“Yes. I wished her the best a short time ago, as well. I will miss her. She was an excellent companion.” His lips tightened. “Until she betrayed me.”
Not wishing to resume their disagreement, Marion hurried on. “I should like to take a ride into town today. May I use the carriage?”
“Of course. Everything here is at your disposal.”
Everything except my husband.
“Thank you. Would you care to join me?”
“Perhaps some other time. I have a meeting this morning with my secretary, Landers.”
She nodded, but then realizing he couldn’t see her action, said, “All right. Another time.”
They both resumed their breakfast, the clink of silverware and china the only sound in the room until Marion grew uncomfortable. The easy silences between them earlier in their marriage now seemed strained.
“I remember how much you enjoyed reading your newspaper. Since I don’t see one, I assume you no longer have a subscription?”
“It might have slipped your notice, but I am unable to read.”
Heat rushed to her face at his brusque tone, and she bit back a sharp retort. She would need to practice quite a bit of patience with her husband if she were to bring him around. “Of course I know you cannot read, but I would be more than happy to read to you. And I would enjoy having a newspaper myself. May I order a subscription?”
He wiped his mouth and rewarded her with his first smile of the day. “Actually, Mrs. Gibbons was not fond of reading aloud. Probably more than most things, I miss books and newspapers. If you would read to me, I would be extremely appreciative.”
The tension in her body eased. At last she’d found a way to reach him. If it took her growing hoarse from constant reading, she would use that as a path to renewing their connection.
…
Tristan sat across from Landers, having a great deal of trouble focusing on his correspondence. His secretary would read his letters aloud, and Tristan would instruct him on how to reply. It had always been a system that worked well for them, but today he’d had to ask Landers to repeat himself many times.
Even though he could not see her, Marion’s presence at his breakfast table had unnerved him. Her voice, her scent, and the warmth that radiated from her when she moved past him to sit in her chair, had made him harden in places he wished to ignore.
Memories of previous meals with the two of them not able to take their eyes off each other swamped him with both joy and sadness. The early days of their marriage had been filled with such times, staring at one another, fingers intertwined as they strolled together, small intimate touches that had marked them as lovers.
How they would go on was a conundrum he wasn’t prepared to deal with. His plan since he’d regained his memory in the hospital had been simple. He would allow Marion to believe him dead, and she would be free to marry again.
Except Drake’s very astute observation that any marriage Marion contracted would be bigamy on her part—albeit innocent—and would therefore render her children bastards. Why he hadn’t thought about that when he had devised his scheme proved how unprepared he had been for his new life as a blind man.
Although he hadn’t brought it up, he’d been aware that she had watched him last night as he worked out his rage on the punching bag. His acute hearing had picked up the sound of the door latch opening, as well as her gasp of surprise, then heavy breathing. Had passion been the cause of her breathlessness?
The thought that she had witnessed his raw anger left him vulnerable. If he were to convince her of his determination to keep them apart, he needed to maintain a cool demeanor. He could not succumb to his baser needs. She must never know how much his heart yearned to take her in his arms and make love to her as he used to.
When he had been whole.
How much longer could he expect Marion to remain under his roof given the restraints he’d placed on her? Knowing his wife as he did, she would not be moving out anytime soon.
“My lord, there is a note here from Lord Weatherby. He wishes to hold a dinner in your honor. From what he says, he apparently learned from Her Grace, the Duchess of Manchester, that you and Lady Tunstall have rented this house and are settled in the neighborhood.”
Jolted back to his present surroundings by Landers’s voice, he said, “Thank his lordship for his kind offer, but refuse.”
“Refuse?”
“Is that not what I just said?”
“But what shall I say?”
“Think of something, Landers. That is what I pay you for, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
Good heavens, he was turning into a grouch. The simple life he’d planned for himself when he had left the hospital in Lisbon was crumbling about his ears. He didn’t want a social life. Didn’t want to be “honored” by his neighbors. And most of all, he didn’t want a desirable, determined wife gawking at him while he pounded on his punching bag like a madman.
The woman was turning him into someone he no longer recognized. She had entered his home, taken over his staff, chased off his companion, and left her mesmerizing scent everywhere in the blasted house. He heard her laughter no matter how many doors he closed.
“That will be all for today, Landers.” No point in continuing, since he couldn’t keep his mind focused long enough to make it worthwhile. “Please have Mason send Ellis to me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tristan leaned back and linked his fingers across his middle as Landers shuffled papers, then took his leave.
“You wished to see me?” Ellis entered the study moments after the front door closed, announcing Landers’s departure.
“Yes. I feel the need for some exercise.”
…
Marion removed her hat and gloves and handed them to Mason. “Is his lordship in his study?”
“No, my lady. He has gone out with Ellis.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Indeed. Do you know where they went? Did they take the carriage?”
“No, my lady. I believe they are out on the archery field.”
