by Nikki Poppen
“I suppose it also scotches your chances for winning the wager and the horse.” Tristan’s penitent tone put Isabella on guard. She was ready when the caveat came. “Of course, you can still salvage the wager and marry me yourself.”
The absurdity of such a comment after their harrowing dash brought a wide smile to Isabella’s mouth. Laughter bubbled up and she gave herself over to it. “Tristan! How can you think of such a thing at a time like this?”
He turned to look at her, the grin on his face as wide as her own. “How can I not? I have thought of little else since the night I kissed you seven years ago”
“Back when you were reckless and honorable.”
“Oh, Isabella, I still am.” He winked once and clucked to the horses. She thought he made the phaeton lurch on purpose just so she’d grab for his arm again, the wicked man.
The road ahead was flat and clear. He gave the horses their heads. “Hold on tight love,” he crooned to Isabella. “I’ll give you the ride of your life.” And Isabella did. There’d be the piper to pay. Tristan Moreland was reckless. But was he still honorable?
The Meadows was a rambling homey affair of a manor that admirably suited their desire for solace and peace. They arrived at the onset of evening, dusty and tired but in good spirits. They were both pleased to see that the manor had received excellent care from the steward in Tristan’s absence. Holland covers carefully blanketed the furniture, but effort had been taken to keep the place dusted and polished.
Delighted to have someone to do for, the housekeeper promised a lite but hot dinner within the hour and set the one regular maid to preparing rooms for the evening. Tristan smiled his thanks and offered to take Isabella for a walk down by the pond.
“The last time we walked down by a pond you proposed marriage,” Isabella teased, taking his arm.
“I will do so until you accept,” Tristan warned, helping her navigate the uneven ground.
Isabella turned serious. “Let us not talk of such things. Let’s enjoy this splendid prospect and the beauty that surrounds us” She gestured widely to indicate the lilac and rose hued sky. “I have not seen such a grand sunset for ages. In London, it is all fog and darkness for months on end. Oh, how I miss this!” Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you for bringing me!”
Tristan laughed with her, enjoying her abandonment for the moment. “Am I forgiven for dragging you into scandal yet again?”
“For now.” Isabella dropped her hands and walked a bit apart from him. “We can’t ignore the gossip, although I wish we could.” She sighed wistfully. “Life would be much simpler if we could simply be”
“We have the next few days at least,” Tristan offered in consolation, coming to stand beside her and take her hand in his.
Isabella looked at him sternly. “We do have that, and it is a gift we must not waste by pretending ignorance is bliss. There are many things we must talk about, Tristan, starting with your little performance in the cafe this afternoon” She saw the reluctance creep into his face. “I won’t ask for more than that tonight,” she promised.
Tristan nodded. He gazed out over the pond, thinking about where to begin.
“Does it have something to do with your hand?” Isabella prompted.
Tristan took her offering. “Yes” Unexpectedly, the way seemed clear to him. The burden he carried seemed less. He glanced at the sun to gauge how long he had before it became dark. He wanted to tell Isabella all that he could. If he had to move the conversation to the house, he’d lose his momentum. He had enough time, maybe even an hour. His decision made, Tristan swept off his coat in a gallant manner and spread it on the ground. “Your seat, my lady.”
Isabella sat and looked at him expectantly. He stretched out beside her, heedless of the damage grass and dirt might do to his buff breeches and white shirt. His dark hair spilled over his shoulder and he ineffectually pushed it back only to have it fall again.
“Leave it,” Isabella whispered patiently when he would have pushed his hair back one more time.
Tristan opened his left hand, exposing the scar. “The man who did this ambushed me a few months back on the docks in Paris. I walked into a trap. There were three men waiting for me. I killed two of them with a sword. The third man was highly skilled with blades of any sort. My own sword had been shattered earlier in the fight. I drew my knife, the one you saw this afternoon. He drew his. We prowled around each other looking for an opening. I had no wish to kill him, but I would do whatever was needed to ensure my escape. He thrust at me several times. I have the scars on my arms and torso to prove how effective he was. I was tiring and he was fresh. He sliced my hand. I think he was playing with me, assuming he’d get another chance to really do some damage.
