“Good for you, my lady.” Mrs. Gibbons leaned back, beaming. “In that case, I must ask you to grant me a favor.”
Marion viewed her with raised eyebrows.
“I promised his lordship I would remain with him until he no longer needed me. I have received a note from my sister, who has recently lost her husband. She wishes me to make my home with her, since she also lost her only son in the wars. Her home is in Norfolk, near the sea.”
“And you would like to join her there?”
“Yes. She has a lovely house left to her by her husband, along with a tidy income. With my added funds, there is plenty to support the both of us.
“Please excuse my impertinence, Mrs. Gibbons, but you seem a tad young to seek that sort of life. Have you no wish to marry again?”
“No. I’ve been married three times, the first one at only fifteen years. I am happy with no husband to tend to.”
“Three husbands, my goodness. Well, perhaps that may change at some point.”
“Yes, perhaps.” Despite her words, Mrs. Gibbons held the expression of someone who had absolutely no desire to take up the state of matrimony once again.
“My sister—Mrs. Stephens is her name—has a circle of friends, and is very busy with her church. I am sure it will be a pleasant life.”
Marion acknowledged her words with a slight nod. “Then you must accept this offer. I know Lord Tunstall will miss you. You seem to have a very special relationship. Also, please do not be disturbed by his annoyance at your machinations to bring the two of us together. I will forever be in your debt for returning my husband to me.” Unbidden, tears rose to her eyes, and as she fumbled for a handkerchief, she noted Mrs. Gibbons patting her eyes as well.
“Well, aren’t we a couple of watering pots?” Marion said, tucking her handkerchief back into the pocket of her morning gown.
“If you will excuse me, my lady, I will send a note to my sister that she should expect me soon.”
“We will send you in our carriage. And Jane, who is now my lady’s maid, will assist with your packing.”
“You are most kind, my lady.” Mrs. Gibbons rose and before she could turn to leave, Marion stood and embraced her.
“Godspeed.”
…
Tristan joined Marion for dinner that evening. He entered the drawing room, freshly shaved and dressed in tight pantaloons, a dark waistcoat, and jacket. His snowy white cravat was perfectly tied. “Good evening, my dear.”
She turned swiftly from the window where she stared at the reflection from the candles around the room. “Good evening.” Her eyes feasted on him, and once again her heart soared at having him back.
He expertly crossed the library and headed to the sideboard. “Would you care for a sherry before dinner?”
“Yes. That would be very nice.” Confused at this turnabout in his attitude, she whispered a quick prayer of thanks and took a seat next to the fireplace.
He deftly poured sherry into one glass and brandy into another.
Marion watched as he carried the two glasses across the room, leaving his cane behind. He held her glass out to her. “Madam?”
“Thank you.” Once again she stared into those crystal blue eyes and her insides melted. Their hands touched as she took the glass from his hand, leaving behind warmth and a powerful longing throughout her body.
He sat next to her, on the far side of the fireplace. “I understand you’ve managed to run my companion off.”
No smile was forthcoming, so she wasn’t sure if he was angry.
“Mrs. Gibbons had a very kind offer from her sister and seemed anxious to join her.”
“So she told me.” He swirled the brown liquid around the brandy snifter and took a sip. “Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
She stiffened, still unsure of his mood. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my dear, you take up residence, and all of a sudden my companion of more than two years decides to join her sister.”
“Despite what you might think, I had nothing to do with her departure.”
“As you say.” He took another sip.
Not wishing to turn their pleasant conversation into an argument, she decided to change the subject. “I will be meeting with Mrs. Downs in the morning to make decisions on redecorating several of the rooms. Did you have any special requests?”
He waved his hand. “No. You may do as you wish, and I trust your ability to guard my purse while you choose whatever furnishings you desire.”
“That is very generous of you.” She took a sip of her sherry. “I thought perhaps once we finished with the refurbishing, we could arrange a small dinner for my family, perhaps, or a neighbor or two.”
“No.”
“Won’t you—“
“No.”
She huffed. “Do you plan to hide from everyone for the rest of your life?”
“My dear, I tried my best to hide from you, but that hasn’t seemed to deter you from attempting to run my life.”
She drew back in surprise. “Tristan, that is not fair. I am not attempting to run your life. I just thought some social discourse would be pleasant.”
“I have no desire for social discourse, or to have people here feeling sorry for me, or offering to ‘help’ me move about in my own home.”
“Dinner is served, my lady, my lord.” Mason stood in the doorway, his eyes straight ahead.
“Thank you.” Tristan placed his glass on the table next to him and stood. “Allow me to escort you.”
Marion joined him, taking his arm. Without much help from her, they made their way into the dining room. Nothing further was said about Mrs. Gibbons or a family dinner.
…
One they had settled in their seats, Tristan gazed in her direction and cleared his throat. “I haven’t changed my mind about our marriage, but if you insist on remaining here, we can at least have friendly conversations. Please accept my apology for snapping at you in the garden yesterday.”
