An Introduction to Pleasure: Mistress Matchmaker, Book 1 Read online

  Dedication

  As always, for Michael, who knows why. And for Miriam, who also knows why.

  Chapter One

  1811

  The hack was overly hot and smelled of whatever its last occupants had been eating during their travels. The seats were covered with threadbare fabric and the cushioning had long ago worn away to leave hard patches. However, all these things were not why Lysandra Keates shifted in discomfort.

  Rather than her mode of transportation, it was her destination that gave her pause and made her quake. And now they were here, in front of a rather marvelous London estate that was obviously well tended but these facts gave Lysandra no comfort. In fact, she was utterly numb as she stared through the dirty carriage window to the house.

  “I do not wish to do this,” she whispered to herself, clutching her reticule against her chest. It was very light, thanks to its nearly empty state.

  And that was why she was here, despite her strong misgivings.

  Suddenly the door to the hack flew open and sunlight streamed into the confined space, making Lysandra lift her hand to her eyes until they adjusted and the man who had opened the door became more than shadow. The driver was fat, sweaty and scowling.

  “’Ey, are you going in or what, chit?” he snapped. “I don’t have all day to wait for you to make up your damn mind.”

  Lysandra flinched both at his harsh tone and the strong scent of uncooked onion coming from his rancid, rotting breath. She had never been spoken to in such a coarse fashion…at least not until this most recent year of her life. Now it felt all the more commonplace.

  Still, this was her last chance to make this decision, to answer the question he so rudely posed to her.

  “Well?” he said as he folded his arms.

  She swallowed. Like it or not, this was her only choice, wasn’t it? She had gone over all the others and here she was. Slowly, she nodded.

  “Y-yes. I’m going in.”

  The driver smirked as he looked her up and down in slow, leering appraisal. With a start, Lysandra realized he knew what this place was. Who this place belonged to, and he was judging her accordingly.

  Hot blood rushed to her cheeks, making her dizzy as her stomach turned ever so slightly. She forced herself to speak, though, to maintain what little dignity she had left.

  “Will you wait for me while I have my meeting?” she asked.

  Not that she wished to see this man ever again, but hailing another hack might be difficult.

  He gave her a grin that revealed missing and rotting teeth and shrugged. “Love to, but it will cost you.”

  Lysandra clutched her nearly empty reticule closer. She could scarcely pay for her trip here and home, there was no way she could afford a fee for sitting, too. It was a long walk back, but once again, she had no choices.

  “Very well, then be on your way,” she said as she pushed past him and got down from the vehicle without his assistance. She didn’t wish to touch him.

  He chuckled as he slammed the hack door behind her and swung back up into the driver’s seat. As he pulled away, his laughter echoed and she shivered, feeling as dirty as if she had allowed his hand to take hers.

  Once he was gone, that feeling faded, but it left another in its wake:

  Doom.

  There was no going back now.

  With a sigh, she smoothed her gown, which was two seasons out of style and at least a size too big, and then forced herself to move up the marble staircase and to the very tall, very official-looking black door. With shaking hands, she knocked and in a few moments, it opened to reveal a butler dressed in a smart livery that spoke of the homeowner’s wealth and taste.

  Lysandra drew back in surprise.

  “Good afternoon, miss,” the butler said, his tone bland, though not unfriendly. “May I help you?”

  Lysandra blinked a few times, still taken aback by how very sophisticated the servant seemed to be. She had expected many things, but not this.

  The butler tilted his head. “Miss?”

  She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, my mind wandered. M-my name is Lysandra Keates and I’m here to see Miss Manning.”

  The servant’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly and his gaze flitted over her, not in the leering fashion of the driver, but judging nonetheless. Lysandra forced herself not to shift under his appraisal and prayed her cheeks weren’t flushed with embarrassment.

  “And do you have an appointment?” he finally asked, not unkindly.

  Lysandra pursed her lips. She hadn’t even thought to make one. “I… No, I do not. But I assure you, I do not wish to trouble her, nor take up too much of her time. But this is a matter of great importance and I really must see her if she is at home.”

  She swallowed hard as she awaited the servant’s decision whether to even allow her entry into the foyer, let alone to have an audience with the woman she had come to see. If he wouldn’t… Well, she had no idea what she would do. Her options were few and very unpleasant at that.

  “Do you have a card?” he asked.

  Lysandra sucked in a breath. A card. Of course that was what someone who mattered would present.

  “No,” she whispered and couldn’t help it when her gaze slipped down to her feet.

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and Lysandra waited for the inevitable excuse that Miss Manning was not at home at present, but that the servant would certainly pass along a message. Which, of course, he wouldn’t. Why would he trouble his mistress with such a trivial person who she did not even know?

  “If you will follow me to the west parlor, I will ascertain if Miss Manning is currently at home,” the butler said.

  Lysandra jerked her gaze to his face. Although his expression was still bland, his eyes were kind and filled with understanding, which actually made her want to weep. But she pushed that reaction aside and simply nodded.

