Page 73 of Only a Mistress Will Do

Everyone in the room turned, staring at Tris who continued to stand nonchalantly, arms folded across his chest, glowering at Harper.

“What fraud, boy?” Downing knit his brows, his gaze shuttling back and forth between his son and his future son-in-law. With each subtle movement, his wig slid lower.

“Miss Carlton has been brought here and foisted upon us under false pretenses by Lord Trevor.” Harper thrust his finger toward her.

Violet shrank back into the coat, her stomach sickening. Now the whole sordid story would come out in a room full of people. In front of Dora, who she’d come to like very much. If the floor could swallow her whole she would count it a blessing.

“What are you talking about, Harper. Spit it out.” Downing drummed his fingers on the back of a chair.

“Miss Carlton is his mistress.” With a triumphant toss of his head, Harper threw the words at them.

Gasps from the ladies near the doorway sent Violet shrinking further behind Tris.

“Is this true, Trevor?” Downing’s voice deepened, he leaned toward Tris, and his wig finally slid down his back and plopped onto the floor.

“No, it is not true.” Tris spoke calmly and Violet started at the lie. He put a hand on her shoulder, urging her to stay silent.

“The devil it is.” Harper sprang out of the chair, then turned pale and slowly lowered himself back into the seat. “I saw you leaving the House of Pleasure with her in November.”

A wailing moan arose and Lady Downing sank to the floor in a swoon.

The duchess shook her head and motioned to Dora. “Fetch the smelling salts again, my dear.” She knelt beside her sister, fanning her with Lord Downing’s wig, which she had snatched from its resting place at the viscount’s feet.

Searching for the vial, Dora scrambled under the library table. When she stood again, she handed the bottle to her aunt, without taking her attention off Tris and Violet. She stared at the two of them, completely ignoring her mother’s plight.

“What do you have to say about this, Trevor?” Downing’s complexion neared a frightening shade of puce. “How dare you bring your light-skirt from a brothel to take care of my granddaughter? Under the same roof as my daughter, your soon-to-be wife?”

The look of contempt Tris fixed on Harper was so severe the younger man slid back in his seat. “Miss Carlton is not, nor has ever been my mistress. I’ll swear an oath to that on a stack of Bibles as tall as you, Harper.”

Violet trembled.

“But I saw you leaving with her the night of the Zeus’ Desire masquerade at Madame Vestry’s.” Petulant to the point of irritation, Harper’s voice rose shrilly. “If she’s not your lady-bird, then she’s certainly a trollop. Not one to bring into a decent household to teach my innocent child.”

“Or mine.” Lord Downing pointed to Dora. “The good Lord knows what salacious things she’d been teaching Dora.”

“Just to play the harp, Father,” Dora spoke up eagerly, with a quick nod to Violet. “She taught me the fingering for a glissando.”

“Fingering a glissando!” Shrieking from the chaise, Lady Downing bolted up from her sister’s arms, ignoring the duchess’s attempts to wipe her face with a handkerchief. “Oh, I shall never live down the shame.” Eyes rolling back in her head, she flopped into her sister’s arms once more.

“It’s a way to strum,” Dora added helpfully, peering at her prostrate mother, then at her father. “The strings, you know. That’s all.”

“Of course it is, Dora.” With a sigh, Her Grace pushed Lady Downing into a sitting position. “Do get up, Harriet. Your swoons are just as bothersome now as they were when you were a girl. Melchior, take her.” She waved a hand at Lord Downing. “She’s your burden, not mine.”

Swearing under his breath, Downing bustled forward, grabbed his wife beneath the arms and heaved her up. “So what do you have to say for yourself, Trevor?” After a tussle, the viscount managed to get his wife on her feet long enough for the duchess to move to the chair. He lowered his wife down again and wiped his brow. “Eccles, fetch the brandy.” Tenderly, he patted his wife’s cheek. “Do you deny what my son says? Will you declare him a liar before us all?”

Tris stared malevolently at Harper, who sat picking shards of glass from his clothing and hair. “No, I may accuse him of being depraved, but not of lying in this instance. He may indeed have seen me leaving—” Hesitating, he rested his gaze on Dora’s rapt face a little longer than necessary. “An establishment of interest to certain men, young and old alike.” He glared at Downing, who grunted and looked away. “I do remember speaking to a friend that night in November. I had not made Harper’s acquaintance at the time, and if he was disguised for the masquerade I would not have recognized him in any case. If you say you were the shepherd I will not gainsay you.” Tris’s lips quirked in a smile. “Why you, a married man, would be entering such a house I will leave for you to explain.”

The bright red tinge of Harper’s cheeks rivaled a ripe pomegranate. “Why I was there is none of your business. Why were you there?”

Again Tris searched the duchess’s and Dora’s faces and shifted. “This is hardly a conversation to be had in front of ladies. If the duchess, Dora, and Lady Downing would retire—”

“Well, I for one want to hear the end of the story.” The duchess’s gray eyes snapped with excitement.

“And I as well.” The determined set of Dora’s jaw belied her soft tone. “He is my betrothed, after all.”

Moaning anew, Lady Downing, burrowed her face into the chaise.

Tris shrugged. “Very well.” He looked straight at Dora. “I had gone there to deflower a virgin.”