An Introduction to Pleasure (14 page)

But thoughts of her mother had brought her back to earth. She could not spend the money Andrew was providing her so frivolously. She had no idea if she would ever find another protector…or one so generous…once her time with Andrew was done. She had to be certain she protected her mother before she swung into a hollow life where her biggest questions were what gown to wear to what ridiculous soiree.

She sat down at the little desk in her dressing area and withdrew a heavy, expensive sheet of paper. On it, she scribbled a request to the solicitor and gave the direction for her cousin’s home, along with instructions for him on its use. She let out a sigh as she folded the paper and rang for a servant to fetch it.

At the very least, she would leave this arrangement with her mother’s future safe for a few months. If that was all she obtained, then she would have to be happy with that. After all, she already knew she could ask for nothing more.

Chapter Thirteen

Lysandra shifted nervously and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. The ballgown Madame Bertrande had made for her fit perfectly and was made of a beautiful scarlet satin trimmed in a dusty rose. The neckline swooped, not too low, but low enough that there was a hint of her bosom for Andrew to enjoy. Her hair had been curled and twisted and maneuvered into a beautiful style and her cheeks rouged ever so slightly to give her pale skin a hint of color.

She felt…beautiful. Alluring. She felt like a stranger had somehow forced her way into the mirror and was staring back at her.

There was a light knock at her door, and Lysandra jumped. As her maid peeked inside, she smiled. “Lord Callis is here for you, miss. He’s in the parlor.”

Lysandra managed a nod of acknowledgment and stared at herself again. Would he like what he saw or be disappointed? Would he even care? It seemed when they were not tangled up in sex, he was able to completely divorce himself from any interest in her.

“Oh, stop dallying and go downstairs, you foolish girl,” she admonished herself in the mirror before she turned on her heel and stalked to the stairs.

She was down the first three when Andrew stepped from the parlor and moved toward the staircase. He looked up at her, and their eyes met.

Lysandra kept moving, though she had no idea how with Andrew’s stare boring into her like fire. He said nothing, yet she knew that he
did
like the way she looked in her new attire. Desire lit in his stare…and a smidge of pride. Both caused her heart to swell unexpectedly.

“Good evening,” she said as she stepped into the hallway.

He offered her a hand and, when he took it, stepped back. “Dear God, you are a vision.”

Lysandra blushed and dipped her head. “Thank you. The dress is divine.”

“The dress is a few scraps of fabric bound together by a talented seamstress.” Andrew slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “
You
are divine.”

Lysandra hoped he wouldn’t see how his compliment made her quiver like a schoolgirl. It had been so long since anyone told her she was pretty, at least not in a lurid, unpleasant way, she could scarce recall it. And certainly the last man to do so had been no Andrew Callis.

“Shall we go?” he asked, snapping her from her reverie.

She nodded. “Of course.”

He escorted her from the house toward his carriage. It was larger than the one she rode in and much finer, with its crest on the door and expensively liveried servants to assist them into place on either side of the interior.

Once the door shut and the vehicle jolted forward, Andrew slid across to sit beside her. He tilted her chin up. The light was dim, but she saw his eyes sparkle as he examined her face. And when his lips moved down to hers, she needed no light, no air, no sustenance of any kind except for his kiss.

After a moment, though, he drew back. “More of that and I shall be forced to turn the carriage around and make love to you all night instead.”

“Why don’t you?” Lysandra breathed, her body trembling at the thought.

He laughed. “I would normally, but we are meant to meet someone at the opera and he would come looking for me.”

She straightened up. “Oh? Who?”

He shifted back to his own seat and the wall of distance that so often crashed between them did so again, quietly.

“My younger brother, Samuel Callis.” His tone reflected no emotion on that subject.

Lysandra shifted as a sudden thought gripped her. “But I… How will you explain… I mean, will he know that…”

“That you are my mistress?” Andrew finished for her. “I told him I was bringing you along tonight, so yes.”

