Courting the Country Miss

by Donna Hatch

  Her smile faded. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

  He drew a steadying breath and focused on everything he loved about her, which made it easy to smile at her with sincerity. “The last dance of the evening, then. Or I really will expire on the spot.”

  She seemed breathless and she looked down. “Of course—for the sake of your life.”

  Bradbury arrived then, slipping in between them and taking her hand. He cast a dismissive glance at Tristan. “Barrett.” Then he turned his back on Tristan and held out his hand as the first notes of a waltz filled the ballroom.

  The proverbial gauntlet landed at his feet. Tristan said under his breath, “May the best man win.”

  With his brows raised, Bradbury glanced over his shoulder at him. Tristan stared back, all boldness. After a startled pause, Bradbury swept Leticia into his arms in waltz position though the music had yet to start. Grinding his teeth, Tristan moved back to Elizabeth standing in the company of several ladies. Tristan singled out the shy young Miss Seton, offered a proper bow, and invited her to dance. As they waltzed, he teased a smile out of her by making wild claims of their winnings at whist and becoming a formidable partnership. It helped him to keep from staring at Leticia as she waltzed and later dined with another man.

  After supper, Miss Seton thanked him for being her dining companion, adding, “I know you would rather have been with someone else, but you were kind to spend this time with me.”

  As he tried to deny it, Miss Seton added, “You’re a fine gentleman, Mr. Barrett. I hope you get your heart’s desire.”

  Sheepish, Tristan took his leave of her. Back in the ballroom, he sought out the hostess and begged a favor. With a smile, and a wink, she agreed. Tristan danced every set with wallflowers and each time placed himself near enough to dance with Leticia as the formation moved. Once, Henrietta caught his eye, and she gave him a puzzled, hurt frown. He did his best to avoid looking at her.

  At last, the final dance began. A waltz. Tristan grinned at the hostess for agreeing to his wish. He wound through the crowd to Leticia. Bradbury stood next to her, close and possessive. That must be Tristan’s cue.

  Tristan tugged at the end of his waistcoat, and stepped up to her. “I believe this last one is ours.” He held out a hand.

  With an apologetic glance at Bradbury, she put her hand in Tristan’s. As the music began, she lifted her brows. “Another waltz?”

  “How fortunate for us,” he murmured.

  She cocked her head to the side. “Did you arrange that?”

  “Of course I did. I refused to be robbed of an opportunity to waltz with you.”

  “And why is that so important?”

  “A chance to hold you close.” He held her gaze, willing her to see the truth.

  Her eyes widened. She took a step back, but he caught her hand and led her to the floor, drawing her into waltz position. Her breathing quickened as they danced. He held her no closer than he ought, no closer than strictly proper, but every breath, every rustle of her skirt, every motion, heightened his senses until he expected to shatter into a hundred pieces.

  “Come riding with me tomorrow, Tish. Early in the morning.”

  “I-I can’t. I have calls to make.”

  “You don’t make calls that early.”

  She let out a huff. “You don’t get up that early.”

  “Yes, in fact, I do, and have been for most of the Season.”

  She leaned back to look at him. “Why?”

  “Because, as I keep trying to tell you, I don’t stay out all night anymore—unless I’m dancing with you, that is.” No longer willing to resist, he drew her closer—not so much as to scandalize chaperones, but enough to make his point. In a low voice, and allowing his breath to stir the little curls by her ear, he murmured, “Come riding with me tomorrow, Tish.”

  She shivered and her hand trembled. “I-I shouldn’t. I mean, I don’t know if a groom will be available to attend me.”

  “No groom necessary. I will see that you come to no harm.”

  “Alone?” her brow furrowed.

  “No less proper than riding unchaperoned in an open carriage.”

  “No, I mean, yes, I mean, I realize that but—” She broke off and her mouth tightened.

  He put a slight distance between them. Perhaps that would ease her distress. Very gently, he asked, “When did you become reluctant to spend time in my company?”

  She remained silent so long that he feared she would never answer. After a hard swallow, she whispered, “You know why.”

