by Darcy Burke
She shook her head. “Back? What do you know Sarah?”
The woman giggled. “Just what a little bird told me.”
Evelyn looked at her hard and laughed. “A bird by the name of Viscount Martinwood by chance?”
The giggle turned into open laughter. “Oh Evie, I’ve been so dying to say.”
Evelyn smiled. “Did he ask for your hand, my dear?”
Her face turned a becoming pink, joy dancing in her eyes, Sarah nodded.
Evelyn jumped up and ran to her as Sarah leapt upward and they hugged.
“Sarah, I’m so happy for you!” She released her and pulled back. “When is the betrothal ball?”
Sarah toyed with her bottom lip between her teeth. “At week’s end. Oh Evelyn, you will come, won’t you?”
Her arms brought her friend in for another embrace. “Of course, my dear. I can hardly wait.”
But her own mind stumbled over her thoughts. Tristan return? Not abandoned? And what of Charles? Her stomach flipped and she closed her eyes tight as tears formed, though over joy or fright, she couldn’t tell. What was she to do? And worse, feel?
Chapter Twelve
Wrenworth Hall
The carriage came to a stop before Wrenworth Hall, and its passenger door flew open. Tristan leaped from the conveyance, still holding his satchel full of papers. Tired, hungry and dirty from the two-day ride, all he wanted was to clean up and see Evelyn. She plagued his thoughts and dreams continually for the past month that he’d been gone. His growing concern over her riled his tension, because in his line of work, he couldn’t communicate what he was doing or where he was. To do so, if his correspondence was intercepted by the wrong individuals, could place her in harm’s way, and he vowed to not let that happen again.
Aatifa had paid the price for his indiscretion and he’d learned dearly from that mistake.
The question that nagged him though was would Evelyn forgive his sudden departure and lack of communication? She appeared to be indifferent toward men, him as well as any other, despite the fire in her kiss. That kiss…the memory of which kept him awake many a night and even now, stirred his loins. Damn!
“My lord.” Stanfill, his butler, hurried behind him as he strode to his library. “You have a visitor.”
“Not now, Stanfill,” he muttered.
“But sir…”
Tristan ignored him and turned into the room to abruptly come to a halt. Standing before the desk, dressed in a superfine grey morning coat, pinstriped waistcoat, black tie and pants, his cousin, Matthew St. James. He smiled coolly at Tristan.
“Good afternoon, cousin.”
Tristan glared at the man. It was hard to believe that once upon a time he, Matthew and Joseph had been close. Extremely difficult to comprehend now, considering what snakes those two had become, vying the old Marquis, his father, for control. But there was no time to deal with Matthew’s mischief. He walked right past him to the desk chair, dropped his bag on the floor and sat in the chair.
“What do you want, Matt?”
“My, my, not a friendly greeting for family?” Matthew replied, turning to face him. His eyes roved the top of Tristan’s desk and then scanned the room. “I came to see how my dearest cousin was.” His gaze returned to Tristan. “And see if the rumors were true.”
“What rumors? It is not a rumor that I am to marry,” he stated. “Soon, in fact.”
Matthew’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Truly? Not the on dits, my boy.”
Tristan cringed at the my boyaffectation. His cousin was two years older and always liked to press his seniority over him when they were young, but it now rubbed worse than at eight years of age. As to the jibe to get him to talk, Tristan refrained though a voice in the back of his head did raise the question–had Evelyn, or her father, called off the wedding because of his unexplained, sudden absence? An absence with no message from him in four weeks? His lips twitched when he looked at the calendar last. Travel to the six coastal towns, the investigation, contacts and final collection of information had taken thirty-two days exactly. Not good when he had planned to wed her five days after the day he left. Shit.
His cousin chuckled. “Lost for words, hey Tris? Never was your strong suit, like acceptable women who seemed out of your reach. Always for the slums and hells.” He ran his white-gloved fingers along the desk in a possessive manner. “Well, Joseph and I will save the Wrenworth respectability, have no fear.”