Lysandra lifted her hand to her lips and blinked at the sting of humiliated tears behind her eyes. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this moment would come, but now that it was here, it was more difficult than she would have guessed.

“Lysandra, you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Andrew said softly. “My brother will not judge you on your…position in life. He has had mistresses in the past, just as most men of rank and power have had.”

Lysandra shifted. She hadn’t thought of that. “And will he bring his mistress with him tonight?”

Andrew hesitated. “No. My brother isn’t currently connected with a mistress. He is recently engaged.”

“His fiancée, then?” she asked.

He was quiet for a long moment, and Lysandra thought of the question she had just asked. Of course there would be no fiancée at the opera tonight. No man would bring his innocent future bride to an event where his brother’s lover would be. She was a lady. Lysandra was not. The two worlds did not, could not, collide.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was a foolish question.”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t. Under normal circumstances, though, a man wouldn’t—”

Lysandra raised her hand. “Of course. There is no need to explain.” When Andrew said nothing, she shrugged. “You must understand, I am still adjusting to my new place in the world. But I realize that it is unlikely I would have met your brother’s fiancée if I were still a servant. Why would I ever meet her as a mistress, a far more shocking position?”

Andrew shifted. “If it helps, I have not yet met Adela either.”

Lysandra drew back. “Your brother’s future bride?”

He nodded. “I am more often out of town than in it, and since my return I’ve been most busy with my own business concerns…and you.” He sighed and turned his face to look out the window at the city lights rushing past. “And I fear my brother may be hiding her away from me.”

Lysandra stared for a moment. Was Andrew actually offering her a little glimpse into his life that went beyond his lusts?

“Why would he do that?” she asked. “Do you not get along?”

“Sam and I?” he asked, and true surprise was in his voice at the concept. “No. I adore my brother and I know he loves me. But that is why he might hide the girl. To protect me. To keep me from being hurt by her existence. Because of Rebecca’s death.”

Lysandra sucked in a breath. “Your wife.”

Andrew jerked his face toward hers. He hesitated and then said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up such a thing.”

She worried her lip. “Is that not part of my duties as your mistress? To offer you some kind of comfort in your…difficulties?”

“No.” His tone was even and not to be argued with. “Perhaps some men would like that, but I wouldn’t.”

Lysandra flopped back against the carriage seat, deflated. She knew so little about Andrew beyond their connection in bed. What she did know intrigued her, but he kept her locked out, a continual reminder that she was a bedmate, not a life mate.

The carriage came to a stop and Andrew smiled at her as if their exchange had never occurred.

“And we are here. Are you ready?”

Lysandra forced a smile and nodded as the footman opened the door and helped her out. Once she stepped down, her worries about Andrew faded. She looked up at the big, beautiful lit-up opera house with its Grecian pillars and marble stairs. Impeccably dressed people milled about on the stairs and in the entryway above, talking and laughing until the sound was nothing more than a din in the air.

“It is…amazing,” she breathed.

Andrew smiled as he took her hand and led her up the staircase. “Wait until you get inside,” he said.

She tensed as they neared the top of the stairs. People were beginning to look at them. Their conversations slowed as their eyes followed first Andrew, then her. The ladies lifted their fans and whispered behind them and even the gentlemen arched brows and muttered softly to each other.

Her tension was mirrored in Andrew. His lips thinned as they neared the groups of people.

“They’re talking about us,” Lysandra whispered.

He nodded. “Indeed they are. About me, more likely than you. I rarely come out in Society anymore.”

She might have pressed more on that subject, but before she could, a man’s voice boomed from behind them.

“Callis!”

Andrew turned, maneuvering her with him, and his face lit up with a wide, true smile. Lysandra couldn’t help but stare. He was always beautiful, of course, an Adonis sent from the gods themselves to tempt her. But when he smiled… it was incredible how much his stern face changed. There was lightness there, laughter, a glimpse of a whole other man.

