Tristan bit back a sharp reply. When last he’d come to his friend’s defense he had said far more than he’d intended regarding his feelings for this maddening woman. He would not make that mistake again. “You have no idea what you’re doing,” he growled instead.
She pursed her lips. “We shall see.”
“No, we won’t. You will give up this little scheme of yours immediately.”
“I will not.”
He let out a harsh breath. “Rosalind,” he warned.
“Tristan,” she came back.
The effect of his name on her tongue set his every nerve aflame. And if the look on her face was any indication, she was as deeply affected by her slip.
“I mean,” she stammered, “Sir Tristan. My apologies.”
He had been so very careful with her over the past week. He had needed to be. But now was not the time for that. Now he should do what he did best and tease her unmercifully until the fire was back in her eyes.
Instead his fingers, which were still on her arm, stroked the bit of bare flesh above her glove. And he found himself fairly begging her, “Please don’t do this, Rosalind.”
She laughed, but it was forced. Pulling her arm from his grip, she raised her chin. “Do I frighten you that much, then?”
“You don’t frighten me, you harridan. But I will not watch you play with these people’s lives because of a whim.”
“You dare to accuse me of such a thing? You, who are doing just that?”
“I am not playing with their lives,” he gritted.
“But you are.”
“I am not. I am trying to show them what they normally wouldn’t see, that they are ideal for one another.”
“Please. You think a man such as Lord Kingston is right for Miss Weeton, a woman who can hardly talk to a man much less look him in the eye?”
“Yes.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I would dearly love to hear how you think they could possibly suit.”
“I have seen men such as Kingston find happiness in the arms of women such as Miss Weeton. My two dearest friends are such men.”
She shrugged. “A mere anomaly, I’m sure.”
“You stubborn woman,” he growled. “Nothing I say will dissuade you from your course, will it?” How would he ever get her to lay off this mad idea of hers?
But perhaps he needn’t stop her. He merely needed to make her see how serious he was about the whole thing.
And then, with a jolt, an idea came to him. He smiled slowly, taking a step closer to her. Her eyes widened, but in her typical fashion, Rosalind did not retreat.
“Would you care to place a wager on the outcome?”
“A wager?” Outrage contorted her features. “Just as I suspected. You truly are trifling with their lives.”
“The wager will guarantee I’m not. For if, by some miracle, your Mr. Carlisle wins the fair Miss Weeton’s heart, I promise to give up matchmaking forever.”
Rosalind paused, the glint of excitement lighting her eyes. “You would give up your matchmaking? Truly?”
“Truly. But,” he declared, holding up a hand as a triumphant smile curved her lips, “only if Carlisle wins her hand. And only if you don’t interfere.”
She pursed her lips, considering him. One hand came up to fiddle with the worn locket at her throat. Not for the first time he wondered what the small gold circle held. He was about to ask her when she released it and spoke.
“And what would you have me give up should I lose? Not that I expect that to happen,” she muttered.
“Well, if I’m giving up matchmaking, I think we can come up with something equally difficult for you. Let’s say…letting me match you myself?”
The very idea of Rosalind marrying another, of loving another and bearing his children, had sent him into a panic when he’d considered it earlier. Which was the very reason he suggested it now. For perhaps if she had a husband and a life outside of his cousin’s employ, maybe he would be able to put her from his mind and return to the life he’d had before she’d barged her way into it.
And until then he would ignore the peculiar grief that welled up in his gut thinking of it.
Rosalind seemed to find the idea of him matching her just as abhorrent. She let loose a bark of horrified laughter.
He raised a brow. “You doubt I’m serious?”
“But…I won’t do it.”
He crossed his arms, mimicking her posture, and stared down his nose at her. “If you wish for the chance for me to give up my matchmaking, those are my terms. Unless,” he went on with a sly smile, “you aren’t as confident of Mr. Carlisle as you pretend to be.”
As he expected, she drew herself up and did her best to stare him down. Well, as well as one could stare down another nearly two heads taller. “I am very certain of Mr. Carlisle, I assure you.”
He leaned down, until their eyes were almost level. “Prove it.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. His gaze was drawn there, to that perfectly pink lip, wanting very much to be the one to bite it so unmercifully.
He began to sweat. If anything told him he was doing the right thing with this asinine bet, it was his reaction right here. He had to free himself from this maddening woman one way or another, and the sooner the better.
“And how do I know you will play fair?” she asked, suspicion coloring every word.
It was no surprise to him now that Rosalind didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Which, for Rosalind, wasn’t far at all, considering her diminutive stature. She had been vocal enough on the subject in the past. Therefore, he knew she required more than the usual platitudes to get her to agree.
He placed a hand on his heart. “I vow I shall not promote my own candidate for the good lady’s hand,” he swore with utmost seriousness. “I will do everything in my power to ensure both men are on equal ground with her, and will see to it that they are all in company together as much as I can manage.”
