Tessa’s gaze skittered away. Then she squared her shoulders as if she were about to face a hangman. Tristan frowned. Something troubled her.
She cleared her throat. “Surely you have a favorite.”
You. The second the thought popped into his head, he stood up so fast he bumped into her. He caught her upper arms to keep her from stumbling. “Sorry,” he said.
He knew he should let her go, but they stood toe to toe, and her skin felt so soft. The very air between them crackled, like the stillness before a crack of thunder. His heart raced, and suddenly he felt robbed of breath.
The thud of approaching footsteps outside alerted him. Someone rapped on the door.
He released her, and they turned in unison. For several anxious seconds, Tessa stared, as if incapable of speech.
“Could it be anyone but Gravesend?” Tristan whispered.
“No, he would never show anyone up when you are here, not without asking me first.” Then she called out, “Come in, please.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Gravesend said. “I installed Lady Broughton and Lieutenant Mortland in the ante room. I thought it best to consult you first.”
Tristan’s heart stampeded. They had grown too complacent and were in very real danger of being discovered alone.
Tessa looked shaken. “Tell Lady Broughton I am indisposed.”
“Don’t. My carriage is out front,” Tristan said. Damnation. Certain scandal loomed.
“Gravesend, send for my maid,” she said. “When she arrives, you may show the guests upstairs.”
After the elderly butler shuffled out, Tristan blew out his breath. “Thank God for Gravesend and your quick thinking.”
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said. “If it were anyone but Anne, I would ask my butler to turn them away.”
“We must act nonchalant,” he said.
“We will tell the truth. We met to discuss the courtship.”
“There is something I must discuss with you after they leave,” he said.
“Please do not keep me in suspense. I’ll worry the entire time they are—”
Lady Broughton’s muffled voice sounded from outside the door. “Richard, we should have waited.”
Tessa whirled round and gasped. “He defied protocol,” she whispered.
Tristan wasn’t at all surprised. “Be calm,” he murmured.
“Why should that butler keep us cooling our heels when we are her old friends?” Mortland said. “And why is she with Shelbourne behind closed doors?”
“I’m sure her companion is there,” Lady Broughton said.
Tessa touched his sleeve. “Allow me to answer any questions. I have a plan.”
His jaw worked. He damned well would defend her.
“Please, for my sake,” she whispered. “I am counting on you.”
Yet another rap sounded. “Why does she not answer?” Mortland said.
Tessa clasped her hands. “Come in, please.”
Lady Broughton entered with her insufferable brother. Mortland held one arm behind his back. What the devil was the man hiding?
Tristan edged closer to Tessa, standing near her shoulder. While Tessa exchanged greetings with them, he stared daggers at the lieutenant. I’ll protect her from the likes of you.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” Tessa said. “I instructed Gravesend not to disturb me during meetings.”
Lady Broughton’s brows lifted. Her skeptical expression worried Tristan.
Mortland offered Tessa a bouquet of wildflowers. “I saw them at the park this morning and couldn’t resist.”
Bloody hell. It was exactly the sort of romantic gesture she adored. Not long ago, she’d tried, unsuccessfully, to reform Tristan himself.
Suppose you were competing with another man for a girl’s affections. The other gentleman brings flowers and sends poems. What would you do to top him?
Shoot him.
Tristan longed for a dueling pistol.
“How thoughtful, Lieutenant.” When Tessa reached for the flowers, Mortland had the gall to brush her hand with his fingers.
“My maid should arrive shortly. I will ask her to bring a tea tray and a vase,” Tessa said.
Mortland bowed in Tristan’s direction. “Shelbourne, what a fortunate circumstance to meet you again so soon.”
“Mortland,” he grumbled.
The lieutenant looked about the room. “Miss Mansfield, where is your companion?”
Tristan’s hands itched to pummel the bastard.
