by Donna Hatch
Of course, she might still be in love with Tristan. The thought pierced him like a barb. Eying the girl next to him, he reminded himself to uncurl his fists. He’d known all along that Tristan had her preference, but he’d hoped that infatuation would fade in time, especially as Richard began courting her in earnest.
What if he had competition? Was it possible that Tristan continued to pursue her? He might plan to take advantage of her affection and seduce her right under Richard’s nose. She would be too innocent to realize what Tristan’s intentions were until it was too late. The thought chilled him.
Uncertain if he could maintain his composure, he inclined his head to Elizabeth. “I bid you good day. I look forward to seeing you tonight.”
“Until then, my lord.”
He escaped as quickly as possible. Finding himself alone outside, he pressed his hands to his face. Dash it all, he’d just gotten used to the idea of marrying her. Looking forward to it, even. She was kind and witty and gracious. If he were to be honest with himself, he wanted to marry Elizabeth.
The thought brought him up short. He didn’t just desire Elizabeth; he wanted to spend his life with her. He wanted to smile at her across the dinner table, walk with her hand in his in the gardens, wake up every morning with her in his arms.
Very well, he’d confront Tristan and discover his intentions now before he risked his heart on a doomed relationship.
After leaving Pemberton House, Richard drove to Tristan’s bachelor’s rooms. His brother lounged on a chair, his hair mussed and his clothing in a dreadful state of disarray that would no doubt leave his valet weeping.
Richard took a seat opposite Tristan. “You look as if you’ve slept in your clothes.”
Tristan yawned but looked unnaturally pleased. “Not a lot of sleeping, actually.”
“I really don’t want to hear about your exploits.”
“Jealous?”
Richard snorted and let sarcasm drip from every word. “Insanely, because you are in possession of every quality I so much admire.”
Tristan grinned without apology. “More so than you’d ever admit, I’d wager.”
Richard folded his arms and stared him down. “Are you or are you not planning to continue courting, or even seducing, Lady Elizabeth?”
Tristan’s surprise could not have been feigned. “What? Are you barking mad?”
Richard nodded, satisfied. “Just making sure I’m not wooing my wife-to-be while my brother is plotting against me.”
“Not making any headway with her?” Challenge glittered in Tristan’s eyes.
“I admit she’s a bit shy, but she’s been receptive to me.”
“Then why do you accuse me of such low behavior?”
Richard fixed a look upon his brother that he normally reserved for slow-witted children. “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps because it’d be just like you to wish to embarrass me in front of the whole of society.”
“Really, Richard, give me a little credit.” Tristan arose and poured himself a drink, then held up the decanter. “Brandy?”
Richard shook his head and folded his hands together behind his back.
“So she isn’t falling into your arms and you’ve come for advice, eh?”
Richard nearly choked. “I’d rather run naked in the park than ask you for advice.”
Tristan shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. Your pride will get you in trouble someday.”
“For your information, our courtship is progressing in a satisfactory manner.”
“Uh huh. Have you kissed her?”
“I am not discussing my courtship with you. I merely came to ask if you are making my betrothal a sham by stealing away with Lady Elizabeth’s heart behind my back.”
“If that were true, it would be your own fault and not mine. I have no intention of stepping on your toes in such a way.”
“In spite of your earlier challenge?”
Tristan let out a snort of disgust. “You are so easy to manipulate, you know that? How else was I going to get you to try to woo the poor lass rather than just showing up at the altar at the last possible moment?”
Richard opened his mouth and then closed it. Of course. Tristan had been playing him. He should have seen that.
Tristan leaned back in his seat and stretched out his legs. “I’m not after your bride, Richard. She was a flirtation, never a serious pursuit. I know my place.” Yet something in his eyes made Richard wonder.
“Truly?”
Tristan let out his breath. “Very well. I’ll be honest with you.”
“That’d be refreshing,” Richard said dryly.
