David Warren had made that plain. Her brief chance encounter with him had answered questions she didn’t know she was asking.
Linnet was not really a lost love after all. Warren had told her not to fear her ghost, but Tristan’s pride. And Sadie had taken him seriously when he’d implored her to show more restraint than Tristan’s first wife had.
Threatened her, really, in his perfectly charming way. And she was glad of it.
Restraint, a word that had seldom been applied to her. But it was time to leave behind all her silly tricks. So what was she to do with her morning until Tristan returned?
The garden and all its individual “rooms” beckoned. They were in their last flush of bounty, and quite glorious with their gold and russet leaves and seed pods. She might sketch, although she was no great artist. If she set her eye and hand to it, however, she could give Tristan a wedding present that reflected his own skill. Immortalize the last breath of beauty.
The white garden had been stripped of its flowers for her first wedding, but there were other attractive spots. Armed with colored drawing pencils and a pad she had found in the library, she ambled down the hedge-lined hill to the flat acreage below. A light wool shawl over her green dress was enough to keep the breezes at bay. And despite the perfection of her new hats, they remained in their boxes in her dressing room.
The warmth felt delicious on her head. It was too late to worry about her freckles—they had resisted all treatment and were part of who she was. Tristan had seemed fascinated by them as he traced an invisible path between them over her body last night, leading directly to her core. This getting to know each other business was proving to be successful, especially in bed.
For the first time in her life, Sadie felt the hope of happiness.
She stumbled a little at the realization. It was too soon to think their problems were behind them, but they were retreating some. There was a spark between them that could be encouraged to flame and brighten their future. And a proper wedding would help them move forward.
Sadie walked through the garden until she came to the rectangular pool filled with water lilies at its center. All the paths of the garden converged here, and there was a clear view of Sykes House up on the hill. A shiny darting fish caught her eye. She hoped someone was tending to the koi at Stonecrop Cottage’s pond, and watering the scraggly ferns in the conservatory that was always on the verge of dying.
She set her things down on the ornate iron bench and lifted her face to the sun. She looked forward to sitting here next year, watching the palette change around her from month to month. Knowing Tristan even as little as she did, she was sure he planned for perpetual color throughout the seasons. He was detail-oriented, a noticing sort of man. He would know at once when she prevaricated.
Truth-telling would take some getting used to.
She began her drawing with the marble statue of Flora that guarded the pool. It had been months since she’d picked up a pencil, and it showed in her first effort. The lily pads were easier. A monarch butterfly landed on one long enough for her to capture it on paper.
Sadie felt as if she was seeing everything for the first time—the many shades of green and gold, the puffy clouds reflected in the water, the nearby bank of humble asters. She was peaceful, so absorbed in her efforts that she didn’t hear the footfalls behind her.
She jumped at the hand on her shoulder, spilling the pages to the grass.
“Missed me, did you?”
Sadie turned and was speechless. Unless she was dreaming—nightmaring, more like—Dermot Reid was in the garden. He was taller and wirier than she remembered, his face weathered, his once-fair hair darker beneath a checked cap. He sported a luxuriant sandy mustache and muttonchops, which Sadie found somewhat ridiculous.
He was all grown up. Well dressed. He appeared prosperous, with a flashing diamond pinkie ring and a thick gold watch chain dangling from his pocket.
She felt nothing.
“I see you didn’t expect me. Your man told me not to come after all, but I couldn’t let this chance go by.”
“What?”
“Your new husband. He seems a little mixed up to me. First he wants me to have you, then he changes his mind. I thought I’d come to see what you have to say.”
She heard the individual words, but none of them strung together made sense. “I don’t understand.”
“The letters.” He pulled two crumpled envelopes out of his jacket pocket and handed them to her. “You didn’t know? The fellow was anxious to see you settled.”
Sadie put her pencil down. The writing was in Tristan’s hand—she recognized it from the sweet notes he’d left for her this week. Neat and bold, just like he was.
He had written to Dermot? Why?
She found out soon enough from the first letter—idiot Tristan would not stand in the way of their long-standing affection. He sounded like a deranged White Knight who had got the business end of the lance to his head one too many times. She might laugh at the absurdity of Tristan’s chivalry if she wasn’t so bloody angry. Bad enough he’d believed the lies. How dare he give her away and not fight for her?
And she wasn’t his to give to begin with.
The second letter was less convoluted. A mistake had been made, etcetera. Evidently, he’d enclosed a check too for Dermot’s trouble, which had probably financed the trip from Suffolk to Gloucestershire and this suit of obviously new clothes.
“Why did you come?”
“Not even a smile, not to mention a kiss. You don’t seem happy to see me,” Dermot admonished. “May I sit down?”
The bench felt too small all of a sudden. “You can’t stay.”
“I was invited! Before I got uninvited. I can always say the second letter never reached me. You’re looking swell, Lady Sadie. Bang up to the elephant.”
Sadie shivered. Lady Sadie. He was the only one besides her mother who’d ever called her that.
“There’s no reason for you to be here. I’m married. My husband was misinformed about our history. Ancient history.”