Anger flared through Tristan fast and furious. He stood so quickly his chair tipped but landed upright. “Listen closely, Matthew, and make sure to take this message back to your reptilian brother. The Wrenworth title and all its responsibilities are safe in my hands. No need for you to ‘dirty’ yours.”
Matthew didn’t back down. “You know the will. You need to marry, and that ruined dove, though of a titled father, may have fit the bill, but she has been entangled with another man in your absence. It’s understood she will decline any obligation to you since you’ve been gone without word for as long as you have. And that type of news travels fast—no one will want an absent husband. Except for some lady of the night, perhaps…” he chuckled for a moment, then his face cleared and his eyes hardened. “And that type of woman is not respectable, hence the marriage will not fulfill the will. You will have the title to lands that bear nothing. Nothing, without my and Joseph’s approval!” He paused. “In which case, I’m sure we could find a way to lend you the sum needed to gain your position back with the Army, and you can go sacrifice yourself for England in India.”
Tristan’s stomach twisted. He had no doubt they’d gladly pay for his return to the East and pray he’d die in glory for the Empire. The two bickering brothers could then fight over who got the title and, in the ensuing battle, destroy what integrity the family’s name had. Christ, how he hated England!!
One thing was for certain—neither of them was smart enough to have him killed and bring the ending they wanted. No, Tristan knew while they were conniving and power hungry, they were too cowardly to pull off a stunt like that. But the threat ate at him, that they’d run him east and into the Grim Reaper. Hell, the Bringer of Death stood before Matthew now, in the shape of Tristan, if only the dolt knew it! The thought brought a wicked laugh out of him. Vaguely, the diminishing sane part of his mind scolded him by the hysterical sound, but the wide-eyed look on Matthew’s face only made the sound deeper and more sinister.
The news that Evelyn had another sniffing her skirts irked him. Hell, she slapped him for kissing her and he was her fiancé! But then again, he had disappeared on her, so to speak. It was his job, he argued inside, something that she would adjust to. Besides, what did he care, truly? He was marrying her to fulfill his obligations…
Years of service taught him well the rules of lying successfully. His schooling of his features gave nothing away of his inner fear he might have lost everything. It was at that second the vision appeared, near the fireplace. The pale face, the bloodstained robes…Grifton. The ghost stared at him and a shiver raced up Tristan’s spine, a touch on his left shoulder chilled him, as though he was prodded by a blast of cold winter air. Promise me you’ll take care of her…
Tristan snarled at Matthew, “Get out of my house. Now.”
Matthew backed up a step. “How dare you! This is as much…”
“Now!”
Grabbing his hat and cane from the armchair, Matthew scurried from the room.
Tristan, furious at his cousins and shaken by the ghost scolding him, walked to the sideboard and poured a hefty amount of brandy into a snifter.
“My lord.”
He didn’t even hear the butler enter. With a gulp, he turned to the butler. Stanfill stood stoically, waiting. Tristan jerked his head, encouraging the man to speak.
The butler thrust a stack of papers at him. “More applications, my lord.”
He grimaced as he took them. Scanning the first few pages, he sighed. “What happened to Miss, Miss…what was her name?”
&n
bsp; “Dixon, sir.”
“Yes, yes. Where is she?”
“She claimed the future addition was too much for her, my lord.”
Tristan shut his eyes. Hiring a nanny was a grating task. One he hoped he’d solved but apparently not. He looked down at the letters of reference, uttering a groan.
“And an invitation arrived yesterday, my lord.” He held an envelope out. “It is for Viscount Martinwood’s engagement ball.”
“Christ, Harry engaged? I leave shortly only to return to more muck.” He shook his head and studied the card. “Tonight?”
“Yes, my lord. It is for you and Miss Hurstine.”
Tristan sloshed the brandy around in the glass, his mind racing. “Find Smyth, bring him here.”
The butler bowed and left. Tristan returned to his desk, took a scrap of paper and scribbled on the page as the Ensign entered.
“You called for me, Major?”
“Your investigation?”
