Page 42 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“Any word?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing. I’ve sent a message to my family in Shotesham St. Mary to see if by chance she’d gone there.”

Tris frowned and pushed forward into the house. “Why would she visit your family?”

“We had talked of the possibility of her moving there, posing as a widow so she could get a well-to-do husband with no expectations of her virtue.” Candle in hand, Susan pursed her lips and led the way into the parlor. She lit the lamps and faced Tris. “She could have stayed here in London, my lord, and married Lord Donningham. But she said she couldn’t deceive a decent man like him and she’d rather die than tell him she was no longer a virgin.” She glared at him, her breast heaving. “If you needed to lie with a woman that bad, begging your pardon, my lord, you should have gone back to the House of Pleasure. It’s not like you’ve never been there before. You should have left Miss Carlton alone.” She turned on her heel and stamped up the stairs.

Impertinent wench. Tris trudged to the sideboard looking for a drink. Still he couldn’t summon true anger at Susan. She was as worried as he about Violet. She was also right. He poured a short shot of brandy and tossed it back. If only he’d kept as tight a rein on his cock as he had that night at Madame Vestry’s.

He stopped mid-toss, his breath stilled in his chest. The brandy hit his throat and Tris choked. “Good Christ, no.” He slammed the glass down, wheezing and coughing as he grabbed his cloak and ran for the door. Fear flooded his mind and heart. Now he knew where she had gone, damn her. Dear God, if he was right please let him be in time.

Chapter 17

Violet stood once more—cold, tired, and hungry but determined—on Madame Vestry’s doorstep in the thin afternoon sunlight. Willie opened the door and his eyes widened. With a leer, he silently led her into the Madame’s office.

Pen poised over an open ledger, Madame Vestry raised her head and met her gaze evenly. “You have returned Miss Carlton? Or is it now Cassandra?”

Violet squared her shoulders. The long walk from Lammas House, made even longer by the circuitous route she’d taken, just in case Susan or, God forbid, Lord Trevor had tried to follow her, had given her time to make peace with her decision to return to Madame Vestry. “Cassandra.”

“Your other option did not work out, I suppose?”

“No.” She’d returned to the House of Pleasure where a ruined woman belonged. Ruined by her own folly in letting the guard down around her heart and allowing herself to be swept away by Lord Trevor’s charm and attentions. “I discovered I had no other options after all.”

Of course, she could have left for Susan’s village; no one would have been the wiser. Or begged Alethea to take her in and pursued a marriage with Lord Donningham or some other man of the ton. She could even have tried again to gain employment with a mantua maker.

“That is truly a pity.” Madame Vestry’s big brown eyes flickered with compassion for an instant before hardening once more. “I don’t suppose we are still able to sell your virtue?”

A curt shake of her head told the tale. She’d refused to be party to deceit, to foisting herself off on an unsuspecting suitor. It would only be a matter of time until her shame was known throughout the ton. She might as well get on with the life she was fated to live as Cassandra. The life she deserved. Tris had ruined her in more ways than one.

“A shame. You’d have fetched a pretty price once more.” With a shrug, the Madame turned over another page in her ledger and wrote the name Cassandra at its top. “The green room tonight at eight o’clock.”

* * * *

“What pleasure my I give you this evening, my lord?” The question came back all too quickly as Violet sat once again in the green room at the House of Pleasure. She adjusted her skirt for the hundredth time, her gaze locked on the door.

The latch rattled.

She jerked up straight in the velvet chair. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. It would be all right. This was the life she was fit for now. She would see it through.

The door opened and she rose. “What pleasure may I give you—” The words cut off in her throat.

Fashionably dressed in brown and buff, the gentleman stepped smiling into the room. Then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Miss Carlton?”

* * * *

Tris pushed through the throng of merry gentlemen, laughing and drinking in the public rooms of the House of Pleasure. He had no idea where Violet might be, but one person would certainly know.

“Trevor. Over here.” An acquaintance from White’s waved him over, but Tris shook his head and continued wading through the packed room, with even greater urgency. A terrible constriction in his chest persuaded him he would be too late.

“Lord Trevor. Didn’t think I’d see you here so close to your wedding. Getting in one last bit of skirt before you don the shackle, what?” The man put a hand on Tris’s shoulder.

He threw it off and shoved the startled patron out of his way. God in heaven, where was the doorway? Fighting his way through another tangle of guests, he turned a corner, out of the raucous fog and into a dim corridor. He hurried forward to the Madame’s office where he pounded on the door then hit the latch.

The door swung inward revealing Madame Vestry seated behind her enormous black lacquer desk. Tonight she had dressed in an expensive blue silk gown, cut daringly low. Ready for business.

“Where is she?” Tris strode up to the desk, his sword banging against the shiny wood. He wasn’t above using intimidation if the woman proved reluctant to give him what he wanted.

“Where is who, Lord Trevor?” A slight smile on her too red lips, the Madame rose. “You were not scheduled for an appointment this evening, my lord, however, for such a good customer I can always make—”