“Now the other one, the viscount—what was his name, your ex-fiancé—Charlton? He believed me right enough when I told him we were still sweethearts. Got some money off him for my discretion. No reason why I can’t do the same with Mr. Sykes. A comedown for you, pet, from a viscount to a plain mister. Your da must not be best pleased. Though I reckon from the size of that house up on the hill that your husband is filthy rich.”
“It is his father’s house,” Sadie said. There was probably no chance in discouraging Dermot from another blackmail scheme, but she had to try.
“Then I’ll talk to his da.”
She leaped off the bench. “He’s in Paris. Why are you doing this, Dermot?”
“For the money, my girl. I’ve done well for myself, as you can see, but a man can never have enough. I’m a trainer now, come up in the world. You know my way with horses. This year’s Grand National—I had two horses in the running. Conflict of interest.” He chuckled. “Rotten weather though, too much snow. Unusual for March. Seaman won it, but next year, who knows?”
“If you’re doing so well, you needn’t resort to lying and bribery.”
Dermot raised a sandy eyebrow. “I can’t help it if your men don’t trust you, Sadie. That’s at your door. I read the gossip rags. You’re a star. People are interested in you and are willing to pay top dollar for details. What you do and who you do it with. You’ve sold a lot of papers in your time.”
The implication was clear—he would go to the newspapers if he wasn’t paid off.
She would murder him before she gave him any of her money. But how? Could she toss him in the pool? Stab him with her drawing pencils? Her fingers itched.
“I don’t have any money to give you.”
He snorted. “There’s another of your lies right there. You’re married now and must have access to your mam’s inheritance. See, I remember. We talked about r
unning away all those years ago, didn’t we? And if you won’t give me any long-tailed banknotes, I bet I can persuade your husband to.”
“Fine. He won’t give you any either. He doesn’t care what becomes of me. After all, he was ready to send me away to you after one day of marriage.” Sadie was gratified to see the brief look of uncertainty on Dermot’s narrow face.
He recovered his smugness too quickly. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we? How about a kiss and a cuddle for old times’ sake, my dear? You always used to like my kisses and doing the bear.”
“That was before I knew—” Sadie shut her mouth. It wouldn’t do to praise Tristan to Dermot when she was making the case that her husband didn’t like her and wouldn’t pay a penny for her continued presence.
“Knew what?”
“That I prefer women!” Sadie said wildly.
Dermot grinned. “I don’t mind two women in my bed. But maybe I could change your mind back to the straight and narrow.”
Oh, God. Why had she said such a stupid thing? If it was meant to deter Dermot, it hadn’t worked.
“I lied. About liking women. I don’t.” She buried her head in her hands. “I don’t like being touched by anyone. That’s why Tristan doesn’t want me. I—I—there’s something the matter with me.” She sobbed for good measure, hoping to engender some sympathy. If he was still capable of it.
“Then you really have changed. You were a clingy thing when I knew you.”
She had been, more fool she.
“And I knew you were lying,” he added. “Your lower lip twists a bit when you do. You haven’t changed in that respect.”
Her lip twisted? Really? She’d have to look in a mirror for the tell. “Of course I’ve changed. So have you.” And not for the better. The boy she’d thought she loved had turned into a sly, self-serving boor.
Or had he always been that way? She’d been so naïve she’d been too blind to see who he really was as he’d urged her to ever more daring acts of impropriety.
Fifteen. So foolish. She was six years older now. Probably as much of a fool, for she loved her husband. Although if he were handy, she’d toss him in the pool, too.
Dermot flopped down on the bench and squinted against the sun. “Well, we can soon get this settled between us. I presume that’s Sykes scurrying down the hill right now.”
Sadie turned. Here came Tristan, hopefully to get her out of the sticky jam he’d gotten them in.
And stay dry in the process.
Chapter 46
As soon as he’d come home for lunch, he’d been informed by Grimsby that “a person” had come seeking him out. It was clear from the way the butler said those two words that he did not approve of the visitor. He’d refused the man entrance, but not before taking his calling card. “Dermot Daniel Reid” was printed on the cheap stock along with the name of his training stable at Newmarket.
Tristan shut his eyes briefly and pocketed the card. He should never, ever have written to the man in his misguided attempt to try to make Sadie happy. Now the fellow had been on his doorstep.
“Did he say when he would return?”
“He’s still on the premises. In the stables, I believe. He said you were interested in a filly he had. I told him to speak to Faraday.”
Bloody hell. A filly. Tristan yearned to smash something.
“Where is Lady Sarah?”
“In the garden, Mr. Tristan.”
Tristan went through the drawing room French doors that led to the terrace and path below. He stood, surveying the sweep of the acreage. Even wearing green, Sadie was easy to spot, as she was in the heart of it.
And so was a man in a loud plaid Norfolk jacket and matching pants.
Bloody, bloody hell.
He wanted to run. It took everything in his power of self-control not to.
His eyes never left them as he worked his way through the garden. Sadie was backing away, the white bandage standing out as her hands fluttered. Reid dropped onto the bench as if he owned the whole estate, his legs splayed out in relaxation. Tristan knew at once when the man saw him coming—even at a distance he could see the cocky tilt of Reid’s smile.
