The countess took the cloak from her. “Do not be angry at my nephew. He is worried about you. If Tristan had not sent for his man, I would have asked our family physician to tend to your wounds.”
“What was done to me cannot be cured with tonics and bleeding, Lady Ludsthorpe!” she said, knowing she was being unreasonable. With the butler and the physician standing just outside the bedchamber, she felt trapped. “I beg of you, please send him away.”
Having raised five children, the older woman was familiar with tantrums. “Be sensible, Imogene. You must be examined for the sake of your health. Think of your family … and Tristan. He blames himself for failing to protect you from Norgrave.”
Imogene’s expression was sullen as she glared at the countess. “Tristan is not responsible for the marquess’s actions.”
“A logical assumption, I concur. However, my nephew has known Norgrave since they were boys. They have watched over each other for most of their lives. It was simple to overlook the flaws in his friend’s character because love and loyalty blinded him.”
Until this evening, when he had discovered the depths of Norgrave’s depravity.
Was he angry enough to confront his friend? Tristan had been so attentive since he discovered her curled up on the floor of his mother’s bedchamber. Imogene could not believe he would abandon her. More likely, he was waiting downstairs in his uncle’s library.
Still, she could not resist asking, “Ruth, where is your nephew?”
“I do not know,” was her evasive reply, which had Imogene’s eyes narrowing with suspicion. “He promised to return to you, and he is a gentleman who keeps his word. We can discuss this further after the physician has inspected your injuries.”
Imogene stared at the door as if she expected to see Norgrave at the threshold. She shuddered, but to the countess’s immense relief, she nodded.
Lady Ludsthorpe gave her an approving look. “All will be well, my dear. You’ll see. I will even stay so you will not be alone.”
She straightened her shoulders. Tristan had called her brave. If she could not do it for herself, she would find the courage for his sake. “I would like that very much.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tristan expected to spend half the night searching for Norgrave, but it had only taken three stops and a bribe to one of his servants to discover the man’s whereabouts. He had rented several rooms at his favorite club, the Acropolis, where he indulged in forbidden pleasures and satiated some of his more perverse appetites.
His name and another bribe granted him entry into the private club. While he was not a member, over the years, he and Norgrave had ended many evenings at the Acropolis. When he was younger, the lavish decadence of the establishment and the willing participants encouraged him to explore the darker side of his nature. It had been intoxicating and addictive, so much so, that he began to distance himself from this particular vice, while Norgrave had only been drawn deeper into this world.
No one paid attention to him as he climbed the stairs. Norgrave had selected one of the finest rooms in the establishment. He had told the proprietor that he was celebrating and had asked for three companions for the evening. Tristan did not have to deduce the reasons for his former friend’s good mood.
Tristan used the spare key the proprietor had given him to unlock the door to the chamber.
Music filled the air. The marquess was indeed in high spirits. He had hired musicians who were playing a lively tune. A large table had been carried in and it was heavily laden with food and bottles of wine. The food and drink encouraged other patrons to join the festivities. Tristan counted at least eight females in various states of undress. There were four men in the room, too, but he did not recognize any of them.
A bare-breasted blonde weaved toward him. “’Allo, stranger! My, you are a handsome one,” she said, offering him a drunken leer. “The bed is already occupied, but I know of an alcove.”
The woman had consumed too much wine to be reasonable. Tristan removed her curious hand from the front of his breeches and gallantly kissed it so she would not be offended. “I have some other business I must attend to first, why don’t you wait for me in the alcove?”
Her eyes were mere slits. With luck, she would fall asleep and forget all about him. “It will cost ye, but you will not regret it.”
“I rarely do,” he murmured, but the drunken temptress was already staggering away to do his bidding.
