The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance)

by K. L. O'Keefe

  “Right.”

  “Right.” After a minute of awkward silence, a thought crossed his mind. “Were you going someplace?”

  “Um… heh heh…” Leona’s awkward chuckle echoed in the hallway. “I, um… I was coming to see you, my lord.”

  “Oh.” Tristan barely heard her response, because for the first time, he noticed the effect the candlelight had on her nightgown. His mouth was hanging open, not so subtly, as he stared at the silhouette of her body.

  “I was going to bid you a good night.”

  “Yes. Good night.” It had been too long since he’d seen a feminine figure in such an intimate way. The sight of her turned Tristan into a slathering idiot. “I, um… I think I need a glass of wine.” He turned around and started heading away from her.

  “Tristan!” she called after him.

  He stopped. The next thing he knew, Leona was pattering down the hall, coming up beside him.

  “I want to come with you.”

  “With me?” he murmured, “to my bedchamber?”

  “I don’t see why that’s such a surprise. I am your wife, am I not?”

  “Yes, um… well, then…” Tristan, dumbfounded by her willingness to join him, continued to head toward his room with Leona at his side. “You look very pretty, by the way. Pretty… with your hair down.”

  Leona ran a hand over her hair, which was so long, it nearly fell to her waist. “Thank you.”

  “You’re always pretty.” He tapped his cane against the floor as they walked. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever known.”

  “Oh, surely not,” she laughed.

  “No, really.” As he said this, they arrived at the door to his bedchamber. He opened it and gestured for her to enter. “You really are.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, my lord. Thank you.”

  “If you insist on calling me my lord, I will have to insist on calling you my lady,” he threatened her. “It is far too formal.”

  “Oh, yes.” Leona wrinkled her nose. “We can’t have that.”

  Swallowing hard, Tristan walked to the far end of the room to pour himself a glass of wine. He extended the bottle toward her, offering to pour her a glass, but she declined by shaking her head. With a trembling hand, he set down the candle and filled his glass. In one gulp, it went down his throat. He poured himself another glass, which he held in his hand as he looked over at her. God, his wife was beautiful! In the candlelight, in her white gown, with her hair spilling over her shoulders like spun gold—he knew he would be lucky to see an angel so beautiful when he crossed to the other side.

  “Will that candle be bright enough?” she asked, her voice soft and husky.

  His throat went dry, so he took another drink. “Bright enough for what?”

  Leona tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, must I really answer that?

  “Um… well…” He walked over to the bed, using the lit candle to light another candle beside it, and the room glowed brighter than before. “There.” He placed the other candle on a nightstand and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at her like a nervous schoolboy.

  Leona was just as nervous. She wished he wasn’t as nervous as she was, because she had no idea how to seduce a man. When he stared at her as innocently as he did, it was difficult to move. Wasn’t it the man’s responsibility to take the initiative?

  “So,” Tristan spoke again. “Do you want to… do you want to, um… to talk?”

  She actually chuckled when she heard him say that. “Talk? Are you serious?”

  “I’m as serious as I can be.”

  “You must know I’m not here to talk. You have to know what I’m here for.”

  He did, of course, have an inkling. However, her aggression was a surprise. She didn’t love him… or even like him, for that matter. He was practically a stranger to her. Leona wasn’t exactly the blushing bride he’d expected her to be. “Do you want to do that?” he asked.

  The lie was on the tip of Leona’s tongue. I do. She knew that was all she needed to say to ease his mind, but she couldn’t manage it. Instead, Leona answered, “I think we should.”

  “Should?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, we don’t have to… if you don’t want to…. I mean… if you’re not comfortable with it.”

  Leona stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns. He was dying, wasn’t he? If he was short on time, she wondered why his need for immediate intimacy wasn’t as great as hers. Was chaste companionship the only thing he wanted? If that was the case, seducing him would be more difficult than she thought it would be. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

  “I would never force you to do anything that would make you resent me.”

  “Why would I resent you?”

  “You don’t know me,” he said. “You don’t… care for me.”

  “I don’t see why that would make me resent you.”

  Tristan’s eyelids flickered, as if he’d been stricken. “I thought you might like to wait until you did.” He coughed. “Care for me, that is.”

  “Why would I want that?”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I’m happy enough.”

  “Alright.” He sighed.

  Leona took his response as a sign to proceed. It was quite clear he wouldn’t make a move; she would have to initiate everything. Leona moved toward the bed and sat beside him. Her hand seized the back of his head like a claw as she covered his mouth with hers. As much as she hated the thought of him, she tried to recall Lord Wintergreen’s passion as she kissed her husband.

  Tristan kissed her softly, almost reluctantly. His head seemed to retreat at her aggression. Leona needed to be aggressive. She needed to do this to ensure her future. Her father’s words still echoed in her head.

  You marry him, you bed him, and you make him think that bastard is his.

  Tristan’s voice was also trickling into her head.