  He whispered back, “Because I kissed you?”

  Her cheeks pinked, and she held her lower lip between her teeth.

  Tristan put a husky, teasing quality into his voice. “Was it so bad?”

  She let out a shaky breath and turned her head away.

  His stomach clenched. “Don’t fear me, Tish. I would never ruin you.”

  “I know.” Her eyes brightened with gathering tears.

  The sight of her tears sent a bolt of alarm through him. “Trust me. Please trust me.”

  She refused to look at him. He needed to fix this. Now.

  The waltz ended. He led her off the dance floor, but instead of returning her to her aunt, he took her outside to the far edge of the terrace, still within view of the open doors but out of earshot. With lights from the ballroom falling upon them, he stood near enough that they could converse. Though craving the contact, he refrained from touching her.

  “Then please believe me when I say that I have changed. I know you have other prospects, but I ask you to allow me to court you. Don’t agree to an offer from anyone else—I beg you—until I have had a chance to prove to you that I am what I claim.”

  She turned and leaned on the stone balustrade, gazing out over the moonlit gardens.

  Unable to resist touching her, he also leaned on the balustrade and rested his crossed arms next to her, letting his fingers brush her elbow. “Let me prove to you my intentions. Let me show you my heart.”

  She closed her eyes as if his words inflected pain. At last, she nodded.

  “Come riding with me tomorrow?”

  Another nod. “I’ll be ready.”

  A steady stream of couples passed by on their way from the garden into the French doors leading to the house.

  “Leticia dear,” Mrs. Tallier called from the doorway. “I believe Isabella is rather fatigued.”

  “Coming, Aunt.” Leticia glanced at Tristan.

  Trying not to allow his desperation to show, he said, “I’ll call for you at seven o’clock.”

  For a moment, the Leticia he knew and loved emerged and cast him a disbelieving smile. “My, so early for Town hours.”

  “Even owls are capable of being awake early mornings—with the proper motivation.” He grinned.

  She awarded him a faint smile in return, still two-parts disbelieving. “It’s almost three o’clock in the morning. Let’s make it eight, shall we?”

  “Agreed.”

  After another smile, she joined her aunt inside. Tristan took a long exhale. He still had much damage to repair, but at least she’d agreed to give him a chance.

  A sultry feminine laugh caught his attention. Mrs. Hunter ascended the steps on the arm of a gentleman. Upon reaching the terrace, they shared an intimate smile and parted ways. The gentleman slipped in first, while Mrs. Hunter smoothed a hand over her hair and her gown. As she strode past Tristan, she glanced at him, and paused mid-step.

  “Well, Tristan Barrett,” she purred. “You are looking absolutely delicious this evening.” She sauntered to him and draped herself against the balustrade, looking up at him with a sultry glint in her eyes. “I hope you’ll be a gentleman and rescue me from a lonely ride home tonight.”

  Tristan stiffened and took a step back from her. How had he ever found such women desirable? “I believe you have already found relief from loneliness this eve.”

  “An appetizer. I’d love to make a main course of you.” She touched
his lapel and ran her hand up along it to his cravat.

  He stiffened. “I must decline.”

  Her lazy sensuality increased. “Come home with me for a glass of champagne. Talk to me.”

  Tristan pushed off the railing. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hunter, but I am not looking for a dalliance.” He affected a brief bow and strode away as quickly as possible without breaking into a run.

  Inside the doors, he ran straight into an older gentleman prowling along the perimeter of the ballroom as if searching for something.

  “Forgive me,” Tristan said, stepping back.

  The gentleman, elegant and distinguished, with blond hair fading to silver, glanced at him. “No harm done, young man.” He narrowed his eyes at him. “I say, have we met?”

  Tristan searched his memory. “I believe so. I’m Tristan Barrett. We were introduced at the benefit ball, I believe.”

  “Ah yes. You are the very image of Lord Averston—brothers?”

  “Yes, my lord. And you are Lord Tarrington, as I recall.”

  “The same. Say, have you seen a bracelet hereabouts? My wife lost hers.”