Taken aback by this news, she asked, “And will you be so kind as to direct me to the archery field?”
After Mason’s brief directions, she headed toward the rear door, startling the kitchen staff as she hurried through, then descended the back stairs. The crisp autumn air greeted her, along with the pungent scent of apples as she passed through the orchard. She slowed her pace, then stopped to pick a ripe piece of fruit from a low-hanging branch.
Far off in the distance, to her left, were two men. She turned slightly and followed a footpath in that direction, enjoying the crunchy sweetness of the apple as she walked.
The closer she came to the two men, the more confused her thoughts. It appeared that Tristan was actually shooting arrows at a target. How in heaven’s name could a blind man shoot arrows?
Ellis stood behind and to the right of Tristan. In front of her husband was a brace of some sort that was anchored into the ground. It consisted of two strong pieces of wood, fastened together to form a large cross. Tristan rested his elbow where the two pieces joined, which created a sighting for him.
As she watched, he let fly an arrow that landed with a thump onto the target some distance away.
“Very good, my lord. About two more inches to the left.”
Tristan backed up and reloaded his bow, aligning his feet with a board on the ground which apparently kept him facing the correct way. After careful consideration, and more instructions from Ellis, he released another arrow and, to Marion’s amazement, hit the target directly in the center.
“Well done, my lord,” Ellis said.
Tristan stepped back and moved his arm down so the bow rested alongside his body. “What do you think of that, Marion?”
She jumped, startled that Tristan addressed her. How did he know she was behind him?
“I am truly amazed.”
He turned and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. The grin on his f
ace was worth more to her than anything on earth she could ever possess. Pride, happiness, and a certain smugness made her want to throw her arms around him in glee.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Your footsteps as you moved through the grass. I know Ellis’s footsteps, yours were much lighter.”
“I could have been one of the maids.”
Tristan handed the bow to Ellis and rested his gloved hands on his hips. “I would know you anywhere, Marion. I could never mistake anyone else for you.”
Ellis cleared his throat and gathered up the equipment lying about their feet. “I will collect the rest of the arrows, my lord.”
“Thank you. Perhaps Lady Tunstall would be so kind as to escort me back to the house.”
Flustered from Tristan’s comments about knowing her anywhere, she quickly stepped up and took his arm. “Of course. I would be happy to stroll with you back to the house.”
Tristan flashed a devilish smile. “Ah, well done, my dear.”
“Excuse me?”
“You refrained from stating that you were escorting me back to the house, rather that we would be taking a stroll.”
Still off balance, and not sure if he was annoyed with her or not, Marion merely moved forward, with Tristan’s confident steps joining hers.
“How was your visit into town?”
“Quite useful. I borrowed a few books from the circulating library. I thought perhaps I could read to you in the evenings.”
“I would like that. What books did you acquire?”
“I wasn’t quite sure what you would enjoy, so I picked up a few different types of books. Last year I read Pride and Prejudice, and if you weren’t familiar with it, I thought that one might be of interest. Although it probably appeals more to the ladies.”
“Actually, I tried to encourage Mrs. Gibbons to read some of Miss Austen’s work, but she didn’t get too far with Pride and Prejudice. She became extremely annoyed with Mr. Darcy and, after a few chapters, claimed to have lost the book.”
Marion laughed. “Ah, but Mr. Darcy does redeem himself.”
“We shall see.” Obviously familiar with the pathway to the house, he turned them both toward the front door.
“I also arranged to have the newspaper delivered once again. I like keeping up with the news, and I’ll be happy to read that to you each morning, as well.”
He didn’t answer, but a slight smile teased his lips.
…
How torn he was with her walking beside him, the warmth of her body igniting a need in him he’d long ago squelched. The familiarity of her voice, the perfume that was only her, her very presence, drew him like a starving man to a feast. And that is precisely what he was—a starving man, and she the desirable banquet.
But his resolve reared its ugly head, reminding him that this was fake. He and Marion could never go back to their prior relationship. He was blind, could never take care of her as a husband should. And if God was amused enough to bless them with a babe, how could he ever teach the child the important things in life as a father needs do?
No. It was best he allow her to spend whatever time she needed here to make her understand the way of things. Divorce would not be impossible, although he’d not really looked into it. If it were not possible, then a separation where she could have a full life without him was best.
How he expected her to have a full life with no husband, home, or family was not a point he wished to dwell upon. Truth be known, he was still reeling from the fact that his well-laid plans of remaining “dead” had been thwarted by the woman he’d trusted. Never did he think he would have to contemplate how to release Marion from her vows.
A visit from his solicitor was in order.
Later in the evening, after a pleasant dinner, he and Marion retired to the library where she began Pride and Prejudice. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the comfortable leather chair. He was close enough to the fire to enjoy its warmth, without being near enough to cause the all too familiar smothering panic. Her soothing voice rolled over him, teasing him with how pleasant life could be had things been different. He and Marion, sitting together at the end of the day, enjoying a book, a brandy, and conversation.