  “I thought you might like to wait until you did… care for me, that is. I just want you to be happy”

  The stark contrast between his words and her father’s made her heart ache, made her devastated as she kissed him. The depression, deeply rooted and buried away, came spilling out at the least optimal time.

  When he tasted the salt in her tears, Tristan withdrew his mouth from hers. She tried to move in for another kiss, but he slid away from her. “Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

  Leona’s shoulders were shaking as she tried to fight off the tears. Sniffling, she reached for the hem of her nightgown and started to pull it over her legs, and over her thighs.

  Tristan put his hand over hers, stopping her. “Don’t.”

  “Why?” Leona asked with a sob. If he knew what a whore she’d made of herself, she knew he would let her proceed. He would hate her if he knew everything, and he certainly wouldn’t sound so sincere.

  “I don’t want you crying while we… you know…”

  “What does it matter?”

  With a flick of his hand, Tristan produced a handkerchief from his pocket, which he used to dab at her eyes. “It matters to me. I don’t want you to be upset. The last thing I want to do is--”

  Leona tore the handkerchief from her husband’s hand and sprung from the bed. “You’re making me feel foolish!”

  “I don’t mean to.”

  “Is there something wrong with me? You don’t want me to take off my clothes?” she asked with a sniffle.

  “If you’re crying, I don’t think we should proceed any further.”

  “Don’t you realize how humiliating this is for me? I hate you already!” she declared with a wail. Her thoughts swimming, Leona turned on her heel and ran from the room.

  A few minutes after she left, Tristan was still staring at the door, completely agape. He would never be able to understand women.

  Least of all, his new wife.

  Chapter Twelve

  She somehow managed to seek out her favorite room
in the dark manor—the room with the Tudor furniture. A dying fire cast a dim glow around the room, enough to help her scramble to a chair. She curled up in the chair, which Queen Elizabeth herself might have sat in, and sobbed into Tristan’s handkerchief.

  “I really made a mess of that,” she said out loud. “Did I really have to say I hated him? How stupid of me.” Leona blew her nose, hoping he didn’t want his handkerchief returned to him.

  Now what? She wondered.

  Her entire plan revolved around getting into his bed and making him believe her baby was his. But… now what? If she hadn’t cried, she might have been upstairs right now, removing her clothes in a dutiful manner. It was her fault, wasn’t it? Or was it his fault? If Tristan wasn't so nice about everything, she wouldn’t have had a reason to cry.

  Leona took a deep breath and held it for awhile, hoping that would stop the flow of her tears. She would have another chance, wouldn’t she? She would have another chance to bed him. Her task was laid out in front of her, and it was difficult indeed. Not only would she have to bed him, she would have to make him believe she cared for him as well.

  And she did, didn’t she? She already cared for him a little bit. Lord Randall wasn’t so bad. He was gentler than any man she knew, and he seemed to have genuine concern for her.

  “Oh, God, I made such a mess of things…” Leona repeated to herself, her voice squeaking as she buried her face in the damp handkerchief. She wondered if she could go upstairs and undo the damage.

  It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

  * * *

  When he heard the knock on the door, he froze. The last thing he expected was a visitor. And he didn’t know what to say to this particular visitor, as he’d been left completely perplexed by her enraged exit.

  Of course, Tristan couldn’t fall asleep after that. He had been lying in his bed ever since she left, replaying their conversation many times in his head, obsessively poring over it. No matter how much he thought about it, he didn’t feel any more enlightened.

  Maybe Leona could shed some light on her outburst?

  “Come in,” he said, a bit apprehensively.

  Leona shuffled inside, her eyes turned sheepishly to the floor. When she finally summoned the courage to look at him, Leona almost gasped. Her husband was reclining on the bed looking…well… handsome wasn’t the right word. He was looking quite attractive, though, with his shirt unbuttoned completely, his eyes burning with concern. Her gaze was caught—and held—by the dark patches of hair on a sinewy, masculine chest.

  She hadn’t married an ugly man, she realized. He didn’t look the least bit like an invalid, aside from the dark circles under his eyes.

  As she stared at his chest, Leona felt her own heart sinking. Someday, the heart beneath that chest would stop beating, and she would be alone. A widow. That thought was already depressing her more than she thought it would.

  “Hello,” Tristan said, chuckling at her silence. “Did you forget something?”

  Leona held out the handkerchief she stole from him. When he didn’t reach for it, she placed it on the end of his bed.

  “Ah. I stand corrected. You came to return something, I see. How very kind of you.”

  “It isn’t nice of you to tease me.”

  “It isn’t nice of you to misunderstand me,” he responded with a frown. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, Leona. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “I just… I would…” Leona turned to face the wall. She couldn’t bear to look at him, half-dressed as he was, and as foolish as she felt. “I’d like an explanation.”

  “An explanation for what?”

  “An explanation for why you didn’t want me, my lord.”

  “My lord. There’s your explanation,” he replied. “Your formality and your tears, Leona… that’s what made me pause. I completely understand why you were crying. You hardly know me. We should wait until we’re better acquainted.”

  “Is there something wrong with me?” she whispered.

