After the last one left, Sharrington said, “You’re a fortunate man, you know.” He paused, then cleared this throat. “I don’t mean to make light of your blindness. I am sure it was very difficult in the beginning to adapt to such a life. But I remember all the conversations we had in the cold night air, slapping our arms, trying to keep warm. How your face lit up each time you mentioned—Marion—isn’t that her name?”
Feeling awkward at Sharrington’s words, Tristan merely gave him a curt nod.
“I could tell she meant the whole world to you. I envied you, then.”
Tristan could hear him shifting in his seat, perhaps uncomfortable with the subject, but nevertheless determined to have his say.
“I had the best woman in the world at one time. Eloise—that was her name. She and I were betrothed. Then one afternoon, barely a week before our wedding, she and her sister went for a walk to the village. They told me later she had seen a watch fob in a jeweler’s window that she wanted to buy for me as a surprise.
“A carriage pulled by a horse that had become spooked ran over them both. Her sister was crippled in the accident, but survived. My Eloise died. Right there in the mud, without me holding her.”
Tristan’s insides clenched at the thickness—raw pain—in the man’s voice. How horrible it must have been for him. But why was it today of all days he had to run into the man and hear his story?
A few minutes of uncomfortable silence followed while Tristan sensed Sharrington’s attempts to pull himself together.
“Don’t ever take your wife for granted, Tunstall. Never do that.”
The springs on Sharrington’s chair squeaked as he rose and a heavy hand landed on Tristan’s shoulder as the man squeezed, then lumbered away, leaving him with thoughts of Marion. The woman he had promised to love and cherish but whom he’d ordered to leave his house—again.
He counted back to the night he’d made love to her before he had raced back to London the next morning. His figuring told him she would be several weeks along in her pregnancy. Since he had refused to touch her since that night, he was curious as to whether her body had changed at all.
Had her waist thickened, or was it too soon? Were her breasts tender? Was she sick in the mornings? As her husband, he should know these things. They should be sharing all of that together. But he had chosen to shut her out.
Her words about him being a coward had stung. Truth be known, with the way he’d been behaving since she’d spotted him a few months ago across the ballroom floor, her comments were sadly true. Since that fateful night at the assembly, he’d either been chasing her away or running from her. Shame and guilt rose in him, choking off his air as effectively as if someone had him around the throat.
He’d behaved in a horrible way. Right now the woman he loved, who carried his babe, was packing to return to her family. Most likely with tears dropping on her belongings.
What the devil kind of a man had he turned into? A blind one, for sure. But there was more than one type of blindness, and he was possessed of the worse kind. The sort of sightlessness that refused to see how deeply his wife loved him. How she had fought to keep them together, to have a life with him. She didn’t care that he was blind. He cared. And if she didn’t care, then neither would his children.
His children. A child. Now growing under Marion’s heart. The heart he had so ruthlessly stomped upon. Oh, dear God, what had he done? He’d made a huge mistake, that’s what he’d done. And not satisfied to hurt her once, he’d done it over and over again.
He had thrown away a love so strong that nothing could break it. Not even him. Despite the terrible way he had treated Marion, she still professed to love him and was joyful that she carried his child.
Suddenly he had the urge to leave, to hurry back to his house and catch her before she left. He loved her, and she loved him. It had always been that simple, but in his stubbornness he’d refused to see that. He’d been complicating it, looking for problems, trying to decide what was best for her, when she had known from the start what was best for her and what she wanted. Him. Blind, stubborn, and arrogant—she still wanted him.
The relief at throwing off the shackles of fear and depression had an intoxicating effect. Nearly bursting with excitement and unable to sit any longer, he hopped up, most likely startling anyone in his vicinity. Having a hard time controlling his grin, he fisted his cane and headed to the door.
After he requested his carriage be brought around, he asked to speak with the club’s manager. No more hiding or apologizing.
“Lord Tunstall, my name is Mr. Ambrose Penwick, how may I be of service?”
“Good day, Mr. Penwick. As you can no doubt see I am without sight. However, I have a dog that helps me get around. I will be bringing the animal with me on future visits.”
After a few moments of stunned silence, the man sputtered, “Er, yes, of course we will be most happy to accommodate your…pet.”
“Ah, my good man, he is not a pet. He is my eyes.”
“I see. I mean—well—that is fine. Good day to you as well, my lord.”
Tristan climbed into the carriage and tapped on the ceiling. Now that he’d made up his mind to stop Marion from leaving, he could barely contain himself. He had the urge to laugh out loud, to go running through the streets of London, hugging strangers.
When he finally arrived home, he would grab Marion and swing her around, hopefully not banging her into things. He would tell her how much he loved her, and how fortunate of a man he was to have her for a wife. Together they would unpack her trunks and he would insist she move her things into his bedchamber.
Then he would take her upstairs and make love to her all night. And all day tomorrow. He would use his sense of touch to discover for himself how pregnancy had changed her body.
His groin tightened in anticipation.
