His Temporary Mistress

by Bethany Sefchick

  No, the vagrant guards were designed only to keep away real vagrants and any miscreants stupid enough to venture too close to the establishment that was Dory’s ultimate goal. The place was more closely guarded than Carlton House, at least if she had to guess. And with good reason.

  Being seen here, in this alley or near the fabled Peacock Door that lay to her right, would create a scandal unlike any that London had seen in years. Not many were stupid enough or foolish enough to risk such utter ruin. Those who came here always had more than enough power and wealth and social standing to withstand any scandal, no matter how wretched, should they be discovered. No, those who were bold enough to venture into Dionysus would not suffer too much if they were discovered.

  All except Dory, of course, but that should not come as a surprise to anyone. Or at least not to anyone who knew her before her year at Mrs. Smithson’s School for Young Ladies – before the real Mrs. Smithson had passed away, of course.

  Before her time at the finishing school, Dory had been a hoyden. A hellion. And worse.

  Growing up as Viscount Chilton’s sister, she had also picked up some rather unsavory habits which included spying, eavesdropping, learning how to rifle through papers without anyone being the wiser, and, oh yes, the fine art of lock picking.

  Dory also read the naughty books in her brother’s library, but then, what curious young lady wasn’t doing the same these days? Especially if they had a rake for a brother? When she had been discovered to be in possession of one of those books a few months ago, Dory had, of course, pointed out to Frost that if he wished to hide them from his sisters, then perhaps the family library was not the best place to store them.

  Still, he had forgiven her for that little indiscretion. Or at least she assumed he had because the naughty books remained where they were – just behind his enormous floor globe – and the selection was added to on occasion. If Frost truly didn’t want his sisters to read those books? They would have been gone after that initial discovery.

  Still, the books were, in the end, a trifling matter. No, out there looming large was Dory’s worst offense – her propensity for rifling through the Chilton estate ledgers and household books where she made notes and corrections of her own. And not just any notes but business notes. Which, to her mother and brother, was just as bad as if she had written a novel for the Minerva Press. Possibly worse. Though Frost had taken it rather well when Dory informed him that someone in the household, likely a scullery maid, was being horribly overcharged by the local fishmonger.

  Frost also hadn’t been too upset when Dory had shown him small ways to save money on various estate matters, including the installation of drainage systems in the western field at their Scottish estate so that the field produced a better yearly yield. He had been a tiny bit angrier when she pointed out that he had missed a decimal point when totaling up his tenants’ rents last quarter, but really, that was a mistake that had to be fixed or else everything else would be off for ages.

  And in the end, Frost was appreciative of her efforts. Even if he didn’t consider them proper or ladylike and something that Mrs. Smithson should have conditioned out of his sister long ago. He also wondered why he had wasted good coin on a finishing school that did not properly teach a young lady decorum. Or what was required of her to be a proper Society wife to a gentleman of title and fortune.

  Dory had insisted to Frost that Mrs. Smithson had done her job. Just as every governess that had come before her had. It was simply that in the end, Dory found it nearly impossible to curb her natural inclination for business and numbers. Especially when more lady-like pursuits such as drawing and watercolors and embroidery were just so bloody…boring!

  The truth of it was, Dory liked business matters, along with riding and shooting and other more manly pursuits, which might have been socially acceptable in small does or even on their own. However, when mixed with her propensity for trouble – not to mention the lock picking and eavesdropping part – made her entirely unsuitable for the marriage mart.

  Yes, she had talents in abundance, but these were hardly talents suitable for a young lady about to make her come out with an eye toward making a good match. Which, in the end, was why she had been sent off to Mrs. Smithson’s in the far reaches of Hertfordshire. Because if Dory could not acquire some polish and tame her hoyden ways? She would not be welcomed in the drawing rooms of London. Nor would she be viewed as marriage material, which was, of course, her mother’s goal – to see Dory make the best match possible with all due haste. After all, what else was to be done with her? She wasn’t all that remarkable. At least not in the ways Society deemed acceptable.

  So, Dory had done her best at Mrs. Smithson’s and learned the lessons presented to her. In fact, she learned them quite well and was now considered extremely skilled in many of the feminine arts. But beneath her newly acquired polish, she was still Frost’s sister.

  And nothing and no one could change that.

  She still liked bookkeeping. And riding. And shooting. And picking locks so that she could read books that would cause her mother to faint dead away if she saw them let alone knew that Dory read them.

  She was still rebellious. Still a hellion. Still more than anyone saw or believed her to be.

  Which was why she still took foolish risks and did things that she knew might lead to her social ruin – such as venturing into the wicked halls of a place like Dionysus. Just as she had that night a few weeks ago.

  Even then, Dory had known coming here at all was a risk, but she had done so anyway.

  Now? It was still a risk, perhaps greater than before, but she still came here anyway. To her, it was, quite simply, worth the risk.

  On the other hand, if anyone found out she was here, she would be ruined. There was no question about that. As would her entire family. If people found out how she was dressed beneath the voluminous black velvet cloak, even with her elaborate mask in place for protection? Well, that would be even worse. Which was why she was so careful to make certain no one knew where she went once a week, moving in the shadows like a common criminal, even though she was far from being one of those nasty sorts.

