Page 75 of Only a Mistress Will Do

The tenor of the room had changed. Never had two men looked so uncomfortable as Harper and Downing. She hoped she could tease the tale out of Tris at some later time. For now, it was enough to draw his coat closer around her. Unless she missed her guess, the drama in the room had not yet seen its climax.

“Since that night in November, I have been assisting Miss Carlton in finding respectable employment. Her family is dead and she has no friends, the reason, I suspect, she was the target of the kidnapping in the first place.” He drew Violet from behind him to his side.

She was loath to move out of the shelter of his tall frame, into the pool of light that exposed her to the curious stares. Like the bugs Jamie used to stick a pin through, anchoring them to a board so he could watch them squirm. The family seemed to have abandoned good manners, for they stared unabashedly at her, even Lady Downing who had regained her senses once more.

“So you can imagine my outrage that, having at last secured Miss Carlton a position in what I believed a decent household, Lord Downing, I find her being attacked by your son.” He clutched her to his side, shielding her from their gaze.

The room erupted into furious cries, screams, moans and shouts.

Violet drew closer to Tris, in an attempt to cover her ears against the deafening uproar.

Poor Dora sank down on the sofa, whiter than milk. She twisted her hands in her lap, staring first at Violet, then Tris, and finally her brother. The unmasked hatred in her face sent a shiver through Violet.

All Violet could see of the duchess was her eyes, like two huge saucers with gray centers. She glared at her nephew, who stood sputtering, opening and closing his mouth like a huge carp.

Her sister moaned and slumped back onto the chaise, her head lolling over the side of the lounge, while Lord Downing stared stonily at Tris.

“That’s a damned lie.” Harper finally found his voice and leaped toward Tris.

“That is the second time in ten minutes you’ve impugned my honor, Harper.” Tris grabbed the man by his ruffled cravat that had come undone. He twisted it until Harper’s face went red. “One would be enough for me to call you out. However,” Tris let go the necktie, shoving the man into his father, “I will take greater pleasure in demanding satisfaction of you for the assault and slanders you have heaped upon Miss Carlton. Name your seconds, sir.”

No, no, no. The words screamed inside Violet’s head. Her heart beat at a frantic pace, as though trying to hammer its way out of her chest. “No, Tris…Lord Trevor, I cannot allow—”

He turned sharply, his finger raised and she gulped back the words.

“I will defend your honor, Miss Carlton, if it is the last thing I do on this earth.”

She bit back a moan at the import of his words.

“I cannot believe you would do this, Trevor.” Lord Downing straightened, gathering his dignity. “Such an accusation is cause for Harper to challenge you.”

“He is welcome to do so if he survives my challenge.” Calmly, Tris pulled down the sleeves of his rumpled shirt, as though he had not a care in the world. “Although such behavior on his part goes far in explaining why you have lost two governesses in the span of three months. The child is obviously not the cause.” With that pronouncement, Tris slid his arm around Violet’s shoulders, drawing her close once more.

Harper had attempted to straighten his clothing, though it remained bedraggled and blood stained. The tendons on either side of his neck stood out like thick ropes. “I’ll meet you, Trevor. Glad to do it. Swords. Tomorrow. There’s a nice clearing in the woods about a mile from the house at the pond. The ground may be a bit soggy, but it should serve to mix your blood with the mud.” He sneered. “Lord Stanley of Witsop and Mr. John Cox will stand as my seconds. I’ll write them now.”

Tris shook his head. “We must postpone the date to allow my seconds to arrive from London. I will write them directly I remove to the inn at Devizes.” He chuckled and Violet shivered at the icy sound. “Although the Earl of Manning and his brother-in-law, the Marquess of Dalbury will not be pleased at such a summons, I am certain they will be here as soon as the post roads allow.”

Florid face paling considerably, Lord Downing sucked in a breath and sat down hard, narrowly missing his wife’s outstretched body.

“Lord Dalbury will attend your seconds as soon as he arrives.” Tris glanced down at Violet, warming her with his gaze. “I will lodge Miss Carlton at the inn as well. She will be well enough tonight. I can get one of the servants to serve as her companion for now. I’ll instruct Dalbury to bring her maid.” He returned his searing gaze to Harper. “Three days, sir.” Then to Downing, “Your servant, my lord.” Pressing his hand into the small of Violet’s back, an intimate touch that thrilled her despite the disastrous swirl of events that had just transpired, Tris urged her toward the door.

“Lord Trevor.” The quiet voice reverberated like a bell in the silence.

Everyone turned toward Dora, standing behind the sofa, chin raised, lips firm.

Violet’s heart went out to the girl she had been able to call friend so briefly.

Tris stopped and faced her. “Yes, Miss Harper?”

Twisting her hands until her fingers were white, Dora finally managed to speak. “Under the circumstances, as you have challenged my brother, I regret to tell you I must release you from your promise of marriage. I cannot, in good conscience, marry a man who would cause my brother harm.” Her eyes flashed like hard gems at Tris. “I think we will not meet again, my lord.” With one agonized look at Violet, she picked up her skirts and fled.

“Dora! Come back this instant!” Downing roared at the figure in white disappearing out the doorway.

“Oh, let her go.” Harper gingerly pulled another sliver of glass from the leg of his breeches. “Trevor would never marry her now he’s got his whore back with him. And you shouldn’t—”

Tris’s right fist connected with Harper’s nose, producing a spectacular crunch.

The man flew backwards again, into a tall stand holding a bust of Caesar. The bust shattered into a thousand pieces of plaster, raining down on the still, bloody figure on the floor.