“Of course. I understand how difficult things can be for you.”
“No you don’t, my love. But the less said about that, the better.” He shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap.
Taking his meals in his room had not removed the constant thoughts of Marion. He had listened to her moving about in the room next to him. Caught her scent in the corridor. Heard her soft footpads as she walked past his door. There was simply no getting away from her, from her presence, or from wanting her.
“Now let us enjoy our dinner, and tell me the news from your family. I am sorry to hear about your father passing.”
Marion regaled him with tales of her family, her sisters’ debuts into society, and Manchester and Abigail’s marriages. He had to admit surprise at Lady Abigail marrying Joseph Fox, a rector in a small town south of Donridge Heath. But Marion assured him theirs was a match made in heaven, and they were very much in love.
Listening with half an ear, he concentrated instead on her voice. During all the lonely months he adjusted to a world without sight, he had remembered Marion’s face as clearly as if he could see it right in front of him.
But her voice was something that had faded from his memory. Deeper than most women’s, her tone was nevertheless melodious and pleasant to the ear. As she continued on, the combination of her voice and her own unique scent had his mouth drying up, making dining difficult. As desire raced through him, a faint sheen of sweat covered his body. He shifted in his chair as his pantaloons tightened. Perhaps his reckless statement that if she insisted on remaining here they could have a pleasant relationship had not been well thought out.
His hands ached to run his palms over her soft skin, to trace her curves, cup her plump breasts. Had her body changed in the past two years? When she’d first arrived and had thrown herself against him, he’d noticed her form felt too slender. Pushing his plate aside, all appetite gone, he signaled for the footman to pour him more wine.
“You will love Penelope. She is the perfect wife
for my brother. I can’t begin to tell you how stuffy he became once he assumed his title. Most of last year he insisted he would find the perfect woman for his duchess. But his idea of perfect was all wrong for him. Then Penelope came into our lives, and turned my brother’s life upside down. One time, he…”
His attention wandered once again, remembering Marion at her come-out ball. That year London had been abuzz with the news that, due to the king’s madness, the Prince of Wales had assumed the role of prince regent.
A few months prior to that, Tristan had been awarded a barony as a result of recognition by the Admiralty. He had been a lieutenant on a ship that was under attack. When the senior officers were killed, Tristan had taken command. He’d fought off the attackers, taken their vessel, and had saved his ship, including the cargo, which included the pay for Wellington’s army. The Crown had been very grateful.
Happy with his life, he’d not considered marriage or a family.
However, all that had changed when he had stared, mesmerized, at Lady Marion at her coming out ball. He’d wanted her. Like he had never wanted anything in his life. She had not been the little Marion of his childhood. She’d been a desirable, beautiful woman who, miraculously, appeared to have eyes only for him.
As he had held her in his arms while they waltzed, he’d known then that his life in the Royal Navy would soon come to an end. They had been betrothed within two months, and were married a mere month later. After a two week wedding trip, they had spent a few months in marital bliss before he had reluctantly returned to his ship, with promises of resigning as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, before he had been able to do that, he’d come upon the battle between the Portuguese merchant ship and the pirates. And now, the life they’d planned together, as they had whispered in the dark as new lovers, would never be.
“Would you like me to leave you while you have your brandy?”
Pulled back from his musing, he shook his head. “No. I will be retiring now.”
“So soon?”
The disappointment in her voice hit him in the gut, but he needed to get away. Far away. From her, and the memories her presence swamped him with.
“I’m afraid so. But please make use of the library. I have quite a collection. At least that is what I have been told. And now I will wish you good evening.” He turned and, after accepting the cane from a footman’s hand, left the room.
…
What was that all about? Tristan had seemed much better when he’d first arrived in the drawing room. Their conversation at dinner had been friendly, although, it did seem that a great deal of the time he had not been listening to her. But his abrupt departure after finishing their meal left her feeling lost, uncertain. She sighed. It seemed to be an uphill battle, but as long as she remained right where she was, she was confident of prevailing.
Once the tea tray had been removed, she strolled through the library, pulling books from the shelves in an effort to find something to entertain her until bedtime. The walls were filled with volumes on all subjects. There were several Latin publications, and a few novels in French. Of course, the only way her husband could make use of this extensive collection was if she read to him. She smiled at the thought. That might be a good way to have them spend more time together in the evening.
She imagined a roaring fire, with both of them snuggled up together as she read to him from various works. It would be a lovely, peaceful time. Quite a domestic scene.
After leafing through several tomes and not becoming engaged at all, she gave up and headed to her bedroom.
An hour later, she sat in front of the mirror, Jane standing behind her, slowly running a brush through her hair. “My lady, you have such lovely hair.”
“Thank you, Jane, but sometimes I’m tempted to cut it all off, it can be such a bother.”
“Oh, no, my lady!” The girl gasped. “You would never do that, would you?”
“No. But the thought is intriguing.”
Jane put the brush down and viewed her in the mirror. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Nothing. Seek your bed. That is what I intend to do.”
