Page 26 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“Oh, Tris.”

The catch in her voice melted his heart. If he must torture himself, let it be at her hands.

“I don’t know what to say.” She caressed the golden wood and he shivered, feeling her touch on his skin.

“Be happy, Violet,” he said, and gathering the pieces of his shattered heart, turned and left.

Chapter 10

The Braetons’ ballroom shone almost as bright as day with the light of at least three hundred candles. Their soft glow bathed Violet in a radiance she found she had sorely missed. Never take for granted what you have today. She should have understood that last summer, the last time she had danced in this elegantly appointed room. Violet sighed, drinking in the beauty of the green and gold leaf paper that glittered on the walls. Gilt sconces at intervals along the wall reflected the candles’ light as well. The cut-crystal chandeliers overhead swayed slightly, casting shadows over the dancers and seeming to keep time to the music.

“You are enjoying yourself tonight, Miss Carlton?” Lord Donningham spoke loudly to be heard over the lively music of the allemande.

Even leaning toward him slightly, Violet still had to strain to hear everything the man said. He had a thin, quiet voice. “I am, my lord, although you must ask me later in the evening. This is only the first dance.” Affecting a carefree air, she laughed as she swept under his arm in the first figure of the dance. Both playing and dancing had always been a treat for her. As this evening marked her return to society, she was especially determined to enjoy herself.

“Oh, you will not need further inducements, my dear. I shall seek you out for another dance before the evening grows too old.” His lordship took advantage of the moment he had to spin her around to glide his hand along her waist.

Her practiced smile in place, Violet sighed inwardly, hoping his interest ran deeper than mere flirtation. She wanted desperately to marry and leave Lammas House. The past week had proven to her just how unpleasant the pleasant house could be when she sensed she no longer belonged there.

After giving her the exquisite harp, Tristan had walked out without another word. She had neither seen nor heard from him since, save for a curt note to the butler instructing Susan and Thomas to accompany Violet to the Braeton’s ball. No word of whether Tris was to attend or not. Exceedingly awkward if he did not, for she’d be unaccompanied by ton standards.

“I beg pardon, my lord?” Violet had caught the end of a remark from Donningham. Best not to brood over one man while trying to entrance another.

“I said we seem well-suited, Miss Carlton. Although you are charmingly petite, my limbs are long, therefore we dance well together.” He smiled showing very white teeth as he ducked under their clasped hands.

A pleasant man in all respects. She’d pressed Susan for any information she had on Lord Donningham and the maid had proven herself resourceful in gathering a wealth of intelligence. John, sixth Viscount Donningham, had lost his wife and infant son to childbed fever in March of this year. From Susan’s source, the couple had been fond and Donningham truly mourned his wife’s death. However, because he was in his middle thirties, the practical man had realized he had no time to waste finding another helpmeet. According to Susan’s source—Donningham’s valet, Susan’s cousin’s son—the viscount was a sober gentleman, given to few vices, and a considerate master. All sterling qualities for a husband, if a trifle dull.

As they turned again, Donningham going beneath her upswept arm this time, she admired his even features, dark brown hair and eyes. His nose was straight, if a little narrow. Still, his jaw was firm and he had an air of cool composure about him that she liked very much. A man seemingly ready for any contingency. In truth, she knew him not at all, but if he asked for her hand, by God, she would bestow it before he could draw another breath.

Tristan’s sudden and complete neglect of her this week had forced her to the conclusion she had come to depend on him far more than she should. They had become so comfortable together Violet quite often forgot for days at a time that he would marry soon. She must be gone from Lammas House before that happened.

“We do seem well matched, do we not?” She gave her partner a half smile and a flirtatious flutter of her lashes. “In the dance, of course, your lordship.”

“Indeed, Miss Carlton.” He rose to the bait like a hungry pike. “We might be well matched in other ways as well.”

She cast her gaze down as they came together, then whirled in a series of rosettes. Perhaps she could begin to hope all would be well after all. No, not well. Life would not be well or pleasant or anything but miserable without Tris. Tolerable at best. Still, Donningham appeared to be a kind man. If she could give him children in exchange for respectability, then it was a bargain she could bear.

Her friend, Alethea Forsythe, twirled by in the arms of Lord Manning.

Violet would speak to her tonight about the possibility of removing to the Braeton’s house until she was sure of Donningham’s interest. Pray God the man would take her without a dowry. She had one final piece of business with Lord Trevor. Then she could begin in earnest to plan a future without him.

* * * *

Tristan lurked in the shadow of a pillar on the edge of the Braeton’s ballroom floor, resolved to pay Miss Carlton no mind this evening. He was a minimal escort, nothing more. The woman was on her own. A good plan in theory, however, his gaze seemed to have acquired a mind of its own. It riveted itself to Violet and Donningham as they chatted and refused to waver while the couples gathered for the first set.

His heart had beat faster the moment he had seen her this evening, bringing a curse to his lips. ’Sblood, why wouldn’t this obsession with her abate? The night he’d given her the harp he’d been within a hair’s breadth of saying “to the devil with it,” scooping her into his arms, racing up the stairs, and ravishing her until both of them were sated to the point of oblivion. Reputation be damned.

Amazingly, he’d been able to walk away and, through some miracle of fiendish self-discipline, had remained away. Until tonight. Of course, he’d known he’d see her at the ball. He was her symbolic escort. Somehow, though, he’d not understood how much it would hurt to see her with Donningham, or any other man to whom she’d granted a dance.

He jumped at a light touch on his elbow.

Miss Harper stood at his side, her pale, sweet face flushed with a tinge of color at the cheeks. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Mamma said as we are betrothed, I should dance the first set with you.”

Lady Downing, a severe matron in a dark, blood-red gown, nodded at him from across the floor. Had she seen his interest in Violet and sent her daughter to remind him of his duty? Intentional or not, Miss Harper’s presence broke Violet’s spell. “Forgive me, Miss Harper. I was remiss in my duties not to ask you sooner.” He offered his arm, achingly aware of a lack of sexual tingle, no heat where her small hand rested in the crook of his arm. His gaze shot to Violet, now laughing with Donningham. Oh, but it was insufferable. He dragged his gaze away and patted Miss Harper’s hand.

She accompanied him meekly to the floor.

A sweet girl indeed.