He tapped his foot impatiently. The carriage had slowed to a crawl, leaving him with the desire to get out and shove the vehicle along. Anything to move faster.
He leaned back and thought about the babe. Would they have a boy or a girl? A strong son to help him with estate matters. A boy who would be a joy to his mother and would do his parents proud. Or perhaps a girl. A small version of Marion. Soft and sweet-smelling. They would have tea parties together, and she would serve him and her dolls.
What the devil is the hold up?
The carriage had come to a complete stop. After a few minutes, he banged on the ceiling. “What is the problem?”
His footman, Gillbanks, opened the door. “There is quite a bit of traffic, my lord. I am not sure of the cause.”
“Very well.” There was no point in taking out his agitation on the footman. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.
There would be several children. An entire houseful of them. Laughing, playing, and teasing each other. The little ones would crawl onto his lap in the evenings, their small, warm bodies curled up in his arms while Marion read to them.
Once more he sighed impatiently. From what he could conclude, they were no more than perhaps six blocks from home. If Argos had been with him, they could have set out on foot. From now on the dog would accompany him everywhere.
Slowly the carriage inched forward. After another five minutes or so, Tristan once again banged on the ceiling.
“Yes, my lord,” the ever patient Gillbanks said.
“I prefer to walk the rest of the way. Will you please accompany me?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
Tristan climbed down and, using his cane, found his way to the sidewalk and began walking. After about two blocks, he turned to the footman. “Has the traffic eased up yet?”
“No. It seems to be blocked by carriages trying to get down our street.”
The hairs on the back of Tristan’s neck rose and he began walking faster. However, that caused him to bump into people, only slowing him down more. “What the devil is going on?”
“Fire!” A lad’s voice rose above th
e murmuring of the crowds.
“Did someone just say fire?” Tristan asked Gillbanks.
“Yes, my lord. He did.”
“I can smell the smoke. How close are we to home?”
“About two blocks.”
“Do you see fire equipment?”
“Not yet, but the carriages are still blocking everything.”
Terror started in the pit of his stomach and raced upward. Memories of watching his family’s home burn to the ground while he had stood helpless made him break into a sweat. Then pictures of the fire onboard his ship, right next to the stored ammunitions, flashed in his mind. His breathing became rapid, his stomach clenched, and he wiped the sweat from his brow and upper lip.
The smell of the smoke reached him, causing him to gag. He had to get away from here. Away from the smell, the horror, the memories.
“How close is the fire to my home?”
“It is hard to say, my lord. There are crowds of people. I will see better once we turn the corner.”
He tightened his lips and nodded. They continued toward his home, at this point Gillbanks practically dragging him by his elbow as they made their way through the throng.
“My lord, I can see a bit better now.”
Tristan’s breaths came in spurts. The crowds pushed in on him, smothering him, making it almost impossible to move.
“Gillbanks, how close are we? Is the fire near my house?”
The footman hesitated, telling Tristan what he’d feared the most. “My lord, it is your house on fire.”
“Get me there fast.”
Not sure exactly what it was the footman did, they managed to barrel through the crowd until they were so close he could feel the warmth from the flames. “Gillbanks, find Mrs. O’Rourke or Carson. I need to know if Lady Tunstall has left for the country already.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He tried desperately to quell the panic. Please God, Marion had already left. He was pushed and shoved, but stood his ground, waiting for word about his wife.
“My lord.” Carson grabbed him by the arm.
Tristan gripped him. “Where is Lady Tunstall? Did she already leave for Manchester Manor?”
“No sir. Lady Tunstall told me she had no intention of going to the country.”
His mouth dried up at the butler’s words. Where was she?
“Where is my wife, Carson?”
“We are not sure, my lord. Ellis went to her bedchamber when the fire first broke out, but she was not there. We did a search of the upstairs, where she had been since you left, but she was nowhere to be found.”
“Did you search the first floor?”
“As much as we could, but the flames drove us back.”
“What are you saying, man?” He barely got the words out, his lips numb with fear.
“The smoke has taken over the first floor. No one can see in there to try to find her. I called, but she did not answer. A search around the outside area has not been successful. We have every reason to believe Lady Tunstall is most likely still inside.”
Chapter Nineteen
All of Tristan’s blood left his head and raced to his feet, leaving him nauseous and lightheaded. He bent over, leaning his palms on his thighs, fighting the black dots that threatened to consume him. This was not the time to pass out.
Marion is in a burning building. And there is no one else to save her. No one can see to find her because of the smoke. But I can’t see, anyway.
Could he enter a burning building?
How could he not?
The mere thought of it had him emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. After wiping his mouth, he turned to his butler. “Carson, help me off with my jacket, then dunk it and this handkerchief into the barrel of water on the side of the house.”
“My lord, what do you intend to do?”
“Get my wife out of that house. It matters not that the smoke is thick. I cannot see anyway, and I have heightened senses. I will find her.”
“The place might collapse,” Ellis said.