  “Oh, thank you so much,” she whispered and followed him down a short hallway and into a small, elegant parlor.

  “I will be but a moment. Please help yourself to tea and cakes on the sideboard if you would like.” He gave her a short bow and then backed from the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Lysandra covered her mouth as she sank into a chair before the low fire. Somehow she had made it past the first challenge in meeting Miss Manning. There was no guarantee the woman would see her, of course, but this was far closer than Lysandra had ever dared to believe she could come.

  Her gaze slipped to the cakes the butler had so kindly offered, and her stomach growled faintly. She had eaten no breakfast and her lunch had consisted of only a hunk of dry bread with a ridiculously thin wedge of cheese.

  She got to her feet and slipped to the table. With a quick glance at the door, she yanked her handkerchief from her reticule and quickly folded a cake into the fabric before she returned it to her bag. She was too nervous to eat now, but tonight this would supplement whatever meager supper, or lack thereof, awaited her.

  The door behind her opened and Lysandra spun around, guilty and embarrassed that she had nearly been caught stealing cakes like a child. But those feelings faded as a woman swept into the room.

  She was utterly beautiful, with honey-blonde hair twisted into an intricate fashion. Her pale blue gown was of the finest quality silk and had hand-stitched pink rosettes that cascaded over the fall of the skirt. Lysandra had never been of the ton, even before her life had changed, but she had worked for her betters. This woman put them all to shame.

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” the lady said as she closed the door behind her. “I am Vivien Manning.”

  Lysand
ra sucked in a breath. Of course, this had to be true, but…

  “But you don’t look like a—”

  With a gasp, Lysandra covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Dear God, had she almost voiced that statement aloud? Insulted this woman who held her fate in her perfectly manicured fingers?

  But Miss Manning did not look insulted. In fact, her expression didn’t even falter as she said, “A whore?”

  Lysandra flinched both at the harsh word and the fact that Miss Manning knew that the word had been her intent.

  “There, there, Miss Keates,” the other woman said with a smile. “I have been called far worse. Now please, do sit down. Have some tea. You look very pale.”

  Lysandra took a step backward and managed to take the seat she had abandoned just moments before. She watched silently as Miss Manning poured her a cup of tea, adding a generous amount of sugar to the cup and placing one of those delectable cakes on a plate. Once she had handed everything over to Lysandra, she took her own place in a chair across from hers and smiled.

  “Now, I do not believe we have ever met before this afternoon, have we?” She shrugged. “I meet a great many people, of course, but I normally do remember faces, if not names.”

  Lysandra took a cautious bite of her cake and a sip of tea before she responded. “No, we have never met.”

  Miss Manning pursed her lips. “I did not think so. I must ask you, then, why have you come to my home? My servant gave me the impression that it seemed to be of great import for you to meet with me.”

  Any appetite Lysandra had possessed fled in an instant. She set her half-eaten cake aside and stared at the woman who held her future without even knowing it.

  “Miss Manning—” she began.

  “Vivien,” the other woman said softly.

  Lysandra blinked. She had never called a woman who had rank or power over her by her first name. But Vivien seemed to offer the privilege without thought or ulterior motive.

  “Vivien,” she corrected herself with discomfort. “I apologize for intruding upon your home and your time without invitation, but I find myself in a quite dire situation that I fear you may be the only person to solve.”

  Vivien tilted her head. “I’m listening.”

  Lysandra sucked in her breath before she continued. “You see, ma’am, I-I have heard of what you…are. What you…do.”

  “Ah.” Vivien stared at her evenly. “And what is that? Just so that we do not misunderstand each other as this conversation continues.”

  Lysandra hesitated. She had never said out loud the kind of words that would be required to describe Vivien Manning’s life and profession. Dear Lord, it was embarrassing enough to think them in her head.

  But here she was, and this was the lady’s demand.

  “I— Well—”

  Vivien leaned back in her chair and smiled at her, kind and patient. “Take your time, Lysandra.”

  It was the use of her first name that put Lysandra at ease. She had been so far removed from anyone of an intimate enough acquaintance to use her given name, except for her mother, that it sounded sweet to her ears.

  “I know you are, or have been, a mistress to many men in the ton,” she managed to croak out with a powerful and hot blush burning her cheeks.

  Vivien smiled, wan. “Several, though I wouldn’t categorize it as many.”

  The other woman tilted her head, and Lysandra realized Vivien expected her to continue. She gathered her strength, cleared her thick throat and did so.

  “I have also heard rumor that you…well, that you have matched ladies who wish to become mistresses to gentleman of rank.”

  Vivien’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “I did not realize that was such common knowledge outside of my own circle.”

  Lysandra shook her head. “I do not think it is. I simply heard someone speaking of it in a house I once served.”

  A house of horrors, though at least it had given her the name of this woman. If Vivien would help her, perhaps there was some value to the end of her time as a servant.

  “And that is why you’ve come here,” Vivien said softly.

  Lysandra dipped her head. She had never spoken her next words out loud, either. And they were much harder to push past her lips, for once they were said, they could never be taken back. They would change not only how she saw herself but who she was.

