Page 90 of Only a Mistress Will Do

Time stood still as Violet stared at him, love for him pouring through her so fiercely tears of joy spilled down her cheeks. She belonged to Tris now. Forever.

“Amen.” The vicar intoned the final word and closed his prayer book with a snap.

Before the echo could fade, Tris grasped her face and drew her to him. “I love you and you are mine, Lady Trevor.” Then he crushed his lips against her with a force that stole her breath. Not a kiss of passion, but of possession, of two souls melding.

She never wanted it to end.

At last, he broke from her, grinning ear-to-ear.

Applause shook the empty church, thunderous despite the intimate congregation. The vicar produced the register and first Dora, then the marquess signed as witnesses. Violet and Tris signed as well before she found herself in the arms of first Susan, then Dora, tears of joy still spilling down her face. “Thank you. Thank you all so much.” She turned from one dear friend to the other. “I cannot believe it is true. Like a fairy story.”

“And you will live happily ever after,” Dora pronounced, squeezing her hand. “I wish you all the joy and happiness you deserve, Violet. But I must say goodbye. If I am missed, it will be yet another row.” She sighed. “I promise to pray very hard tomorrow morning for Lord Trevor.” A slow shake of her head. “And perhaps a small prayer he doesn’t actually kill Simon, deserve it though he might.” Throwing her arms around Violet, she hugged her close. “Goodbye, Lady Trevor. I truly hope we meet again.”

Violet nodded and let her go. “On the happiest of occasions, your wedding day. Farewell, my friend.”

Dora turned to Tris, her face calm, though small worry lines showed around her eyes. “My lord, may I borrow your carriage to return to the Grange?”

“I think you need more protection than a mere coachman—no offense to Stokes, of course.” With a deep bow, the Marquess of Dalbury presented himself before Dora. “Allow me and Mr. Matthews to accompany you and your maid home, with the chaperonage of Miss Douglas as well.” He gestured to Susan, then winked at Dora. “If need be, I’ll have a word with your father.”

Tris snorted. “He’ll die of an apoplexy if you show up, Duncan. But then he’d see you tomorrow morning in any case.” He grabbed Violet’s cloak from the pew and draped it securely around her shoulders. “I wish you good luck with your endeavor. Meanwhile, I shall accompany my wife—” he lingered over the word, then squeezed her shoulders “—back to The Black Horse and prepare a celebration for us all.” Solicitously, he drew her arm through his. It fit perfectly, as though made for the crook of his elbow.

They strode down the church aisle and out into the stunning pinks and purples of the winter’s sunset. What a beautiful world.

Violet clutched his arm as he handed her into the carriage and climbed in beside her, not letting go of his hand for a second.

He kissed their linked hands and rapped on the carriage roof. “To the inn, Stokes.”

The intense blue of his eyes seemed magnified somehow. She would enjoy diving into those luscious pools and never returning.

“My lady and I are ready for a celebration.”

* * * *

Tris moved the candle close to the edge of the nightstand so it threw his beloved’s features into sharp relief. She lay on her stomach beside him, her face toward him, her luxurious hair in disarray over her shoulders and back. Never would he tire of the sight.

They’d made love twice since retiring from the celebration in the taproom, but seeing her beauty, knowing he’d be the only man ever to see her thus, made his cock rise like Lazarus. He could watch her like this for hours, if only he had some self-restraint.

Brushing her hair from her shoulder, he ran his hand over her warm skin, satiny smooth and creamy. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Might as well tell a horse not to graze in a field full of sweet clover. All the while they’d had their health toasted downstairs, he’d held her hand, patted her thigh, kissed her, but couldn’t get enough, never enough. Biding his time until they could steal away up here.

“Mmm.” She stretched and relaxed with a little sigh. She opened one amber eye. “You need to sleep, my love. I would have your wits about you in the morning.”

“I will. I promise.” He slid his hand across her back, curving his fingers around her breast where it met the mattress. “I need to touch you is all.”

A sleepy smile and she rolled onto her back, her breasts rising like twin mountains with small, brown peaks. “I am here for your pleasure, my lord. Do with me what you will.”

“God, I love you.” His heart strained in his chest, emotion threatening to spill over into his voice. For once, he didn’t care. “I love everything about you. Not only your body, but your wit, your talent, your stubbornness that wouldn’t let you stop, no matter what.” He explored her nipple with his fingertips, its curve, the pebbly texture. His attentions made them tighten further, like a flower closed against the night’s cold.

Rather than watch his hand, she met his eyes, the unfaltering golden gaze making him groan with need.

Even her look made him want her more than the air he breathed. He rubbed the tip of the nipple, scraping his fingernail lightly across the flat top.

She closed her eyes and moaned, her brows furrowing as she stretched and arched toward him.

Slowly, he slid his hand down her warm flesh, spreading his fingers wide across her flat stomach, eliciting a wiggle and a laugh when he hit a ticklish spot.

Her face changed moment by moment, her brow now lifted, now furrowed in concentration, her lips curved up in a smile or open in a silent moan.

When he reached the curls over her mound, she drew a sharp breath and licked her lips. His shaft stiffened, bending back until it touched his stomach. Not yet. Not for a long time yet. Determined, he used his forefinger to circle her nub.