“I would never ask such a thing of you, Tristan. It was my fantasy, not yours.”
Sweet relief coursed through her. She hadn’t trusted him enough. He understood the dark workings of her mind—he always had. She remembered how he’d tied her to the bed, how much she’d needed it that night, more than she’d known until it happened. Sometimes he understood her own desires better than she did.
A simmering heat glowed faintly in his eyes. “Our fantasies have coincided on so many other levels, I’m certain I could keep you satisfied in our bed without having to enact that particular one.”
She smiled. “I know you could.”
Could. Not will. He was speaking as if he didn’t really expect her to be in his bed. But she wasn’t sure what he and Garrett wanted now. The three of them had been cordial to one another for the past few days. Busy recovering from their ordeal, none of them had broached the topic of the future.
All she knew was that she didn’t want Tristan to leave her again. She wanted him beside her. Always.
She knew now which of the men she wanted to be with, live with, sleep with. She loved them both, but it was Tristan who understood her, who made her happy. Who completed her.
She allowed her smile to transform as his hand traveled farther up her thigh. He knew her well enough to interpret the subtle messages she gave in the tilt of her lips, and he correctly interpreted this one as acquiescence.
His touch skittered over her belly, then his palm cupped her between her legs. He stilled for a long moment, the only sound his harsh breathing in her ear. He towered over her, and she looked up at him. It was a warm day, and sunlight shone in through the curtains and splashed across his face, highlighting the planes and angles and making him look like a golden angel haloed by his shiny curling black hair.
And then there it was in full force. Tristan’s wicked smile and dancing eyes. The look that made her melt from her core to her skin like a wax candle heated from the inside out. He lowered his mouth to hers, pressing kisses to her lips with a building strength and desperation that she returned in kind, crushing him to her with her good hand. Her blood came alive, prickling under her skin everywhere he touched, then rushing between her thighs, heating her with a need that left her unable to remain still. She squirmed against him, reaching, straining for what she knew he could give.
He was so hot, so dominating. Every touch of his lips was a command. And, eager and willing, she surrendered.
Frowning, Garrett thrust the key into the lock on Sophie’s door. It was late—closer to luncheon than breakfast—and he was famished. Though Sophie was probably still dressing, he intended to prod her maid a little so they could go downstairs and fill their bellies.
The door creaked as he pushed it open.
And there it was.
Tristan and Sophie. Together. Lying on the bed, kissing as if to inhale each other. With a thousand times more need and passion than had ever occurred between himself and his wife.
They jumped apart at the sound of the opening door. Tristan rolled off her, tugging her nightgown over her thighs, and both of them stared up at him. They flushed, both faces bearing horrified expressions that he’d found them in such a state. Emotions raged through him. First blind anger, just like that first night when he’d found Sophie tied to the bed. But that quickly faded into confusion, embarrassment, sadness. Finally… acceptance.
He’d been fighting against it for so hard and so long. He’d tried to force a renewal of a love that simply wasn’t meant to be. They’d both changed, and all along, the truth of it had stared him in the face. They loved each other.
Garrett couldn’t tear them apart. More surprising, he didn’t want to, not anymore. He loved them both, and above all, he wanted to see them happy. And they’d been happy before he’d come to wreak havoc on their lives. They’d been a family.
He’d expected crippling pain, but it didn’t come. Garrett realized with only a small pang of loss that he’d already let her go. He’d let her go long ago, but he’d refused to admit it to anyone, least of all himself.
Garrett bowed stiffly. “Forgive me.”
In a military gesture, he swiveled around and limped out. The door clicked shut behind him.
Sophie found him at the edge of town, walking north, toward Scotland. He wore simple buckskin breeches, black hessians, and a crisp white shirt. He hadn’t bothered with coat or cravat. The morning was warm and still, quiet except for the chirp and trill of songbirds, and the sky was draped overhead like a blanket of soft blue cotton. Just beyond the farmhouse they passed, carpets of late-blooming bluebells spread from either side of the road, a shade darker than the sky and drooping delicately in the increasing heat. Garrett walked slowly but deliberately, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Sophie hurried to catch up to him, and when he heard the crunch of her feet on the gravel as she approached, he paused to wait for her.