  Tristan drew a breath and collected himself. “No, sir, but I’d be happy to help you search.”

  Tarrington nodded. “Good man.”

  “Where have you looked so far?” Tristan indicated the floor.

  The earl made a gesture. “I started at that far corner.”

  Servants also hunted in the near-vacant ballroom, their gaze fixed on the floor.

  “The servants might find it if I don’t hurry, and I want to be my lady’s hero, even if I am getting old and gray.” Lord Tarrington winked.

  Tristan smiled and joined the search. A moment later, a glittering object caught his gaze. Tristan hurried to it and picked up an emerald bracelet. He carried it back to the earl. “Is this it?”

  Tarrington broke into a broad grin. “By jove, it is! Many thanks.”

  “My pleasure, sir. Tell your lady you found it so you can be her hero.” Tristan pressed his finger to his lips.

  The earl chuckled. “I owe you, son.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I know it isn’t my business, lad, but you seem a bit blue-deviled. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

  Tristan sighed. “No, sir, not unless you can change a person’s reputation or win a heart.”

  A blond brow raised. “Whose reputation? Yours or another’s?”

  “Mine, more’s the pity.”

  “Ah. Your last few years as a rake are now hindering your wooing of a lady?”

  Tristan blanched. Did everyone know of his wild ways?

  “I had the same problem. I found the lady of my dreams but she wouldn’t hear of letting a known rouè court her.”

  Tristan stilled. “What did you do?”

  “First I took a hard look at myself to determine if I were changing to please her, or if I wanted to change. Once I realized that I wanted to change for the very reason I lost my heart to her—because my life, as I’d been living it, was meaningless—I turned my energy to bettering myself and my life; I took a greater interest in our estate, followed political concerns, took up some good causes, did everything I could to make myself into the kind of man that would attract a lady of her level of excellence.”

  Tristan nodded. “And then?”

  “It wasn’t easy, I feared it was too little too late for her—others were courting her. But I refused to give up.”

  “Did it work?”

  His blue eyes danced as he fingered the bracelet . “After thirty two years of marriage, I’m still her hero.”

  “I’m glad. I hope it works out as well for me.”

  The older man nodded. “I wish I were having this conversation with my son, Cole. At first I was proud of his exploits, but he’s doomed to suffer from the same mistakes I did. I hope he doesn’t wait until it’s too late.” He clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Change is not easy, but it’s worth it.”

  “Did you find it?” a feminine voice called from the far end of the room leading to the great hall.

  Tristan grinned at the earl. “Go impress your lady fair.”

  The earl held up the bracelet and called, “Right here, my love.”

  The countess, a stunning older lady with rich, dark hair, clasped her hands together. “My hero. You always manage to save the day.”

  Tristan bowed and crossed the wood floor, scuffed from dancers, on his way out. He must find a way to prove himself to Leticia.

  Perhaps he could ask his man of business to provide a ledger, which would show his expenses were not extravagant, and that his gambling wins and losses were infrequent and never for exorbitant amounts. He could show that to Leticia to put her mind at ease in that regard. As far as drinking, she already noticed he’d virtually cut that out of his life. As to the more serious of all his past vices, he was at a total loss. He’d resisted all manner of temptations, with more ease than he ever would have imagined, but she had no way of knowing that. How could he prove his faithfulness?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  With the train of her riding habit draped over her arm, Leticia paced the length of the foyer. Morning light peeked in the windows, but failed to cast light on a wise course of action. She turned and paced back the other way, passing a table filled with flowers from both Lord Bradbury and Tristan. She continued into the open doorway of the morning parlor.

  “Leticia?”

  Leticia let out a yelp and jumped back. “Gracious, Aunt! You nearly put me into an early grave.”

  Aunt chuckled. “I didn’t mean to startle you, dear.” Curled up in a settee and wearing an ivory morning gown, Aunt Alice sipped tea.

  “I didn’t think anyone was up at this hour.” Leticia sat in an armchair next to her aunt.

  “I don’t sleep much these days. I’m surprised to see you up after such a late night.”