“Then I will die in there with her. I will not stand here and allow my wife to perish when I have the ability to save her.”
“Here is your jacket, my lord.” Carson handed the dripping coat to him.
“Tell me how the fire is spreading. Where are the flames?”
“The fire is mostly at the back of the house, but moving toward the front. We found the smoke to be extremely thick.”
Tristan gave him a curt nod. “Ellis, escort me to the front door. Quickly.”
Together they moved forward, Tristan tamping down the panic that was trying to drive him back. He could do this, and he would do this. His life was worth nothing if Marion wasn’t in it. It had taken him much too long to come to that conclusion. He would save her, and the babe, even if he died trying.
Blocking out the noise and confusion of the men attempting to quell the fire, along with the crowds that had gathered, Tristan and Ellis arrived at the entrance.
“My lord, are you sure about this?” Ellis’s panicked voice only strengthened his resolve.
“Yes. You may leave me now.”
Tristan dropped to his knees and tied the wet handkerchief around his nose and mouth. Then, swinging the jacket over his head, he lay on his belly and dragged himself forward on his elbows. He closed his eyes against the burning of the acrid smoke and took short, quick breaths.
Within minutes he was overcome with coughing, and his eyes leaked tears down his face. The only way he could tell how close the flames were was by temperature. It seemed the front area of the house was thick with smoke, but the heat didn’t seem to indicate the fire was nearby.
He continued on, every once in a while calling Marion’s name. He felt around with his hands as he continued on, hoping to strike a foot or an arm.
“Marion!” Sucking in a breath to shout her name brought on another spasm of coughing. He crawled forward, swinging his arm around, praying he would strike something to give him a clue as to where on the bottom floor he was.
Since Marion had not been found when the servants searched the first floor, he had to assume that in attempting to escape the fire, she’d gone down the stairs, and possibly collapsed or fell. With renewed fear of her being dead from a fall, he slid along the floor in the direction of the staircase.
“Marion!” He lay very still, listening for a moan or any sound other than the crackle of the flames or the sizzle of the water the firefighters were pouring on the blaze.
Sweat streamed down his face. The heat was intense, but not hot enough to alert him that the flames were near. He laid his cheek on the marble floor where the air was relatively clear and sniffed, attempting to pick up Marion’s scent. The strong smoke was all he could smell.
A whimper had him turning back toward the front entrance. “Marion?”
He waited. Nothing. Could it have been his imagination? He continued on, calling out her name, praying to find her before the entire structure collapsed. If God spared her life, he would hold her close and never let her go. He would be the best husband and father ever. No more feeling sorry for himself or pushing away those who loved him.
If only he was granted another chance.
Breathing was becoming more difficult. He moved closer to the staircase and did a sweep of the area with his arm. His fingertip touched something. “Marion?”
He scooted forward and reached out. His fingers encountered warm flesh. Feeling his way up, he determined she was curled into a ball, with the movement of her chest telling him she was still alive and breathing. Relief flooded him, followed immediately with panic. Now that he had her, he had to get the two of them out of the building before the fire spread in this direction or the entire thing collapsed.
Gripping her arm, he edged backward toward the front door, dragging Marion with him. The marble floor made it easy for him to drag her, but more difficult for him to gain purchase to escape.
Throwing the jacket off, he climb
ed to his hands and knees, then, holding Marion by her wrist, crawled in the direction he thought was the door, pulling her along. He was growing weary, the coughing spasms not letting up at all. A fit of sneezing overtook him, forcing him to stop. He snatched the handkerchief from his face, wiped his nose, then moved forward.
The smoke was thicker, so he took short, quick breaths, but the coughing continued. Each breath he dragged in only made him cough more. His lungs were on fire, his body covered with sweat, and his head pounded. They had to reach the door soon. When he’d been walking toward the door from the staircase, not crawling and dragging his wife along, it seemed such a short distance. Hopefully, he hadn’t gotten turned around and was going in the wrong direction.
“I see him!” Ellis’s words confirmed he was headed the right way. He tried to tell his valet to keep talking so as to anchor him, but the words wouldn’t come out as he continued to cough and drag in the smoke-filled air.
Within seconds, strong arms gripped him. “Marion,” he wheezed, alerting whoever it was holding him that Marion was next to him.
“I’ve got her, my lord,” Carson said. Then the butler was overcome with a fit of coughing.
Ellis moved to Tristan’s right side and helped him to his feet. “We need to get away from the building. It appears it may collapse any time.”
Tristan nodded, continuing to cough. “Marion?” he wheezed.
“Carson has her, my lord. Lord Beckwith has offered his home to you. He is directly across the street. I’ve already sent for a doctor to attend you and Lady Tunstall.”
“Thank you.” His throat stung with every word he uttered, and he continued to cough. Behind him he could hear Marion coughing, and he thanked God for the sound. If she was coughing, she wasn’t dead.
The group made their way across the street and up the stairs to Beckwith’s house.
The Baron's Betrayal Page 17