Tristan ignored the jab and grew more solemn than usual. “At first, I viewed her as a challenge. She so obviously disapproved of me and seemed completely immune to my flattery. So I did everything in my power to get her to smile at me. Later, we found we had much in common. She’s a romantic, she loves poetry, and she revealed remarkable wit once I got her away from her mother and sisters. I admit I truly liked her. I actually entertained the idea of reforming for her.” He got up and went to the window.
Richard stared at his brother’s back. At least Tristan hadn’t been using Elizabeth like a callous rake.
Tristan swung back around. “I’m not for her. Obviously. And I’m not ready to settle down. I might not ever be.”
“Then you won’t try to win her from me.”
“I vow it.” Tristan held his gaze steady.
“Do you give me your word that you won’t seduce her?”
Tristan let out a sound of outrage. “What kind of a scoundrel do you take me for? I have never seduced an innocent nor a married woman, and I certainly won’t start with yours!”
The relief that washed over Richard left him a bit weak and he realized just how important it had been to hear that. Tristan might be a lot of things, but a liar was never one of them. As far as Richard knew, all Tristan’s affaires had been with widows and divorcees. In fact, Tristan seldom openly pursued women; they always seemed to throw themselves at him. A part of Richard envied that about Tristan.
Richard stood. “Thank you. Forgive me, but I had to make sure.” He made a gesture to Tristan’s clothes. “I’ll leave you to clean up. Good day.”
His mouth still clenched in anger, Tristan turned away, scorn lacing every word. “Do visit anytime.”
Richard left vowing to make his future wife so pleased with him that she’d never again look at Tristan. Yet a seed of doubt lingered, a haunting fear that she’d be unfaithful, if not in body, in her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Warm with excitement, Elizabeth handed her wrap to a footman and smoothed her hair. She searched the crowd for Tristan but failed to locate him. Mary and Joanna chatted beside her, Joanna receiving admiring looks from all the gentlemen present, both wed and unwed, and she preened under their attention. Mary also received a number of lingering looks, but didn’t appear to notice. In fact, an unusual tightness touched her mouth.
“Is anything amiss?” Elizabeth asked her.
“Nothing worth mentioning. Shall we find our seats?” Mary linked her arm through Elizabeth’s.
“Indeed.” Since Duchess had more illustrious plans for the evening, Elizabeth predicted a pleasant interlude without her. She walked with her sisters through the rows of chairs in the drawing room.
They found a seat in the third row. Elizabeth cast a longing glance at the empty chair next to her. She ought to save a seat for Richard since he’d gone to all the trouble to ask her to be here. Yet, she’d rather Tristan took the seat instead. It would be like him to anticipate her presence at a poetry reading and attend in order to be with her…provided his feelings were genuine and hadn’t changed.
As she chatted with her sisters, she glanced frequently at the door. Other guests arrived, Miss Leticia Wentworth and her parents among them.
Leticia Wentworth paused as she passed by. “Good evening, ladies.”
“Miss Wentworth.”
As they e
xchanged the usual pleasantries, Elizabeth searched for signs of grief over losing her love, or hidden signs of animosity like her warning about making Richard happy, but Miss Wentworth’s expression remained, if not exactly friendly, then neutral. She must be expert at disguising her emotions. As Miss Wentworth bade them a good evening and joined her parents on the front row, the usual guilt that accompanied seeing Richard’s lost love arose within Elizabeth with glaring accusation. If Elizabeth eloped with Tristan, Miss Wentworth could marry Richard. They’d all be happily married to the ones they loved.
“I admire Miss Wentworth a great deal,” Mary said.
Elizabeth twisted her hands in her lap. “I do, as well. I cannot account for how she can be so civil to me. At least, to my face.”
“Elizabeth,” Mary said in gentle reproach. “I’m sure she doesn’t view you in an unflattering light.”
Joanna sniffed. “How can she not when Elizabeth effectively stole Miss Wentworth’s beau?”
