Page 84 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“Well, Lord Downing would give much to never set eyes on Duncan again. Simon Harper was one of the first men to dishonor Duncan’s sister Juliet with his slanderous lies.”

“He what?” She shot up, hovering over Tris. “And your friend let him live?” If the marquess hadn’t killed Harper, then why had he killed Kit for the same offense? And led to Jamie’s death. The old wound bled afresh. Why of all people had Tris been the one to defend his friend and inadvertently kill Jamie?

“Shhh.” As if he knew her thoughts, Tris wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him. “Had Duncan been allowed to meet Harper, his wife would likely have been a widow long before he injured her. Downing came to Dunham House, Harper at his heels like a whipped puppy. He wanted the duel, was mad to pit himself against the marquess. Downing, however, had found out about Duncan’s reputation with a blade and pleaded with him to spare his heir. Harper had to make a public apology to Duncan and retract his statement about Lady Juliet.” Tris stroked her arm, soothing her prickly mood. When his strokes moved to her breast, tension of another kind began to build.

“Ummm.”

He slid down beneath the covers until only his head poked out. “Let us see if I can do better.” Beginning at the tip of her breast, he kissed the tender flesh, then pulled the nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue.

“Ahhh.” Her body flushed, exquisite heat rising all over her.

He stroked the other breast, tweaking the nipple in counterpoint to the ravages his mouth was making on the other.

How had she believed she could ever live without him? He knew her body better than she did, certainly how best to pleasure it.

“Ohhh.” She couldn’t keep silent as she caught fire. Her hips twitched, seeking his other heat.

Swiftly, he lifted himself over her, settling between her thighs, and the ache there became excruciating.

“I need to feel you inside me, Tris.” She kneaded his back, ready to beg him to fill her again.

“Soon, love.” He kissed her lips, then vanished beneath the covers. His kisses continued to roam along her body, over breasts, stomach, the tender flesh above her mound. Heat seared her cheeks and she moaned as he searched through her thicket, his tongue like a hound nosing out game. When he brushed a sensitive spot, she shrieked and shot bolt upright as tongues of fire filled her core.

Tris slid his hand up her body, soothing her, urging her back upon the mattress.

Bit by bit she relaxed back onto the bed, moaning and writhing as he continued to stroke her intimate flesh. Madame Vestry had told her of such a spot, but never had she given it any thought. Until Tris had shown her on Christmas Day. Now, each time he ventured there with his mouth, she thought the pleasure it gave would overwhelm her. Could someone die from such attentions?

He slid a finger into her wet channel, all the while swirling his tongue around the little bead of passion. Oh, what a fire he stoked, stroking in and out, deliberately triggering the coiling sensation in her belly toward that wonderful release. When he slid a second finger in, her toes curled and she clutched the mattress as wave after wave of her shudders shook the bed.

Tris rose above her and in one liquid move filled her again with his long, hard, burning member. He thrust smooth and strong, until he claimed her completely.

Her body, still twitching from its previous release, now surged anew, gripping him time and again with an intensity that took her breath away. She stared into the blue eyes above her as intent on her face as she was on them, and abandoned herself to the bliss that consumed her.

“Violet. Oh, God.” His face contorted, mouth open, head flung back as he erupted within her. He collapsed onto her, sweet heaviness pressing her into the mattress. His breath rasped in her ear, and then he rolled off her and lay panting. “You’ve truly killed me this time.”

Drowsy now, she managed a chuckle. “And you have done for me, my love.”

“Then I’ll see you in heaven.”

“I’m already there.”

* * * *

Furious knocking brought Violet out of a sweet dream of Tristan and her playing on a grassy hill with nine children, all of them theirs. She wiped her hand over her eyes, yawned, and sat up in bed.

“Who’s there?” A shadowy silhouette of Tris stood at the door, swiftly tying the belt of his gray silk banyan. Early rays of sun creeping through the window glinted off the pistol in his hand.

“Oh, m’lord!” Betsy’s terrified wail penetrated the door easily. “She’s gone. Miss Carlton’s been spirited away in the night. I swear I scarce shut my eyes, m’lord, and when I looked again she was nowhere t’ be found.”

“Damn,” Tris swore under his breath.

Violet bit her lip to keep from laughing. It truly wasn’t funny. She didn’t need the maid spreading tales about her and Tris, even though they might be married today. Married. The word echoed in her mind. She drew her legs up and clasped her arms around them, pure joy radiating throughout her. The cold air penetrated her dazed mind and she snagged the cover, drawing it up around her shoulders.

Tris frowned at her. “What must I say?” he whispered to her, uncocking the pistol and laying it in the chair that still barricaded the door. Without waiting for an answer, he called through the door, “Are her things missing?”

“No, my lord. All is just as she left it when she went t’ sleep.”

“Help, please,” he hissed.