She did not have to guess why Tristan was honing his sword skills. Clearly, he had time both to court her and plot his revenge against Norgrave. “Oh, I see.” Imogene bit her lower lip in consternation. “He is not expecting me. How angry do you think he will be if I interrupt his training?”
The butler shook his head. “His Grace has a standing order with the staff that you are allowed entry at any hour.”
Imogene was stunned by McKee’s revelation. Tristan valued his privacy. Before her, he had never brought one of his lovers to his town house. “When did he issue this order?”
“Well, I cannot recall the precise date, my lady.” He gave her an apologetic glance. “However, I believe His Grace issued the order after your first visit.”
So much had transpired since that night.
For a few minutes, Imogene could not speak because she feared she would break down in tears. For a man who rarely trusted anyone, he had opened his private house wholly to her. Although she had been unaware of this, his order revealed more about his feelings than he had been willing to admit at the time.
“C-could you show me the quickest way to the back terrace, McKee?”
Chapter Twenty-one
Alone, Tristan silently advanced and retired, allowing his foil to be his voice as he thrust and parried with his imaginary opponent. He had discarded his coat and waistcoat more than an hour ago, and his linen shirt clung to him like a second skin. His legs and arms moved as gracefully as a dancer’s, his muscles attuned to the lethal weapon in his hand. If Norgrave had been foolish enough to step in front of him, Tristan would have thrust the point of his sword into the man’s heart without hesitation.
“Tristan?”
For the first time, his foot shifted sideways and his step faltered. He straightened, allowing the hilt of his foil to rest against his hip. “Imogene.” He said her name with reverence. She had come to him. Granted, he had not given her much choice since he had not replied to any of her invitations to visit her. He had promised to keep his distance, and it had been difficult to stay away.
He nodded to McKee, and the servant silently disappeared into the house. As he stared at her, his gaze taking in every detail, his initial joy cooled as he realized that she might have come for less pleasant reasons. “You look well,” he said, stepping closer.
“You.” She gestured at the forgotten foil in his hands. “The manner in which you moved. You looked beautiful and deadly.”
“And you, my lady, are simply beautiful,” he said. Tristan longed to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but he feared that she might flinch from his touch. “I have missed you.”
“Did you? Then why did you not respond to any of my requests?” she demanded, and he could sense that she had been hurt by his actions.
“I did not ignore your invitations out of indifference or to punish you,” he said, his voice sharper with frustration. “I told you that I would stay away so I would not say something stupid like—”
“Like what?”
“Like making demands when I want you willing and in my bed.” Tristan stepped away from her to retrieve a small towel from a nearby table. He used it to mop the sweat fom his face, and then he draped the towel over his arm that held the foil. “Come inside. Your skin is too fair to be outside without a parasol.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her back indoors. McKee immediately appeared when they entered the house, and he collected the damp towel and foil from the duke.
“Shall I serve refreshments in the drawing room?” the butler inquired politely.
“We will ring for them later,” Tristan said, as he became aware that he was not dressed to entertain anyone in his formal drawing room. “Come with me, Imogene.”
He led the way, confident that she would follow since she would assume that they were heading for the drawing room.
As she ascended the steps, she asked, “Are you planning to entertain this evening?”
“Why do you ask?” he replied, glancing over his shoulder.
Imogene gestured to the four maids cleaning the front hall. “No reason in particular,” she said swiftly as if she was uncertain of her welcome since she had shown up at his door without warning. “I just noticed—this house must require a large staff.”
“It does. However, I asked the housekeeper to bring on more staff this week.” When he reached the landing, he leaned against the banister. “Do you want to know why?”
“Only if you wish to tell me,” she teased him back, taking the time to playfully trail her finger across his chest as she walked by him.
The small intimate gesture triggered a strong need to pull her against him, but he resisted. Patience, he thought as he caught up to her. “Isn’t it rather obvious? The servants are readying the house for its new mistress.”
The fact that the news caused her to abruptly halt and her mouth fall open did not bode well.
“You do recall my aunt is preparing a ball on our behalf—our betrothal ball?” he said, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. “Or perhaps marrying me is not very important to you?”
“Oh, Tristan,” she said, looking a little sad. “It is nothing like that. It is just—”
“What is it precisely?” he asked, feeling annoyed at himself that he had already managed to ruin her playful mood by mentioning their betrothal.
Her hands parted in a gesture to encompass her surroundings. “All of this. I have thought of you … of marrying you. I had not given much thought to what it will mean to be the Duchess of Blackbern, my responsibilities … to this house and your other estates. To be honest, all I thought of was you.”
Her explanation doused his anger. Tristan clasped her hand within his and brought it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her gloved hand. “It pleases me that you have thought of nothing else but marrying me. As for the rest of it, we can figure it out together.”
Imogene nodded, though she did not seem entirely convinced that it could be so simple. It was incomprehensible to her that all he desired was her.
“Wait, are we not going to the drawing room?” she asked, when he directed her toward the stairs again.
