‘I understand.’ She kept her chin up and did not allow her voice to wobble.
For an instant Tristan’s urbane mask slipped and she saw fury. ‘You understand nothing.’
‘I understand more than you give me credit for.’ Lottie kept her back straight and her voice even, despite the knots in her stomach. ‘Back at the hotel, you saw me as another Suzanne—a woman whose family wanted to marry her to the first lord who offered. You sought to save me from that fate by kissing me and unfortunately we got caught. We were forced to marry. You played my knight because of your uncle’s wife’s experience. It had nothing to do with me.’
‘No one forced me to marry you.’
‘You need not have worried. I would have found a way to avoid Sir Geoffrey Lea.’ Lottie paused and summoned all her courage. She had to lance this boil. ‘You must stop seeing her in me. Your uncle’s wife sounds like a perfect beast.’
‘She was spoilt and demanding.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Has anyone called you that? Have I?’
‘I am not spoilt,’ Lottie said between gritted teeth. ‘I may like pretty things and enjoy parties, but I am hardly spoilt. I give generously to the poor. I devote myself tirelessly to good works. I even helped out at last year’s bazaar and I did not demand the ribbons and bows stall but helped Mrs Hedigan out with her Scents of Araby stall.’
‘Are you worried that people think you spoilt? Is that why you are so quick to defend yourself. It is the first time I have ever heard a scents stall used to bolster an argument.’ The coldness of his smile increased. ‘What else shall you use? Do you give your cast-off gowns to your maids?’
‘I shared a maid with Mama. It was what was expected. The maid was grateful for them, I am sure.’ Lottie bit out each word.
‘You shared a maid. Was that a measure of your economising?’
Lottie longed to throw something. He was laughing at her. Belittling her.
‘If you feel that way, I wonder that you married me, spoilt child that you thought I was.’ She clenched her fists. Counted to ten and forced her fingers to open one by one. ‘Why did you marry me? Was I to be the jewel in the estate? You were going to save me, because you could not save the other woman? I did not need your sacrifice, Tristan.’
Tristan was silent. He stood there, glowering at her while a muscle worked in his jaw. A lump began to grow in Lottie’s throat. She wanted him to take her into his arms, but he wouldn’t. She turned on her heel and began walking away from him before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
‘Where are you going?’ he said in an icy voice. ‘Our discussion is far from over.’
‘There is little point in discussing it further,’ she said, after she had regained control of her emotions. She kept her chin high and looked down her nose. ‘I am going to write letters, lots and lots of letters.’
‘Telling your friends how hard done by you are. What a mistake you made. How you are buried alive in the countryside.’ His lip curled back and his eyes had turned glacial.
‘No, telling them how wonderful this estate is and how pleasant my wedding trip was.’ She paused and drew a deep breath. ‘And maybe, just maybe, if I write it out enough times, I will begin to believe it. Good day to you, sir.’
‘Wait.’ His hand captured her wrist, held her there. She looked at his hand and one by one, his fingers released her. She stood there, rubbing it. ‘The hut was used ten years ago by my uncle’s wife. It was where she entertained her lovers. It is no place where I would like my wife to be. I never want you to feel sordid and illicit.’
‘It would have been helpful if you had told me that in the first place.’ Lottie attempted to maintain an icy dignity as a flash of jealousy went through her. Her accusation had been close to the mark. She was a symbol to him, nothing more. ‘Far be it from me to disturb the memories of your youth.’
‘This has nothing to do with my youth! This has everything to do with you and your need to conform. Your need to find excuses for people’s behaviour.’
‘How dare you say such a thing! You forget who you are, Tristan Dyvelston!’
‘I am your husband and we will live where I say!’
‘I was attempting to help! Why do you seek to hide things from me? Maybe if you had told me the truth…’
‘Good day to you, ma’am. When you decide to apologise, we can speak.’
Tristan stalked off, leaving her standing staring after him. Open-mouthed. Furious. How dare he suggest that she apologise. She had behaved properly!
Lottie’s temper had improved considerably several hours later when she had finished writing her letters to various friends and relatives, telling them about the marriage. With each line she wrote, it became harder and harder to be positive and enthusiastic about her situation. There were only so many ways she could describe the utter horror of the house without it sounding awful.
She chewed the end of the fountain pen and tried again in her letter to Lucy. She described the wonderful battlements on which her nephews would enjoy playing soldiers and how Lucy herself would enjoy strolling in the gardens with its many delights and follies.
She paused and then, gripping the pen more tightly, she wrote: And, dearest Lucy, Mama is so scatterbrained these days that I fear she will have forgotten to send my trunks. I know how good you were at sending my things on to Haydon Bridge—could you please make the necessary arrangements now? A problem solved, simply and neatly without having to confess after all.
Lottie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and began her next letter, the one she had been putting off. She drew out the bank note from her reticule. Placed it on the desk and picked up her fountain pen again.
Dear Lord Thorngrafton, Many thanks.
