“Of course we want you here,” Mary quickly said. “Never doubt that.”
“It is simply that you are in Society now,” Sebastian added, “and certain behaviors are expected.”
Tristan relented. A blasted waistcoat, jacket, and cravat weren’t worth fighting over and creating a chasm between him and his brother. They’d had too many years apart as it was. “I shall come properly attired in the future.”
“Might help if you didn’t stay out all night.”
Tristan barked out his laughter. “Are you going to deny me all my pleasures?”
“Was it pleasures or creating trouble that kept you out?”
“A little of both, truth be told.” He winked at Mary, and her blush returned deeper than before, almost scarlet. She had spent a good many years in a convent, protected from the likes of him. She was fun to tease now, but she could hold her own. She’d proven that with Sebastian. Dammit, she’d proven it when she was twelve years old and helped them escape from the tower at Pembrook. “You should have some oranges, by the way. Prevents scurvy. I’ll see that some are delivered.”
“We are not likely to get scurvy here.”
“It’s not a pleasant thing, so humor me.”
“Did you ever suffer from it?” Mary asked.
“No, but I’ve seen plenty who have. I fear I became rather obsessed with oranges. Other fruits work, but oranges are my preference.”
He cut into the ham, like a gentleman. Marlow had insisted that his men not eat like savages. Marlow was a contradiction. A man who could order, without compunction, that the flesh be flayed off a man’s back one minute and the next offer solace, holding a seaman’s hand while he waited for death to claim him. Tristan had experienced both his kindness and his brutality.
“Lady Hermione seemed quite thrilled to see you returned,” Mary said, snapping Tristan from his musings.
“She doesn’t seem to have matured any during the time I’ve been away.”
“She’s simply an excitable girl. I would caution you to take care with her.”
“Trust me, Mary, I intend to avoid her like the plague.”
“That may prove a challenge at the balls. And elsewhere. She appears to be in pursuit of you.”
“I’m quite skilled at avoiding capture.”
“On the sea, perhaps,” Sebastian said. “It’s not always so easy in Society. If her father does little more than think you’ve compromised her, you may find yourself at the altar.”
“As I’ve already said, I have no plans to go anywhere near her.”
“And what of Lady Anne Hayworth?”
Tristan’s fingers tightened around his knife as he sliced off another bit of ham. His temper was straining its tether. “What of her, Brother?”
“We noticed you dancing with her last night,” Mary said softly enough to quiet his anger.
“She’s a beautiful woman. I happen to enjoy beautiful women.”
“She might be vulnerable. As I understand it, she’s only just coming out of mourning after having lost her fiancé in the war.”
“I know exactly what she’s coming out of. What have you done? Become the patron saint of unmarried women?”
“Don’t speak to my wife in that tone,” Sebastian said, his voice seething.
“I’m trying to understand what’s behind the bloody inquisition. I’m a grown man free to do as I damn well please.”
“Not if others may be hurt by it. This isn’t the sea, Tristan. You don’t rule here.”
Tristan shoved back his chair and stood. “Please give me some credit. I held the woman while she wept over her damned fiancé’s bones. The very last thing I would ever do is hurt her.”
At their stunned expressions, he spun on his heel and headed for the door, not so much to escape them, but because he feared the words that still echoed around the room and in his head were a lie. He had the potential to hurt her and he damned well knew it. But even knowing it wasn’t enough incentive to keep him away from her.
Anne had only just finished her breakfast and was considering a stroll in the garden when she was summoned to her father’s study. It did not bode well that Jameson was there or that both men were on their feet before she entered. They were going to discover that their strategy to intimidate held little sway over her these days. After all, she had climbed to the top of a mast. She doubted either of them could claim the same achievement. Although she planned to keep it to herself since she’d been wearing britches at the time. That revelation would no doubt give her father an apoplectic fit.
“Jameson tells me that you traveled with this Pembrook lord.”
“I traveled on his ship. Hardly the same thing.”
“Semantics,” Jameson barked.
“Quite. And in this instance crucial to the understanding of what actually transpired.”
“Which was?” her father snapped.
“A journey from England’s shores to Scutari. I visited the British cemetery. I said my good-byes to Walter. We began the journey home. I weathered a storm. I watched porpoises play. I heard whales moan. And I released the last of my sorrow at Walter’s passing. It was a journey of healing. Now I am ready for the Season.”
“Yet this man approached you last night,” her father said.
“Yes. As did Chetwyn. And the Duke of Ainsley. Lords Malvern, Summerly, and Churchaven. I’m not certain why you’re so bothered that Lord Tristan would do the same.”
“He does not treat women well,” her brother said succinctly.
“Women? Or Lady Hermione?”
Jameson glared so fiercely that she was surprised she didn’t ignite into a ball of fire. “Did you have a fondness for her?” she asked softly.
“It is you with whom I am concerned. Your reputation. The possibility for a secure future with a husband and children. You’re in a precarious position, Anne.”
