry’s in order to punish him made him sick inside.
He’d gotten lucky this time. Another time he might not.

  “I doubt she will take such confinement well. She’s a spirited woman. Even our short acquaintance has shown me that. You’d best make sure your servants understand Miss Carlton’s mettle if they don’t already.” Manning headed for the door then swung back around. “I will hasten the wedding to the best of my ability. By the end of the week, say?”

  “Thank you. I believe I can manage that long.” Too long for his taste. He wanted to see Violet as little as possible if he were to keep the pain of her leaving to a manageable level. If it were done, then were best done quickly.

  “I’ll send round a note tomorrow, informing Miss Carlton and you about arrangements for the special license.”

  “If you have any trouble I’m sure your brother-in-law can help. He’s gotten one before.” His friend’s wedding had been a quick affair under strange circumstances.

  “Yes, I remember clearly.” Manning pursed his lips, but said only, “’Til tomorrow then.” With a curt nod, he left.

  Tris sat in the deserted parlor, the events of the past two days playing themselves over and over in his mind. How had it gone wrong so badly so quickly? He’d like to believe Violet still loved him, although he could scarce give credence to the earl’s statements. The man had known her for only a few hours. Certainly not long enough to be able to ascertain her deepest emotions. Even if true, their situation was hopeless. He and Violet would marry other people and live comfortable if empty lives. Few men or women could claim true happiness in marriage. Why should they be any different?

  After leaving strict instructions with Thomas to have Violet watched, he reluctantly prepared to venture out into the chilly January air. He regretted the need for departure, however, he’d rather face the raw air than Manning’s sword. In any case, the softest bed he’d get in Lammas House tonight would be the sofa, so unlike all the other nights he’d stayed here. After calling Thomas to have his horse fetched, he donned cape and gloves, and finished off his brandy against the bitter night.

  The ride home—past women who made their living walking the streets, past homeless figures huddled near a blazing fire in an alleyway—was mercifully short. Each person he passed could have been Violet had he not found her. His stomach sickened at the thought. He’d not be able to relax until she and Manning were safely married. He kept Lucifer to a fast trot and arrived at this door in Mayfair in mercifully quick order.

  Tris strode into the foyer of his townhouse, shedding cape and gloves into the waiting hands of Marks. Hurrying up the polished stairs, into his suite of rooms, he called for Saunders.

  His valet emerged from the dressing room. “My lord?”

  Thankful for a well-run household, Tris dropped onto the bed and Saunders bent to remove his boots. “Call Marks, please.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The efficient Saunders made short work of the boots, rang for the butler, then began to remove Tris’s coat and waistcoat with practiced ease.

  “Yes, my lord?” Marks entered just as Saunders unbuttoned the last silver button.

  “Inform me of the day’s goings on, please. In trying to solve the problems of others I have sadly been remiss with my own affairs.”

  “Very good, my lord.” Standing ramrod straight, the butler began the recitation of household matters. “Nothing of much consequence happened downstairs. Mrs. McGregor had a falling out with the butcher over a brace of fresh hens. She’s now declaring she’ll give her custom to Hodges instead. There were two notes delivered earlier, one from Lady Gorham and one from Sir John Propst. Three letters arrived in the late post.”

  “And they are from…?”

  “Lord Rothbury, Sir Anthony Deal, and Lady Knolls, my lord.”

  Two notes were likely thank-yous for some advice he had given Propst and for a birthday bouquet sent to his aunt. The letters from the gentlemen should be related to business on his estates. The one from his sister was an invitation to dinner before she left London for her home near the Scottish border. She’d told him of it last week at her Christmas party.

  “All of those are on your desk.” Marks drew forth a folded piece of heavy paper, with a large black wax seal. “This one came by hand, not an hour ago, my lord. I thought you would want to see it first thing.” The butler held it out to him.

  Tris sighed and took the letter. From Lord Downing. The writing and the black seal were unmistakable. His heart stuttered. Had the viscount found out about Violet? He stared at the creamy paper, dreading opening it. “That will be all tonight, Marks.”

  The butler bowed and made a hasty retreat.

  Tris rubbed the rough paper between his fingers, a strange foreboding surging through him. He shrugged it off and broke the seal. The man had likely sent to remind him to come down to Wiltshire. He had planned to leave tomorrow, which might still be possible. Violet was now taken care of so there was no reason for him to remain in London. A pang of regret seared through his heart but there was nothing else to do but accept the new situation and move forward. He ripped open the letter and winced at the three brief lines.