“Joanna,” Mary said sharply, “if you cannot be polite, you should at least be quiet.”
Joanna flushed but kept her peace. An underlying sadness weighed Miss Wentworth’s posture as she conversed with her parents and other guests. Joanna was right; Elizabeth deserved Miss Wentworth’s hatred.
Nearby, a group of gentlemen stood in a circle, discussing the growing threat to London by the King of Crime, Mr. Black, and the increasingly urgent need to stop him and his notorious ring of criminals. Elizabeth shuddered.
Next to Elizabeth, Mary tensed, her breathing becoming irregular, her complexion turning pallid.
Elizabeth put an arm around her. “Whatever is the matter, dear? Are you unwell?”
Mary offered a quivering smile. “No, no, nothing like that.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “We had a burglary last night.”
“What?”
“Two men broke in. One held a couple of footmen at gunpoint while the other made off with some crystal and a couple of vases. They tried to force them to unlock the butlery and hand over the silver, but they didn’t have the key. One of the footman tried to fight back but they…hurt him.”
Elizabeth let out a gasp. “How terrible. Such brazen burglars.”
“Bow Street thinks they were in the employ of that terrible Mr. Black. That seems to be their style, to welcome confrontation instead of operating under stealth.”
Elizabeth shivered. To have had such a thing happen to her own sister made the world of crime so much more immediate.
A young gentleman stopped next to Elizabeth and gestured to the empty chair. “May I have this seat?”
Elizabeth offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m saving it for someone.”
“Of course.” He bowed and moved on.
Elizabeth glanced to the doorway again and her heart jolted. Tristan had arrived, stunning in an immaculate superfine suit, with a cravat tied in a perfect mathematical knot that seemed incongruous with Tristan’s jovial personality, and a green and blue brocade waistcoat. Really, he could wear an old flour sack and look dashing.
He worked his way through the crowd stopping to speak to everyone he passed. Elizabeth shifted so her body would not block the empty seat next to her. With any luck, he’d see that as an invitation.
Not even glancing Elizabeth’s way, he took an empty seat next to Leticia Wentworth. Elizabeth’s heart stuttered. He hadn’t come to her. Had he really given up on her? The air seemed too thick to draw into her lungs. Was it possible Tristan never really loved her? Were all his sweet declarations actually the insincere words of a flatterer looking for a flirtation or even an indecent affair?
Mary’s hand closed over hers and she whispered, “It’s just as well, Lizzie.”
Disappointment filled her, but she nodded and fought to keep her head up. “Of course.”
If Tristan didn’t want her, she would be doomed to spend the rest of her life with a man she didn’t love. Surely, Tristan’s love for her hadn’t changed and he would make his intensions known, but the thought failed to inspire confidence. It had been weeks with no contact. Now today, not even a glimmer of the love she thought they shared at the house party revealed itself in his eyes. Could he truly be so inconstant? A chilling thought struck her. Did he deserve his rakish reputation? Was she merely one in a long line of broken hearts?
Tristan and Leticia spoke in a comfortable manner, their postures relaxed, intimate even. Grinning, Tristan leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Laughing, Leticia swatted him with her fan and shook her head as if amazed by his audacity.
Elizabeth had to fight to refrain from slouching in her seat, and almost suggested that they leave. Tristan showed no signs of heartache, no signs even of a man desperate to find a way to be with his true love. How could she bear to sit through a poetry reading while the man in possession of her heart flirted with another?
“How could he?” she whispered. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.
Mary whispered, “They’ve known each other all their lives, Lizzie. They’re practically brother and sister.”
Startled that Mary had heard, Elizabeth turned her head away to hide the guilty flush creeping into her face. “I know.” However, his conversation with Leticia seemed flirtatious rather than brotherly. Hurt, she looked away.
“Besides, he’s to be your brother-in-law; you’d best stop thinking of him in any other way.”
