Page 80 of Only a Mistress Will Do

“But I don’t want—”

“It’s only until Duncan arrives, which with any luck will be tomorrow evening.” Thought of the commission he’d charged his friend with shot a jolt of desire through his body. God, it would be agony to control himself tonight.

“What difference will the marquess’s presence make?” She’d set her mouth in a peevish pout.

“He’s bringing a special license.” Grinning broadly, Tris couldn’t hold back the news any longer.

“A special license for what? Dueling?” Her golden eyes flashed beneath threatening brows.

Tris bit back a laugh. God, but she was beautiful when she was angry. And arousing. His cock was stiff as a maypole. He must remember to enrage her more often. “No, my love. A special license to allow me to marry you.”

* * * *

The room spun. Violet staggered back, so shocked she groped for something to hold her up. He wanted to marry her?

Tris grabbed her arm and drew her to him. “Be careful, love. We’ve come too far for you to fall and do yourself a mischief.”

She stared at the beloved face, mind churning, unable to utter a sound.

“You cannot truly be shocked, Violet.” He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand. “I’ve told you for months if I were free I would marry you.”

“But…” That single word was all she could summon. If she could only think what to say.

“Did you think me a liar?” Quick as a wink, he pounced on her inability to speak.

“No, but—”

He rubbed his knuckles across her hand. “Then all it requires is your answer, love.”

Her heart beat strangely, first pounding in her chest as if trying to hammer its way to freedom, then constricting so hard it hurt. She opened her mouth, not knowing if anything would come out.

A short woman, dressed in a dark green striped skirt and modest rust-colored bodice rounded the corner from the kitchen. “I’ll take ye up to yer rooms now. This way m’lord, m’lady.” With a disinterested air, Betsy grabbed a taper and led the way to the stairs at the end of the bar.

“I’m not ‘my lady,’ Betsy.” Violet hastened to put the matter straight. She couldn’t allow herself to think the girl might soon be correct in her address. “Miss Carlton will do.”

“As you will, mistress.” They had reached the first floor landing. “Here you go. Your bed chamber is this first one, on the right.” She indicated a dark, stout door. “M’lord, ye’re in this one, across the hall.” Shouldering her way past Tris, she marched into the dim room on the left.

Light glowed suddenly and the maid reappeared.

“I’ve laid the fire and lit your candles, m’lord.” Betsy headed back to Violet’s chamber. “Just here, mistress.” She opened the door and hurried inside.

Following her into a good-sized room, Violet gazed about at the ample furnishings: a high wooden poster bed, a trundle beneath, a nightstand, and a screened corner.

The maid lit the candle beside the bed. “The parlor’s yon, through that door.” She picked the candlestick up and stabbed it toward another stout door, just past the bed. “Mrs. Cheeley tells me ye’ve lost yer maid, mistress, and have need of one for the night?”

Violet nodded, her mind a jumble.

“I’ve never been maid to anyone afore, but I’ll help ye with yer farthin’gales and fol-de-rols as best I can.”

“Thank you, Betsy.” Tris broke in, God bless him. “If you would fetch us both some warm water to wash with, then you can come back and help Miss Carlton change.”

“Very good, m’lord.” With a brief bob of a curtsey, the maid vanished out the door.

Alone with Tris once more, Violet found herself trembling in anticipation. Dare she dream he would continue their conversation from the taproom?

In answer to the unspoken question, he dropped to one knee and clasped her hands.

Blood roared in her ears. Her hands went from dry and hot to icy, as though all heat had fled her body. A metallic taste flooded her mouth.