“You own my heart,” he whispered, kissing her hand. Tristan bowed his head and silently prayed for her recovery to be swift. “Sleep well, my love.”
Imogene’s fingers squeezed his hand, and he lifted his head to find her staring at him. Her eyelids drooped as she fought not to fall asleep.
“You came back,” she said softly.
“Hush, you will awaken the dragon,” he teased, though he was careful to keep his voice low. “I promised I would, did I not?”
Imogene blinked rapidly, and then squinted at Tristan. “Your face. You and Norgrave fought.”
She reached out, and he leaned closer so she could stroke his cheek. “It was inevitable. I could not stand idle and permit his crimes to go unchallenged.”
“You fought him in a duel?” She tried to sit up.
He glanced at the sleeping duchess as he gently pressed Imogene’s shoulders back against the pillows. “Why use a sword or pistol when my fists were sufficient?”
“Did you kill him?”
“No,” he said, striving to lighten his tone. “You and my aunt would not have approved. Nevertheless, I have conveyed a clear message to Norgrave. He is aware that I will challenge and kill him if he troubles you again. I have also cut all ties with him. He is dead to me.”
“I am sorry, Tristan.”
“Don’t be,” he whispered back, his eyes eloquent in their sorrow. “My only regret is that I had not ended our friendship sooner.”
Norgrave would have left you alone if not for me.
“You loved him.”
Tristan shook his head. “I do not think I truly loved anyone but myself, until I met you. I love you, Imogene. When you are ready, I want us to marry.”
She glanced away, and he felt her silent retreat as if it was a blow to his heart. “I am getting ahead of myself. We will discuss this again when you are stronger.”
“I love you, too.”
“Aye, I know,” he said, her declaration giving him hope. Tristan caressed her face. “I would sleep at your feet like a faithful hound, but I doubt the dragon would approve.”
Imogene rewarded him with a smile. “You have to stop referring to my mother as a dragon.”
“Why?” He stifled the urge to groan as he wearily stood. “It’s meant as a compliment.”
He fully expected the duchess to breathe fire when she learned of his intentions to marry Imogene, but it was a battle best reserved for another day.
“Go back to sleep.” Tristan kissed her fingers. “You have not seen the last of me, my lady.”
“Mmm…”
He released her hand when she nodded and dutifully closed her eyes.
As he retraced his steps, he was too distracted to notice that the duchess was no longer snoring. It was only when he shut the door that the lady opened her eyes and stared at the door in quiet contemplation.
Chapter Nineteen
Imogene sat on the edge of the large marble fountain her mother had installed in the back garden a year earlier. The duchess had purchased it from an old medieval ruin, and thought the artifact was essential to her jardin d’amour or “garden of love.” For a fortnight, it was her favorite place for contemplation as her bruises healed and the passing days put distance between her and Norgrave’s betrayal.
Not that she could completely banish the marquess from her thoughts.
Her mother had been quite vocal about returning to the country. She thought Imogene required fresh air and the rural landscape to hasten her recovery. To her astonishment, it was her father who disagreed. He had argued that an unexplained departure in the middle of the season would be fodder for the gossips. It was already known that Blackbern and Norgrave had done their best to kill each other at one of London’s most unsavory establishments, the Acropolis. She overheard her father tell her mother that one of the stories being bandied about centered on Tristan catching Norgrave bedding one of his old mistresses. Many blamed the violence on too much drink and vice. Others cast a speculative eye toward Imogene, since many members of the beau monde had witnessed the men’s friendly competition to gain her favor. Even though there were numerous debates on the reasons for the brawl, everyone agreed on a single point. Blackbern and Norgrave were no longer friends. The bond that had been forged in boyhood, and strengthened by camaraderie, loyalty, and, yes, even love, had been severed by a single act of violence.
Those who were acquainted with both gentlemen placed wagers at their clubs, and patiently waited for the next explosive confrontation. So far, neither man was being very accommodating. Tristan had not altered his routine. If anyone questioned him about the bruises on his face, he rudely ignored them. Norgrave had not been seen. Most assumed that he was recovering from the injuries that he had received during the fight.
Imogene had also gone into hiding. When asked about her absence, her family explained that a stomach complaint had put her in poor health. Even Tristan’s aunt had added credibility to the lie, by telling everyone that Imogene had collapsed at her residence and a physician had had to be called. The Ludsthorpes were protecting her when she had expected to be shunned.
“I thought I might find you here,” Tristan said, his expression indulgent as he approached her. He clasped her extended hand, and he kissed her knuckles.
She sensed he desired more than a chaste kiss on the hand, but he released her hand. Since the night he had slipped into the bedchamber and whispered that he loved her, he had been attentive and patient. His daily visits were something she looked forward to. Even her family did not seem troubled that Tristan had become a part of all of their lives. He had played cards with the duke at his favorite club, flirted outrageously with Verity, and to her amazement had secured two dinner invitations from her mother.
Tristan sat beside her on the narrow edge of the fountain. “You will freckle if you keep forgetting your bonnet.”
