Page 51 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“If you’d prefer him, I can still challenge Manning. Make him fulfill his promise to you.”

“No.” She leaped to her feet and grasped his hand. Flames licked through her veins. “There has been enough bloodshed. Let us forget and try to forgive.”

Gazing softly into her eyes, he raised her hand to touch his lips. “Does that mean you can now find it in your heart to forgive me, my dearest one?”

Her body trembled and she tried to draw away, but he clasped her hands to his chest, heat blistering her as though she stood in an inferno.

“I scarcely dare to hope you can forgive me, Violet, still I must ask again. I swear to you, if I could return your brother to you and forfeit my life instead, I would do it this instant.”

“No!” She wrenched her hand free and pressed it against his lips. “Do not say such a thing, ever. I would not have my brother back at the expense of your life.” Giving in at last, she leaned against his stalwart frame, soaking in his warmth and the spicy bergamot scent inextricably linked in her mind to Tris. “I have come to understand he was in the wrong. I would have you both, if God could change what is past, but as he cannot, I will be content with the man he chose to let live.” Looking up into the softly shining pools of blue, she cupped his cheek. “It would be a poorer world for me were you not in it, Tristan.”

He folded his arms around her and clasped her to his chest. The regular thud, thud of his heartbeat the sweetest sound imaginable. “You may visit whom you will, Violet. I only pray you find the place in someone’s heart that is not mine to give you.”

Heart breaking, she wrenched herself away. He was right. She must do what must be done. Unable to bear the thought while in his presence, she grasped her skirts and ran for the stairs, tears pouring down her cheeks despite her attempts to stem them. Some things simply could not be stopped.

Chapter 21

“Damnation.” Tris peered at the sky as the light snow of the early morning gave way to thick, wet flakes. He’d left at first light and planned to arrive at Harper’s Grange no later than 6 or 7 o’clock. The weather, however, had not cooperated. He rapped on the trap.

“Yes, my lord?” Hunched against the cold, Stokes squinted through the thickly falling snow.

“How much longer to the Grange?”

“I’d say about another six or seven hours.” He glanced around at the swirling snowflakes. “Maybe more if this gets worse.”

Tris sighed. His raw mood had deteriorated with the long journey and little but his thoughts of Violet to keep him company. He’d done nothing all morning but think of her. At least if he’d made it to Lord Downing’s he would have had companions to distract him from brooding. Dismal to think of spending the night on the road with no company, but there was nothing for it. “What’s the nearest inn we can make?”

Flipping his collar up to avoid the blustering wind, the coachman shivered and said, “Woolhampton’s the closest, my lord. ‘Bout an hour, I expect. The Angel would be my choice.”

“Right, then. We’ll stop there for the night.”

“Very good, my lord.” Stokes’ relieved face vanished as the trap dropped into place, leaving the carriage colder than before.

To keep his sanity, Tris elected to spend the evening in the common room, drinking the inn’s best ale and being regaled with stories from the innkeeper about the local squire whose stallion kept trying to kill its master. He’d been thoroughly entertained until the group broke up to wend their ways home through the still blowing snow.

As soon as Tris closed the door of his chamber, however, the image of Violet, warm, sweet, beckoning him to bed filled his mind. “God, help me.” Rubbing his hand over his face, he attempted to dispel the vision, to no avail. She would haunt him the rest of his life and he had no one but himself to blame.

A hesitant knock on the chamber door brought him a thankful respite. Even if it were only Saunders with some question about tomorrow’s outfit or warm water to wash with, it would save him from more thoughts of her.

A ready smile on his face, he opened the door on Meg, the serving girl from downstairs, a porcelain ewer in her hands. What the devil...?

“Beg pardon, my lord, but I was told to bring up your washin’ water by Mr. Saunders.” She ran her gaze down the length of his body and a smile touched her lips. “I’ll just put it behind the screen for you.” Before he could protest, she strode past him and disappeared behind the folding screen in the corner.

A minute passed, but the girl didn’t return. Letting his head droop, Tris groaned aloud. Damn Saunders. In the past Tris hadn’t minded the valet scaring him up a bit of entertainment for the night, and he’d certainly not be able to relieve his needs once he arrived in Harper’s Grange. Possibly not until the wedding sometime this spring. “Meg?”

The girl stepped from behind the screen. She’d removed her fichu and plumped her breasts so they almost spilled over her white and gray striped bodice. “Yes, m’lord?”

Tris swallowed hard. To his dismay, his cock had perked up at the sight of the girl’s pale, rounded mounds. “You can go now.” A surge from below made him wince.

Meg’s brow puckered. “I thought…I thought I might help you, my lord.” She faced him and jerked her bodice open. Round and dark, her nipples peeked over her shift and stays.

Temptation to give in overwhelmed him. The girl was willing and his stiffening flesh ached for a warm nest. But not this one. “Not this evening, I think.”

Her face flushed red and she flew behind the screen.

He gazed about, searching for a decanter. He’d need a drink, no, several drinks as soon as the woman left.

Meg strode out, her clothing askew, but covering the essential parts, and made a silent beeline for the door, her face still the color of a ripe persimmon.