“He called me by my name although I did not know him. That’s when I started to realize just how wrong everything had gone that evening. I had to end it all very soon, so the next chance I got, I stabbed hard. It was enough to send him bleeding into the night. I do not think he has forgiven me for the injury I did him, although we’re quite even. He has ruined my hand. Nonetheless, he has followed me to England and seeks me out.”
“Why did he ambush you in the first place? What could you have done to earn such displeasure?” Isabella’s brow furrowed in contemplation.
Tristan looked grim. “This is the harder part of the story to tell, my love, for I fear it will cost me everything I hold dear, and that is you”
“I would have the truth, Tristan. It cannot be worse than living with the ambiguity which surrounds you now,” Isabella encouraged softly.
“He ambushed me because I had foiled the latest attempt to engineer Napoleon’s escape” Tristan let the announcement sink into Isabella’s thoughts. He anticipated her questions. “I was, or rather, I am an agent provocateur for the Crown. During the war, I was part of a secret group charged with gathering information about the enemy. After the war, there was still need of my services. The British had learned from his first escape that Napoleon would stop at nothing. Months earlier, I infiltrated a circle of people who were secretly devoted to the emperor’s cause. They were English but they felt there was more to gain by prolonging the war. When I heard the rumors and found them to be substantiated, I arranged to meet with my English connection and pass on the plans.”
Isabella picked up the threads of the story. “But your connection was not there that night.”
Tristan nodded his head. “He was dead. His body had been dumped in the Seine. It was dredged up the next morning. He had been stabbed”
“Being in the cavalry was a lie?” Isabella asked, puzzling over the various pieces.
“Not entirely. I was in the cavalry for a few months in Spain. It became apparent I had other talents the Crown could put to better use.”
Isabella smiled at that. “Better talents than riding a horse? You’re the finest rider I know, Tristan. You must have been the most magnificent man on horseback either country had ever seen” Then she sobered. Tristan could see it all fall into place for her like so many tumblers on a lock. In a moment she had it.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “I understand now what Mrs. Smallwood meant about not letting any of the ladies languish. You seduced them for information.”
Tristan winced. It sounded so much worse when she said it, boiling it down to the least common denominator. “It wasn’t quite as crass as all that, Bella. In most cases, the women seduced me. The Crown merely put me in the path of these women who were either involved in treasonous acts, or their husbands or lovers were.”
“Mrs. Smallwood told no lies then?” Isabella surmised. She stood up, brushing her skirts.
Tristan rose immediately. “Bella, let me explain. In many cases it was nothing more than flirting, some kissing in the dark.” Good lord, that came out all wrong. Tristan cringed under the incredulous stare Bella speared him with. “It was all for king and country!” That sounded even worse. He knew he should stop talking but he couldn’t halt th
e words that flooded from his mouth. A long-held dam had burst.
“What was Ito do, Bella? I had a chance to do something useful with my life. What else was there for me? You were married to another and from all reports, enjoying life as Lady Westbrooke. I had to find a way to go on. Serving my king seemed as good a choice as any.”
“I was Lady Westbrooke because you told me to be! I married him because you would not have it otherwise. You spoke of honor and loyalty the day I came to you and I believed you!” Isabella shouted.
“What would you have had me do? Whisk you off to the Americas and leave all we knew behind us?”
“You could have asked”
“It would have been pointless. I saw the moment you made your decision. When you heard about your family’s finances, you let me go. I could see it in your face. If you had kissed me one last time, Bella, given me some indication there was hope. Instead, you walked out the door to embrace your duty. I did the best I could to embrace mine. One kiss, Bella, and I would have moved heaven and earth for you”
Isabella laughed bitterly. “I long thought I’d sent you to your death. Now, I hear that my worries were unfounded. You were throwing parties and wooing women.”
