Daring Declarations: A Fun and Steamy Historical Regency (Mistress in the Making Book 3) Read online

  Daring Declarations

  Mistress in the Making, Part Three

  Larissa Lyons

  Daring Declarations

  First, he showed his thoughtful generosity. Then he shared his risqué humor. Now it’s time he declares everything… If only he didn’t constantly wrestle with words!

  An evening at the opera could prove Lord Tremayne’s undoing when he and his lovely new paramour cross paths with his sister and brother-in-law. Introducing one’s socially unacceptable strumpet to his stunned family is never done. But Daniel does it anyway. And it might just be the best decision he’s ever made, for Thea’s quickly become much more than a mistress—and it’s time he told her so.

  Thea’s fallen under the enticing spell of her new protector. How could she not when his very presence, every kindness and written word has utterly seduced her senses? Yet her mind insists on knowing more, such as why must Lord Tremayne pummel his face in boxing matches and be so abrupt in person? Curiosity turns to baffled amazement when his sister seeks out Thea, begging advice. If that weren’t surprising enough, when circumstances conspire and Thea arrives—unannounced—at his home, she’s not only welcomed inside but confronted with more truths than she ever expected.

  Daring Declarations begins directly after Book 2, Lusty Letters. For maximum enjoyment, reading the series in order is recommended.

  Contents

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  Daring Declarations

  1. Both Pleasure and Suffering

  2. A Bit of Pathetic Poetry

  3. Planetary – and Other – Bodies Collide

  4. Whereupon the Mistress Becomes the Master

  5. A Fan – or Two – Whips up a Flurry

  6. Protecting His Own Brings Things Up to Scratch

  7. Stars & Scandals ~ More Poetic Than He Thought

  Excerpt from MISS ISABELLA THAWS A FROSTY LORD

  More Goodies

  About Larissa

  More Fun & Sexy Historical Regencies

  Complete Booklist

  Free Download

  Your free copy of The Pirate’s Pleasure is available here: http://bit.ly/the-pirates-pleasure

  Daring Declarations is dedicated to the utterly delightful Martinique, whose friendship—and enthusiasm for my stories—mean the world. Your joie de vivre and bright smiles light up every room you enter. If sunshine and glitter (mixed with a dollop of brownie batter) had a name, ’twould be yours.

  Daring Declarations

  Daring Declarations begins directly after Book 2, Lusty Letters. If you missed either, here’s a quick summary:

  Pestered by a persistent stammer, a Regency lord takes a new mistress, a refined widow who’s as unsure of her seductive allure as she is tired of living in the slums of London. The enigmatic Lord Tremayne sparks her interest even as his perpetual silence befuddles her brain. After several scorching nighttime encounters—the hours between filled with racy correspondence that delights them both—Daniel spoils his enchanting inamorata with thoughtful trinkets, dashing dresses and then, reluctantly, even proposes a night on the town, hoping the excitement will help hide his stammering secrets.

  He’s also learned Thea has secrets of her own, ones from her past she’d rather forget but which threaten to snatch the lovely widow from the safety of his arms. And now, amidst angst over a blasted speaking engagement, boxing matches where he likes to let his fists talk for him, and agonizing over that broken orrery he dreams of repairing, Daniel escorts his lady lust to the opera…

  Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight.

  Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

  1

  Both Pleasure and Suffering

  Voi, che sapete che cosa è amor,

  Donne, vedete, s’io l’ho nel cor.

  Sento un affetto pien di desir,

  Ch’ora è diletto, ch’ora e martir.

  You who know what love is,

  Ladies, see if I have it in my heart.

  I have a feeling full of desire,

  That now, is both pleasure and suffering…

  Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), a popular opera first performed in 1786

  Thea was afraid to blink. What if she missed something?

  Bypassing the ticket booth, Lord Tremayne conferred briefly with an employee before guiding her straight through the foyer and up one of several sweeping staircases.

  Muted music indicated the performance was well underway.

  Mayhap arriving late was to their benefit? (No one to see her gawking like a chicken.) Of a certainty, the large rounded lobby they came out at on the second level was only sparsely populated.

  Lord Tremayne paused before entering either of the two opposing corridors that she assumed led to the private boxes, some costing in excess of two thousand pounds per season she’d heard. That was a vast sum more than most people earned in years, abundantly more than she’d ever come across—and she was here, as his guest. An occurrence he still seemed less-than-thrilled about.

  “You have a box?” She hazarded conversation once again.

  Stone-faced, he nodded, then gestured toward refreshments available for a coin.

  “Thank you, but no,” she told him, far too uncomfortably aware to eat or drink anything. She patted her hair, afraid the feathers might incinerate if his glare became any fiercer. For a man who insisted he wanted to be out with her, he seemed remarkably disgruntled. “I’m not thirsty, but if you—”

  He grunted and took off toward the right, her light hold on his forearm whisking her down the passageway as effectively as if he’d picked her up and tossed her ahead. Practically skipping to keep up with him, she prayed the figure-filling padding would stay put. The last thing she needed was to leave a trail of dropped cotton marking her every step.