The young man shook his head. “Small headway into it, sir. Files on unit thick.”
“Well, keep plodding.”
“Of course, sir.” Smyth gazed at him, squinting his eyes. “Major, something of note you may want to know. Your fiancée. She’d been keepin’ company with another man.”
The man seemed to cringe at the information, as if afraid to tell him. Tristan frowned. He had been absent four weeks, maybe longer. She was well known to Society, heavens, lived here most of her life. Why wouldn’t she know more than he? But Smyth’s tone sounded accusatory. As if she’d committed adultery.
“Explain yourself.”
“Lord Dunsford, sir,” he answered. “His lordship has been escorting her for park excursions and shopping, sir.”
“Relation, perhaps?”
“No, my lord Major.”
This piece of information didn’t sit well with him. Another suitor? For his ice angel? The thought made his stomach twist. He needed her wed to him. There was only one way to stop that type of interference. He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled rapidly. Tristan smiled. Poor sod, he thought. “Yes, I need you to take this to the church immediately.”
Smyth frowned. He took the letter, still confused.
“Now, Smyth. I need it taken right away.”
“Yes sir,” he replied and sped from the room.
Tristan sat back, a grin on his face. With another sip of the brandy, he realized what he planned was a sudden but not unusual move on his part. Now, he’d need to clean up and go see Evelyn. He had a lot of groveling to do if he’d win back her good graces. His smile widened as the memory of her flashed in his mind. Yes, his ice princess was no doubt unhappy with him but he’d make it up to her. And knew just how do to so…
***
It turned out to be a gorgeous early summer evening with the smell of fresh green grass, lilacs, roses and lilies in the air. Leaning over the banister outside the main hall, on the second tier off the balcony, Evelyn inhaled the fragrances, her eyes closed. Mixed with the smells of nature, she could detect the hint of beeswax candles and the faint but noticeable addition of gaslight fumes. The lights run by gas were increasing by leaps and bounds across London, many hurrying to have their candelabras converted to using the fuel, but she didn’t like the waft of it in the air. It marred a perfectly good setting in her mind…just like no matter how prettily she dressed, she too was ruined.
She quickly banned the evil thought from her mind, remembering her promise to Sarah that she’d not be dismal at her friend’s engagement party. No, instead she let her mind drift to the sound of the many voices coming from this small party—she laughed. Limited by whose count? Even with her eyes shut, she heard what sounded like hundreds in attendance, but the whole was to be only sixty. The rustling of silk, the clanking of stemware, the click of boots on the floorboards made her smile. The party would be a successful crush of celebration, and that made her happy for Sarah and Harry.
Then the smile waned. Her own escort, Tristan, confused her. Sarah warned her that Harry insisted Wrenworth had returned, so they were invited as a couple, not her and Charles. Fear skittered through her. She hadn’t seen Tristan in close onto two months since she’d introduced Mary to him. He had arrived at her house, a large floral bouquet in hand, a wicked grin on his face and apologies gushing forth.
“Work interfered, my love. Apologies for the shortness of warning. Unfortunately, it is the rules of the game for politicians–hurry and orders, all to wait for instructions.” He shrugged apologetically. “I am sorry.” He’d kissed the back of her hand.
He didn’t say much on the ride to the party, and, upon arrival, after they were announced, Harry scooted Tristan away. Funny how that left her alone. Again. Somehow, she realized this was how her life with him would be. A marriage, that is, if she went ahead with it, apart but one in name. Could she live with that?
And what of Lord Dunsford? He was attentive, polite, amusing, good looking, though not like Tristan, and he gave her the space she thought she wanted. He asked her once for a kiss, two weeks ago, in the garden of her house, and she agreed, amazing herself. The demons had left her alone for the most part in the last month, apparently placated by the man, she decided, and he did seem interested in her. He didn’t leave on short notice like Tristan had, and they had Richard as a common memory. So when he touched his lips with hers, she expected much and received little. It was a short, tight kiss, a peck more or less. Emotionless. No fire in her veins or pool of desire in her loins. It was…disappointing when compared to the firestorm Tristan started.