  Tristan sat up, rigid, and raked a hand over his chin. He hadn’t known many women in his lifetime, but he thought he might have found the most frustrating one in the world. “Goodness… nothing! You’re lovely and wonderful. But I happen to think a man should always be a gentleman, especially when he’s with his wife. I wouldn’t force myself on you when you were crying. If I did, what sort of man would I be?”

  “But you weren’t forcing yourself on me!” Leona exclaimed. “I was yours! I was practically begging for it!”

  “Then why were you crying?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe… maybe it was tears of joy?”

  “I highly doubt that,” he scoffed. “I want you to feel something for me, Leona. I want you to care for me.”

  “I already do! I think you’re a… a respectable man.”

  “Respectable? I don’t just want you to think I’m respectable, Leona,” he said. “I want more than that. I don’t want you to cry when you kiss me. I want you to care for me.”

  The more she spoke to him, the sillier she felt. A voice in the back of Leona’s head told her to be quiet and leave the room. If she had any sense at all, that is exactly what she would have done. Instead, the coldest, cruelest words flew from her mouth. “That might never happen.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she wondered how she would be able to face him tomorrow. Or ever.

  Her words must have pained him, because he winced. “Why do you say that?”

  “We don’t exactly have all the time in the world,” she said with a sigh.

  “Leona.” He said her name forcefully. Angrily. “What do you mean by that, Leona? What do you know?”

  Leona’s shoulders fell. Well, this was it. One of her secrets was about to be exposed. Or was it his secret? Whatever it was, Leona was glad she wasn’t dealing with the worst secret of all. “You’re dying. I know you’re dying.”

  Tristan rubbed a hand over his lips several times, as if he was trying to rake his mouth off his face. “I didn’t know you knew that.” His voice, which had once been so sincere, had gone completely cold. “You weren’t supposed to know that.”

  “Did you really expect my father to keep such a secret?” Leona asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think it’s cruel of you, my lord, to want to keep such a secret. Why would you keep such a dreadful thing from your wife? Shouldn’t she know if she’s to be a widow?”

  His voice was so cold, it chilled her to the marrow of her bones. “Does it make you happy, then… to know I’m dying? To know you’ll be free in a short amount of time? Is that why you agreed to marry me? So you could elevate yourself in a quick and painless manner?”

  Leona uncrossed her arms so she could shake a finger at him. “That is cruel, my lord. How could you say such a thing? Have I given you any indication that any of that is true? Were you saying any of these terrible things to my father when you were asking for my hand in marriage? Did you make him feel as terrible as you’ve made me feel?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “This has all gone so terribly wrong,” Leona whimpered.

  “So...” Tristan’s voice softened a bit. “I suppose that’s what made you so eager to be with me? You know about what little time I have, is that it? Well, if you’re so willing, why don’t you come over here right now?” He peeled back his blankets, a silent invitation. “If you’ll never care for me, we might as well. At least you’re not crying anymore.”

  Leona glared at him for several seconds, appalled by the change in his disposition. “I liked you better before.” Having said that, she lifted her chin and made her second exit of the night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Leona avoided him for the next two days. It was her way to punish him, but she wondered if she was punishing herself in the process. Deep down, she wanted nothing more than to mend the rift between them. Her husband seemed like a kind man, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized she was the one at fault.
It was true that he’d been keeping a secret from her, but wasn’t her secret much worse?

  Leona laid on her bed, staring down the length of her body, trying to determine if there was a slope on her midsection. Not yet. That was a relief. Leona still had time to make things right and carry out her father’s plan. If he didn’t bed her soon, she would have a lot of explaining to do.

  She knew what she had to do, but it was pride that kept her away from him. It was hard to make nice with him when the last image in her mind was her husband's cold invitation to join him in his bed. She didn’t like that image of him. As much as she felt foolish for her tears, Leona preferred the version of Tristan who’d refused to touch her when she was crying.

  There was a knock on Leona’s door, but it didn’t alarm her. Leona already knew who was standing on the other side of the door.

  “Come in, Mary,” Leona called out.

  The mousey maid entered, clutching a tray of food. “Hello, my lady. How are you feeling today?”

  “Miserable. I feel like such a fool.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Mary answered, placing the tray at her mistress’ bedside. “Is there anything I can get you? Or, if you’d rather… I could lend an ear if you want to talk about your troubles.”

  “You’re so kind, Mary,” Leona said with a sigh, sitting up to take a bite of roast. “It’s more than I deserve. I’m afraid I’m a terrible person.”

  Mary, who knew all of Leona’s secrets, adamantly shook her head. “No, my lady. I think you’re doing what has to be done.”

  “And failing miserably.”

  “If you had a fight with the viscount, I’m sure you’ll fix it,” Mary insisted.

  “You’re so optimistic, Mary. I wish I could be more like you. You must be tired of coming here and listening to me blather on and on about how much I pity myself. If I wasn’t so self-consumed and self-pitying, I’m sure I’d live a much happier life.”