Tessa ignored the question. “Shall we be seated?” Tessa led the way and perched on the settee. She held the bouquet in her hands and smiled at Lady Broughton, who sat across from her.
Tristan took up a stance in front of the fire and crossed his arms over his chest. He meant to intimidate Mortland by watching his every move.
When Mortland sat at the opposite end of the settee, Tristan gritted his teeth and turned his attention to the poker. He picked it up, brandishing it like a sword as he considered Mortland over his shoulder. Temptation gripped him.
The maid arrived. Upon setting eyes on the poker, she faltered. Well, hell, he wasn’t in the habit of frightening servants. He reluctantly set the poker aside.
While Tessa instructed the maid, Tristan scowled at Mortland. The man only had eyes for Tessa. Eyes that ogled her lush body.
“Miss Mansfield,” Mortland said, “I feared you had come to harm when you did not answer the knock immediately.”
“One cannot be too careful of drawing rooms,” Tristan drawled. “The danger boggles the mind. Carpets to trip on. Candles to overturn.”
Tessa’s lips twitched.
The tea tray arrived. Lady Broughton arranged the flowers while Tessa poured. Tristan accepted a cup, noting that Mortland refused.
The lieutenant rose and limped about, examining the pastoral paintings. “What an exquisite drawing room.”
No doubt he was calculating the value of every item.
Suddenly the cad turned. “Do you still dabble in watercolors, Miss Mansfield?”
Tristan recalled that Mortland’s family had called on Lord Wentworth often. Perhaps Wentworth had displayed Tessa’s paintings proudly.
Lady Broughton returned to her chair and smiled at Tessa. “Richard told me he used to watch you from afar while you painted at your uncle’s lake.”
Tristan almost growled. He should have guessed Mortland had spied on her. Probably undressed her in his mind, too. Tristan entertained thoughts of beating the lustful images out of Pretty Boy’s head.
Pretty Boy wandered over to the sideboard and lifted the brandy decanter, regarding Tessa with a lovesick smile. “May I?”
“Of course,” she said.
Tristan returned his empty cup to the tray and glanced at Mortland. A yellow curl fell over the fop’s forehead as he splashed brandy into a glass. The valet must have spent hours applying hot tongs to those girlish locks.
“Where is Jane?” Lady Broughton asked.
A look of discomfort flitted through Tessa’s eyes. “She is otherwise occupied.”
Tristan blamed himself. He’d broken his promise never to put Tessa in a compromising position again.
Mortland walked over to the escritoire behind the settee. He leaned over and set his fingers on the list. A muscle in Tristan’s cheek jerked at the sight. “Lieutenant, are you in the habit of reading private correspondence?”
Tessa’s cup rattled on the saucer.
Mortland pivoted, feigning innocence. “I simply noticed the paper on the desk.”
Lady Broughton’s lips thinned. “Richard, you will give the impression you are prying.”
Mortland clapped his hand over his heart. “I would never.”
You just did, you bloody bastard.
Mortland sipped his drink and limped over to Tristan. “I say, Shelbourne, you must have all the gents grumbling. You’ve taken all the prettiest gels off the market.” He glanced over his shoulder at Tessa. “Well, nearly all.”<
br />
Tristan clenched and unclenched his fists. Since he couldn’t hit the man in front of the ladies, he decided to put Mortland on the defensive. “So, Mortland, you’ve only just returned to England. How did you know where to find your sister?”
“When I was well enough, I traveled to Paris, where I found English newspapers. Imagine my shocked delight upon discovering she’d married the Earl of Broughton.”
“Interesting,” Tristan said. “I am surprised you did not write to your sister.”
“I wished to rush home to England and surprise her.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes at the man’s bald-faced lie.
Lady Broughton’s expression grew grim as she contemplated her cup. Tristan figured Broughton had raised the same question.
“Tessa, we have interrupted your matchmaking discussions long enough.” Lady Broughton set her dish of tea aside. “I will call on you again soon.”