  Because this place and what lay behind these walls? They were worth the risk. Any risk. Even the risk of being followed and discovered.

  However, as far as Dory could tell, she wasn’t being followed this night. At least not yet. Though if she weren’t careful, she probably soon would be. Someone would eventually become curious and follow her. She didn’t want that, for if anyone discovered where she was going, there would be a lecture, confinement to the house and quite possibly an immediate marriage to a man she wasn’t all that certain she liked any longer.

  Her “almost but not quite” betrothed, one Mr. Harry Greer, a renowned Bow Street Runner who was also the most esteemed Runner in all of England, really was a nice man and a good friend. Most of the time. However, since the Christmastide season at Highburn Castle, Dory had come to realize that Harry was more of a friend to her than a potential lover. Though after their raging fight in Lady Covington’s front hall this evening, they might not even be friends any longer.

  She really had said some awful things to him, and she had to hope and pray that, in time, Harry would forgive her. Though, to be fair, she had only said those things because he would not listen to her at all – not to anything she said. Ever. Though she had a feeling he might have heard her tonight. At least a little.

  For the last several weeks Dory had tried her best to make Harry understand that they were both different people now than they had been when they had first met – something that she thought he knew deep inside anyway – and that being together simply for the sake of being together because it was now expected wasn’t enough for her. At least not anymore.

  Not when she had finally found a way to be something more than an invisible piece of household furniture that was only trotted out when necessary for a man who felt nothing more than mild affection for her. Not when Dory had finally f
ound something – or rather someone – who made her feel alive.

  She was still willing to take the risk. Even if indulging in her new passion would likely bring scandal down upon them all if she was discovered. Which she fervently hoped and prayed she would not be.

  Harry wouldn’t find out, of course. At least not tonight, for Dory was certain he had not followed her out of Lady Covington’s ball, probably because she had hurt his pride and his feelings. Assuming he had any feelings, of course. She wasn’t certain of that these days.

  She had also managed to elude the Bow Street Runner he had sent after her, though she would admit that changing her clothes in a rented suite of rooms in St. James had likely helped her cause. As had the hack she had hired to bring her to this deserted alley once she had emerged from the rooming house looking more like a lady of the night than the proper Society debutante she truly was.

  Still, one of these days, Harry would discover where she had been going. Dory could not elude him and his men forever, nor would she try. After all, he had been having her trailed for the last month or so and he had to be getting close to discovering where she went. Actually, he had been having her followed ever since someone at Chillton House had discovered that every Thursday night for the last six weeks, she had been disappearing for several hours and then reappearing at home. Precisely where she was supposed to be, hoping no one would be the wiser.

  Oh, no one said anything to her directly, of course, and some probably gave it little more than a passing thought. There were far more important things going on at the moment – including the near-shambles of Rayne and Sarah’s marriage, their mother’s poisoning, and Aurelia’s hasty marriage to Lord Hugh Hunt. But Dory knew that at least one person at Chillton House – likely a member of the upper staff – suspected that she was sneaking off to someplace that she ought not to be.

  Tonight, however, Dory didn’t care. Tonight she was as free as she had ever been since she began these weekly visits of hers to the gaming hell, Dionysus. Her brother Frost was at home with his wife, who had entered her confinement in anticipation of the birth of their first child. Dory’s older sister, Sarah, and her husband, the Earl of Raynecourt, were holed up somewhere here in London on a second honeymoon after the near destruction of their marriage because of secrets Sarah had kept. Dory’s younger sister, Aurelia, and her new husband, Lord Hugh Hunt, the future Marquess of Strattfield, were on their first honeymoon in Scotland and apparently deep in the throes of wedded bliss.

  As for Dory’s mother? Well, Lady Clara Tillsbury, the dowager viscountess, was currently resting and recovering back at Chillton House under the care of the esteemed Dr. Hastings, the so-called “Society Physician,” after her daily tea had been poisoned by the despicable Mr. James Kirkland, former owner of Iniquity, another London gaming hell, in an attempt to secure Aurelia’s hand in marriage for his own and hurt Hugh at the same time.

  All of which meant that Dory was, essentially, on her own, let loose upon the ballrooms of London with no chaperone and no one to even remember that she existed.

  Well, for the most part, no one remembered that she existed, anyway.

  The Chillton House staff, most notably the butler, Claxton, remembered, as did Dory’s maid, Helen, but beyond that? There were few people around to care, especially with so much else going on with the family.

  As there was nothing notable about Dory’s life at present, save for her increasingly frequent arguments with Harry, she was, as always, relegated to the background of everyone else’s life. Which made it that much easier for her to slip out of the house and venture to the one place that had captured her attention like no other in the last few weeks – Dionysus.

  Opened only a little more than a year ago, the gaming hell was much more than a place to lose some coin at faro for a few hours. Rather, Dionysus was more of a pleasure club, though no one went so far as to refer to it in that fashion – though just about everyone in London who could read a newspaper knew what it really was.