“I like the feel of the sun on my face,” Imogene admitted. “Will you love me less if I do freckle?”
He scratched at his earlobe and appeared to take the question seriously. “It is something to ponder.”
She offered him an exasperated sideways glance. “Tristan—”
“It is a travesty to mar the beauty and perfection of your nose.” In one fluid move, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his as they stood.
“It was not even a genuine question.” Imogene huffed.
“Everything about you is a subject that I happen to take very seriously. Even your imaginary freckles.” Tristan leaned down and placed a small kiss on her nose. “You are important to me.”
“I am aware of your feelings, Your Grace,” she said, wishing he looked less somber when he gazed into her eyes.
The corners of his mouth lifted at her formality. His blue-gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “Not all of them. If you did, you would be rushing into the house.” He sighed as he savored the feel of her body. “I have missed holding you in my arms.”
“I feel the same.” Imogene breathed in his warm scent and leaned into him. She had deliberately kept Tristan at a distance and they had both been hurt by it. “I needed some time.”
“I know, my darling.” His hands slid up and down her back, his hand dipping and cupping her backside. “Everything happened so quickly between us, and then Norgrave … I understand.”
“I do not blame you.”
“Of course you don’t,” he replied, unable to conceal the shadow of guilt from his expression. “You are generous, and see the good in everyone you meet. You probably saw the decency in Norgrave, even though he does an admirable job of burying it.”
Tristan’s remark struck with uncanny accuracy. She gasped, and turned away.
“Imogene.” He touched her on the shoulder. “Forgive me. It was a thoughtless observation. In my defense, my tongue doesn’t always consult my brain.”
She had hurt him, too, so it was easy to forgive him. “You were not wrong. About your friend.”
“My former f
riend,” he corrected.
“Regardless, I believe you are correct.” Imogene missed his warmth. She edged closer to him. “Norgrave must have a sliver of compassion in him, otherwise I doubt you would have been his friend for so many years.”
Tristan brushed a kiss against her lips. He retreated before she could react. “See? Generous. Norgrave does not deserve your forgiveness.”
“He does not have it,” she countered sharply. “I may never grant it, but I doubt he wants it.”
Tristan had chosen her, and it was a betrayal that the marquess would never forgive.
“I assume the dragon has mentioned my aunt and uncle’s upcoming ball,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. He refused to allow her to brood over the past.
On separate occasions, she had been approached by her mother and father about the ball. Verity had already selected the dress she planned to wear to the ball. “Next Wednesday, I believe?”
“The guests will be family and close friends. The duke mentioned your mother has ordered a dress for you since it’s a special occasion.”
“Tristan,” she said, glaring at him because he was doing what he did best—pressing her to get his way. “I have not decided if I will attend.”
“If you cry off, it will be awfully humiliating for me when our family announces our betrothal. I do not know if I will be able to recover.”
“You think you are so clever,” Imogene muttered.
“Not particularly. If I was so intelligent, you would already be my duchess.”
She rolled her eyes. The man was persistent. “So our courtship has come to an end?”
“I have had your family’s blessing for weeks, Imogene.” His blue-gray eyes darkened as concern furrowed his brow. “Unless you have reconsidered. Perhaps you do blame me—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I do not recall most of what I said to you the night you arrived at the house. My head was muddled, but I have had time to discern the truth from the lies that I was told.”
“Excellent, then we can proceed as planned and announce our intentions to marry the night of the ball.”
“Why?”
Tristan grimaced, plainly frustrated by her reluctance. “Love, my lady. Is that not reason enough?”
“Sometimes,” she conceded. “I just…”
“Talk to me. You have doubts that I love you?”
Imogene shook her head. “Are you marrying me because of Norgrave?” she blurted out, relieved that she finally had the courage to ask the question that had been troubling her for weeks.
He stepped back as if she had pushed him. “What has brought this on?”
Imogene could see that she had angered him. If his answer was not so important to her, she would have let the matter drop. “Do you not see? You have been protecting your friend, cleaning up his messes for so long that you do not realize it. If you are feeling guilty about not protecting me, and have proposed marriage as some sort of misguided penance, then I must refuse. I am not ruined. If there is a scandal, my family and I will weather it. You told me that I was strong. I doubted you the night you told me, but I have come to see that you are right. I do not require a noble sacrifice from you.”
“I do not believe it!” Tristan muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Your head is still muddled if you think I would marry out of guilt or to rectify a wrong. When I found you huddled on the floor in my mother’s bedchamber, I stopped denying my feelings for you because I realized I could have lost you. If marriage is a sacrifice of my freedom, then I gladly surrender it. I love you, Imogene. I want to build a life with you. Perhaps you do not feel the same about me?”
Tristan inclined his head. “Forgive me for intruding.”
“You are leaving?” Imogene trailed after him. She did not want to part from him in anger.
He halted, but did not turn around. “For now,” he said curtly. “You have been so concerned about my feelings that you have not contemplated your own.”
“I do not have to—I love you, Tristan.”