Her pen paused over the paper, creating an ink blot. She would do this. She would send the money back to Lord Thorngrafton with a pleasant note, inviting him to Gortner Hall whenever he desired to visit. A little pleasantry, but one that could go a long way towards easing tensions between Tristan and his titled cousin. For too long the feud had gone on. She had to show that there was no simmering resentment, and this provided her with the perfect opportunity.
She put the blotter over the paper, folded it with the note inside and sealed it. But where to send it? She frowned. She could hardly ask Tristan. This would be a wonderful surprise for him when she unveiled it. She tapped the pen against the edge of the desk.
Then it came to her—the perfect solution.
Swiftly she addressed the outside to Lord Thorngrafton, care of Shaw’s Hotel, Gilsland. If Lord Thorngrafton had left the hotel, he was sure to have provided a forwarding address. Lottie smiled and allowed her shoulders to relax.
The scheme was flawless. She would demonstrate to Tristan that she could be useful. She took her duties as a wife seriously. The social contact was far more than a duty. It was a pleasure.
Lottie remained floating on the air of sainthood when she discovered Mrs Elton in the kitchen. ‘I presume there is someone who picks up the post.’
‘Way aye, there is, the lad should be coming for it in under an hour, but the master—’
‘I have no wish to trouble Tris…Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie gave her best smile. She didn’t want to explain about their earlier quarrel. She would be polite, but distant. Mrs Elton had no cause to hear of her troubles. It was far better that the staff were kept in ignorance of such things. She gave a little wave of her hand. ‘He undoubtedly has a thousand-and-one better things to be doing than seeing to my correspondence.’
She waited, trying not to hop from foot to foot like a child. Mrs Elton had to take the letters. The thought of going bonnet in hand to Tristan would ruin the whole surprise.
‘Aye, I can see your reasoning,’ Mrs Elton said, tightening her shawl about her shoulders. ‘He does have a lot on his mind at the moment.’
‘There is a letter to his cousin that I am especially anxious to have sent out. There has been much bad feeling between Lord Thorngrafton and Mr Dyvelston; I suspe
ct, left to their devices, neither will make the first gesture of reconciliation.’
‘You are a good soul, ma’am. That you are. I knew it the moment you came into the kitchen. Joss is a sound judge of character.’
‘Joss is a wonderful dog.’
The small dog gave a little yap at the sound of his name as Mrs Elton’s face took on a queer expression, as if she might be about to burst into tears.
‘I will see that the letter is sent. You may count on me, ma’am. I have no doubt that it will go a long way towards reconciling them.’
‘Do you?’ Lottie rocked back on her heels and resisted the urge to pat her hair. ‘I do hope so. It is awful to be at loggerheads with one’s relations. I want peace and harmony between Tristan and Lord Thorngrafton. It will make it easier in the long run.’
‘I do so agree, ma’am.’
Lottie played with the little dog for a few more moments before she returned to the morning room to await Tristan’s apology. She would be forgiving with regal dignity. Gracious without being condescending. She would let him kiss her properly as they were indoors and she would make him forget his past.
Lottie picked the perfect spot to wait—the sofa facing the door. The chessboard was ready and waiting. She would offer him a wager, once the unpleasant business of his apology was over.
Twice heavy male footsteps stopped at the door and her breath caught as she lifted her mouth ready for her kiss. But after a moment, they carried on.
When the clock struck nine, she realised that he was not going to come. Lottie rose, enlisted Mrs Elton’s aid in loosening her corset and went upstairs. She chose her prettiest shift and left her hair unbound. A golden carpet, he had whispered only last night, running his hands through it. And then she began her vigil again, watching the candle wax slowly drip.
This time, he would appear.
She heard the distinct click of his dressing-room door and the sound of his boots and then his clothes hitting the floor. Every particle of her froze. He would come to her.
She willed him to open the door and stride toward her. Hastily she blew out the candle, readied herself.
Then she heard the creak of the divan in his dressing room. Silence. She waited and waited. Listened to the distant ticking of a clock.
A single tear ran down her cheek as her eyelids fluttered closed. He never came. She had never had a chance to accept his apology.
Never had the chance to whisper her own to him.
Chapter Thirteen
The door to the library was firmly shut. Unwelcoming. Lottie paused and listened for any faint sounds coming from within. Tristan had been excessively polite when she encountered him finishing his breakfast. They had even managed to speak about inconsequential things. Lottie had given him several opportunities and openings to apologise, but he had declined to take them, choosing instead to excuse himself at the earliest opportunity.
Out here in the hallway, faced with a closed door and a day that stretched before her, she knew what she had to do—the unthinkable. She had to swallow her pride and apologise for her behaviour first.
Her peck on the cheek when he had asked for more had been wrong. She should have kissed him. Properly. Without prompting. She should have listened to her body. She should have considered his pride when she mentioned her friends. She had to share some of the blame for their quarrel.
Living like this—alone in this great ruin of a house with the barest of conversations—was not really living, not when she desired more.
She wanted his company. She missed his smile, the way his eyes danced. And how, despite the adversities that life had sent him and his straitened circumstances, he worried about others, sought to take care. He was a man she could respect. A man she desired. A man she loved, even if he did not feel the same.
