Page 87 of Only a Mistress Will Do

On the tip of her tongue to tell him to jump in the ice-caked River Avon, she took a breath instead and settled. It would do no good to disparage a man so obviously Tris’s friend. Best then to make him help her in the only way that counted. “Thank you, my lord. My one request is that you keep Lord Trevor safe during this hideous duel tomorrow. I would have him come back to me whole and well.”

He bowed, an elegant gesture full of charm and grace. “I will do everything within my power to return him to you unscathed.”

Violet nodded her thanks and breathed easier. Lord Dalbury would protect Tris with his life, she was sure of it.

So taken up with the shock of meeting the marquess, she’d paid no attention to the stranger he’d brought with him. Blond hair, a shade or two darker than Dalbury’s, of the same height, though perhaps a bit bigger boned. Not as well dressed as the marquess, yet a gentleman certainly.

The careful way in which he scrutinized her, however, made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Why on earth was he here?

“Where is Lord Manning?” she whispered to Tris.

“Good question,” he murmured in return. “Has some tragedy befallen Lord Manning, Duncan?” He gave a short nod toward the blond stranger. “And I don’t believe I’ve met this gentleman.”

“Manning has been unavoidably detained in London on business I am not at liberty to disclose.” The marquess’s eye twitched, though his face otherwise remained unmoved.

She shuddered to think what could have been so dire it prevented his lordship from coming to her defense.

“But allow me to present Mr. Reginald Matthews, Miss Carlton. And Lord Trevor. Mr. Matthews is a relation of my wife’s and a man of great discretion.”

The stranger bowed, a subtle air of command in him.

“Tris, a word if you please.” Lord Dalbury pulled him aside, leaving her to entertain Mr. Matthews.

She curtsied, curious at his keen gaze that seemed to take in her every aspect. “You are kind to have taken on this arduous journey with no notice, Mr. Matthews. I must thank you for assisting Lord Trevor in the odious duel.”

The man smiled, immediately transforming his rather severe countenance into a handsome, jovial one. “I seem to be constantly embroiled in duels on account of the marquess despite my profession.”

“Your profession?” Was the man a lawyer?

“I’m a Bow Street Runner, Miss Carlton. And dueling is illegal under the law. By rights, I am bound to stop them whenever I am able.” His almost merry attitude all but belied his statement.

“And are you come to stop this duel?” Hope leaped in her chest. If this man could prevent the duel, Tris would be safe.

“Well, Lord Dalbury made me swear an oath not to interfere, especially as I have been pressed into service as a second in the duel. I assure you, it would not appear favorably to my superiors, in light of the fact I am being considered for the position of magistrate. And Dalbury assures me they will be informed if I lift a hand to prevent the altercation other than my duty to attempt a reconciliation.” A comic roll of his eyes and he chuckled ruefully. “I’m enjoying the irony. I don’t suppose Lord Trevor wishes to reconcile?” he called to Lord Dalbury.

“I’d as soon shoot Duncan here,” Tris interrupted smoothly, coming to stand by her side. “Or you, my love.” He nodded to Matthews. “You can tell Simon Harper, short of someone presenting his head on a pike to me, I’ll meet him at first light tomorrow as promised.”

“Duly noted, my lord.” Mr. Matthews bowed and retreated to the carriage.

“Duncan has carried out all my commissions with his usual dependable thoroughness and speed. The fool actually set out this morning at five o’clock—after terrorizing the Archbishop of Canterbury—and drove all through the day, arriving at the Black Horse only to find us gone.” Tris chuckled. “He tracked us here on Mrs. Cheeley’s advice, to deliver this.” With an exaggerated flourish, he drew a piece of parchment from his jacket. “A special license. We can be married whenever we wish.”

“Not the easiest document to obtain in the dead of night. Saunders staggered into my house at three o’clock.” The marquess cocked his head. “You must raise the man’s wages a sovereign or two, Tris. He rode straight through, stopping only to change horses and down a pint of ale along the way. Made it in eight hours, which I didn’t believe possible. Must be a record of some sort. In any case, I am fortunate my Aunt Phoebe is godmother to His Grace, the Archbishop. The man didn’t hesitate to see me even at that ungodly hour. At least he hadn’t gone to bed yet. I suppose he’d rather deal with me than have my aunt knocking on his door to find out why he didn’t accommodate me.”

“Shall we go in this minute, my love, and be married before another hour passes?” Tris took her hands, staring at her with so much love tears started from her eyes.

“Oh, yes, Tris.” Heart beating a tattoo, Violet squeezed his hands and they turned toward the church once more.

“Oh, no you don’t miss.”

Violet whirled around.

Leaning on a black hawthorn cane, her left ankle in bandages, Susan stood in front of the marquess’s carriage. “You will not go to your wedding in a brown wool gown suitable for travel and nothing else.”

“Susan!” Violet rushed forward, throwing her arms around her friend. “How wonderful to see you. But how do you come here?” Reluctantly, she released Susan and stood back, taking the woman in with a hungry gaze. The bandaged foot peeped out from beneath her striped skirts.

“His lordship,” she nodded toward the marquess, who was again deep in conversation with Tris, “knocked on my door just before five o’clock—I’ve no idea how he found me—and told me of your circumstances. Of course, I had to come.”