Page 12 of Only a Mistress Will Do

Trying to mask her disappointment, Violet sipped her tea and said brightly, “Then I will not disabuse Susan of my true status, my lord.”

Trevor set his cup back in its saucer, then ran a finger around the delicate rim. “I suppose Susan may be let in on the secret. You will spend more time with her than the other servants, at any rate.” He left off playing with the cup. “If I can indeed manage to get a butler for you. You may have to make do with Thomas.”

“I’m sure Thomas would do admirably, my lord.”

“You’ve not been used to having servants I take it, Miss Carlton?” Lord Trevor shook his head, his jaw rigid. “I’ll arrange something.” He peered at her, one eyebrow shooting upward. “Would you object to my calling you by your given name? It has been my custom in the past with my previous mistresses. The servants will expect it.” His voice had softened, giving a little wrench to her heart.

“Of course, my lord.” She ducked her head. The familiarity such address implied would take getting used to.

“And you must call me Tristan or Tris.” He smiled and his eyes darkened. “My closest friends do and I believe we have reached that level of intimacy, my dear. If you are to have my protection in all ways, you must give me my name as well.”

“Yes, Tristan.” The sound of his name on her tongue sent a flurry of chill bumps down her arms.

“Delightful.” His gaze lingered on her mouth a second too long, and then he rose. “I am off to appointments for the rest of the morning and afternoon, but if you are willing, I would like to have supper with you this evening. See how you are progressing.”

“Of course, my—”

“Uh-huh.” He wagged a finger at her, trying to pull a stern face. “Not my lord, Violet.”

“Tristan.” As she had suspected, her protector had a playful streak. “I would be honored to have supper with you, although I fear my conversation will be dull in the extreme. I will have to ask Susan for suggestions of something to keep me employed.”

Tris opened his lips, closed them, then quirked the corner of his mouth in a smile. “I believe she will be able to find something to keep you well occupied.” He rose and bowed. “Good morning.” With a jaunty step, he disappeared out the doorway as Thomas scurried forward to clear the dishes.

Her life had changed so much in such a short time she kept expecting to wake up on the hard church bench at St. Anne’s. Or worse in her room at The House of Pleasure. But as long as the dream continued, she’d be glad to share whatever she could with the handsome Lord Trevor.

Chapter 5

Tris left Lammas House whistling an airy tune. As soon as Mrs. Parker had arrived at dawn, he’d gone home, bathed, changed clothes, and returned to see to Violet’s settling in. Having to replace Gates would be tiresome, but necessary since he’d taken on the new duties regarding his charge. She’d been adapting well so far, better than he’d expected, in fact. The only thing still upsetting her was the faux title of mistress.

He chuckled at the memory of her face, bright red when he suggested she’d like to be his mistress. Not that he’d mind at all if she did. His cock stirred and he adjusted his breeches. If not for his betrothal…. Well, it was done, or as good as, this afternoon. And of course, Miss Carlton was a gentlewoman. Hopefully she could play her part long enough for him to find her a position or an offer of marriage. Then she could relax and put this whole episode behind her.

He mounted Lucifer, his bay stallion, and headed him for Dunham House. The Marquess of Dalbury would be very interested in his trip to Madame Vestry’s last night. The horse sped along the streets of Mayfair, bustling this time of morning with smart carriages, ladies shopping, and nursemaids walking with their charges despite the chilly day. Tris breathed deeply, the crisp air enhanced by the earthy scents of dirt and manure, the mélange of London.

Too soon, however, he pulled his horse to a stop before the imposing townhome belonging to his friend. Whistling again, he tossed the reins to a groom, and strode up the short, wide stairs and knocked. His news about Miss Carlton would draw animated comment, no doubt. The door opened and Grayson greeted him.

“Lord Trevor. Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning, Grayson. Is the marquess stirring yet?” Tris entered the house, untying his cloak and handing it to the butler.

“I am sorry, my lord, but Lord Dalbury has just ridden out.”

“The devil you say.” Snatching back his cloak, Tris swirled it around his shoulders in one fluid movement. “Which way was he headed?”

“Hyde Park, I believe, your lordship,” Grayson called after him as Tris rushed back out the door.

In a mad dash, he rounded the side of the house to snare his horse, but he was up and on his way before the saddle had cooled. A touch to Lucifer’s side and they set off at a fast trot, restrained by the gathering traffic. The park was mostly deserted as the fashionable hours for carriages or strolling were much later. Thank God for that. Duncan would be easier to spot. Tris stood up in the stirrups for a better vantage point. Only two gentlemen walking fat geldings to his right. Grass and the pale dust of the bridle path greeted him to his left. Where could the man have gotten so quickly?

About to take off across the manicured lawn, Tris pulled back on the reins and sat. Straight ahead, about halfway down the Serpentine, he spied Duncan going along at a spirited trot. Tris touched Lucifer and the bay leaped forward, as eager as his master to overtake the other horse.

“Ho, Duncan.” Tris reined Lucifer in as they galloped up beside his friend.

“Tris! This is a pleasant surprise.” Lord Dalbury pulled up his horse and beamed at him.

They’d been fast friends since they were boys, attending Winchester for several very harrowing years, followed by a Grand Tour together. A spate of scandals had surrounded Duncan almost a year and a half ago, when their friendship had been tested in the extreme.

“Not as pleasant as you may think.”

“Indeed.” Though the marquess sat his horse easily, tension hummed in every line of him. “Have you heard news of that bastard St. Cyr?”