“Ah, yes, my darling Evelyn,” a deep, seductive male voice next to her said.
Her eyes flew open and she spun to face Tristan. She lost her footing and stumbled into his waiting arms.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured softly.
Quickly, she regained her standing and pulled back. Her palms dampened, nervous at his arrival. “You startled me.”
A grin came to his face, the type of smile that could seduce her in a heartbeat. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took her hand and kissed the back of the kid leather. “I also hadn’t meant to leave you at the door. Harry is so impatient at times, no doubt a habit of old, thinking to take me from you.” With that, he turned her hand, his lips grazing the bare skin of her exposed wrist.
Heat flooded her skin down to her blood, which raced through her at lightning speed. Her heart thudded loudly and she couldn’t move.
“I missed you,” he whispered, pulling her closer.
She couldn’t stop him. She didn’t want to stop him. Inside, deep, a longing she thought dead sprung to life, begging for him to kiss her. His eyes sparkled, a deep green, warm and inviting. Her mouth went dry, and she licked her lips. Then he kissed her, pressed his lips onto hers. It was soft, then became more demanding, his tongue skated at her mouth, begging for entrance, which she gave. It was like him making love to her mouth, but demons took hold and lashed at her, smirking at her. They teased her, how she lured him in like those braggarts who attacked her claimed she’d done to them. Liars, her mind yelled back. She struggled against Tristan in her argument against the ghosts and finally, broke away from him, panicked.
“What are you doing?” She wiped her mouth with the back of an ungloved hand. A tremor raced through her at the audacity of him to kiss her so deeply in public.
He leaned on the railing next to her, crushing a few leaves on the draped garland.
“Kissing you.”
“We are in public,” she hissed.
He laughed and drew her closer. “We’re engaged, practically married by all here.”
Despite the fact he was correct, she struggled to get free. He had some explaining to do as far as she was concerned.
“Are we? Truly?” she asked, skepticism in her voice.
He frowned. “Of course we are…”
She shook her head. “I just don’t know, Tristan. Our banns are read, all is ready for the ceremony, then you abandoned me for
well over a month, with no word, nothing.”
With raised eyebrows, he snorted. “It was an errand for the crown, I told you, that is all.”
“Crown? Or Army?”
“’tis but one and the same at times,” he smoothly evaded.
She’d get nowhere with this. “I do not know, Tristan. You ask too much of me. Richard, my former beau, also left for the Crown.” Her voice turned bitter. “After he left, I had but two letters from him, then nothing for over a year.”
He grimaced. “I’m sorry, darling. Service will do that at times, depending on where and to whom he was assigned.” His fingers ran through his hair. “Where he was, he had to remain quiet. I recall him from my time there.” He smiled. “Sometime, I’ll tell you about it. Dry and dusty area, all foreigners, I assure you. A place where being English wasn’t ideal. I do remember him trying to write you a correspondence. I, I had to take it from him and burn it.”
He what? She scowled at him. “Why?”
He sighed, pacing. “In that part of the world, we needed to blend in, be part of those people. People who do not speak English, do not fully trust the English and would be highly suspicious of foreigners made to look like them, talk like them, act like them but only turn out to be spies.”
“Spies?” She asked befuddled. “You knew Richard? And only now tell me?”
“Yes.” He shifted. “It took me a bit to piecemeal it together. In the field, he called himself Grifton.”
“In the field?” Her thoughts swirled. This was too much to take in. He knew her Richard? “And you two were spies?”
He tilted his head. “Yes. But it is not a matter to be taken lightly and definitely not to be repeated,” he answered, his tone edged with warning.
She knew not of espionage, but it sounded dangerous. Apparently it was, if Richard was missing. But the thought nudged at her. It took root, deep. She meant enough to Richard for him to try to contact her, and this man, her fiancé, stopped him. Unfathomable anger settled inside her. “He tried to write to me? And you took it away from him? The chance to give me peace of mind?”