Tristan headed for the double doors that would open into the bedchamber. He opened one of the doors and stepped inside. Fully naked, Norgrave was standing next to the bed with his back to the door. Although he could see only glimpses of her, the marquess was not alone. He had positioned a woman facedown on the mattress. The energetic, rhythmic thrust of the man’s hips did not deter Tristan from entering the room and shutting the door. Wearing only a thin chemise, another woman was reclining on the long sofa while her female companion’s dark head was nestled between her thighs.
She glanced back and smiled at Tristan’s approach. “My lord, you did not tell us that you’ve invited your friend.”
Norgrave’s head snapped in his direction. Without slowing his pace, he said, “Blackbern, I was not aware that you had returned. Join us!”
It wasn’t the marquess’s lack of modesty that disturbed Tristan, it was the glimpse of the ugly cut on his face that was disquieting. He thought of the blood on Imogene and the bed, the wound on her hand. She had not accepted Norgrave’s abuse meekly, and he had not walked away unscathed. A surgeon had stitched up the deep sections of the gash. The side of his face was swollen and discolored, and an infection might spare him the trouble of murdering the coldhearted scoundrel.
His former friend grunted and his shoulders rippled and bowed as he spilled his seed into the woman. It was not the first time that he considered Norgrave arrogant and reckless. Tristan wondered how many bastards the man had sired. The thought that Imogene might be carrying the marquess’s child fueled his fury.
Norgrave slapped his lover on her arse and she cried out in surprise before she crawled to the other side of the bed to avoid another slap. “Be a dear, and get my friend a drink. He prefers brandy.”
“I did not come to drink with you,” Tristan said, his gaze shifting to the two women on the sofa. “Perhaps we should speak privately.”
“Why? I have no secrets.” The marquess slipped his hand into the sleeve of a red silk banyan with blue flowers and worked his other arm into the other. He did not bother to fasten the buttons down the front. Tristan glanced down at the man’s turgid cock with a raised brow. The man’s confidence was something he once envied, but now he felt nothing but disgust.
Norgrave plucked the glass of brandy from the woman’s hands as she walked by him. “Well, if you don’t want the brandy, then I will claim it.”
Whether it was intentional or not, his double entendre spurred Tristan into action. His fist connected with the man’s jaw, sending him backward and into the fireplace mantel. He heard the three women cry out in surprise and alarm, and there was movement behind him.
Norgrave’s pained expression relaxed into speculation as he rubbed his sore jaw. “Leave us.”
The women hastily slipped out of the bedchamber, but neither of the two men observed their departure.
“You’re bleeding,” Tristan said dispassionately. He walked over to the table and picked up a linen napkin that had been discarded. He tossed it at the marquess. “That is a nasty gash.”
“Would you believe I cut myself shaving without a mirror?” Norgrave pressed the cloth to his cheek.
Tristan lunged and seized the loose cloth flaps of the open banyan. He slammed Norgrave against the mantel. “You must have been astounded when Imogene fought back. It’s a pity she didn’t cut your throat, though there is a certain justice to her marring your handsome face, don’t you think?”
Tristan tightened his hold and pulled him closer so he could pivot the marquess away from the fireplace.
He sent him careening into a table.
Norgrave toppled over the table and spun around to confront him. “Have you lost your head? Whatever the lady told you is a lie.”
“I know about the message you sent Imogene. Duplicating my handwriting was simple enough. You knew it was the only way Imogene would agree to meet you. What you didn’t count on was that she replied to the note she thought I had written to her.”
A dry chuckle rumbled in Norgrave’s throat. “Did you actually see the note that she claimed I wrote in your handwriting? You have it all wrong, my friend. Imogene is making fools out of us both. I regret telling you this since you are fond of the minx. Nevertheless, the lady invited me to join her at your mother’s house. If she wrote you, she did so with the deliberate intention of pitting us against each other.”
He stalked toward his former friend. “I went to the house and found her, you filthy piece of excrement. You cannot lie your way out of this.”
Norgrave picked up a vase and wildly swung it at Tristan’s head. It missed breaking over his skull, but it struck him in the shoulder. The vase broke on impact, and he felt one of the sharp edges slice into his shoulder. With a roar, he collided into the marquess and they both fell to the floor.