  Narrow doors flanked the corridor, spaced every few feet. They passed a dozen or more before he slowed to find the one he sought. Like most, it was closed. He turned the handle and stepped back, gesturing for her to precede him.

  After the well-lit hallway, it took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkened interior. In that short time, she was showered with a wealth of impressions.

  Smaller than she’d expected, the box itself was a cozy space, extending only a few paces in either direction. From about waist high, it opened out in the front, overlooking not only the massive stage currently occupied by twirling ballerinas—what an unexpected boon!—but the opening also allowed a glimpse into the noisy gallery below and beyond that—

  Thea gasped at the magnitude of it all. Why, there had to be five levels of private boxes, all filled with an assortment of gaily dressed people. Branches of candles extended out every few boxes, illuminating some areas better than others, but everywhere her flitting glance landed, a new and dazzling sight met her eyes.

  The spinning, jumping ballerinas cavorting across the stage; a full orchestra playing in front; and behind the musicians, the writhing pit of masculine voices and shapes, only half of whose attention was focused on the performers, the others—like Thea—craned their heads to inspect the individuals lining the boxes on either side.

  Some of the occupants stood near the openings, gazing raptly at the stage, others conversed, paying no heed to the spectacle they’d come to see, and others…well, more than one box had the curtain pulled for complete privacy and if she wasn’t mistaken—it was difficult to be certain, given the distance and amount of smoke the many candles gave off—but across the expanse, in one of the highest
boxes, she thought she glimpsed a pair of exposed breasts just before they were covered by two broad palms and both bodies disappeared into the shadowed recess—

  Thea swallowed hard and quickly returned her attention to the private box she was privileged enough to enjoy tonight.

  Chairs. There were several. She blinked as they came into focus.

  Oh Lord, levitate me right to Lincolnshire! Lord Tremayne had barged into the wrong box—for two of the chairs were occupied.

  The impressions of grandeur still brimming in her mind, one thought screamed above the others: Escape!

  She reversed direction but he’d come up behind her, his hard body preventing retreat. His breath caught audibly as he took notice of their company.

  Then everyone spoke at once.

  “Tremayne?”

  “Daniel?”

  “Ellie!” burst from the man behind her, the immovable force who curved one hand around the side of her waist with a tense grip that should have hurt—but oddly didn’t. “Wylde. What…”

  The other man gained his feet, giving the impression of pure, lean elegance. He was immaculately turned out, not a strand of dark blond hair askew. But his lips? Those were definitely off-kilter as he shot her a contemplative look. A single look that conveyed various emotions: curiosity, speculation, censure perhaps? (And she’d thought Lord Tremayne had an intense manner?) Stepping toward them, he said, “Appears we both chose the same night.”

  When the woman stood and came to his side, Thea tried again to edge around Lord Tremayne. The bite of his fingers stayed the impulse.

  What should she do?

  The slight blonde fixed her with a decidedly inquisitive stare.

  Under ordinary circumstances, Thea was confident she could hold her own. But this was anything but ordinary. Associating with Sarah and Lord Penry and others of the demimonde ilk was one thing. But a man did not mingle his mistress with his—

  His what?

  Who were these people to Lord Tremayne? His friends?

  Strangling the strings of her reticule so tightly it was a wonder they didn’t snap, she gave a fast, modest curtsy to both the lord and his lady (as competently a curtsy as one can make when their waist is shackled). “Pardon us for the interruption,” she said since no one else seemed inclined to speak since the initial outbursts. “We’ll take ourselves off, let you return to your evening alone. Forgive us.”

  But though she again pressed into the brick wall that was Lord Tremayne, he refused to waver. And though Thea knew they had to leave, the scrutiny on the other couple’s faces was growing.

  It was as though she dreamed the next few moments when the woman stepped forward, ignoring the indrawn hiss of her companion, to offer a shallow curtsy of her own. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Thea and the man behind her. “Daniel, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “Ellie,” Lord Tremayne said again and his breath brushed across the top of Thea’s head, sending a wicked shiver racing across her nape.

  How could he stand there? Cage her there as well?

  They must leave! This woman was Quality. Unmistakable breeding shone in her perfect manner, in her exquisitely coiffed hair and extravagant dress, both of which she wore without a speck of the self-consciousness plaguing Thea.

  Already, she’d had to stop herself from fiddling with feathers and checking her bountified bosom. Just how secure—

  “Mrs-Hur-well.”

  Thea heard the ragged syllables come from overhead and for a startled second didn’t recognize them as her name.

  What was he doing?

  She spun within his grip, thankful the glossy material allowed the move. “Lord Tremayne,” she said through barely moving lips, the words fast and low, “should we not vacate and leave the box to your friends?”

  He ignored her. Ignored her words, that was.