Tristan was defensive for a moment. “I was in plenty of danger, Bella. I still am. Mostly, I am in danger of losing you. I was a covert agent and my last mission was jeopardized. The man who killed my contact is still afoot and determined to have his revenge for my role in keeping Napoleon on Elba. I have been foolish by letting my feelings for you be known. I fear that he will try to get to me through you.”
Isabella’s expression soften. “I’m sorry. I should not have said what I did. You’ve never shirked your duty, whatever you saw that duty as being.” She sighed and reached for his hand, tracing the scar with her finger tip. The anger between them faded. “You told me the truth. I should have reacted better. No wonder you didn’t want to tell me” She looked up into his face. “How did we get to this, Tristan? You went away to save me and I married another to save you”
Tristan stepped close. “I should have asked you to run away and you should have kissed me. We’ve been at cross purposes, my love.” He drew her into the circle of his arms and embraced her. The balance between them was restored and perhaps even more than restored. “Does this mean you’ll consider my proposal? I can’t erase the rumors Beatrix started. They are true although exceedingly exaggerated. I can’t tell anyone my true purpose. No one can know, Isabella. After this assignment, I’ll simply be Viscount Gresham. I’ve told you the truth” When Isabella nodded her consent, he tipped her chin up and continued in a more playful vein.
“I’ve told you my secret. Now, you tell me yours or else I’ll have a bit of blackmail to urge you to the altar with.”
Isabella looked at him quizzically. “Whatever are you talking about?”
Tristan reached into a pocket. “I’m talking about a black glove a secret admirer left.” He dangled the glove in front of her.
“Left? You stole it.” Isabella flushed with embarrassment. “When did you know it was me? I thought I’d disguised myself quite well.”
Tristan smiled. “It wasn’t until the second meeting. You couldn’t quite cover up your scent of roses and you used a gesture that you’d used with me down at the duck pond.”
“I wanted answers and since none were forthcoming from you, I decided to try and get them another way,” Isabella confessed. “It was your undoing though. I could hardly countenance the rakish man who met with me. He was so different than the friend who humbly begged me to help him find a wife.”
“I only took Alain’s suggestion that you help me find a wife so that I had an excuse to be in your company. It’s you I’ve wanted all along, Bella.” Tristan bent down to retrieve his coat and give it a quick brush with his hand. “Come along, it’s getting too dark to be out here and dinner should be ready by now.”
Hands linked, they strolled back to the manor, silently enjoying the quiet evening descending around them.
Tristan’s prediction was correct. They had two weeks of idyllic peace. They had their routine. They rode in the mornings and spent time in the stables acquainting themselves with the few horses still there. In the afternoons, Isabella went over household accounts and talked with the housekeeper about preparations for the house party. Tristan looked over estate business and rode out to see his tenants. In the evenings they played cards or reminisced over old times at Summer Hill.
For Isabella, this was a glorious time suspended from reality. Tristan loved her; she had her answers to the myriad of riddles surrounding him. She would have to come to grips with the scandal. Tristan could not dispute the rumors without exposing himself as an agent and even then, the kernels of truth embedded in the rumors would only make arguing them worse. The important thing was that she was now free to love him. He had trusted her with the truth. She would trust him with her heart. She was beginning to realize she’d wagered more than a horse on Valentine’s day. She’d bet her very soul.
As the days wore on, Tristan began to believe he could persuade her, that Isabella could come to terms with his past and his motivations. The Isabella who dressed in his mother’s old gowns and rode recklessly with her hair down loved him. He was sure of it. At some point, who he’d been and who he’d become had ceased to be important to her. All that mattered was who he was now. Tristan’s heart soared. Joy was within his grasp. There were still some things to tell her, but they could wait until the intrigue of the house party was put to rest and they could get on with their life together.