“Yes, because I’m so old. I must stop leaving my walking stick in my bedchamber lest I discover I’m unable to traipse about without falling on my backside.” She was fairly certain Tristan would have smiled at that. Her brother only glowered.
“Chetwyn will be coming by this afternoon to take you on a ride through the park,” her father announced.
She jerked her head around to stare at him. “Pardon?”
“He mentioned it at the club last night. I expect you to behave as a woman who could one day be a marchioness.”
“I had plans for this afternoon.”
He arched a brow. “What were those?”
“A solitary ride through the park,” she said, knowing it was a weak excuse that would hold no influence.
“So now you’ll have a gentleman to accompany you, with our blessing.”
And to be present when Tristan approached her. What could possibly go wrong there?
Chapter 18
Anne desperately wanted to be on a horse but Chetwyn had brought his barouche. The driver had set the chestnut mare from a lovely trot into a leisurely walk once they arrived at the park. The carriage’s hood was folded back, allowing the sunshine to wash over them. Anne knew she should relax and enjoy it, but she was anticipating the arrival of a storm.
Chetwyn sat beside her. They had spoken of the weather and the flowers. She didn’t know why she was having such a difficult time with ordinary conversation. She certainly had never found herself lacking for words where Tristan was concerned. Their discourse ran the gamut from teasing to serious to sensual to angry to sad to profound. She thought she could talk with him forever and never find herself scrambling for topics. But with Chetwyn—
“What sort of sister by marriage would you like?” he asked.
She looked at him. He had such kind brown eyes. Walter’s eyes. “Pardon?”
“I promised to provide you with a list of potential ladies for Jameson. I wondered what your criterion was when it came to a sister by marriage.”
“Only that she makes Jameson happy. I shan’t be living with her.”
“
But you shall see her from time to time.”
“I can tolerate anything unpleasant for a short period of time.”
“Even a husband?”
She smiled. “No, I would like him to be pleasant all the time, although I suspect there will be moments when he’ll be difficult.”
“I can’t imagine that any man who gained your favor would ever abuse such grand fortune. He would want you to always be happy.”
She wondered if he was talking of himself. She didn’t want to journey into a discussion regarding the sort of man she wished for a husband. She feared her desired qualifications might have taken a nasty turn toward the adventuresome. “You and Jameson have been friends for a good while. Do you know if he ever had any tender feelings for Lady Hermione?”
Clearing his throat, Chetwyn looked out over the green. “He might have found himself fascinated with her.”
“Two years ago? Before the lords of Pembrook returned?”
Chetwyn nodded, then shifted his glance over to her. “It seems you have captured the attention of at least one of those lords.”
“It was only a dance.”
“Two actually.”
“Two is proper.”
“But he isn’t.”
She wanted to deny it, but proper gentlemen didn’t climb in through windows bent on seduction.
“Does he fascinate you as he fascinates all the ladies?” Chetwyn asked.
“He’s not a threat to you or any of the other lords. He has no intention of staying here. He has a ship. He travels the world. Marriage to him would be a lonely affair.”
“So you’ve considered it?”
“No!” She felt herself blushing. She had not wanted the conversation to go here. “I only meant to reassure you that he engages in harmless flirtation.”
“Then I need not consider him competition for your attentions?”
Her face, her entire body, grew warmer. She had to tread lightly here. Did she wish to encourage him? She knew him. He was kind and well mannered. She suspected he would not stray from his vows. He would not leave her weeping or angry or shattered. She wanted to reassure him, but instead she heard herself spouting a lie. “He means nothing to me.”
Chetwyn nodded. “I still miss him, you know?”
The words made no sense and left her doing little more than batting her eyes, because she was fairly certain he wasn’t referring to Tristan.
“Walter,” he added, as though she needed the clarification, and shame on her because for a moment she’d forgotten all about him.
“As do I.”
“War is a terrible thing.”
“But sometimes necessary.” She could not—would not—believe Walter had died in vain.
“It takes a toll on a man,” Chetwyn said. “On his family, on those who love him. And on a country actually. A lot of men returned with missing limbs, unable to work.”
“I suspect they could work if people would only give them a chance.”
He gave her a small smile. “Quite right. But until they are given that chance, some are living in the gutters. I want to change that, Anne. In Walter’s memory. I want to arrange a home for soldiers where they can stay until they get back on their feet.”
“Oh, Chetwyn.” Without thinking, she placed her hand over his where it rested on his thigh and squeezed. “What a lovely idea.”
He turned his hand over, threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m arranging a ball, with help from Mother, of course. Only a select few shall be invited as we’ll solicit monetary contributions. A crass endeavor in one way, but I feel I must do something.”
“I think it’s an exceedingly generous undertaking.”
He held her gaze. “May I feel free to seek your advice on certain matters?”
“By all means. I would love to be involved.”
“I feared it might make things more difficult for you. I know you’re striving to move on.”
“Moving on doesn’t include forgetting.”
“My brother was exceedingly fortunate to have you in his life. I don’t believe I received a single letter from him that didn’t mention you. Although I have to confess that even without his assurances, I knew you were extraordinary.”
