Only a Mistress Will Do by Jenna Jaxon - Book Tour + Giveaway
ONLY A MISTRESS WILL DO
by Jenna Jaxon
Pub date: 4/4/2017
Genre: Historical Romance
The man of her dreams . . . belongs to another woman.
Destitute and without friends, Violet Carlton is forced to seek employment at the House of Pleasure in London. She steels herself for her first customer and is shocked when the man rescues her instead of ravishing her. A grateful Violet cannot help but admire the handsome Viscount Trevor. But she must curb her desire for the dashing nobleman she can never have because he is already betrothed to another...
Tristan had gone to the House of Pleasure for a last bit of fun before he became a faithful married man. But when he recognizes the woman in his bed, he becomes determined to save her instead. Now, his heart wars with his head as he falls for the vulnerable courtesan. Unable to break his betrothal without a scandal, Tris resolves to find Violet proper employment or a husband of her own. Still, his arms ache for Violet, urging him to abandon propriety and sacrifice everything to be with the woman he loves...
Chapter 1
London, November 1761
Shivering in the brisk wind cutting
straight through her thin gown, Violet Carlton trudged across the
small
dirt-packed backyard, littered with tufts of dead grass and scattered brown and
red leaves. Teeth clenched to stop their chattering, she mounted the short
three steps of the back stoop, straightened her shoulders, and rapped three
times on the dull gray door of the silvery clapboard house. Beyond the
weathered board fence of the house next
door a dog barked, but no one stirred. No prying eyes to
witness her shame.
The door opened a crack, and a lad of
about twelve stuck his head out. “What you doin’ ’ere this time
o’ day?”
“I would like to speak with Madame Vestry,
please.” Perhaps she should have waited until later in the morning. Such an
establishment would obviously keep late hours. But the ache in her belly had
forced
her here as soon as the sun had risen.
“She’s still sleep. Come back later
today.” He started to push the door closed but Violet rammed her
boot between
it and the jamb. The boy kept shoving, squeezing her foot until she winced in
pain,
but she gritted her teeth, put her shoulder to the door and pushed back.
If she didn’t do this now,
she wouldn’t have the courage, or the strength, to
come back.
“I need to see her now.” She raised her
voice, and threw her weight against the rough boards. Despite
her small
stature, she was stronger. He staggered back and she fell into a narrow back
foyer with a row
of coat hooks and the devastating yeasty smell of baking
bread. Her mouth watered and her stomach
rumbled. She hadn’t eaten for days.
Blond hair straggling from under a
mobcap, a girl, maybe fourteen, rushed into the room.
“What the hell’s going on
in here Willie?” She wiped her hands on her apron, streaked with flour
and
grease. Warily, her gaze shifted from Willie to Violet. “Who are you?”
“I’ve come to see Madame Vestry.” Violet
focused on the girl’s narrowed eyes. “I
need to talk to her,
please.” Her heart gave a sickening lurch.
In one practiced glance, the girl took in
her appearance, from what used to be her second-best hat
to the rumpled and
stained deep-purple dress to her scuffed black boots, and sniffed. “I see you
do.”
The appraisal stung, but was probably
fair. She’d come down fast in the months since her
grandmother’s death. Her
possessions long gone, her wardrobe—reduced to two dresses and a
well-worn
cloak—had been sold, leaving her with only the dress she stood up in. These
clothes
wouldn’t fetch a shilling in a secondhand shop now.
The servant girl nodded to Willie. “Close
the door before we freeze to death, jingle-brains. Come on.”
She led Violet out
of the foyer. “I’ll ask if Madame will see you. But she won’t be happy being
woke up
this early, you can bet your dippers on that.”
The last thing she wanted was to
antagonize her future employer. Still, she couldn’t risk waiting until
later.
Taking a firm grip on herself, she
followed the girl down a shadowy hallway until she motioned her
into an equally
dim reception room. “Wait here.” The girl turned on her heel and left.
Violet let out the breath she’d been
holding. She hadn’t fainted yet, though her empty stomach had tied
itself in
knots. The pain meant she was alive and by God she intended to stay that way.
She strode
farther into the room and perched on the red cushioned sofa. Let the
woman arrive swiftly to get
this over with.
Sitting rigidly, she stared at her hands
clenched in her lap, then shook herself. She had better be stronger
than this.
Determined, she sat straighter. A classical-style painting in a large gilt
frame across from her
caught her interest. A naked woman lay on a chaise, her
legs spread. Oh, good Lord. Her womanly parts
were exposed and a swan lay with
its beak pressed between her thighs.
Her face heated and she had to look
somewhere else, anywhere else but at that painting. The fireplace
on her right
held two candlesticks, shaped like naked women. Wax had dripped onto the
figures,
drops hanging from the nipples. Was there nowhere in the room without
a lewd image? Violet gripped
the end of the sofa. The plush red carpet seemed
safe to study. The smooth, polished wood under her
fingers had been carved in
an oval with folds in the middle. She traced the pattern absently, still unable
to get the image of the painting out of her mind. The swan’s long neck lying at
the apex of the woman’s
open legs. Her forefinger stroked the wooden oval, so
similar to the—
Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary romance. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise—so expect her to incorporate these elements into her work! She lives in Virginia with her family and a small menagerie of pets where she is currently working on the next House of Pleasure book, Only A Mistress Will Do, as well as a Regency series. When not reading or writing, she indulges her passion for the theatre, working with local theatres as a director. She often feels she is directing her characters on their own private stage when she writes. Jenna equates her writing to an addiction to chocolate—once she starts she just can’t stop!
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