  Leticia adjusted her riding gloves. “I’m going riding with Tristan.”

  “Ah. Has he declared himself to you?”

  Leticia choked. “No. Well, not really.” Although his words last night might have been taken for a declaration of sorts.

  “I’ve never seen a more smitten young man. You are wise to consider a man like Lord Bradbury, and he’s a fine catch, of course, but you are a very subdued version of yourself in his presence. When you’re with young Mr. Barrett, you come alive.”

  Leticia hugged herself. “I’m comfortable with him because I’ve known him all my life.”

  Aunt Alice set down her teacup. “What is it that makes you disregard him as a prospect?”

  “You know what.”

  “He comes from a long and distinguished family, he has a generous allowance, he’s delightful, and clearly devoted to you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s hailed as one of this Season’s most eligible bachelors. Why, all Season the gossip columns have been comparing Tristan to the likes of the young Viscount, Cole Amesbury, his youngest brother Christian Amesbury, Lord Bradbury, and even the Duke of Suttenberg. One of my favorite columnists is calling them The Five Incomparables, and declares they’ve put all of London into a collective swoon.” She leaned forward. “Although, truth be told, I’d add Captain Kensington into that list.”

  Leticia waved her hand. “Yes, yes. Tristan’s handsome face is not the issue.”

  “You’re worried about his reputation.” Aunt Alice clasped her hands and regarded her.

  Leticia sank into a green striped armchair. “How do I know he won’t revert back to his dissipated lifestyle?”

  “If you are asking me how does one person know if another person has repented, that is for God to judge—not us. All we can do is believe by their words and their behavior that they are sincere, trust that they are strong enough to persevere, and offer encouragement when they weaken.” She poured herself another cup of tea and sipped. “It sounds to me that you are afraid.”

  “I am. I’m afraid if I fall irrevocably in love with him, he’ll eventually fall back into his o
ld ways. That would break my heart.”

  Aunt Alice set down her teacup. “You cannot be so afraid of twisting an ankle that you never allow yourself the joy of dancing.”

  Leticia turned that thought over. “You’re saying the joy of love is worth the risk of a broken heart.”

  “That’s right.” Aunt Alice leaned forward. “Do you believe his feelings are genuine?”

  “I’m…not certain what, exactly, his feelings are. We’ve been friends forever. Now, there’s something new between us. I’m not sure I understand fully what is happening, or what he wants to do about it. Even if I did, I don’t know if I dare.”

  Last night Tristan had surprised her. Twice. She’d watched as he’d rejected not one, but two offers from women who he would normally… Well. She wouldn’t go into details. Had Tristan’s changes really become permanent? During the house party, Tristan had showed no signs of succumbing to the alluring Mrs. Hunter, if Mrs. Hunter’s frustrated expression were any indication. Last night, she’d overheard two people commenting on how Tristan appeared to be growing out of his dissipated youth and turning into a steady young man. Did they all see something she failed to recognize?

  Aunt Alice picked up her cup. “As his oldest friend, don’t you think you, of anyone, should believe in him?”

  Guilt wagged a finger at Leticia. She looked away. “As his friend, yes, I should be. But if I am to become more than a friend—”

  “You need to decide once and for all; do you trust him? If so, give him a chance. And let Lord Bradbury know your heart is otherwise engaged. You cannot keep them both dangling.”

  “Dangling?” Leticia rocked back as if her aunt had thrown hot tea in her face. “Is that what I’m doing?”

  “Some may view it that way.”

  Sinking down into her hands, she let out a moan. What to do? Lord Bradbury resembled a bed of coals, warm and steady and constant. Tristan reminded her of fireworks, bright and explosive and exciting. Would he vanish in a blink?

  Leticia remembered the gun he carried, and the deadly calm with which he’d wielded it at the thug in Vauxhall. In the balloon ride, when she’d been frightened, he’d held her in a comforting embrace. She’d never experienced such a sensation of safety than she had with Tristan. Even his kiss had been respectful, an offer, a question, letting her take what she wanted, demanding nothing in return. She’d felt beautiful and cherished and…loved.