Page 81 of Only a Mistress Will Do

His eyes were deep sapphire, a private ocean crashing over her, sweeping her out to sea.

“Violet, I love you.” The quiet conviction in his voice would have melted her heart had it not already belonged to him.

Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she let them flow rather than release his grip and lose the power of his touch on her skin.

“I own I have betrayed you, have caused irreparable damage to your family. Yet, I would beg your forgiveness once more. Violet, please show me mercy beyond grace, beyond forgiveness, beyond my hope of heaven, by agreeing to become my wife.” His beloved face shone with love, his mouth parted in a smile both fearful and expectant.

Gallant fool.

“Oh, Tris.” She struggled to speak louder than the whispery words he had to cock his head to hear. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you, my love.”

He jumped to his feet, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her madly before she could draw another breath. His lips crushed hers and her happy tears drenched them both.

“You are caught now,” he said, pausing to whisper in her ear. “You cannot take it back. I won’t let you.”

“Nor I you, my darling.” She threw her arms around his neck, happiness throbbing in every inch of her being. “You will have to kill me to get rid of me.”

“If I may slay you with pleasure, then you may indeed have fear for your life.” Expertly, he settled her between his legs. “For I mean to give you every pleasure invented by man, and a few by women.”

“I will die a happy woman, then.” She rained kisses over his face, his neck, enjoying anew the very taste of him. Never had she believed such a thing would come to pass. How could she wait these two long days? When she’d had no expectation of his love and happiness time had proceeded at a normal pace. Now that she possessed those things, a snail’s pace would be fast in comparison to the crawl of time.

“I prefer you to live a happy woman, Violet, so I may live a happy man.” He kissed her hand, an eagerness about him he’d never shown before. “You’ve made me so very happy, love.”

“And we can marry as soon as your friend arrives?” She could scarcely believe it still.

“Yes.” Pressed this close, the citrusy smell of him filled her head. “First thing tomorrow we’ll discover the local church and seek out the vicar. I shall entreat him to marry us as soon as the special license arrives. We will have no time to waste.” He ran his hands lightly over her back, the movement soothing and arousing all at once.

“Ummm.” She settled herself against him, trying to touch every inch. “You will find no argument from me, my lord.” The sooner they could be man and wife, the sooner they could lay the past to rest. “But why such haste, my love? We could marry in London once this business of the duel is over. Then your friends could be present to wish you happy.”

Stepping back, he left her bereft of his warm comfort and took her hands once more. “I would have us married and you my viscountess before the duel.” He twined their fingers together, smiling at them, though not at her. “In case things go badly wrong, I would have you provided for. Duncan will make certain you will never want for anything.”

“Tris.” She pulled her hands away, cold dread filling the spaces where moments before there had been only joy and warmth. “You mustn’t say such things. Jamie…” As her brother’s face rose before her, she winced. Their situation had been much different, and he had been most confident of returning. Still, he’d had the forethought to give her the advice that had led her in the end to Madame Vestry.

Tris ran a hand through his hair. It came loose from its tie, giving him a wild, forbidding look. “I must make sure you are safe.” He stared at her with an intensity that sent her back a step. “I believe myself the better swordsman, though even the best have met their match to their dismay.” With an effort, he relaxed his face and forced a smile. “I’d be even happier to know I’d left you with my child in your belly, but I trust you would have told me by now if you even suspected you were increasing.” His smile turned rueful, so he looked like nothing so much as a small boy about to be scolded. “I confess I have prayed you’d come to me with such news, for with that circumstance alone I would have cried off the marriage with Dora despite yours or Duncan’s protests.”

She sighed and hung her head. “No, my lord, I have had my courses since we were together at Christmas.” That circumstance had occurred to her as well, and knowing what Tris’s reaction would likely be, she’d resolved to simply disappear. If she’d sold all her things, she could have lived quietly in Susan’s village until the child was born. Thankfully, she’d been spared that decision when her courses had appeared a week later. “But let us not speak of such things now.” She forced a smile to her lips. “We are to be married, which means we should make merry this evening.”

“Indeed we must.” Tris’s brooding countenance lightened. “Let me retire to my chamber. Betsy will return any moment to dress you. Wear something blue for me, love. You are a vision in blue gowns.” His gaze roved eagerly over her figure and her cheeks burned.

“I will do so, my lord, and happily so, if you in turn will wear a certain blue velvet suit if you have it with you.” Despite their history, or perhaps because of it, the thought of him in that garment always lit her with desire.

With a grin, he pulled her to him once more, cradling her against him. “Your wish shall be my command.”

* * * *

The candle in her bedchamber had burned low as Violet tossed and turned in the big four-poster. A comfortable bed, a well-banked, and a room toasty warm should have sent her to sleep immediately. Instead, she sat up, punched her pillow, and lay down again, no more or less comfortable.

She wanted Tris in her bed.

After they’d finished the late supper in the taproom, Betsy had helped her undress, wash, and dress for bed. Violet had attempted to send the girl away, back to the kitchen or her room. Anywhere but here where she would know if Violet stole across the corridor to her “guardian’s” chamber for a night of passion.

Betsy now slumbered peacefully on the trundle bed beneath her, snoring loudly enough to drown out a full orchestra.

Another reason she couldn’t fall asleep.

Violet peered over the edge of the bed at the maid’s swaddled figure, the edge of her mob cap fluttering with every breath and rattling of noise. How deeply did the girl sleep was the question.

With the stealth of a starving tiger, she eased back the covers and slithered to the end of the bed. Inch by agonizing inch she slid off the mattress until her toes touched the icy floor. Peeking around the bedpost, she held her breath.