Page 34 of Only a Mistress Will Do

He grazed her forehead with his lips. “It will be all right. Trust me.” The smile he gave her was forced, which boded ill. “Now I think you should ring for breakfast before Mrs. Parker complains we don’t appreciate her.” At last he produced a real grin, all gloom gone. “That would be a tragedy.”

Chapter 13

Tris pushed past Grayson, the Marquess of Dalbury’s butler, and strode down the hallway into his friend’s office unannounced. He’d made a muddle of everything, but if anyone could help him sort it out, Duncan could.

The marquess, sitting behind his huge mahogany desk, penning some missive, jerked his head up, rose and drew his sword in one liquid movement.

Skidding to a halt, Tris pulled his own weapon from its scabbard.

“Oh, hell, it’s you.” Duncan’s shoulders relaxed, he sheathed his sword, and sank back into his leather chair.

“S’blood, Duncan. Who the devil did you think it was?” Tris eyed him warily. He’d never seen his friend so edgy.

“That French fiend, St. Cyr. I expect him to come demanding Juliet at any moment.” A dangerous scowl appeared as Duncan frowned, then picked up an engraved tumbler of what looked like very good whisky, and gulped a third of the contents.

“Christ, what happened on Christmas Eve?” Thinking it apparently hadn’t been a merry holiday for any of them, Tris sauntered over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. God, he needed more than one. “I was at the back of the ballroom, talking to Lord and Lady Bellamy, when that ruckus broke out at the entrance. By the time I’d excused myself and made it to the foyer, I could find no one who would tell me a thing.”

“Servants who wouldn’t talk? Perhaps it is the Second Coming.” Duncan sobered. “That damned scoundrel St. Cyr brought a Runner and a warrant and forced Juliet to leave with him.”

Tris snorted and whiskey went the wrong way down his throat. Coughing and sputtering, he tried to draw breath.

Duncan watched him, fear in his face. “Are you all right, Tris?” He sprang up, but Tris waved him back.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed. “Why aren’t you out looking for Juliet this minute?” Tris cleared his throat one last time and the spasm passed.

“My father died of such a coughing fit at the dinner table.” Jaw quivering, he shifted in his seat, averting his eyes from Tris. “Morley followed them and found her an hour or so later. His military skills are top notch, I must say. Tracked her like a hound to the hunt. She’s now in hiding until either the marriage is annulled, proven false, or someone kills the bastard.” Duncan swallowed the rest of his drink at a gulp. “I thought it was him when you burst in.” The haunted look in his eyes ceased, and he reared back in his chair, eying Tris. “What brings you here? I thought you were to go into Wiltshire to Downings’s after Christmas.”

Tris slumped into a worn leather chair. “I was. Now I can’t.”

“Can’t? Why ever not?”

Suddenly preoccupied with his drink, Tris dreaded the next few minutes. We who are about to die salute you. “I need you to help me break the betrothal with Miss Harper.”

“What?” Tension snapped back into his body as Duncan sat bolt upright. “Are you mad? You can’t jilt the daughter of a peer. You can’t jilt anyone and hope to escape the ton unscathed. But Downing’s daughter? The man’s related to half the kingdom and has more money than Croesus.” He narrowed his eyes and drummed a finger on the desk. “Talk sense, Tris. What has happened?”

“Miss Carlton happened.” God he hated to give this confession to Duncan of all people.

“What do you mean?” The voice dripped ice.

“I mean that I love her. I want to marry her and be happy for the rest of my life instead of tied to a woman I will never love.”

“You’ll be ruined, as will Miss Harper.” Drawing himself up like some avenging god, the marquess rose. “I forbid it. I will not allow you to commit social suicide and live in exile for the rest of your life, much less help you do it.” He marched over to the decanter. “You are merely infatuated with Miss Carlton. You need a good and thorough bedding is all. You’ll forget all about her.”

“Like the ones I had last night? And again this morning?” The memory of those encounters made him long to hold Violet’s body against him again. Never to let go. “I assure you, I’ve forgotten nothing about her.”

“What the devil does that mean?” Duncan stared at him, his hand poised with the decanter over his glass.

Tris met his stare and shrugged.

“Good Christ in heaven. You didn’t…After I told you to get as far away from her as possible you took her to bed?” The decanter thumped down on the sideboard.

“I tried, tried damn hard to stay away from her.” Jumping to his feet, Tris headed toward his friend. “Managed it for a week or so, although I thought about her constantly. And when she asked me to visit her on Christmas Day, I thought we would say goodbye.” After seizing the bottle, Tris sloshed brandy into his glass and took a long sip. “Donningham had shown an interest, you see. So I was sure she wanted to tell me she’d be leaving soon.”

“Well, at least she had the good sense to know you couldn’t marry.”

“Yes, but then instead of saying goodbye, she played a composition she’d written for me. And it was over. I couldn’t resist her any longer. Didn’t want to.”

“She composed a song for you?”