Sadie glanced behind her, and he waved. She didn’t wave back.
Not a good sign. But then this whole debacle was his entirely fault. Why should she be pleased with him? Blackmailers were never satisfied. Reid had tricked Islesford and Charlton into giving him money, and now he was here for more.
Unless he was under the delusion that Sadie still cared for him. Tristan was sure—well, mostly sure—that Sadie was falling in love with her own husband. All the signs were there.
And they were reciprocated.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell. He couldn’t fool himself any longer; he loved his wife, though she drove him insane a good deal of the time, and was bound to continue to do so.
He picked up his pace. “Sadie, my dear, who is our guest?” He dropped a kiss of possession on her cheek, though she was as stiff and white as the marble statuary.
Reid remained seated. Still not a gentleman despite his gaudy but expensive clothes.
“This is Dermot Reid. I told you about him.”
“Ah. The groom who was kind to my wife when she was a child.”
Reid guffawed. “Is that what she told you? There was a little more to it than that, if you know what I mean.” The man leered, and Tristan noticed Sadie’s good fist clench.
“The Duke of Islesford and Viscount Charlton may have believed your fairy tales, but they are both men of inferior intellect. I understand you are here to try to sell me a—horse? You surely haven’t come here to try your luck at bribing me too.”
“I see why you don’t want to go to bed with him, Sadie. He’s a cold fish, ain’t he?”
Tristan shot her a look, but she didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, she was talking to the statue of Flora, facing away from both Reid and him. “I told him we have a marriage of convenience, and that you care nothing for me, Tristan. I’m sorry.”
What game was she playing?
Ah, trying to save him from being bled by this leech.
“Even if you don’t want her, you can’t have your wife’s reputation dragged through the mud,” Reid said.
“It won’t be the first time,” Tristan said tightly. “Didn’t you do your research? My first wife cuckolded me at every opportunity. I survived that, and I can survive anything you can dish out.” As he said it, he knew it was true. He could live through anything as long as Sadie was beside him.
“I don’t believe you. Your first letter—you can’t tell me you don’t feel something for the tottie.”
A red haze swam before him. No, giving into rage would not be helpful—that was Sadie’s method, and look where it had landed her. True, she’d wound up in his bed, thank God, but many miserable years had preceded it for her.
“She is my wife, at least in name. But I doubt we’ll have children, so there’s no worry about besmirching the family escutcheon. You know, I’m just the son of a country baronet. We are nothing in society, buried in this backwater. Why should anyone care what happened or didn’t happen years ago? Sadie was, I repeat, just a child. You might have been horsewhipped. Or jailed. You still might be.”
Reid rose from the bench. He looked strong and sinewy, and for just a second Tristan wondered who would win an altercation should he lose his tenuous temper. “Are you saying you won’t pay me off?”
“I guess I am. I cannot see the advantage of giving you anything. You’d just be back for more next month. In fact, if you want to take Sadie with you, as I originally offered, I would not stand in your way. I warn you—she’s expensive to keep. And somewhat unbalanced.” Pray to God she understood what he was doing.
“You think you’ve got one over on me, don’t you?” Reid shouted.
“I think nothing of the kind. I’m only telling the truth as I see it.”
Reid spat at Tristan’
s feet. “Pah! You nobs wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the arse. I wish you joy of the slut. Does she still have that freckle that looks like a crescent moon on her left breast?”
Don’t do anything stupid now, his inner voice warned him. It was a struggle to comply.
“I wouldn’t know. You’ll find your own way out, I hope?”
He watched as Reid headed toward the stable block. After an interminable silence, Tristan cleared his throat.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
Sadie gave up her inspection of Flora. “You were brilliant. It’s as if you read my mind. I love you. Does my mouth look funny?”
He hadn’t expected that. “I beg your pardon?”
“Does my lower lip twitch when I say it?” She came closer. “Look carefully. I love you.”
Her mouth looked perfect. Kissable. “I see nothing irregular. Do you mean it?”
“I suppose I must. I’m very angry with you, though.”
“As you should be. I’m so sorry, Sadie. I told him not to come, but he must not have gotten the letter.”
“The second letter.”
Tristan felt his face go hot. “Yes.”
“You gave me away. To him.” She said it with contempt.
“No. It wasn’t like that. I thought—well, you know what I thought. I was a monumental idiot. We were forced to marry, and I thought you deserved to be with someone you love.”
“I love you.” She held a finger to her lower lip as she said it. “Curious. How very odd. It must be true. What a pickle.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, as you said, we were forced to marry. And now I love you, and you cannot possibly love me back.”
“Why can’t I?”
“I’m expensive to keep. And unstable.”
“Oh, my darling, dearest girl.” Tristan put his arms around her. “Everything I said to that wretched man was a lie. Except about Linnet.”
Sadie hugged him tighter. “I knew. Your friend David Warren told me. I’m so very sorry, Tristan.”
Seducing Mr. Sykes Page 24