“Garrett,” she said breathlessly, drawing up beside him. She set her hand on his arm. He flinched but didn’t draw away.
They resumed walking in silence. Insects droned, and the smell of bluebells, of powder and spice and herbs, wafted around them.
Finally, Sophie found her voice. “You shouldn’t be walking.”
“The doctor came early. He said it would be all right to walk a little. And ride.” His voice was flat; he stared straight ahead.
She squeezed his arm gently. “I’m sorry.”
“I know, Sophie.”
Sophie was quiet as they topped a small rise. Clusters of sheep loitered in the fields ahead, sunning themselves.
What now? she wanted to ask. But she didn’t, coward that she was. It hurt her to hurt him, and it hurt her to hurt Tristan, but no matter what she did, it was inevitable. Her dream of making them both happy was an impossibility.
“I’m going to go after Fisk.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she wasn’t surprised.
“I want Rebecca safe.”
Aunt Bertrice would say it was too late for Becky, but Sophie agreed with Garrett. It didn’t matter that she was ruined. Better ruined and with her family who loved her than staying with an evil man who would undoubtedly cause her horrible pain in the end.
“I want her safe, too.”
“Once I’ve killed Fisk—” He broke off and took a deep breath.
“You needn’t kill Fisk, Garrett. Becky should be kept safe from him. That’s all.”
He turned to her, his eyes as dark as the bluebells behind him. “I will kill him.”
Sophie pressed her lips together and nodded.
“I was a fool to come home.” Burying his walking stick into a patch of soft mud, he resumed walking.
The words were like a fist in her belly, and she stumbled to catch up to him. “No,” she choked out. “No. I thank God every day that you came back to us.”
He slanted a look at her, but shook his head. “I’ve only brought all of you pain. And suffering. Because of me, my sister is ruined, and you—you were almost killed.”
“It’s not your fault.”
His eyebrows snapped together. “So you’ll say forever, Sophie. You were never one to place blame. But I am, and I know who is responsible.”
“What about Miranda?”
There was a slight falter in his next step. “What about her?”
“You’ve made her happy. She always thought her papa was dead, but you came back to her, and she loves you for it.”
He glanced downward, and Sophie realized he carried a tiny portrait of Miranda in his free hand and was gazing at it, rubbing his thumb softly over their daughter’s likeness. After a short silence, he said, “I’ll miss her.”
Sophie swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “You will come home with Becky, won’t you?”
Slowly, deliberately, he shook his head and slipped the portrait into his breeches pocket. “I will bring Rebecca home, and I will settle the legal arrangements regarding our marriage, but I won’t stay.” He glanced at
her, then back to the road. “You’ve made your choice.”
This was the moment she’d avoided for nearly two months. She could agree, tell him she had chosen Tristan. Or she could lie.
It was time. She licked her lips and plunged forward.
“Do you remember that day when Miranda and I were sitting in the drawing room, and you told us that you missed Belgium in a way, because there was a freedom in that life?”
“Yes.” His voice was wary.
“That is how I feel when I am with Tristan,” she said softly. “He makes me feel free.”
She closed her eyes, taking the next few steps blindly. He limped silently beside her. She had to continue, tell him the truth. As much as she knew it would hurt him. Hurt them both.
“Yes. I have made my choice.” It came out as a near moan. A great pain twisted in her chest, unbearable. Only by sheer force of will did she stay upright. “I want to be with Tristan, Garrett.”
“I won’t interfere.”
Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. “I still love you.”
“I know.”
A breeze ruffled Sophie’s hair, whispering Garrett’s unspoken words to her. But not like you love Tristan.