He sighed. “I have neglected my duties so you will not see me until my aunt and uncle’s ball.”
“Are you punishing me?”
Tristan pivoted and marched up to her. “No, I am giving you time to miss me.”
He grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her forcefully to him, his mouth muffling her exclamation. His kiss was unlike the chaste kisses she had grown accustomed to the past fortnight. It was rough, carnal, and her blood heated as he kissed her to vent his anger. If he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her upstairs to her bedchamber, Imogene would have gone willingly.
This was the duke she had fallen in love with.
“Tristan,” she said, swaying slightly when he ended the kiss.
“I will settle for nothing less than marriage, Imogene,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides as he stepped away from her. “You know I am not a patient man. But I am trying … for you.”
* * *
At dinner, her mother accused her of sulking. Imogene could not deny the charge so she delicately shrugged and continued to push the food around on her plate. Her exchange with Tristan was a lead weight on her heart. She had unintentionally hurt him. Her duke was offering her everything she had secretly wished for, but a part of her seemed incapable of trusting her good fortune.
When her melancholy increased as nightfall descended, Imogene kissed her mother and announced that she was retiring early. However, sleep was elusive. Lying on the bed, she refused to think of Norgrave, but she could not banish the night from her thoughts. He had been rough, but he had behaved as if he was her lover rather than her attacker.
“Blackbern will never marry you, Imogene,” the marquess taunted. “You have betrayed the man whom you claim you love, and you will continue to do so.”
“You are the one who betrayed him, not I,” she cried.
Norgrave did not react to her words. “You chose the wrong man,” he said, sounding disappointed in her. “However, I am willing to forgive you.”
She flinched when he tried to stroke her cheek.
“Fight me if you must. Eventually, you will come to accept the truth.”
Afraid to provoke him further, Imogene bit down on her tongue to keep from speaking.
The marquess’s lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Even if Blackbern deigns to touch you again, it will be my face you will see when you close your eyes. My hands on your breasts … my mouth between your thighs giving you pleasure.”
Imogene pulled the sheet higher as she shuddered. Norgrave had been wrong about Tristan, but he had been correct about one thing. She thought of him often. It angered and confused her, leaving her to wonder if she would truly be free of his torment.
She rolled over onto her side at the soft knock at the door.
Someone opened the door and peered in.
“Imogene, are you awake?” her sister asked.
“Yes.” She sat up on the mattress. “Is something wrong?”
“I came to ask you the same question.” Verity entered the chamber. She placed the branch of candles she was holding on the table near the bed. “You seemed distracted at dinner this evening. Did you and Blackbern quarrel this afternoon?”
“Why do you ask?”
Verity shrugged. Not waiting for an invitation, she sat down on the bed. “He has made a habit of lingering in the garden with you, but today he departed with barely a word to anyone. Mama noted that your duke appeared to be upset.”
“I thought Mama was ignoring Blackbern?” Imogene asked, deliberately using his title in front of her sister. She had done her best to shelter Verity from the more scandalous details of her relationship with the duke, and Norgrave’s attack. Her mother and father had also agreed with her decision.
Verity leaned back until her head rested on the pillow. “The duke is wearing her down. The last time he called her dragon, I swear, she smiled when his back was turned.”
“He once told me tha
t he would win our mother over,” Imogene admitted. “At the time, it seemed like an impossible task, but I should not have doubted him. One would have to be dead not to fall for his flattery.”
“Including you?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Including me.”
“So does this mean you will be marrying the duke?” Before Imogene could ask Verity why she had come to this conclusion, her sister went on to explain. “A few days ago, I overheard Papa tell someone that he expected that you and Blackbern would be posting banns soon. And this afternoon, I came across Mama and the housekeeper while they discussed the recent entries in the kitchen ledger. Mama said that the next few orders would be higher than usual, on account that you and—”
Imogene rolled over and tugged the end of her sister’s braid. “Good grief, you little sneak! How many times do I have to tell you that it is rude to listen at doors? One of these days, you are going to overhear something that you will truly regret.”
“How else am I supposed to find out what is going on in this house?” Verity demanded. “No one tells me anything. And before you deny it, I know all of you are keeping something from me.”
She didn’t evade her sister’s intent gaze. In the candlelight, her sister looked older. While Imogene had been distracted with her own concerns, Verity had been maturing into a young lady. “Why do you believe everyone is keeping secrets? Did you overhear something not meant for your curious ears?”
“What about the night Mama and Papa were summoned to the Ludsthorpes’ town house?”
Imogene rolled onto her back and covered her eyes with her forearm. She resisted the urge to groan in frustration. Of course, it would have been too much to hope that her sister had been blissfully unaware of that horrible night.
“What about it? You are aware that I had fallen ill, and Blackbern was worried. He brought me to his aunt’s house, and Mama and Papa were summoned. The physician thought it was prudent that I stay in bed for a few days. You know all of this,” she said, feeling exasperated and annoyed that her sister wanted answers that she was reluctant to give.
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