Page 46 of Only a Mistress Will Do

Tris hefted the decanter, the liquor making a high-pitched glug glug as he topped his tumbler off. So much for not getting drunk. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Manning. She abhors me. I killed her brother for Christ’s sake.”

“Yes, and she’d like to hate you for it, I’m sure.” Grim-faced, Manning set his glass down and picked up his hat. “Much to her distress, however, she doesn’t. She told me in great detail how you’d found her at the House of Pleasure and taken her away. Rescued her, she said. The look in her eyes when she said that did not bespeak hatred.”

Tris’s heart thudded against his chest. If only that were true. And yet…

“As I cannot marry her, it still doesn’t matter whether or not she would have me.” Slowly, he curled his hands into fists. “She has agreed to be your wife. That should be the end of it.”

“Somehow I doubt it will be.” Manning donned his black tricorne, elegantly appointed with gold trim. “I could never have left her in that place any more than you could. I did the only thing I could do, as you say, and offered to marry her.” With precise motions, he adjusted the hat to a jaunty angle. “I had to insist upon it, in fact. The woman was deucedly unwilling. And although she told me a great deal about her life here, what she didn’t tell me is why she left it and returned to the House of Pleasure.” The earl’s cold stare unnerved Tris. “Can you perhaps shed some light on her motive?”

More weary than ever before, Tris slumped into the Chippendale chair. “I have no idea, although I suppose I can conjecture. When I told her I had killed her brother, I suspect she felt so betrayed she wanted to punish me in turn. I don’t know how she knew what a blow her returning to that place would be to me, but it was a master plan. To think I drove her back to that life…well, suffice it to say when I realized where she had gone, having my heart cut out with a dull dessert spoon would have been a treat in comparison.”

“You will make sure she does not attempt to return a second time, won’t you?” Manning’s voice blew through Tris like a cold wind.

“I will leave strict instructions for her to be watched. She won’t be able to use a chamber pot without someone knowing she’s done it.” Thought of Violet stealing away to Madame Vestry’s in order to punish him made him sick inside. He’d gotten lucky this time. Another time he might not.

“I doubt she will take such confinement well. She’s a spirited woman. Even our short acquaintance has shown me that. You’d best make sure your servants understand Miss Carlton’s mettle if they don’t already.” Manning headed for the door then swung back around. “I will hasten the wedding to the best of my ability. By the end of the week, say?”

“Thank you. I believe I can manage that long.” Too long for his taste. He wanted to see Violet as little as possible if he were to keep the pain of her leaving to a manageable level. If it were done, then were best done quickly.

“I’ll send round a note tomorrow, informing Miss Carlton and you about arrangements for the special license.”

“If you have any trouble I’m sure your brother-in-law can help. He’s gotten one before.” His friend’s wedding had been a quick affair under strange circumstances.

“Yes, I remember clearly.” Manning pursed his lips, but said only, “’Til tomorrow then.” With a curt nod, he left.

Tris sat in the deserted parlor, the events of the past two days playing themselves over and over in his mind. How had it gone wrong so badly so quickly? He’d like to believe Violet still loved him, although he could scarce give credence to the earl’s statements. The man had known her for only a few hours. Certainly not long enough to be able to ascertain her deepest emotions. Even if true, their situation was hopeless. He and Violet would marry other people and live comfortable if empty lives. Few men or women could claim true happiness in marriage. Why should they be any different?

After leaving strict instructions with Thomas to have Violet watched, he reluctantly prepared to venture out into the chilly January air. He regretted the need for departure, however, he’d rather face the raw air than Manning’s sword. In any case, the softest bed he’d get in Lammas House tonight would be the sofa, so unlike all the other nights he’d stayed here. After calling Thomas to have his horse fetched, he donned cape and gloves, and finished off his brandy against the bitter night.

The ride home—past women who made their living walking the streets, past homeless figures huddled near a blazing fire in an alleyway—was mercifully short. Each person he passed could have been Violet had he not found her. His stomach sickened at the thought. He’d not be able to relax until she and Manning were safely married. He kept Lucifer to a fast trot and arrived at this door in Mayfair in mercifully quick order.

Tris strode into the foyer of his townhouse, shedding cape and gloves into the waiting hands of Marks. Hurrying up the polished stairs, into his suite of rooms, he called for Saunders.

His valet emerged from the dressing room. “My lord?”

Thankful for a well-run household, Tris dropped onto the bed and Saunders bent to remove his boots. “Call Marks, please.”

“Very good, my lord.” The efficient Saunders made short work of the boots, rang for the butler, then began to remove Tris’s coat and waistcoat with practiced ease.

“Yes, my lord?” Marks entered just as Saunders unbuttoned the last silver button.

“Inform me of the day’s goings on, please. In trying to solve the problems of others I have sadly been remiss with my own affairs.”

“Very good, my lord.” Standing ramrod straight, the butler began the recitation of household matters. “Nothing of much consequence happened downstairs. Mrs. McGregor had a falling out with the butcher over a brace of fresh hens. She’s now declaring she’ll give her custom to Hodges instead. There were two notes delivered earlier, one from Lady Gorham and one from Sir John Propst. Three letters arrived in the late post.”

“And they are from…?”

“Lord Rothbury, Sir Anthony Deal, and Lady Knolls, my lord.”

Two notes were likely thank-yous for some advice he had given Propst and for a birthday bouquet sent to his aunt. The letters from the gentlemen should be related to business on his estates. The one from his sister was an invitation to dinner before she left London for her home near the Scottish border. She’d told him of it last week at her Christmas party.

“All of those are on your desk.” Marks drew forth a folded piece of heavy paper, with a large black wax seal. “This one came by hand, not an hour ago, my lord. I thought you would want to see it first thing.” The butler held it out to him.

Tris sighed and took the letter. From Lord Downing. The writing and the black seal were unmistakable. His heart stuttered. Had the viscount found out about Violet? He stared at the creamy paper, dreading opening it. “That will be all tonight, Marks.”

The butler bowed and made a hasty retreat.

Tris rubbed the rough paper between his fingers, a strange foreboding surging through him. He shrugged it off and broke the seal. The man had likely sent to remind him to come down to Wiltshire. He had planned to leave tomorrow, which might still be possible. Violet was now taken care of so there was no reason for him to remain in London. A pang of regret seared through his heart but there was nothing else to do but accept the new situation and move forward. He ripped open the letter and winced at the three brief lines.