The day of the house party dawned bright and clear for the end of March. Last minute preparations for the guests who would arrive late in the afternoon kept Isabella running pillar to post until the first carriage wheels were heard crunching on the gravel drive. She preferred it that way, otherwise she’d think too much about the impending events. If all went well and the informant was caught, she could look forward to having her betrothal to Tristan announced at the hunt ball. She dared not think about the consequences of not catching the informant and what that would imply. Just as she dared not ponder the news Alain had brought when he arrived earlier. Avery Driscoll had asked permission to seek her hand in marriage.
As luck would have it, Beatrix Smallwood was among the first to arrive. “Gresham! I am so glad to see you” Her unmistakable voice rang out as she exited gracefully from her traveling coach.
Isabella noted the guarded expression that came over Tristan’s face. She had not been invited and clearly Tristan had not expected her attendance. She’d ridden down with the earl of Middleton, whom Isabella had invited in hopes that he’d bring Hellion along with him.
Tristan performed his duties as best he could. “Lady Westbrooke, you recall Mrs. Smallwood. Mrs. Smallwood, Lady Westbrooke is acting as hostess for me”
“Gresham darling, I’d have been your hostess if you’d but asked,” Beatrix Smallwood gushed, boldly linking her arm through Tristan’s.
Isabella was furious. How dare Tristan bring his former mistress out here to flaunt! She wanted to scratch the woman’s eyes out. Then a cold smile flitted across her lips. “Mrs. Smallwood, how good to see you again. I hope you ride? It will be nice to have another woman on the hunt. So few women truly ride these days”
Beatrix matched Isabella’s smile. “I can hold my own,” Beatrix replied to the veiled challenge, patting Tristan’s arm possessively.
“Are you certain?” Isabella responded coolly, unfazed by Beatrix’s innuendo.
“Quite certain, Lady Westbrooke,” Beatrix said coyly, looking up at Tristan from under her dark lashes. “I am told I have an excellent seat”
Isabella ignored the woman’s outrageous comment and strode over to see Hellion.
Isabella surveyed the gathering as they played charades and cards in the drawing room after supper. The party was off to a good start. The guests were mingling amiably, even those guests whose arrivals had taken her by surprise; there had
been two.
Obviously, neither she nor Tristan had anticipated Beatrix’s arrival. But Mrs. Smallwood was on her best behavior so far, as were the other guests.
The only fly in the ointment so far was that Beatrix had managed to dominate Tristan’s attention all evening with sly glances and meaningful touches as she passed him. Isabella had wanted Tristan to put Beatrix in her place, to tell her that he had proposed to Isabella. But it was unfair to expect Tristan to put himself out so far when he had other concerns on his mind. And of course it wouldn’t do to have such news get out without first talking with Avery.
At the moment, Avery was entertaining the lovely young Caroline Danvers while her ambitious mother looked on with beaming approval. Lady Danvers was an old friend of her mother’s who lived close by. Isabella walked over to speak with him. Avery smiled at her and Isabella knew he was thinking she’d crossed the room to speak with him. Perhaps walking over to the group had been a mistake. She didn’t want to suddenly be left alone with Avery. Caroline saved her.
“Lady Westbrooke, thank you so much for inviting me!” Caroline was genuinely grateful. She was young and had only been out one year, but she was pretty with blond ringlets and blue eyes.
“It is my pleasure to have you, Caroline. Have you met Viscount Gresham yet?” Isabella inquired, aware of the predatory gleam igniting in Lady Danvers’s eye at the mention of their host.
“Not yet. We arrived late and he was already engaged with the gentlemen.”
“Come with me, I will introduce you now,” Isabella offered, knowing it would keep her from being alone with Avery and a potentially awkward conversation.
When the clock struck eleven, Isabella rose to signal that it would be appropriate to retire for the evening. She saw to the guests and their comforts before taking her own candle and heading upstairs for bed. The exhausting day had been a success. At the foot of the stairs, Tristan waited for her, chatting glibly with Giles and Alain.
