Page 37 of Only a Mistress Will Do

All now in readiness for his return, Violet finished the last bite of the delicious scone and headed downstairs to the music room. The moment she entered, the scene from last night played itself out before her, as though she were watching a drama on the stage. She and Tristan locked in that bone-crushing embrace. Her cheeks flamed even as her body quivered. He could not arrive too soon.

Violet shook herself, discipline returning, and sat down at the harp. She strummed the strings softly, a caress for an old lover. No, this would never do. Determined to focus on her task, she forced herself to play some scales, limbering up her fingers. The final one flowed into the opening strains of the composition she’d written for Tris. She hadn’t given it a name until the hasty one last night. Before she’d merely thought of it as Tris’s Air. But if he liked that one, then so be it. Plucking the familiar strings, she lost herself as always. This time, however, not in the music, but in the memory. The candlelight, the warmth of the room, the faint scent of beeswax. Tristan’s gaze on her, his eyes black with desire. She reached the crescendo of the piece, pouring all her heart, her passion, her soul into the music until it engulfed her, as if in a lover’s embrace.

The last of the quivering strings fell silent and she sat back, almost as sated as this morning. Movement to her right. She turned.

Tris stood in the doorway, breathtakingly splendid in a jacket of emerald green, embellished with gold braid and topaz buttons over brown leather breeches that hugged every curve of his magnificent body.

She jumped up, the harp thumping to the floor, ran to him and threw her arms around him.

He bent his head, seizing her lips, crushing her body against him so tightly her ribs ached. Without warning, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, possessing her totally. The word “mine” echoed in her head.

Catching the urgency of his passion, she strained into him, kissing him back with sweet abandon fueled by the power of the music that still coursed through her.

At last he broke the kiss and cupped her cheek with his palm. His gaze bore into her, revealing a longing she didn’t understand.

After that kiss she’d expect flaming hot desire, not sadness. “What’s wrong, Tris? Didn’t you get to see your friend, the marquess?”

He dropped his hands from her face and turned from her.

“Did he convince you not to marry me?” What else would cause such devastation in his eyes? “Truly, it’s all right, my love. I told you as long as we can be together, I don’t care if we are married or not.”

“Violet.” He reached toward her, then jerked his hand back. “Can we sit down, please?”

“Of, course.” Concern welled within, frightening her, though she schooled her face to nothing but a pleasant smile. Truly, he looked very ill. “Come, let’s go into the parlor where it will be more comfortable.” She took his arm as they sedately walked the few steps.

The parlor fire had burned low, but she didn’t want to wait for a servant to build it up. Whatever it was, he needed to tell her now. She should have known it would take him some time to agree they could never marry. As long as she assured him of her love and that she would stay with him despite society’s censure, he would find a way to accept it.

They sat on the sofa and she took his hand. It lay limp in hers and her concern rose. He had never acted this despairing before. “Please tell me what troubles you, my love. I cannot bear to see you so distressed. Did the marquess dissuade you from breaking your betrothal to Miss Harper?”

“He asked me to put it off until I had talked to you.” Hard lines etched themselves into his familiar face, turning it to granite.

“About becoming your mistress?” She clasped his hand, cold as a midwinter’s morn, and squeezed it. He obviously didn’t believe she loved him enough to sacrifice her honor for his. For him and no other.

“No, my dear. Not that.”

“Then what, my love? Why are you so distraught?”

“Because I have a tale to tell you I would give my fortune and title not to have to tell.” He lifted her head, his palm cradling her face. “Let me look at you, Violet, as you are at this moment.” He gazed intently into her eyes, the sadness in his even deeper.

Dread seized her heart and squeezed it with icy fingers.

“Please believe I love you. That will not change until the land falls into the boiling sea at Judgment Day.”

“Tell me.” The croak emerged from a mouth gone bone dry with fear.

He kissed her hand, then released it and stood up. “When we met at the House of Pleasure, I told you I knew your brother.”

“Yes, you said you had a slight acquaintance with him. You never told me how you met.” The abrupt change of subject confused her. Why bring up Jamie now?

“I did know him briefly, just before he died.” Tris paced to the sideboard and poured a full tumbler of brandy.

“How did you know him?” Jamie had never spoken of a Lord Trevor to her recollection. He certainly hadn’t traveled in the same circles as Tris.

“In the spring of 1760, Duncan, my friend the marquess, was obliged to fight several duels defending the honor of his sister, Lady Juliet. Her fiancé had broken off their engagement because rumors had surfaced regarding insanity in the Ferrers family. You remember the scandal regarding the Earl Ferrers?”

Violet nodded. When the earl had killed his steward, the ton had been shocked. He’d actually been hanged for the crime, creating an even bigger sensation. “They are part of that family?”

“Through marriage only, but of course, people will spread wild stories. One of the men who slandered Lady Juliet was Christopher Davies.”