Page 16 of Only a Mistress Will Do

Her face blazed like a furnace. How could she think of such a thing? Although whenever the memory of his heavy body pressing her into the mattress returned, as it did with an alarming frequency, it didn’t fill her with fear or disgust as before. Thought of his hands on her, his fingers circling her nipples, his palms hot against her thighs, filled her instead with a strange longing deep within. Oh, but she was turning into a wicked woman. The House of Pleasure had changed her despite her brief residency.

“Are you ready for me to wash your hair, miss?”

Violet snapped out of her indecent reverie and sat up quickly. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Susan lathered and rinsed her hair, then squeezed it in a thick piece of toweling. “We need to have you ready just after luncheon.”

“Ready for what?” Violet jerked her head up. Tristan had put her fears to rest, or so she’d thought. Still she was living here under his protection in the guise of his mistress. How easy it would be for him to make the arrangement a true one.

“Lord Trevor’s sent for Madame Angelique, the mantua maker, to outfit you, miss. She’ll be here at two o’clock sharp.” Alternating between cloth and brush, Susan worked methodically to dry and untangle her hair.

“Madame Angelique?” Dear Lord, the premiere dressmaker in all of London coming to outfit her?

“You have heard of Madame Angelique, haven’t you?” Susan’s eyebrows swooped up like startled birds.

“Of course I have heard of her.” But she scarcely dared to dream of having one of the woman’s legendary creations. “I just had no idea Lord Trevor would choose to outfit me so grandly.”

“Why ever not?” The maid’s words were muffled through a mouthful of hairpins as she brushed and twisted and pinned her hair up. “Lord Trevor is most particular that his mistresses be as fashionable as possible. He is a long-time customer of Madame.”

Was this more proof he intended to make her his mistress? What other explanation could there be? She had no claim on him, save for a passing acquaintance with her brother. So why would he take such pains to dress her well if not for his own enjoyment? The more Violet thought of it, the angrier she became. Why didn’t he just come out and tell her that’s what he wanted from her? Why keep denying it? Did he think after giving her the clothes, the food, and the servants, she wouldn’t be able to say no when he finally asked her?

Finished with the coiffure, Susan darted into the dressing room and emerged with a simple robe de chambre in green silk damask. She held it out to Violet and the lovely garment slid smoothly over her skin, soft and soothing as the bathwater.

“Wherever did this come from?” Violet asked, rubbing her cheek against the sleek fabric. She hadn’t enjoyed the luxury of silk for over a year.

“His lordship sent to Madame Angelique for it first thing this morning. He said he believed you would like to wear something other than your one gown.” Susan tied the sash for her then sat her down in front of the mirror on the toilette table.

“Lord Trevor is a very thoughtful man.” Reveling in the richness of the garment, Violet trailed her fingers slowly down the arms of the robe. She’d been dreading putting the lavender gown on again. Somehow she didn’t feel clean in it any more.

“He knows how to treat women, I can tell you that.” Susan gave a quick nod, then hurried into the dressing room again, this time returning with a pair of pale green satin mules, embroidered with pink rosebuds. “Here, try these on.”

Violet stared at the shoes then cut her eyes over at Susan. “I suppose Madame Angelique happened to have a pair of shoes in her shop as well?”

“No, miss.” The woman laughed. “These are mine. Miss Starke gave them to me when she left. When Lord Trevor sent me for the robe, I stopped back at home and got them.” Susan laid her hand on Violet’s shoulder. “I thought you’d like to have new shoes as well.”

Violet put her hand over Susan’s. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for Lord Trevor and you.” A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away. No reason to start the waterworks now.

“Let me go down and get Mrs. Parker to make you some tea.” A swift squeeze of her hand, and Susan left.

Violet sighed. She scarcely recognized the woman staring back at her from the mirror. Oh, of course the clothes were different and her hair had been coiled on her head and a lace handkerchief pinned over its shiny chestnut mass. But the eyes that looked back at her weren’t those of the woman she had been a week before. Before the House of Pleasure and Madame Vestry. Before Lord Trevor had opened the door of the green room and showed her a glimpse of what men and women did in the night together. This new woman must decide if that glimpse was enough for her or if she had changed into a woman who would give more if only he would ask.

* * * *

Tris rapped on the door of Lord Downing’s study. The viscount had kept him waiting for the better part of half an hour. Their appointment had been made for one o’clock, which should have given him plenty of time to take care of the settlements and return to the Weldon Street house in time for Madame Angelique’s visit. He did so enjoy watching as Madame plied her trade so skillfully. Not that Angelique held any charms for him. However, watching women take off and put on clothes was one of the pleasures in which he always indulged himself. He loved women dressed in the first stare of fashion. He loved them undressed as well. And watching Violet try on all the outfits he had suggested to the mantua maker would be incredibly fun and arousing. Of course, today’s appointment would be primarily measurements, although his note to Angelique had specified at least two gowns to be made up to the point they could be fitted, finished, and returned completed by first thing in the morning. Violet couldn’t sit around in her one purple gown.

“Come.”

Tris pressed the latch and entered the dim study.

His future father-in-law stood behind his desk, bent over, making notations on various papers strewed over the surface. He didn’t look up.

“Good afternoon, Lord Downing.” Tris bowed and approached the desk.

Nothing resembling marriage settlements occupied the untidy surface. The largest piece of paper, embellished with a pair of cherubs holding a shield, bore the words, A Map of the Manor and Haven of Bromley in Yorkshire. Ah, Downing was contemplating the settlement.

The Bromley estate, five hundred acres and a large manor house, abutted Tris’s family lands in Northern Yorkshire. Several generations of Marshalls had lusted after the piece of property. The Harper family, however, had a tendency to produce mostly male children. Dora Harper was the first female in three generations suitable in age to be a bride for a Trevor. Tris’s father had impressed it upon him for years to do his duty and marry the girl to secure the land. His father hadn’t lived to see the union. Still, Tris could imagine the old man rubbing his hands together and gloating over his triumph. Tris had been waiting most of his life for the girl to grow up so he could marry her. Well, finally the day was at hand.

“I finished the settlements this morning, Trevor. The original agreement, between your father and I, has now been codified with specific instructions for the transfer of the property upon your marriage to my daughter. Sign here.” The shrewd little man with a slight paunch and a knife-edged nose handed him the quill.