“Anne, we’ve only just arrived,” Mortland said.
“Richard,” she chided. Then she glanced at Tessa. “You will excuse my brother. He has been away from England too long and has forgotten the proprieties.”
“I’m sure it’s all the fault of those pesky French peasants,” Tristan drawled.
Tessa cleared her throat and warned him with her eyes. He arched his brows in answer.
She ignored him and rose along with Lady Broughton. “I am glad you called, Anne.”
Lady Broughton bobbed a curtsey. “Richard?”
Mortland gulped down the rest of his brandy, confirming that the pretentious fop had the manners of a goat. He returned his glass to the sideboard and escorted Lady Broughton as far as the door. There, the cur stopped to confer with his sister. Tristan was tempted to toss his dandified arse down the stairs.
“What a splendid idea, brother.” Lady Broughton faced Tessa with a bright smile. “Do say you will join us for dinner tonight.”
“I regret I must decline.”
Pretty Boy wagged his curly head. “We shan’t take no for an answer. You must say yes.”
Tessa, ever the lady, maintained her serenity, even at Mortland’s insistence. “Another time, perhaps.”
“Tomorrow night, then,” Mortland said.
Tristan refused to allow the cur to beleaguer Tessa any longer. He strode across the carpet until he towered over the lieutenant. “Your insistence borders on abuse.”
“I say, Shelbourne, you are touchy about such trifling matters.”
Tristan itched to slam his fist into the man’s face.
“Gentlemen, this is quite unnecessary,” Tessa said. Her soft footsteps padded across the carpet until she came to stand before Lady Broughton. She squeezed her friend’s hands. “Anne, I am unable to commit to social engagements this week until I have confirmed plans for the courtship.”
Lady Broughton nodded. “Richard, please come now.”
Mortland regarded Tristan with a smirk, and then at last he followed his sister out of the drawing room.
Tessa shut the door. She rested her hands there, without saying a word.
The devil. She was angry with him. “I’ll not apologize for defending you,” he said gruffly.
She faced him. “I know you meant well, but you only succeeded in goading Lieutenant Mortland.”
“Did you expect me to ignore his disrespectful treatment of you?”
“He is like a child seeking attention,” Tessa said. “If you ignore his bad behavior, he will see there is no reward in it.”
“He is a man. You do not know the foul things men think.”
Her brows lifted. “Does that include you?”
He wasn’t about to answer her. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
“If looks could kill, you would have committed murder today,” she muttered.
“He spied on you while you painted,” Tristan said. “I find that disturbing.”
A guarded expression stole over her face. Then she seemed to collect herself. “I am more concerned with the present. He is bound to embarrass Anne again and again.”
“I am concerned about you,” Tristan said. “Stay away from him.”
Anger sparked in her green eyes. “You will not give me orders.”
“Do you welcome his addresses?” Tristan blurted out.
Her lips parted. “I thought it rather obvious last night I do not.”
Relief filled him temporarily, but Mortland’s determination worried him. “Don’t admit him into your drawing room. You will only give him opportunity.”
“I cannot refuse him when he accompanies Anne.”
She did not understand the man had dishonorable intentions. “You saw the way he persisted when you refused the dinner invitation. He will try to coerce you into doing his bidding.”
“Credit me with enough intelligence to thwart him,” she said.
“The way you did at the opera?”
Her face flushed bright red.
He’d botched that one, but he had to make her understand. “Tessa, all I want is to see you safe.”
“I will see to my own safety.”
Frustration gnawed at his gut. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder, take her someplace safe, and lock her up if necessary. Since kidnapping was illegal, he needed a less forceful method of protecting her. He must think of a way to remove her from harm’s way.
“We should discuss the activities for the next round of the courtship,” she said. Then she walked over to the settee and sat.
Tristan decided to join her there and claim back the territory. He braced one hand on the cushion and angled his body toward her. She adjusted her position so that she faced him as well.