  Because right there in the dim interior of his box, partitioned off from the adjoining neighbors but fully visible to anyone with exceptional eyesight in the boxes across, he lifted her hand, inclined his head and turned her to face the other couple.

  “Thea, Lord Wylde and his wife, my s—”

  Good God, man, some remnant of Daniel’s conscience railed. You can’t introduce your fancy piece to your sister. Bloody hell, he couldn’t even acknowledge her, not in front of a gently bred female.

  Gads. What was he thinking?

  Losing it, he was. The ability to think. To act. To behave as he ought.

  And why in blazes had that sentence flowed like silk when everything else he’d uttered in the last hour faltered forth like dirt-encrusted flies?

  The crux of it was he wanted the two cherished females in his life to meet, to get on with each other as well as he—

  Cherished? Thea?

  Aye, so she was, he could admit to himself, and as she was also tugging on his arm to the point he should fear losing it, he really ought to behave with decorum.

  So he tightened his hold on Thea’s hand and started backing out. “A-p-pologize. We’ll go elsewhere—”

  “Wait!” Ellie’s raised voice surely raised more than one eyebrow in the vicinity. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

  On the verge of crossing the threshold, Daniel paused. He watched an indecipherable look pass from Ellie to her husband.

  Tense seconds later, Wylde jerked his head in the most miniscule show of approval—or acceptance.

  What was that all about? Were they going to leave instead?

  But no, Elizabeth immediately indicated the six chairs furnishing the tight rectangle he leased for an absurd amount of money. “Let it not be said that we routed you from your own box. Stay and join us.”

  What?

  Thea was hauling on his arm, trying her damnedest to back him out of there. Daniel didn’t budge. Had he heard aright?

  Wylde gestured to the empty seats. “Aye, you must remain and partake of the performance with us. We insist.”

  Deuced if this night didn’t beat all.

  Lighting farts and scandalizing the ton by socializing his sister with his tart.

  Only Thea wasn’t a tart.

  She never had been. Not to him.

  Which posed the question, what, exactly, was she?

  While the dancers pranced about, everyone took their seats. Daniel positioned himself behind Ellie who sat next to Wylde. Thea he tucked securely on his opposite side, behind an empty chair.

  Though he had the distinct impression not a one of them saw the ballet, all four heads remained fixed on the stage as though glued. Poor Thea, she’d approached the seat of her chair as if hot coals waited to fry her bum, her wide eyes imploring him not to participate in this farce.

  But it wasn’t a jest. Not to him. Or to his family.

  Wylde and Ellie might be flirting with social disaster, but Daniel knew his sister didn’t give a fig for expected behavior—their father had kept her on such a short chain during his lifetime, she was due whatever indulgence came her way. If associating for a single evening with a less-than-respectable female enlivened her life, then what was the harm? And Wylde? He already had a dubious reputation for flouting convention. As for himself, if a marquis couldn’t savor the opera with the companion of his choice, then what was the use of a title?

  Hoping he conveyed confidence, he reached over to capture Thea’s hand. Never taking his gaze from the exiting dancers, he untangled her fingers from the wreckage she’d made of her purse strings and wound his gloved fingers between hers. Giving a light tug, he repositioned their joined hands atop his thigh.

  The second the dancers disappeared off the stage, men and women exploded from their chairs and boxes to seek refreshment and recreation and, no doubt, urinary relief. The long interval between ballet and opera served several important purposes but its primary one, Daniel was certain, was to see and be seen. The surrounding melee was made more chaotic by the silence and the stillness that characterized the four of them.

  No one moved, no one spoke.

&nbsp
; Within seconds, the noise level beyond their silent foursome had increased tenfold.

  Finally, some moments into the interval, Wylde nodded stiffly and excused himself.

  The moment the door shut behind her husband, Ellie took the opportunity to fly into the empty seat next to Daniel.

  “Is she the one?” his sister whispered behind her fan.

  The one?

  When Thea would have pulled away, Daniel tightened his grip on her hand. Keeping her firmly entrenched beside him, he cocked his head toward his sister, his blank look conveying, The one what?

  Ellie leaned ever closer, flapped that fancy fan of hers ever faster. “The one who put the smile on your face,” she said so softly he had to piece together the sentence. “The gouges…your neck.”

  A grin he couldn’t stop gave her all the answer she needed.

  She beamed back. Then her expression turned sardonic. Wafts from her fan brushed past his forehead as she inquired lightly, “Any chance she also revels in pounding your face? It looks rather atrocious, brother dear.”

  “Cream. More?”

  “You need another jar of that latest batch? The one with the honeysuckle and cloves? Of course!” His sister’s delight knew no bounds.

  He wondered what she’d say if she knew he’d given all of his to Thea.

  “I’ll have it to you as soon as I gather some more and crush the blossoms. It’s growing in the conservatory at the estate but it’s too early for it to bloom outside— But you don’t care about that.” Her fan slowed to a crawl as she gave him a measuring glance. “I do believe this is the first time you’ve ever asked for more of a batch.”