She wondered if she was blushing as deeply as he was. “You’re too kind.”
“Hardly.”
She tried to imagine what it would be like to gaze across a room every evening and see his face, to hold the majority of her conversations with him, to have him kiss her. She was fairly certain it would all be comforting enough. Pleasant even. She would have no surprises, no—
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Tristan sitting astride a beautiful ebony horse, trotting toward her. He looked as magnificent as she’d imagined. Did any setting exist in which his mere presence didn’t dominate? It was as though the lovely park suddenly became smaller, insignificant. As though—
“Anne?”
She looked at Chetwyn, his furrowed brow, his concern. “I’m sorry. I became distracted.”
Then as though her attention had become metal shavings and Tristan were a magnet, she was again gazing past Chetwyn.
“I see,” he muttered and ordered his driver to draw the carriage to a halt.
She wasn’t certain if that was good or bad. It would certainly make it easier to speak with Tristan, but it would also make it easier for him to speak and she dreaded what he might say, how he might insinuate an intimacy between them.
He brought his horse to a halt on her side of the carriage, even though it meant going around the contraption and confirming that his interest was in her. He swept his beaver hat from his head and bowed slightly, his ice blue eyes glittering with a possessiveness that she wanted to deny. “Lady Anne.”
She wished they were in the country so they could go galloping over the rolling hills together. She wished she hadn’t felt a need to be polite and accept Chetwyn’s offer to accompany her. She wished she understood this excitement that thrummed through her simply because Tristan was near enough to breathe the same air as she. “Lord Tristan, what a pleasant surprise.”
What in the world was wrong with her voice? She sounded like a pesky little dormouse.
“Surprise indicates that you weren’t expecting me. Did I not make clear that I would join you at the park?”
She stopped breathing, waiting in horror for him to reveal exactly when they had the conversation, but apparently even he realized that would be a step too far and would neatly slice her reputation to ribbons. With her worry dissipating, her anger sparked. She’d not have him playing games with her in public that would serve only to start tongues wagging. “During our dance I recall mentioning, offhandedly, that I would be riding this afternoon. I expected to be alone. Instead Lord Chetwyn was kind enough to give me the pleasure of his company.” Ignoring the tightening of Tristan’s jaw, she turned to her traveling companion. “Lord Chetwyn, allow me to introduce—”
“I’ve had the privilege.” He spoke the last word as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She’d never heard him speak so succinctly, and realized he was no happier than Tristan. “Oh, I see. Of course.”
Tristan’s gaze dropped to her lap. No, not hers. Chetwyn’s. Her hand was still entangled with his. She wanted to snatch hers free, but he closed his fingers so tightly around them that they were beginning to go numb. To separate them now would do little more than cause a scene.
“A lovely day isn’t it?” she offered.
“A storm’s coming,” Tristan answered, and she suspected he wasn’t talking about the weather.
“Do you find the park to your liking?”
The right side of his mouth hitched up into a grin with which she’d become far too familiar. It was a portent of teasing. Don’t, she wanted to beg, don’t say anything that will give Chetwyn cause to believe we are more than acquaintances.
“I prefer the sea.”
“When will you be returning to it, my lord?” Chetwyn asked.
“When my business here is completed.”
His gaze settled on her. To her shame, she was keenly aware of pleasure spiraling through her. She was his business. But for how long and to what purpose? A few more nights between the sheets? He’d certainly given no indication that he desired more from her. Even his suggestion that they sail the sea together gave way to the promise of an end. A year or two at the most. Then she would be returned to shore a shattered woman, because she feared during that length of time she would give him her heart.
“Am I correct, my lord, in understanding that you own a ship?” Chetwyn asked.
“You are indeed, sir.”
“By what name does it go?”
“What’s your interest?”
“Why the secrecy?”
“I simply wouldn’t want to go to the docks one night and discover it ablaze.”
Anne didn’t understand this verbal sparring, but she did know for certain one thing. “Chetwyn would never destroy your ship. Where is the harm in revealing its name?”
Tristan studied her for a moment before saying, “Revenge.”
“An homage to your uncle?” Chetwyn asked.
“To my lost youth.”
“You may not give credence to my words, my lord, but I, for one, never faulted you or your brothers for the manner in which you treated your uncle. Quite honestly, I found him to be a pompous prig.”
Tristan flashed a grin. “My lord, my respect for you has increased tenfold.”
He shifted his gaze to Anne and she couldn’t help but think that his respect for Chetwyn hadn’t increased at all. She wanted each man to appreciate the other, but she felt instead that they were sizing each other up, searching for flaws and weaknesses, analyzing strengths. She very much felt caught in the middle.
“I suppose we should be off,” Chetwyn suddenly announced.
“Yes, by all means,” she said. Although she didn’t really want to go, but she was acutely aware of the storm Tristan had mentioned brewing.
“My lord! My Lord Tristan!”
She thought if he were a man prone to rolling his eyes, he’d have done so at that moment. Instead, he forced a smile that was filled with none of the subtle nuances and emotions that usually accompanied it.
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