  Behind the opulently carved inner doors that depicted its namesake Greek god in all of his depravity, a person – man or woman and of any class, which was unusual for London – could have their heart’s desire. So long as they had the coin. Within the stately building, with its red brick accented by white and gold trim, just about every pleasure and vice was available for the right price. Women, men, drink, gaming, other intoxicants. The list of vices went on and on.

  And on every Thursday night, Dionysus offered a select group of people something that most London-dwellers secretly wished for, but would never admit aloud to desiring – the chance to become anonymous for a night and be whoever and whatever they wished to be under the guise of a lavish, elaborate masquerade ball.

  Dory wasn’t even certain how she had first heard about the masquerade balls. Most likely eavesdropping on Frost or his friends well before reporting on the event had become a gossip rag tradition. That was how she learned about most of the things she wasn’t supposed to know, after all.

  However, it had been Hugh, in particular, who had inadvertently described to Dory in rather vivid detail all of the luxury and pleasure that made the animal-themed masquerade the most sought-after invitation in all of London these days. And yes, she had been eavesdropping at the time.

  Two months ago, when Hugh had been ardently pursuing Aurelia, he had stopped by to warn Frost that Dionysus’ primary owner, a Lord Jeremy Dunn, was attempting to lure a select group of not-quite-on-the-shelf ladies to attend one the scandalous pleasure masquerades and that Hugh’s contacts within Dionysus had insisted that Dory was on the list of women Dunn was targeting. Hugh had described in vivid detail what sorts of activities went on within the club, how the attendees dressed for the masquerade – very scandalously, unsurprisingly – and how Dunn was most likely attempting to “corrupt” an entire group of young Society women for reasons that no one could figure out as of yet.

  Because according to Hugh, that was simply what the man did. Jeremy Dunn bedded women. Lots of them. As many as he could every night. Probably because he could and probably because he had a grudge of some sort against the aristocracy, even though he himself was a second son. At least that was the truth according to Hugh Hunt.

  Frost had scoffed, saying that at four and twenty, Dory was not yet on the shelf, even though Dory herself knew that wasn’t true. By Society’s standards, she was old, well past marriageable age, and if this Lord Dunn really was targeting Society women who were unlikely to wed? Then she was, in fact, a prime candidate for his machinations.

  Hugh, however, had insisted that the club owner was up to something, likely something no good. There were rumors that Dunn, who was known to be heartbreakingly handsome, was looking to build a harem for himself or possibly snare a bride from a good family, considering his own family’s wretched state of affairs. Other rumors said that Dunn was looking to staff his club with fallen society women, just as had happened at the former brothel, Lycosura. There were other rumors as well, but Hugh had refused to repeat them to Frost, saying he feared it would give the other man nightmares.

  Of course, Frost had vowed to keep a close eye on Dory, but he had also insisted that the sister he knew so well wasn’t stupid enough to fall prey to such tricks. Which was true; Dory wasn’t. However, she was becoming bold enough, not to mention angry enough at being overlooked, to be intrigued by what she had heard.

  Was this man really such a beast? He was known as Lord Raven in the gossip sheets, and those publications didn’t describe him as being all that wicked. Just sensual. But not wicked.

  And instantly, despite her better judgment, Dory had becoming intrigued…

  By the time Hugh departed from Chilton House an hour later, Dory still didn’t know if anything he had said about Dionysus and Lord Dunn was true or not. What she did know was that when Hugh and Frost had left the Chillton House library, Hugh had also left behind a single ticket to the next masquerade.

  And Dory, who had never strayed very fa
r from the proper path set out before her after returning from Mrs. Smithson’s, decided to seize the opportunity that had suddenly presented itself.

  Because if she didn’t? She would regret it. She wasn’t certain how she knew that. She just did.

  So, she had waited for a few minutes to make certain Frost didn’t return before sneaking into the library and plucking the ticket from the side table where Hugh had placed it, almost like a beacon set out to temp her into following the wicked path he had described. Dory was certain Hugh hadn’t meant to leave the ticket behind, nor could he have imagined that she might find the entire idea of a seductive masquerade tempting – but she had.

  For once, Dory saw a chance to be something more than she was. Something more than just an unnoticed wallflower at balls. More than simply Frost’s sister or the woman that Harry Greer was maybe-sort-of-but-possibly-not-really courting. She could finally be Dory Tillsbury, whoever that was. Because Dory didn’t know who she was. As the middle sister and the “unremarkable” one, she had always been defined by her siblings. Never on her own achievements, should she ever have any.

  But this? This ticket to that masquerade? It could give her the chance to be the sister who broke the rules. The one who stepped out of line and took a risk, even if no one ever knew. But Dory would know and in the end? That would be enough.

  Being discovered could also ruin them all socially, but it was a risk Dory was willing to take. After all, she would be wearing a mask. Who would see her? Who would even know?

  So Dory took the ticket and with the help of Helen, her maid, she fashioned a scandalous costume fit for a decadent masquerade ball and she set off for Dionysus.

  The first night had been a revelation – in more ways than one.