It was more than she could hope for in a marriage.
It had been stupid and pointless of her to be jealous of some long-ago woman. Changing the past was not a possibility, but she could work with Tristan and, in time, they could grow together and reach an understanding.
She pressed her hands together to keep them from trembling. This was worse than her first ball. She wanted to go back to what they had had before. She wanted to experience that passion again.
Was that so wrong of her?
She went over her speech one more time. She had practised it in front of the dressing-room mirror five times before she knew it was perfect. It had to be perfect. It would be. She took a deep breath and rapped sharply on the door.
‘Enter.’
Lottie slowly opened the door. She started her speech and made the mistake of looking at him full in the face. A single lock of black hair dangling over his forehead captured her attention and drove every other thought from her brain. Her fingers itched to smooth it away. It was all she could do to stand and stare at him.
‘Was there something you required?’
You. The word leapt to her mind. Hung there. She trembled, worried that she might have said it aloud. Tried to remember her speech, but the words kept sliding away from her and all she could do was stare and mumble slightly. She swallowed hard. ‘Tristan, I have come into the room—’
She stopped, her mind once again becoming a blank as he continued to regard her with a stony expression. The temptation to turn around and flee back to her room became overpowering, but she made her mouth turn up at the corners. Hopefully he would understand her unspoken message.
‘Do you always state the obvious?’ He raised a single eyebrow and her smile faded under the sternness of his gaze. ‘Or am I suppose to guess your true purpose?’
‘No…that is…I wanted to speak to you about something of great urgency.’
He pointedly rearranged the papers on the table where he was working. A distinct rustle of paper to show her that he was busy, had little time for her. A pang went through Lottie’s heart. This was getting increasingly more difficult.
‘Do you have another money-making scheme that you wish to discuss? Another way in which you can show off to your friends? Am I going to have to play a game of questions?’
Lottie shut the door with a bang. ‘I have closed the door.’
‘I can see that.’ His hands stilled on the stack of papers. ‘A start. You wish to speak to me in private.’
‘This is not how this interview was supposed to go.’ Lottie gave a small stamp of her foot. ‘It is not how I practised it.’
‘And what is wrong with it? What small detail? What duty have you forgotten?’
‘You are not making it easy for me. You were supposed to make it easy for me.’
Tristan stood up. His height towered over her. His dark hair contrasted with the white of his shirt front. One stray strand looped over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. But there was nothing boyish about his guarded expression. ‘Should I make it easy for you?’
She moved closer to the table, closer to him. She lifted her face towards him, a clear invitation. ‘I have come to apologise.’
His face changed for an instant before the mask went down again. ‘What do you need to apologise for? What misdemeanour have you done, Carlotta?’
Lottie winced at the Carlotta. He wanted to provoke her, but she had to take this chance or always wonder what might have happened.
‘I should have kissed you properly. I was too far gone in sensibilities. I was wrong.’ Lottie stopped. Her brow wrinkled. She had said it and he made no move towards her. Had she left it too late?
‘Will you kiss me now?’ The words were so softly said that she did not know if she had imagined them.
‘Yes.’ She took a few steps forward, curled an arm about his neck and brought his head down to hers. His cool lips touched hers. Soft at first, but becoming hard as she teased them with her tongue. His arms came around her and held her. The kiss seemed to stretch for ages. Slow. Satisfying.
‘Was this the sort of kiss you had in mind?’ she whispered.
‘It will do for the starters.’
His hands cupped her face. ‘I accept your apology.’
‘I did say that I would try.’ She stepped back, uncertain suddenly. ‘Having kissed you, I should leave you to your work. You are very busy with papers.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive.’
‘Can they?’ She struggled to breathe as a delicious pulse of warmth spread through her.
‘They can.’ He threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her unresisting body back against his. His hands worked on her buttons and she felt her dress begin to loosen. ‘Very deceptive.’
He caught her face in his hands. Ran his fingers through her hair. Pressed a kiss against her temple. ‘You should not be frightened with me, Lottie. I want to protect you.’
Lottie stiffened. Was Tristan going to carry her up to the bedroom again? What if Mrs Elton or the scullery maid saw? How could she face them? And yet, she knew that she wanted this. She wanted to feel Tristan’s body against hers. She wanted to prove to him that she did desire him. ‘There is no bed here.’
‘We don’t need a bed.’ He gave a husky laugh. ‘Sometimes, I forget how innocent you truly are, sweet Lottie. How much I can look forward to teaching you. Lovemaking can happen anywhere.’
‘On the floor?’ She didn’t want to think how hard the floor was. She didn’t want to think at all. She wanted Tristan to kiss her, to hold her. ‘Please, Tristan, not the floor.’
‘Here.’ He lowered his mouth and she felt herself falling back against the table. With one sweeping motion he sent the papers crashing to the carpet.
‘Your work!’ Lottie turned her head. Paper was now littered all over the floor. ‘What can you be thinking of, Tristan?’
‘Leave it. Stay there. On the table.’ His eyes were smouldering as he pushed her dress down, revealing the cream of her shoulder.
Michelle Styles Page 19