“You have a plan?” he asked.
“I think a poetry reading is in order. The girls would be ever so smitten and—”
“No poetry.”
“Very well, I will play the pianoforte, and you may waltz with each of the girls.” She gave him a challenging look. “That way you may judge if they are graceful or not.”
“No dancing,” he said.
“You disapprove of all my ideas.” Tessa leaned toward him. Naturally his gaze dropped to the rounded tops of her breasts. A spark of heat shot to his groin. She kept talking as if blissfully unaware of the heart-stopping view she offered him. Determined to get his mind out of the gutter, he lifted his gaze.
He never made it past her ripe mouth. His brain seized on his favorite fantasy. Tessa on her knees between his thighs. Closing her plump lips over his cock. Naturally he got hard.
Tessa snapped her fingers, startling him out of his lusty contemplation. “Tristan, you are not listening. Do not try to deny it. I see the glazed look in your eyes.”
“My mind was pleasurably occupied,” he said in a voice better suited for the boudoir. He hoped she wouldn’t notice he was aroused. His skintight trousers hid nothing.
“Well, I shan’t repeat myself. We will discuss the courtship tomorrow when you are not so preoccupied.”
When she rose, he stood as well. He met her gaze and could not look away. Gradually her eyes softened with a languid expression. Her lips parted a little. The ragged sound of her breath mingled with his own.
The tension between them grew taut. He sensed her answering desire, and every muscle in his body urged him to close the scant distance between them. He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to remove the pins from her curls and let down her hair. He wanted to press her soft curves against him, where he ached for her, but he knew even the slightest brush of her soft skin would send him up in flames.
“I had better go,” he said in a hoarse voice.
She looked dazed.
With the last vestiges of his restraint, he bowed quickly and strode from the room.
Chapter Twelve
After arriving home, Tristan gave instructions to his secretary to travel to Hollincourt, Tessa’s country seat. His secretary would pretend he was looking over properties in the county and stop in the village near Tessa’s home. He
would mingle with the populace and discreetly inquire about Mortland.
Tristan would leave no stone unturned in digging up Mortland’s past. Having met the bastard, Tristan had concluded that Tessa’s uncle had not purchased the commission out of generosity. It would have made more sense for Mortland to follow in his father’s footsteps and take orders in the church. Instead, Tessa’s uncle had bought him a possible death sentence with that commission. Tristan suspected the Earl of Wentworth had meant to get rid of Mortland.
After concluding the business with his secretary, Tristan leaned his head in his hands. He knew Mortland would use Lady Broughton again and again to gain entrance to Tessa’s drawing room. Sooner or later, Mortland would trick Tessa. Tristan was sure the man would stop at nothing to get her alone. He couldn’t even think beyond that point because it made him wild to beat the blackguard senseless.
Bloody hell, she was in as much danger from him as she was from Mortland. He’d lusted after more women than he cared to count, but never before had he experienced anything like his uncontrollable craving for Tessa.
He could not trust himself to be alone with her again. If he went too far, he’d have to marry her, and that would set off a scandal he’d never live down. He could not subject Tessa or his family to dishonor. Their meetings would have to take place at his home. He groaned, thinking of his mother’s interference, but there was no other choice. He’d best make the request now.
Tristan found his mother reading a book in the red drawing room. She whipped off her spectacles and set them aside as if she didn’t want him to see her using them. He made no comment. In the past year, he’d seen her holding newspapers at arm’s length. She’d taken to grumbling about small print.
She inspected him. “Your cravat is rumpled.”
He said nothing and sat beside her.
She arched her brows. “Well? Do you plan to keep me in the dark?”
Ordinarily he would have done so, but he needed her help. “I’ve a favor to ask. I wish to hold the next courtship session here.”
She leaned across the sofa and felt his forehead.
Tristan swatted her hand away. “What are you about?”
How to Marry a Duke Page 16