For a few minutes it was a balanced battle with no clear victor. However, the man who always prided himself in abiding by the rules was no longer interested in playing fair. He grabbed Norgrave by the testicles and twisted. The man bleated like a wounded goat, too blinded by the pain to even roll away.
Tristan drove his elbow into the man’s stomach. He wanted to beat the man to death with his bare hands. He managed to hit him again, before the man kicked him away.
Norgrave staggered to his feet and sneered. “I never knew you were such a dirty fighter, Tristan. Shouldn’t you be issuing a formal challenge and demanding that I choose my seconds?”
“No challenge,” Tristan rasped, his collarbone throbbing from the blow. “You have no honor to defend. I suppose I will have to be satisfied with beating you bloody.”
Norgrave landed a brutal punch, and Tristan’s vision dimmed at the edges. He grabbed for the banyan, and gravity caused them to fall. The marquess landed on top, and he took advantage of his position. Tristan twisted his head to evade the man’s fists, but he took several blows to the face and shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he espied a small shard from the shattered vase within reach and he grabbed it. The piece was too fragile to be lethal, but the shallow cuts across Norgrave’s abdomen gained him his freedom.
“Enough!” the marquess barked, his hand lifted in surrender.
Tristan could not claim a clear victory. Both of them were gasping for breath and bleeding from numerous cuts. His face was already beginning to swell from the other man’s punches. Fortunately, the marquess looked worse. The gash on his face was bleeding noticeably. He would need a surgeon’s needle again before the night’s end.
“I need to know why.”
“Why what?”
“That damn wager, Norgrave,” Tristan shouted. “What angered you more—the notion that I was no longer interested in playing your bloody games and saw you for the manipulative bastard that you are, or that Imogene picked me instead of you?”
“If I were you, I would question the lady’s loyalty. Did she tell you about our time together?” he softly taunted.
“Spare me your lies.” Tristan wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “I can never forgive you for what you have done. From this day forward, our friendship is over. If you speak of this night to anyone or utter Imogene’s name, I will grant you the challenge you seek, and there will be no mercy. Sword or pistol, I will kill you.”
Tristan had delivered his message. He headed toward the door. If they were lucky, everyone was too drunk or nervous to summon the watch.
“You are casting our friendship aside over a woman?”
“No, I am no longer your friend because I despise you!” he yelled back. “You twist and corrupt everything that touches your life.”
Norgrave was outraged that his dearest friend was choosing a woman over him. “You will come to regret this decision. Your lady has a secret, one that she will never disclose. Do you hear me, Blackbern? Your lady took my cock with the eagerness of a Covent Garden whore. It was my name she cried out when she found her womanly pleasure within my arms.” He bared his teeth when Tristan froze and slowly looked in his direction. “The next time you coax her onto her back, you will wonder—which one of us will she be thinking of when she closes her eyes.”
Enraged, he slammed his fist into the marquess’s damaged cheek, ruining the surgeon’s handiwork. Norgrave was unconscious before his knees struck the floor.
Tristan turned on his heel and silently walked out of the room.
* * *
The Duke of Trevett was waiting for him in his uncle’s library. The older man quietly scrutinized the swelling and bruises on Tristan’s face. Without a word, he walked over to Lord Ludsthorpe’s desk and poured brandy into a glass and handed it to him.
“Is he dead?”
Tristan slowly shook his head. “He probably will wish I had killed him when he looks at his face.”
“How much do you know about what happened?”
The duke pinched the flesh between his eyebrows. “Your aunt told me what she could. I gleaned the rest from the physician.”
Tristan thought of the fear he’d seen in her eyes, and the blood on her dress. “It is not my place to ask, but I need to know—were her injuries beyond the physician’s skills?” he gruffly asked.