The tears, great glistening droplets, rolled down her cheeks and clung to her jawline, and two more slipped from her eyes.
“I don’t want you to leave us.”
“I must,” he said stiffly.
“We—I—need you.”
He stopped, turned, and grasped her shoulder, forcing her to face him. Reaching up, he smoothed the rough pad of his thumb over the tracks of her tears.
“No, Sophie,” he said. “You don’t. You proved that while I was gone. You proved it again when I was sick from the opium.”
“But M-Miranda… she needs you.” Sophie’s nose was running, and her breath came jerkily between the words.
“I will never leave my daughter. I will visit her, write to her. I want to spend time with her, watch her grow. She must always know I’m close.”
Sophie closed her eyes, sending two more streams of hot liquid down her cheeks.
“First I need to catch Fisk, bring Rebecca home, work out the legal matters, regain control over my assets. I won’t oppose Tristan’s appeal to the dissolution of your marriage, nor will I oppose his attempt to nullify ours. Afterward—well, I might return to the Continent. I have some loose ends to tie there.”
Joelle Martin, Sophie thought with a pang in her chest. One of her tears splashed to the ground, and she watched the tiny wet spot bloom in the dirt. Dropping his walking stick, he cupped her cheeks in his big hands, nudging her face upward. She looked into his blue, blue eyes.
“I’m letting you go, Sophie. You have to let me go, too.”
“I—I can’t.”
“You can. You know you can. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
“It will be too hard.”
His lips, warm and soft, pressed against her forehead. “One thing I’ve learned from this life is that one can’t always have everything.”
“I don’t want everything,” she whispered. “Only Tristan. And you. All of my family.”
“It’s too much.”
She slipped her arms around him, ignoring the twinge of her injury, and burrowed her face in his chest. Grief sliced through her, sharp as a dagger flaying her open. The pain was more than she could bear. It was just like the moment Sir Thomas had told her Garrett was gone.
“I love you,” she sobbed. “I love you.”
He stroked her hair, her back, as she wept, soaking his shirt with her tears. He comforted her, when it was she who had hurt him, she who had betrayed him.
“Listen to me, Sophie. Listen.” His strong fingers forced her chin up. She looked at him through blurry, watery eyes and eyelashes clumped with her tears.
“If it had to be any other man, I’m glad you chose Tristan. He’s an honorable man. Loyal. He’ll move heaven and earth for you. He loves you, Sophie, and I know you’ll be safe with him.”
Unable to stop the flood of tears, she sank back against his solid chest, and he held her, muttering soothing nonsense into her hair. They stood that way for a long time, on the edge of the quiet road with only the bluebells to witness their painful good-bye. When her sobs subsided into hiccups, he eased away. “I’ll be leaving today. I’m certain they’re already married, but I might be able to catch them before he gets her with child.”
Sophie closed her eyes, feeling her shoulders slump, remembering Becky climbing naked from the bed she’d shared with Fisk. She could only pray Becky wasn’t already pregnant.
“Your leg?” she whispered.
“My leg is well enough.” His lips twisted. “I’ve suffered worse.”
He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her tears. “Tristan will take you home, Sophie. Calton House is only a day’s ride from here.”
“The children are in London.”
He nodded. “Yes. Go home to London then.”
“And… will we hear from you?”
“Whenever I can, I will write you.”
She clung to him, fisting her hands in his shirt. “Do you promise? Garrett, promise me you will keep us informed of your whereabouts. I don’t think I can bear to live without knowing where you are, that you are well.”
He gazed down at her. “I wouldn’t do that to you again, Sophie. You, Miranda, and Tristan will know where to find me. I want to know, too, if you should need me for anything. I will come on a moment’s notice. For anything.”
“I know.”
Garrett glanced at the sky. “Let’s go back. I want to ride out before noon.”
Swallowing down another sob, Sophie turned with him. Arm in arm, they made their way back into the village. From there Sophie would head south and Garrett would head north. And this time, their separation would be forever.