Jane dipped a slight bob and left the room. Marion tried to settle into bed, but she was restless. The scant moonlight peeking through her bed curtains highlighted the empty space alongside her. She sighed, punched her pillow, and turned onto her stomach. She should be in Tristan’s bed, snuggled in his arms.
After a few minutes of flipping back and forth, pretending sleep was at hand, a repetitive noise drew her attention. She held her breath and cocked her head to one side, listening. On the other side of the wall came the distinct sound of thumps, followed by grunting. She scooted up, moving farther on the bed toward the wall, and sat very still. Yes, there were definitely odd sounds coming from Tristan’s room.
She tossed off the covers and slipped into her bed slippers and dressing gown. Tying the sash tightly, she walked softly to the door joining their rooms. The noises grew louder, until she convinced herself he was in some type of peril. Had he fallen? Where in heaven’s name was his valet?
Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned the latch and eased the door open. Her jaw dropped.
Tristan stood with his back to her, feet braced apart, stripped to the waist. His upper body was covered with sweat, his hair damp, the blond curls plastered against his head. Her gaze slid to his powerful thighs and firm buttocks as the muscles undulated with each movement.
A large, bulky bag had been suspended from the ceiling and anchored to the floor. His hands encased in boxing gloves, Tristan pounded away, his anger palpable as he thrust and battered the bag. Ellis stood nearby watching his master, his face impassive.
A quick glance around the room revealed a bathtub at the ready a bit of distance from the fireplace, steam wafting from it. Several fluffy towels sat on a rack near the warmth of the hearth. She glanced at Ellis, but if the valet had noticed her presence, he didn’t acknowledge it.
After watching in wonder as Tristan’s shiny skin rippled with muscles, she closed the door softly and returned to her bed. So that was how her husband kept his athletic body, despite his blindness.
She was disturbed to note her heart racing, her breathing rapid and shallow. The area between her legs tingled, and a longing for the comfort and strength of Tristan’s body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress, made her groan. She closed her eyes, but the vision of his almost naked form, glistening with sweat as he hammered away, did nothing to return her heart to its normal rhythm.
Once she’d learned of Tristan’s death, all desire for the activities in the marriage bed had fled. No man she’d met since then had interested her in that way, even when she had returned to Society and danced with various gentlemen. Some of them had been truly handsome and charming, but she’d never felt the longing and desire that ravaged her body now.
She rolled over, pressing her breasts into the mattress, trying desperately to bring some relief. Squeezing her legs closed, she tried to put the vision of Tristan out of her mind. No matter how hard she tried, all she could see was the ferocity with which he pounded the bag. The strength in his legs and the tightened muscles beneath his golden skin taunted her, burning into her memory.
For the next hour, all she heard was her own breathing and the sounds of Tristan battering away behind the door that was as much closed off to her as he was.
Chapter Six
Tristan was already seated at the table when Marion entered the breakfast room the next morning. Although he was fully dressed in buff breeches, a dark blue coat, and starched necktie, her memory of his near nakedness the night before caused havoc with her senses. She swallowed, trying to gain enough moisture to wish him a good morning.
Before she even took two steps into the room, he was on his feet and pulling out her chair. “Good morning,” he uttered as he pushed her seat in.
Startled by his abrupt action she mumbled, “Good morning.” She shook out her serviet
te and placed it on her lap. Last evening he was fighting like a pugilist, and this morning he was ever the gentleman. Whyever did the man believe he could not be a proper husband to her? From what she’d seen so far, he had managed to compensate for his loss of sight in numerous ways.
“I meant to tell you before now that I love this house. Were you in London before you arrived in Donridge Heath?”
“Yes. Before I left the hospital in Portugal, I had my solicitor purchase a townhouse for me where Mrs. Gibbons and I resided. We were there for almost two years, during which time I rarely left the house. Since I wanted more freedom to move about, I decided to move away from the dirt and odors of the city. However, she led me to believe that we had secured a home in a remote part of the country. I never would have permitted her to bring me to Donridge Heath.”
“You were so determined to avoid me?”
Tristan’s lips tightened. “I will never be an acceptable husband to you. Please reconcile yourself to that, Marion. While I will not go so far as to remove you from the premises, it is necessary for you to understand there will be no resumption of our marriage.”
“And where does that leave me, Tristan?”
“You are young. We can divorce.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Divorce is impossible to attain, and even if it were feasible, I would be scandalized, and no proper gentleman would come near me. My entire family would be disgraced and suffer the consequences.”
“Then we are at odds, madam.”
It was time to pull back. He was being unreasonably stubborn, and pushing him would serve no purpose. She must convince him that nothing had changed between them except for his sight, and arguing would solve nothing.
She took several deep breaths to gain control of her emotions. Plastering a smile on her face that he couldn’t see, but could certainly hear in her voice, she said, “Mrs. Gibbons came to say her farewell to me this morning.” Her words softened Tristan’s expression.
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