No point in heading down that path. Life would never be the same, and the sooner he persuaded her to understand that, the sooner she would leave him, and he could get on with his own life. By himself.
Lonely. Boring. Endless.
Marion shut the book. “Perhaps we may end here. I find my eyes are growing weary. We must have Mrs. Downs add more oil lamps to the room.”
“You may instruct her in the morning. Until now I have had no reason to concern myself with that.”
The unspoken words echoed in the room. Because I don’t need them.
“Yes. Well. I will speak with her tomorrow,” she answered softly, leaving him feeling like a cad for having baited her that way.
“Marion, may I offer my apologies?”
“Whatever for?”
“I’m afraid my years away from society have left my manners a bit raw. I don’t intend to hurt you. Lord knows I’ve hurt you enough without adding to it by snapping. Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You are quite right that I should be more sensitive to your new status. I don’t mean to hurt you, either.”
Of course she wouldn’t. His Marion loved him. She had loved him when they were children, when they were new lovers, and even now that he was no longer a whole man. Truth be told, she had him tied in knots. Everything had been so clear before his injury, but now his body and heart wanted to rule his brain. He could not allow that to happen.
“Come, let us retire upstairs.”
…
Marion stopped in front of her bedchamber door and turned toward Tristan. Sometimes everything seemed so normal, as if the past two years had never happened. Except, of course, his blindness.
However, he had appeared to enjoy her reading of Pride and Prejudice. He had swirled a brandy while she had sipped on tea. The room was cozy and warm. Tristan had rested his head on the back of his chair, a slight smile on his face. She would have given a king’s ransom to know his thoughts.
Now she pondered how she could convince him to come into her room and join her in bed. As scandalous as those thoughts were, she couldn’t help the desire that welled up in her as she regarded him. His spicy scent teased her, daring her to rest her hands on his shoulders and rise up on her toes and meet his lips.
His blue eyes stared at her, one lock of silky blond hair resting on his broad forehead. Numerous times she’d brushed it back, to only have it fall once more. She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. The smoothness of his face from his before-dinner shave, combined with the strength of his jaw, only increased her desire.
So many nights after she’d received word of his death she had lain in bed hugging her pillow close, wishing it were his body. Tears had coursed down her cheeks, soaking her bed linens. Now he stood right before her but, in some ways, he was as unreachable as he had been during those long and lonely nights.
Tristan closed his eyes and groaned. “Don’t do this, Marion.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will not end well.”
She drew in a deep breath and mustering her courage, said, “Come into my room.”
He shook his head and stepped back, as if putting space between them would stop the tension that radiated off both their bodies. “I must wish you good night.”
Marion’s hand dropped from his face in frustration. Had there been something heavy nearby, she would have popped him on the head with it. Perhaps that would induce him to stop this stubbornness. Before she could respond, he bowed slightly and turned, his steps beating a hasty retreat.
She entered her room and barely restrained herself from slamming the door. But she did allow an enthusiastic stomp of her foot like a young girl. And it felt good.
Blowing out a breath, she rang
for Jane to assist her in preparing for bed.
Hours later she continued to toss on her mattress, her feet tangled in the bed linens, her nightgown wrapped around her thighs. Kicking furiously, she freed herself and left the bed. She walked to the window, pulling back the drapes to reveal pale moonlight illuminating the garden below.
Never in her life had she needed patience more than she did now. Tristan would not win this battle of wills. Whatever it took, she would convince him that whatever he thought of himself, it didn’t diminish her love for him.
In fact, she was surprised and impressed with his abilities. Obviously his boxing and archery were keeping him in fine fettle. He knew his way around the house and even outside on the grounds to some extent. Although she found it hard to imagine being without her sight, she must not let pity get in the way of her determination to keep Tristan and their life together. A proud and somewhat arrogant man, he would never allow that, and that would cause him to shut her out even further.
She let the drape fall back against the window and took only a couple of steps before a loud thump sounded, followed by what could only be described as a blood-curdling scream from Tristan’s room.
Chapter Seven
Marion flew through the door joining their rooms, ignoring the pain in her toe from slamming it into the wall in her anxiety to reach Tristan. She gasped at the sight of him thrashing on the floor. Crossing the room, she dropped to her knees alongside him.
His face was pale and covered with perspiration, his breathing erratic. Although his eyes were open and staring, she didn’t believe he was awake.
“Tristan!” She cupped his face, gripping his chin.
“No. No. Get back. The fire is getting too close to the explosives.” He shouted as if giving orders.
Goose bumps broke out on her arms as she tried to wake him, but he threw her off and continued to thrash about. She fell backward from the force of his movements and landed on her hip. Pain shot through her, effectively blocking the pain in her toe.
She climbed to her knees and shook his shoulders. “Tristan, wake up.”
“Noooooo! Get back.”
“Tristan!” She gave him a strong shake.
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