  “Yes,” she finally whispered. “I have come here to ask to be matched with a gentleman. A protector. If it would not be too much trouble for you.”

  Chapter Two

  Now that the shocking request had been spoken out loud, Lysandra was surprised to find she actually felt better. She had been dreading this moment for days, ever since she realized this was the only course of action left for her, but now that it was out, an unexpected peace came over her like a warm blanket after a very cold winter.

  A peace that was quickly replaced by anxiety when she realized that Vivien Manning was staring at her. Simply staring, almost like Lysandra had sprouted a second head or danced a lively jig on the table before the Queen.

  “I have offended you,” Lysandra said softly, almost more to herself than because she expected an answer from Vivien.

  The other woman blinked a few times, but then a slow smile lifted the corners of her lips.

  “No, not offended. You have surprised me, and no one has done that in an age.”

  Lysandra covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  Vivien laughed. “Don’t be. I find I rather enjoy the sensation.

  Slowly, Lysandra let her hands fall away and she looked at Vivien. The other woman had no malice in her expression, nor mocking. In fact, she had a kindness to her face that once again surprised Lysandra. She had not been raised to think that women of Vivien’s kind could be so…nuanced.

  Or that she could like one as she was beginning to like Vivien.

  “But, my dear, what you are asking…it is quite a lot.”

  Lysandra tried to ignore the tightening in her chest and the tickle of tears that stung her eyes.

  “I do understand that,” she said.

  But Vivien shook her head slowly. “I’m almost certain you do not. You see, while I have matched certain ladies as mistresses to certain gentlemen, I don’t just match up any woman with any man. There is nothing willy-nilly about it.”

  Lysandra clasped her hands together tightly. She almost felt like a schoolgirl in the face of Vivien’s wise attitude. “No, of course not. You would not have the success that is whispered about you if you did that.”

  Vivien smiled as she continued, “You and I have only just met. How would I know your disposition? Your values?”

  Lysandra could sense the final refusal hovering in Vivien’s next sentence. To head that inevitability off, she jumped to her feet.

  “I could tell you! I would tell you anything you wished to know, I assure you!”

  Vivien’s smile fell, replaced with concern. “Lysandra—”

  Without thinking, Lysandra fell to her knees in front of the other woman and clasped both her hands. “Please, please do not refuse me.”

  “You are trembling,” Vivien whispered.

  “This is my only choice,” Lysandra said, just as softly. “Please, if there is anything I can do or say, any way I can convince you to be my savior, I will do it.”

  It was only then that she realized the tears had begun to fall, trailing down her cheeks.

  Vivien clucked her tongue and pulled one of her hands free from Lysandra’s to grab a handkerchief from the pocket of her pelisse.

  “Here, take this,” she said as she handed it over.

  Lysandra retook her seat and dabbed away the tears. “I’m sorry. I did not intend to come here and deposit my difficulties onto your doorstep.”

  Vivien shook her head. “Clearly you are in a most difficult position and though I do not know the details, I do understand. I’ve been there myself. But I am not certain you truly know what you are asking me to do for you.
And I hesitate to introduce you to this life if you aren’t ready for all it entails.”

  Lysandra squeezed her eyes shut. She had been trying very hard not to think of what “this life” would entail. Foggy images clouded her brain, but she shoved them aside. In this, she could not waver.

  “Miss Manning, I assure you that while I may not be as experienced as some of the women in your acquaintance, I do know what I’m asking of you. And I can only hope that you will help, for my alternatives are far more unpleasant.”

  Vivien’s eyes shut, and she sat like that for almost a full minute before she sighed. “I suppose if you are in such dire straits then those alternatives would be quite terrible. I would hate to be the one to place you in their path. So yes, if you insist on this course of action, I will help you.”

  Lysandra was seated, but she gripped the arms of the chair as dizzy relief washed over her in an almost uncontrollable wave.

  “Thank God,” she breathed.

  Vivien smiled again, but this time there was a sadness to the expression. “I will need to ask you a few questions in order to best help you.”

  Lysandra refocused and bit her lip. “Of course.”

  “This is delicate, but what kind of experience do you have?”

  Lysandra tried to focus over the increased throbbing of her heart. Here was the difficulty. If she told Vivien the truth, she could easily lose the opportunity she had finally won. If she lied, she could end up far over her head. But better the second than the first.

  “Not much, as I said,” she finally answered. “But I am aware of the expectations placed upon a mistress.”

  Once again, Vivien was quiet for a very long time, simply watching Lysandra through a hooded and nearly unreadable gaze. To Lysandra’s surprise and relief, she did not press the issue, but instead said, “And what do you ask for in a protector?”

  Now it was Lysandra who was silenced by surprise. She hadn’t thought much about that subject, mostly because she had never thought a mistress could demand anything of her protector. Wasn’t it he who held all the power, along with the purse?

  But when it came down to it, wouldn’t she ask for the same qualities in a lover that she had once hoped for in a husband?