Chapter Twenty-two
Tristan paced the small room, pausing each time he passed the window facing the street. After Garrett had found them in bed together—again—Sophie had leaped out of bed, with no regard for her arm, and called for her maid, commanding the girl to dress her as quickly as possible. Then, scarcely casting a glance in Tristan’s direction, she’d hurried out the door.Tristan stopped at the window again, gripping the sill, staring out into the street. A few people strolled purposefully across it, and a dusty carriage rattled by, but there was no sign of Sophie or Garrett.
He retrieved his coat, strode out the door and down the stairs. With a nod to the innkeeper, he pushed the door open and was met by a warm, fragrant breeze carrying the scent of flowers. Not roses to remind him of home, but something else, something containing the essence of herbs. He stepped outside and gazed down the street. People strolled by, dull in drab-colored nankeen and wool. Sweat streamed down their faces. Carriages and carts rattled past, the horses breathing heavily, the mules steadfast and determined. The sun shifted in the sky, beating down on him, the air thick with the moisture of coming rain.
When they rounded the bend, he knew it was them immediately. A lightness seemed to descend upon the street. Sophie, in all her glory. Her beauty, her unconsciously elegant presence instantly overwhelmed everyone else. People took notice of Sophie—they stood aside in respect when she entered a room. Sophie herself seemed not to notice how imposing she truly was. Small but commanding, even dressed as she was in modest white muslin. He remembered her standing in all her furious glory, with blood soaking into her bodice and the pistol pointed at Fisk. Her coolness as she pulled the trigger. She was the most powerful force he’d ever known. And she gave him everything. He never felt so blessed as when she offered him the gift of herself. Beside her stood Garrett, tawny and big as a lion, dressed in shirtsleeves like a common laborer. Imposing in his own right. Light where she was dark. Bronze where she was pale. Ragged where she was smooth. Just looking at them was enough to entice anyone to stop whatever they were doing and simply stand and gawk.
She had her arm wr
apped around him. Her head rested against his arm. Fight for her. Don’t let her go again. Tristan stepped forward, but they didn’t see him. Still several yards away, they turned toward each other. And then they kissed. In full public view.
Pain speared through Tristan. He had to grab the pillar to keep himself from lunging at Garrett. He knew they’d slept together in the weeks they’d lived as husband and wife, but seeing the tenderness of their kiss was an entirely different matter. It brought a killing rage tearing from his chest, a wholly new emotion, one he could hardly control. Was this how Garrett had felt when he’d walked in on them making love? If so, it was a miracle they were all still alive.
He clenched the pillar as he watched them pull apart. They spoke urgently for a moment longer, their hands clasped. Tristan couldn’t hear anything besides the roar in his ears. Dropping one final kiss on Garrett’s cheek, Sophie hurried down the path that led behind the inn to the stables, and Garrett turned toward him.
Garrett saw him right away, but his step didn’t falter. Tristan reached up to rub his brittle jaw, clenched so tight he wasn’t sure he could pry it open again. When Garrett stopped before him, Tristan stared at him, and all he could see was the sadness etched deep in his blue eyes.
Suddenly, Garrett reached out and pulled Tristan roughly into his arms. Just as quickly, he let him go and stepped back. “She went to sit by the river for a while,” he said gruffly.
“She has no companion. You’d best go to her.”
Garrett went to the inn’s door and opened it. But then he turned back, meeting Tristan’s confused gaze. “She needs you, Tristan.”
With that, he stepped inside, Tristan staring after him.
Moments later, he found her sitting on the bank of the river running behind the inn’s stables, a ways upstream from where the stable boys were watering the horses. When she looked up at his approach, his heart stuttered. She’d been crying. Dried tear streaks marred her pretty face.
He’d only seen her cry once before—long ago, when Sir Thomas had first told her Garrett was missing.
“Sophie?”
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