For a moment he thought she might turn her back on him and declare the whole idea preposterous. But then she held out her hand.
“Very well. I accept.”
He grabbed hold of it before she could reconsider, shaking it firmly. But as she moved away to Grace’s side, he couldn’t help thinking he’d signed a deal with the devil.
• • •
Rosalind had known the second she’d shaken Tristan’s hand she’d made a mistake. Not that she didn’t believe she could win; with every fiber of her being she knew she would.
But what she’d realized in the split second their hands had met—besides the disturbing zing along her nerves, of course—was that, to see to it that Tristan dealt with the situation fairly, she would have to watch him like a hawk. Which would not be easy, for every time she looked on him she thought of him confessing that he wanted her, sending her body spiraling into molten desire.
But the draw of winning, of having him give up his matchmaking and meddling in these women’s lives, was too potent a thing to ignore. For his choice in men was appalling.
She purposely ignored the fact that the man he’d matched Miss Gladstow with had been ideal for her. What had he done, after all, but clear the path for two people already in love?
Lord Kingston was another matter entirely. The man was a rake and a rogue. How Tristan could ever consider him a proper husband for the shy, nervous Miss Weeton was baffling. Why, even if the earl did marry the girl, he would make her miserable within a fortnight, for he could not be content with the quiet life that having such a wife would require. Goodness only knew how many other couples Tristan had matched in his illustrious career—and how many young women’s lives he had inadvertently ruined. Even if his intentions were good, it was evident his instincts were ghastly. The man had to be stopped at all costs.
Even if it meant she would have to suffer some highly improper, unwelcome feelings for him in the meantime.
Like now. As
he had promised, he had gathered them all at Mrs. Juniper’s rout the following evening. And, as promised, he had seen to it that Miss Weeton and her two beaus were seated at the same card table, then had excused himself to let nature take its course. She certainly could not say he had not kept his word thus far. Which, she had to admit, she had not expected. She had spent so long thinking that men of his ilk were the devil incarnate, she could not easily let go of the natural distrust that simmered within her breast.
She had watched closely for him to break his word. Goodness, but she had watched him closely. But he had not done a single thing to awaken her suspicions. If anything, he was the perfect gentleman. Blast him.
But she could not stay here in the card room indefinitely. Shooting one last look Tristan’s way, she walked out, making her way down the hallway to the drawing room and Lady Belham. She had a job to do, after all, one that did not include watching certain baronets to make sure they didn’t cheat.
Before she reached her destination, however, she heard him behind her. No, that wasn’t right, for the hallway was too populated to hear his quiet steps with any clarity. She felt him. Instantly her body tightened in anticipation. Furious at herself for her reaction, she hurried her steps.
“Why so rushed, Rosalind?”
She shot him an annoyed look. “I’m merely returning to my post.”
He matched his steps to hers. “I must say, I’m honored you trusted me enough to leave me alone with them.”
“I don’t trust you, not even a bit.”
To her surprise, he actually looked hurt by her snide outburst. “I do wonder what I’ve done to bring about this distrust.”
Instant guilt overtook her. Not a welcome sensation by any means. Still, she was not an unfair person. “I must admit,” she said grudgingly, “that you have not given me cause to say such things since making our bargain. You have been incredibly forthright since yesterday.”
“High praise indeed,” he murmured, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.
Despite herself, she felt her mood lighten. “Yes, well, you should feel honored. I don’t often give such glowing compliments.”
He stopped and stared at her. She stopped as well, ignoring the people about them, and gave him a quizzical look.
“Why, Rosalind, was that a jest?”
She could not stop the inevitable curve her lips took at his mock surprise. “You know, it might have been.”
“Will wonders never cease?”
As they entered the drawing room, Rosalind found herself not a little stunned. What had that little exchange been? And why did she no longer mind having him by her side? He was no different than he had been yesterday.
Yet something had changed. Watching him to ensure he kept his word to her had loosened something long held and closely kept within her.
She looked about then, determined to distract herself from such troubling thoughts by finding Lady Belham. To her surprise her employer was nowhere in sight.
“I wonder where she could be,” she mumbled, frowning as she scanned the assembled guests.
“Grace? Isn’t she here? She was talking to Mrs. Weeton before we left.”
She was about to respond when Lady Belham appeared. She ducked into the room via the open doors that led to the garden, with a flushed, strangely flustered look about her.
Rosalind hurried to her, for with her heightened color and almost feverish eyes her employer appeared almost ill. “My lady, are you well?”
Lady Belham tried for a smile but it faded quickly. “I’m fine darling. I needed some air, is all.”
Tristan was on her other side, peering at her in concern. “You don’t look well. Should we return home?”
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “Goodness, I am hardly fragile. There’s no reason for such concern.”
Lady Belham kept her voice light, yet Rosalind thought she detected a slightly strained undercurrent to it. When she studied her, she noticed there were tense lines bracketing her unsmiling mouth. She hazarded a glance at Tristan to see if he saw it as well. He shot her a hooded look, but it did not hide the banked emotion in his eyes.