  Yes, duty called. Little as he’d like to do so, he should make every effort to leave tomorrow. A vision of Dora, sweet in virginal white, arose as though the letter had conjured her to rebuke him for his thoughts of infidelity. He strode to the sideboard and splashed his favorite brandy into a glass until it slopped over the rim. The sooner he could put Violet Carlton out of his mind the better off he would be. If only his heart would believe that.

  Chapter 19

  Sunshine streamed in through the dining room windows, brightening the pale green walls and infusing the room with a false sense of warmth. Violet sat at the table, her breakfast nearly untouched. She sipped the cooling tea and pinched off miniscule bites of the toast Mrs. Parker had set before her. Even that little bit of bread stuck in her throat. A huge yawn almost dislocated her jaw. She’d passed a fretful night alternating between wakefulness and sleep plagued by menacing dreams in which shadowy figures lunged toward her from the dark corners of the green room at the House of Pleasure. Her eyelids fluttered and drooped. Nothing would please her more than to return to her bed, crawl beneath the covers, and sleep—aided this time by a large slug of brandy.

  First thing this morning, however, Lord Manning had sent a note around requesting permission to call upon her with urgent news. The earl seemed frightfully young and energetic. Violet sighed and turned her teacup this way and that. Most likely this visit had something to do with the special license. She straightened in her chair. Perhaps the wedding must be postponed. That would suit her just fine.

  She did not want to marry Lord Manning.

  Violet crumpled her napkin, tossed it on the plate, and rose. She’d wait for his lordship in the parlor. She chose to sit in the Queen Anne chair rather than the sofa. Less chance of having to sit near the earl. She gripped the chair arms then shook herself. This would not do if she was going to marry the man.

  If. Why did she not want to marry him? From her friend Miss Forsythe she’d learned in addition to his title he possessed reasonable wealth and a number of estates. He was always kind, even gallant as evidenced last night. And handsomely made, with broad shoulders, slim hips, and a chiseled face that would make a nun swoon. A dream come true, in fact. Just not her dream anymore. Because he wasn’t Tristan.

  The truth hurt abominably but it was truth nonetheless. She still loved Tris. The moment he broke into the room last evening she’d known. Her heart had beat like a racehorse thundering down a track. Her whole body had quivered as with an ague. Her gaze had lingered on his face, his dark eyes, although she’d tried to force herself to look away.

  God knew she’d tried to rekindle her outrage at his actions. He’d killed Jamie and hidden it from her. She should hate him for the rest of her life. That she could not pained her almost as much. Better to have stayed and plied her trade at the House of Pleasure. There she’d have had no complications of
the heart or honor to distract her, only focus on the cold business at hand.

  She dropped her head into her hands. She’d need to think the same way about her marriage to the earl, at least in the beginning. Do her wifely duties as one would with a stranger or customer. Eventually she’d get used to him. They might find they suited after a fashion. Tears slid down her face. Had things been different she could have had so much more. Damn. She had to put Tris out of her mind, out of her heart.

  Thomas appeared in the doorway. “Lord Trevor, Miss Carlton.”

  Hastily, she wiped at her eyes and sat up straight in her chair. He’d not see her teary-eyed and think himself the cause.

  Tristan swept in, his big body filling the room as he always did, filling her vision with him alone. The wretch had worn the blue velvet suit he’d worn the night they met. A message for her? He’d pulled his dark hair back in a queue, accentuating his taut jaw. Had something not gone to his liking this morning? His eyes blazed like sapphire flames.

  “Miss Carlton.” He gave an almost imperceptible dip of his head.

  His formality cut her to the bone. With an effort, she managed her own curt nod.

  “Lord Manning sent me a message to meet him here at eleven.” Glancing out the window, he removed his gloves, finger by finger.

  Meet with him? Why on earth would he want to meet with her and Tris together?

  He continued staring out the window.

  Damn him for his reserve. He might have been speaking to one of the men at his club. Well, two could play that game. She sat, lips pursed, hands folded carefully in her lap. Patience was one virtue she still had intact, thank goodness.

  “I trust you are well?” He spit the words out grudgingly.

  Violet bit her cheek to keep from smiling. A small victory, yet hers. “Very well, Lord Trevor. And you, after your late night? No ill effects, I hope?”

  “None whatsoever.” Voice neutral, face a blank mask.

  His impersonal nature saddened her. She had enjoyed their warm friendship so much. No matter what he had done, he had helped her and tried to make it right. Although she might not have forgiven him yet, the wheels had been turning ever since that dreadful confession. Last night in bed, as she tossed and turned and punched her pillow, she’d brooded on his explanation. Enough to understand a little bit better at least.