Page 47 of Only a Mistress Will Do

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.

“Do you know why Lord Manning needs to meet with us both?” If he needed Tris’s presence it could scarcely be about the wedding. She slumped in the chair. The nuptials were likely galloping apace.

“I’ve no idea, Miss Carlton. I thought you might be able to shed some light on the subject.” He stared down his nose at her, then sauntered to the sideboard. “I hope he makes haste, for I must leave immediately for Wiltshire.”

Violet drew a deep breath, stung by his reference to Lord Downing’s estate. He was leaving to go pay court to his betrothed. Wretched woman. No, she shouldn’t blame the girl. It was her own folly to have fallen in love with a married man. She would need to work long and hard to quell her feelings for Tris. For now, best to focus on Lord Manning’s visit.

Both summonses were a puzzle. What reason could Lord Manning have for wanting to speak to them together? Perhaps he couldn’t get the special license immediately and they would need to wait for the banns to be read. She would need to continue at Lammas House under Tris’s protection. A plausible and very agreeable excuse for this assemblage. Tris would have nominative control over her while she resided here. Perhaps she’d even see him once in a while when he came to check on things. On her. Her heart thumped noisily in her chest.

Of course, Lord Manning would likely have her and Susan retire to a respectable inn until the reading of the banns could be completed. Nothing could be simpler. So again, why summon Tris?

He raised the decanter, let it hover a moment over the glass, then set it back down on the sideboard. “I am sure there is no impediment to procuring the special license. Manning may simply wish to gift you with a wardrobe more suitable to your coming station.”

Violet’s cheeks burned and she jerked her head downward, staring at her lap. He masked his anger at her leaving with a reproof for leaving behind the clothes he’d bought her. Well, she had been angry too. Angry enough to want to keep nothing from him whatsoever. “I doubt that is the case, although perhaps he wishes for me to have a special gown made for the wedding.” She shrugged. “But then why summon you here?”