“Sam,” he said, extending his hand as he released Lysandra.

The other man, apparently Andrew’s brother Sam, bypassed the hand and enveloped his brother in a hard hug. He clapped him on the back a few times and then drew away.

“Drew, Drew, how I’ve missed seeing your ugly face.” Sam laughed. “You should come to London more often.”

Lysandra sucked in a breath. Drew. Sam. These were childhood nicknames, taken from a much more innocent time. She could hardly picture Andrew as a freckled boy, racing around with his brother. But when she did, it made her smile.

“London has its attractions, yes,” Andrew said, awkward as he shifted. “But coming here brings me little pleasure other than seeing you.”

Sam’s jovial face fell a fraction, and for a brief moment Lysandra saw all his grief for his brother on his face. And worry and…surprisingly,
fear
, but not of him…for him. She jerked her attention to Andrew. Why would his brother exhibit fear when he looked at him?

“But enough about you,” Sam teased. “Your lovely companion seems like a much more interesting subject. Unless you intend to keep her to yourself all night.”

Andrew smiled and touched Lysandra’s elbow. “Mr. Samuel Callis, may I present my friend Miss Lysandra Keates.”

Sam took her fingers and leaned over them, pressing a kiss to the top of her gloved hand. “Miss Keates, a pleasure to meet you.”

She smiled, and the expression wasn’t forced. There was something about Sam that made her feel utterly at ease. He had a friendliness that wasn’t in any way false. And although Andrew said he knew she was a mistress, he treated her no differently than he would any other person.

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Lysandra said. “I was so pleased to hear you were joining us tonight. And I hear congratulations are in order for your recent engagement?”

Sam blinked, and Lysandra tensed. Was that a subject she wasn’t supposed to bring up? It was one that touched on the other world, the proper world that these men inhabited, while she was on its fringes.

“Thank you,” Sam said. “I am most happy.”

Andrew stepped closer. “Truly?”

Sam turned his attention on his brother, and Lysandra saw the worry and fear again. “Yes, Drew. Very happy.”

“Good,” Andrew said with a breath of relief. “I would like to meet her, you know.”

Sam swallowed. “Would you? I worried it might be…difficult for you.”

Andrew’s smile faltered. “You needn’t protect me, Sam. I’m the older brother, aren’t I? Meant to fuss over you? If you take my duties then I’ll have nothing to fill my time.”

Sam’s gaze flitted to Lysandra. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. But yes, I would love for you to meet Adela. We’ll make the arrangements tonight. But now I see the lights are being flickered. We should go in and take our seats.”

He motioned for Andrew and Lysandra to lead. Andrew took her arm and they moved into the bright foyer. Slowly, the crowd was taking its places, ducking behind curtains that protected the boxes and into the aisles of the main audience chamber. Of course Andrew had a box and he pulled the curtain aside to allow the others to enter.

Lysandra stared. The box was private, with three comfortable, cushioned seats already set up to face the stage. A bottle of champagne rested in a pail filled with ice. Sam grabbed for the bottle as Andrew escorted her to one of the seats. His brother popped the cork and poured them each a little of the fizzy alcohol. He raised his glass.

“To my brother and the choice to live again,” he said, his joviality tempered for a moment by a serious tone.

Lysandra looked at Andrew from the corner of her eye. He seemed very serious, and his jaw was clenched in frustration or anger.

The lights in the opera house lowered and Sam took his seat next to Andrew as the curtain rose and the music began. Lysandra settled back and watched as the beautifully dressed singers floated onto the stage to sing in Italian about love and loss, death and birth. She wanted to lose herself in the music, but she couldn’t help but send a few glances toward Andrew from time to time. Although he was determined to keep his heart, his past, his life a secret from her, tonight she was learning more and more. And with every hint at his pain, she felt a stronger urge to help him. To heal him, as Vivien told her she could.