He was worried as well. A jolt of anxiety shot through her, for his concern only cemented the fact that she actually had reason to worry at all. But there was also a relief, deep in her gut, warm and comforting. She was not alone. Whatever happened, she had someone to lean on.
It was a foreign feeling, something she had never thought to experience. She had the sudden urge to throw her arms around him. Instead she turned back to Lady Belham, hoping to distract her and relieve the tension that had crystalized in her like veins through marble.
“There is quite a collection of debutantes ready to regale the party with their talents I see.” She pointed out a giggling group of young women gathered about the pianoforte in the corner, no doubt waiting to descend upon the instrument the moment the lady at the bench lifted her fingers from the keys. “Which do you think shall win the honor of playing the next song? As for me, I think the girl in blue shall be the victor. She has a cunning, bloodthirsty look about her.”
As she’d hoped, Lady Belham gave a tinkling laugh, the strain in her eyes melting away. “I don’t know, the blonde in pink looks like she has the makings of a winner in this instance.”
“Surely you’re joking,” Rosalind said, eyeing the girl. “Why, she appears much too demure.”
“The demure ones are often the ones to look out for, Miss Merriweather,” Tristan drawled.
Rosalind peered up at him, pursing her lips to keep from smiling. “Are you teaming up with Lady Belham then? Hardly fair; I am outnumbered.”
“Oh, no. I would never be so ungentlemanly as to do that.”
Lady Belham gave him an arch look. “I am your cousin, you ungrateful whelp, and your elder as well. I should garner your loyalty without question.”
“Ah, but you see,” he said officiously, “I refuse to take sides at all. For I don’t believe either of you will win in your choices.”
“And who do you think will be the next to descend upon the pianoforte to regale us with her playing?” Rosalind asked, unable to keep the laughter from coloring her words.
He considered the group. “I am for the dark-haired lass in white silk.”
Rosalind laughed openly then. “She is not even part of the group.”
“Ah, but you are not looking closely enough. If you study her, you will see she is merely biding her time. She will wait until the others are distracted and swoop in for the kill.”
“Come along, you are reaching.” Rosalind looked to Lady Belham. “What do you think of his choice?”
Lady Belham, to her surprise, was looking at Tristan with interest. “I think, my darling Miss Merriweather, that you will find yourself surprised by my cousin’s insight into people. He is amazingly adept at such things.”
The song came to a close. Rosalind, Tristan, and Lady Belham fell silent by some unspoken mutual agreement, watching closely the group of women across the room. As suspected, before the last strands of the song had even faded, the waiting girls started twittering with one another, apparently trying to decide who should take the next place at the instrument. Rosalind watched with amazement as the girl in white, sneaking behind the women, slid onto the bench and began to play before anyone had even noticed she was there.
Rosalind looked to Tristan, equal parts amazement and respect clamoring in her breast. “I did not think it possible. That is quite a talent you have.”
He grinned as Grace laughed delightedly. “It is not the first time you have underestimated me, Miss Merriweather,” he murmured.
She should have perhaps taken offense at that. It was a distinct dig at their little bet that was currently taking shape in the card room even as they spoke.
But she could not manage even the smallest kernel of outrage. Instead she murmured to herself as he began conversing with his cousin, “And I daresay it shall not be
the last.”
Chapter 19
“Well, I must say,” Grace declared as the carriage returned home from a midday outing two days later, “that was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I have had in some time. Who knew that such an intimate group could provide better company than the great majority of elegant, crowded affairs of the Season?”
Tristan couldn’t help but agree. Until recently, he had been more likely to gravitate toward those things that provided the greatest number of attendees, the largest mix of personalities, the most distraction in the form of music and laughter and conversation.
But over the course of the last few days, he’d found himself looking forward to their small group more than he ever had those busy parties. He wondered what the change was.
Of their own volition, his eyes found Rosalind. She sat beside Grace, looking amazingly pretty in another of his cousin’s cast-offs, a rose-colored gown that lent a blush to her pale skin. As if he had called her name, she looked his way. The blush in her cheeks deepened when she saw his gaze on her. But, instead of scowling at him as she used to do, a small smile lifted her lips before she looked away.
Perhaps he should have been concerned that his heart leapt; Instead, he found himself smiling as well, looking out at the passing scenery yet seeing only the softened look in her brown eyes.
They arrived at their townhouse a short time later. Tristan leapt down, offering a hand to his cousin to help her disembark. She surprised him by waving him off. “I’ve somewhere to be and so won’t be getting off here. You don’t mind if I take the carriage out again do you?”
“Of course not,” he replied. There had been a marked improvement in her spirits today; he would do anything in his power to keep her happy. He made to close the carriage door and send her and Rosalind on their way.
“Oh, Tristan,” she called, “you may help Miss Merriweather down. I don’t require her company this afternoon.”
“Are you certain, my lady?” Rosalind asked.
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