Elizabeth nodded, and tried to swallow back the bitterness in her throat. Elizabeth turned her attention back to Mary, and to her terrifying news. “Do you think those burglars might return?”
“We hired armed guards to patrol the grounds with their dogs. That should discourage any future criminals.” Mary smiled bravely. “I’m sure that’s the last our family will see of such men.”
“Would it be presumptuous to hope that you’ve saved this seat for me?” A deep voice rumbled nearby.
Richard materialized next to the seat Elizabeth had saved for Tristan. For a moment, she could not speak as a confusing maelstrom of disappointment over Tristan, and admiration for Richard, whirled through her.
Richard’s midnight hair shone in the lamplight and his eyes glittered with some unspoken pleasure. His snowy cravat lay in a perfect waterfall that would have impressed Beau Brummell himself, and his burgundy frockcoat hugged his fine form to perfection. It was his smile, however, that kept her rooted in her seat. Partly soft, partly amused, it transformed his normally stern visage into the approachable face of the man who’d shown a humorous side, helped a flower girl, and promised Elizabeth freedom to support her causes. She suspected he possessed more sensibilities than she’d previously supposed. He never spoke the pretty words Tristan had, never made declarations of love, but he was genuine, complex, and alluring. Any girl should be pleased to wed the Earl of Averston. Any girl, that is, who wasn’t already in love with another.
Richard raised a brow, his smile broadening as if teasing her or perhaps enjoying her scrutiny. “May I join you, Lady Elizabeth?”
She swallowed and gestured to the chair. “Of course, my lord. I’d been saving it for the man I am to marry.”
Mary made a tiny coughing sound as if understanding the double meaning in her words, but Elizabeth ignored her. Richard broke into a full grin. She blinked in the warmth of Lord Averston’s rare display and basked in its warmth. As he took the seat next to her, the hostess greeted the audience and introduced those who would render the readings.
As each reading began, Elizabeth mouthed the words of well-known poems and absorbed ones new to her, immersing herself in verse and emotion, weeping over some, laughing over others. At the end, she sprang to her feet and applauded along with the others in the crowded room.
She glanced at Richard sitting next to her. He discreetly stifled a yawn. A yawn! Only a man with no heart, nor good taste, would yawn after such heart-stirring recitations. All her earlier tenderness for him evaporated in the face of his callous disregard of such beauty she held so dear.
Tristan grinned at Elizabeth and her sisters, his gaze resting longest on her. Everything inside warmed under his attention.
His smile faded into one of regret. Was he telling her he wouldn’t be eloping with her? An apology lurked under his expression and for a moment, sadness.
That was it, then. With a single look, he’d conveyed to her what she’d begun to fear; they would never be together. Either he never loved her, or he’d chosen to step aside and let his brother marry her. In that instant, all her hopes of a future with Tristan withered.
Tristan returned his focus to Richard and raised a brow in a fair imitation of an expression she’d often seen on Richard, a ready grin raising the corners of his mouth. He nudged Richard playfully with an elbow. “I’m surprised to see you here, given your usual impatience for anything so impractical as poetry.”
Richard’s eyebrow rose. “I will go to many lengths to please a family member or friend.”
Burying her disappointment until she could fully suffer through it in private, Elizabeth tried to catch up with the conversation. She glanced at Richard but only briefly, lest he see her crushing disappointment. “You don’t enjoy poetry, yet you came to tonight’s reading anyway?”
Richard lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”
Elizabeth blinked, uncertain as to whether she felt annoyance with the man who didn’t share her enthusiasm of poetry as Tristan clearly did, or touched that he’d chosen to encourage her to attend and spend the evening with her even though he found the whole thing a terrible bore.
Richard kissed the back of her hand and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. Briefly, vulnerability touched his eyes, as if he were concerned his offering might not be enough, and uncertain as to whether she would grow to care for him or hurt him. She didn’t want to hurt him—she wanted to wrap him in comfort. The realization left her momentarily stunned.