The older man sighed. “No more than one might expect, but worse than those who love her can bear. However, my daughter is young and healthy. In time, she will heal.”
The knot in his stomach loosened. “Are you planning to pressure the magistrate to bring charges against Norgrave?”
“I have been apprised of my daughter’s concerns,” the duke said tersely. “While I would relish the sight of seeing the scoundrel in iron chains, I do not wish to distress Imogene. If Norgrave courts public opinion to press his suit for marriage, our family is prepared to weather the scandal. My daughter is beyond his reach.”
The two gentlemen sipped their brandies.
It was the older duke who broke the companionable silence. “Tell me, is there any chance that Norgrave will die from his wounds?”
Tristan would have thought it impossible, but his mouth curved into a brief grin. “There is always a possibility.”
The duke nodded. “If you do not mind me saying so, you look as if you could use the services of a physician.”
Tristan chuckled, and then winced in pain. “I will heal in time, too.” He needed to see Imogene. He had promised to return, and he wanted to assure her that Norgrave would never trouble her again. “Is Imogene awake?”
“Not likely, son. The physician gave her something to ease her discomfort and help her sleep. My duchess and your aunt are watching over her. You can speak to her when she awakens.”
Tristan swallowed his protest. If Imogene was resting, he did not want to disturb her. “I feel I should inform you of my intentions. If your daughter will have me, I plan on marrying her.”
The Duke of Trevett reached for the decanter of brandy, and refilled their glasses. “It seems appropriate since you have already seduced my daughter.” He noticed Tristan’s discomfort and smiled. “Norgrave wasn’t the only man I was longing to see in chains.”
Tristan could hardly blame the man. “I understand that you find me unworthy. That your duchess had high hopes of finding a foreign prince or king for Imogene.”
The older man’s thick silvered eyebrows climbed north to meet his scalp, but he remained silent.
“I confess, my intentions have not always been honorable, but I fell in love with your daughter. I have never felt—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “As my duchess, she will never want for anything. I will protect her and vanquish anyone who dares to hurt her, even at the cost
of my life.”
“A noble vow. What if I refuse to offer my blessing?”
The duke sounded more curious than angry. Tristan had not considered what he would do if her family rejected his offer of marriage. “If Imogene will have me, then I will marry her without it.”
Her father’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Blackbern, you are a swaggering, disrespectful fellow. If you had given me a different answer I would have been disappointed. Aye, if Imogene agrees, you have my blessing. You have already proven that you are willing to risk your life in my daughter’s name.”
* * *
An hour later, he said his farewells to the Duke of Trevett and his uncle. He left the duke to apprise Lord Ludsthorpe of the evening’s events. Tristan had collected his hat, and had planned to slip out the front door. The sudden arrival of his cousins had lured his aunt from Imogene’s bedside. The longcase clock had chimed the three o’clock hour minutes earlier. At this rate, everyone would still be awake at dawn. The sight of his bruised face brought the older woman to tears. She hugged him and cried on his shoulder, and seemed loath to let him go until one of her daughters needed her assistance.
With everyone separating and heading to their bedchambers, Tristan found himself standing just outside Imogene’s bedchamber. He had learned from the lady’s father that the duchess was watching over her daughter. She would not welcome visitors at this late hour. Still, he could not resist a quick peek to assure himself that she was safe.
Tristan quietly twisted the doorknob and slipped inside the bedchamber. A single oil lamp lit a corner of the room. His gaze immediately sought out the Duchess of Trevett, and to his amusement the dragon was asleep. Her head bowed, the older woman sat near the lamp with an embroidery basket at her feet. The book she had been reading was still open on her lap.
With admirable stealth, he crept past the duchess. Her soft snores gurgling in her throat assured him that she was sound asleep. He moved toward the bed. As her father had predicted, Imogene was not awake. Tristan knelt at the side of her bed and studied her serene expression. She looked younger, and the shadows concealed the bruise on her cheek. He laced his fingers with hers and brought her hand to his lips.
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