“There are too many servants wandering about. I do not want us to be disturbed.”
She remained silent until they had reached the door of his bedchamber. “What if the servants see us?”
Tristan snorted, and opened the door. “Imogene, the entire household knows I intend to marry you. Considering my illustrious reputation, no one will be scandalized that I wish to visit with my soon-to-be-duchess in my private quarters.” He stared at her, almost daring her to refuse him by declaring that there would be no marriage. The time apart from her had not quelled his fears. In spite of her father’s assurances that the lady would offer her consent eventually, he had not slept well since he had left her alone in the Trevetts’ gardens.
Unable to think of a proper rebuttal, Imogene stepped into the bedchamber. Feeling as if he had won this first battle, Tristan did not bother concealing a little smirk as he closed the door and turned the key in the lock. If he had his way, he would keep her in bed until his ring was on her finger.
* * *
Since it had been too dark to explore on her first visit, Imogene took her time walking into Tristan’s private quarters, her curious gaze noting the colors he had chosen, the walls, each piece of furniture, the thick rug beneath her feet, and the draperies framing the windows. Aware of his quiet scrutiny, she felt it would be rude not to compliment him on his bedchamber.
“Very charming,” she said, her gaze flicking to the bed. “I highly approve of your choices.”
Even though she was nervous, it had not escaped her notice that this room represented a very private part of the duke. He might have bedded countless women, but he did not share this bed.
Until her.
“It eases my mind that you approve,” he said, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders so he could give her a chaste ki
ss on the cheek. “McKee would have been upset if I ordered everything to be tossed into the street.”
Slightly stunned by contemplating the waste and expense of such an action, she did not even protest when he guided her to the bed and applied enough gentle pressure on her shoulders to encourage her to sit on the mattress. “You would have thrown everything out if I did not approve?”
His beautiful mouth curved upward. “Well, perhaps not everything. You will have your own private rooms that you may decorate to your taste; however, I expect you to share my bed each night. It makes sense that you should feel comfortable here.”
Tristan turned away from her, and walked to a chest of drawers. The top panels parted to reveal a hidden washstand. It was more sophisticated than the one she used in her bedchamber. There were four narrow drawers in the front, but he leaned down and an unseen drawer on the left held a chamber pot. The one on the right was a wooden ledge a person could use as a seat to wash one’s legs and feet. He picked up the pitcher and poured enough water into the basin to wash the sweat from his outdoor exertions. After everything she had experienced, he still managed to make her blush. Her pulse increased at the realization that he intended to wash in front of her.
To confirm her suspicions, he tugged the ends of his shirt out of his breeches and pulled the garment over his head. Imogene should have given him a modicum of privacy by averting her gaze, but she stared at his muscled back in rapt fascination. The times he had removed his shirt in her presence, she had only viewed his incredible physique under candlelight. With the afternoon sun filtering through the windows, he was giving her a chance to study and admire the gentleman who appeared so eager to marry her.
Imogene resisted the urge to leave her soft perch and go to him. She wanted to trace the intriguing contours of muscle and bone with her fingers. If she was daring, she would press her lips to his back and taste the salt on his flesh with her tongue. Unintentionally, she must have made a soft sound of longing, because Tristan suddenly glanced at her, his eyelids narrowing.
It was then she became aware that she was leaning forward with her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Hoping he would not notice, she slowly straightened her spine and relaxed her fingers. With a careless grin and a nod, he offered her his back again.
Fiendishly clever devil.
Tristan was deliberately trying to seduce her by giving her a tempting view of his body.
Imogene heard a drawer open and close. He muttered something under his breath that she did not quite catch. There was a splash of water as he dropped a cloth into the basin.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked.
“What?”
Tristan glanced back and frowned as if he had forgotten that she was there. Imogene did not believe it for one second. The duke was aware of her as much as she was of him. The warm air in the room carried the heady scent of his masculine essence and her subtle floral fragrance. She raised her eyebrows, letting him know that she was not fooled by him.
“Oh, right.” He sat down on the narrow ledge to remove his shoes and stockings. “Now that we are alone, I am curious to know the purpose of your visit. Not that I am disappointed. I am overjoyed to see you, darling. I just did not expect to see you until the ball.”
His position gave her a good view of just how enthusiastic he was about her presence. The impressive bulge in the front of his breeches revealed he was aroused, but he made no effort to close the distance between them.
“Ah … the reason,” she said, clearing her dry throat. Perhaps she should have asked McKee to send up some tea, after all. “Why have you not replied to any of my notes?”
Tristan stood, and her gaze lingered below his waist. In fact, his manhood seemed to swell under her frank perusal. He grimaced and turned away. His hand went to the buttons at his waist. She imagined his current state of arousal must have been quite uncomfortable in its tight confines.
Imogene held her breath as she waited for him to remove his breeches. Would he? Her nipples puckered in anticipation. A part of her was surprised by her reaction. After Norgrave’s attack, she had felt nothing but anger. Even Tristan’s kisses had not awakened her body. She had worried that such feelings were beyond her.
