Aye. She deserved a fanciful night in her fancy new dress.
And Daniel? Well, he’d just count the minutes until it was time to take the blasted new dress off her.
Thanks for reading Mistress in the Making, Book Two - LUSTY LETTERS. If you have a chance to write a review, it’s always appreciated. Reviews and word-of-mouth are two of the best things you can do for authors you enjoy.
Thea and Daniel both surprised me once they started exchanging notes. I had no idea Daniel had such a sense of humor, nor that Thea, in all her relative innocence, would be ready to respond in kind. I love it when characters take on a life of their own and break out of whatever personality box I thought they fit into.
Now that Daniel’s ready to claim his mistress in public, just how far will he go?
Turn the page for a look at DARING DECLARATIONS, the final book in the Mistress in the Making Trilogy, where these two finally get their Happily Forever After.
Excerpt from DARING DECLARATIONS
Chapter 1
Both Pleasure and Suffering
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