Her discovery was wondrous!
Her eyes moistened with joy, but she was done with tears. Even though he was unaware of it, Tristan had helped her rediscover a part of her that she thought she had lost. Or maybe he was. The duke was a clever man. She would not put it past him to have manipulated her unexpected visit to his own benefit.
And hers, as well.
“I wanted to give you a chance to miss me.” His shoulders rippled as he soaped the small towel in his hands. He wrung out the excess water and commenced to casually wash himself.
“I have,” she said, her throat threatening to close up on her as she became overcome with emotion. “I wanted to thank you for all of your gifts. I love each one of them.”
Imogene held up her right hand, even though he had his back to her. “I wear the ring. It fits perfectly.”
Just like him, she thought sadly.
Whether he sensed her distress or merely wished to see his ring on her hand, Tristan glanced over his shoulder. His playful expression sobered when he saw the tension in her face. He tossed the wet cloth back into the basin and walked toward her.
Dropping to his knees, he clasped her hands. The soap with which he had scrubbed his chest, arms, and armpits smelled of sweet almonds. “Imogene. What is it? You did not come to simply thank me for the gifts, did you? You have already conveyed your pleasure and thanks in your notes.”
Imogene stared at his strong hands covering hers and trembled. Although she had not spoken about her fears to anyone, he was correct. She had come to him for another reason.
“You are safe in my care, Imogene,” he said, using the sincerity in his voice and eyes to ensnare her wary gaze. “I want nothing but truth spoken between us.”
His admission coaxed a breathy laugh from her. “Then you do not know women as well as you claim, Your Grace.”
Her smile had him grinning in response. “You may be right, my lady.” His forehead furrowed as he tried to deduce on his own what troubled her thoughts. “Am I rushing you into your marriage bed, Imogene? Do you have doubts about me … about us? Of what we can be together?”
She turned her face to his hand when he caressed her cheek, and leaned into his touch. “If only our troubles were so simple.”
Tristan stilled, his entire body filling with sudden tension. “Have you come to persuade me to not announce our betrothal at the ball?”
“Not precisely,” she said, knowing she was being evasive when he deserved honesty from her. “I will leave the final decision up to you.”
The relief blossoming across his face was a dagger in her heart.
“Then I shall give you my answer. I want us—”
She silenced his words by touching her fingers to his lips. “Not until I give you the truth you wish to hear.” Imogene sighed. “Tristan, I believe I am with child.”
His expression became guarded. “Are you certain?”
“No,” she said, feeling defensive. For all of his promises, she could not guess his feelings on the subject. “I am no expert in these matters, and I refuse to approach my mother. You are the only one I have shared my suspicions with.”
“You think this child is Norgrave’s,” he said flatly.
“It is a possibility,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse even to her ears. “He was the last man to—”
Tristan held up a hand to stop her from finishing her thoughts. He swiftly stood and began to pace in front of her. There was a wild look in his eyes, but she knew his anger was not directed at her.
He stopped and glared down at her. “When was the last time you bled?”
Imogene winced at his bluntness. “I do not know.” She gasped when his fingers caught her wrists and she was pulled onto her feet. “M-maybe the week we arrived in London. W
ith everything that happened, I was not as attentive as I should have been.”
He nodded, almost absently. “Then the child is mine.”
“You do not know for certain—” His hot, furious gaze had her swallowing the rest of her argument. “You asked for truth between us, Tristan. Do not ask me to dissemble about what took place in your mother’s house. You know there is a chance the child could be Norgrave’s.”
“I have not forgotten,” he shouted at her. Tristan refused to release her hands when she attempted to pull away. His fingers tightened over her wrists, but he was not hurting her. “Listen to me. Since you collided into my life, you have bewitched and maddened me. I have done reckless things, and have not always been careful when it comes to you. Not when I claimed your maidenhead, or the other times when I bedded you. If you are with child, it is my babe sleeping in your womb. I would wager my estates and title on it.”
“Can you understand how difficult this is for me? I want this child to be yours,” she yelled back at him, matching his temper. “I would give anything … anything … for there to be no doubt.”
Tristan cupped her face, and lightly touched his forehead to hers. “Oh, darling, how long have you carried this burden by yourself?”
“Since the night it happened,” she said, his tenderness almost her undoing. “He taunted me about the possibility and it took root in my brain. He said other things—” She could barely look him in the eye.
“Let me guess,” he said, practically spitting out the words. “Norgrave told you that I would abandon you once I learned that you carried his child.”
“Yes.”
“Imogene, the bastard lied. Norgrave told you what he would have done if he learned his lover carried another man’s child. He does not speak for me, and he never will again.” Tristan cuddled her against his chest. “You should have told me about the baby sooner.”
“I am not positive, but there are signs,” she murmured against his bare chest.
“Then it is good that I am already planning to marry you.” He rubbed her back in a soothing fashion. “I am looking forward to watching you get as fat as a hen with my child.”
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