by Hatch, Donna
Did Tristan love her?
More importantly, did she love him?
The front door knocker broke the silence. Leticia stood as the butler opened the door and greeted Tristan.
“Good morning, Aunt,” Leticia murmured.
“Have a wonderful time, dear.”
As Leticia entered the foyer, Tristan’s face, so familiar, so dear, and yet somehow different, guided her to his side like a lighthouse guides lost sailors. His lean, broad-shouldered frame filled out his riding coat in a way that no doubt drew envy from gentlemen and admiration from ladies—far too handsome for his own good. If he’d been born plainer, perhaps he would not have been the object of every lewd woman who saw him. If only he’d had the wherewithal to have refused them.
He grinned and her heart leaped like a crazed circus performer. He met her halfway across the room, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. After kissing the back of her hand, he kept it nestled in his. The contact of his bare hand on hers gave courage to that crazy circus performer in her heart.
“You are radiant this morning, Leticia Love.”
Love. Did he mean that? Did he love her?
His grin turned intimate. How long they stood there, hands intertwined, looking into each other’s eyes, she could not have guessed. With his free hand, he touched her cheek. Did his touch mean he saw her as different, that he had never felt this way about someone else? That he had never treated anyone else as he treated her? That he would love her faithfully all his life?
“You seem to be taking very careful measure of me today.”
She opened her mouth but no sound came out.
He leaned down and kissed her brow, a feather-light touch. Then he kissed her cheek. Finally, he leaned lower. She lifted her face upward, aching, craving, starving for another kiss from Tristan. His lips touched the hollow below her earlobe, then her cheek.
The kiss on her mouth never came. Instead, a soft rumble of his laughter brushed over her. She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing.
Tristan whispered, “I’m very encouraged that you want me to kiss you. I may grant your wish—later.” A playful glint entered his eyes.
Her face burned that he’d read her so easily, and worse, denied her desire. How truly vexing man! He deserved a contemptuous set down—if only she could think of one.
His teasing grin reappeared. “I can’t tell you how gratifying it is that you seem happy to see me today.” He stepped back and spoke loudly enough to have been overheard. “It’s a fine day outside and I have it on good authority that we will be blessed with a rain-free ride.”
Still unable to speak, she picked up her riding crop and strode toward the door past the table of flowers. Tristan caught up to her before she’d stepped foot outside and offered his arm. She battled to regain control of her wits.
“You are a scoundrel,” she muttered.
He chuckled softly. “Are you trying to tell me you are not happy to see me?”
She sighed. “You can be so aggravating.”
“I hope there will be more happy times than aggravating times in store for us, Love.”
There he went again, calling her “love.” What was she supposed to make of that?
She waved toward the vases of blooms. “By the way, thank you for the flowers.”
“You are most welcome.”
A footman held two horses saddled and ready to ride. After greeting her mount and letting him get her scent, she accepted a boost up from Tristan and arranged the skirts of her riding habit. Still wearing that irrepressible grin, Tristan rode beside her to Hyde Park.
Inside the park, birds trilled and twittered like so many prima donnas vying for center stage. Wind whispered in the trees bringing scents of freshly mown grass and spring flowers.
As they headed for the fenced-off riding trail known as Rotten Row, Leticia scrambled for something to say to this different Tristan. “I always thought Rotten Row was a strange name. I’m told it’s named for La Route du Roi, or King’s Road, although last week, someone said the row led to Eton College, so they called it Rue d’Eton. It seems it eventually got corrupted to Rotten Row.” Oh heavens, she was rambling on about a boring subject.
He lifted a brow but drawled in a tone of cultured urbane boredom one normally reserved for a new acquaintance in a drawing room, “Oh? I thought it was named for the mix of gravel and crushed tree bark to create a pliable surface for the horses’ feet and legs. Rotten also means soft, you know.”
“I suppose we’ll never know for certain.” Her cheeks heated. Why did she start such a dull conversation with Tristan?
He glanced at her, mischief and challenge sparking in his eyes. “I know for certain that if I raced you there, I’d win.”
His familiar teasing eased her tension. She scoffed. “Of course you would; I won’t go running through the park like some wild little girl.”
“Come now; there’s no one about. Who would censure us?”
With a slight shake of her head, she smiled. “You’re still stinging over my beating you the last time we raced.”
He gave a dismissive wave. “That was years ago—when you were a wild little girl.”
“Getting beaten by a girl must have been a blow to your manly pride,” she teased.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t very manly then, so ’tis of no consequence.”
“You have always been manly, and you know it.”
His gaze slid her way and a secretive smile hovered at his lips as if he had tucked some surprise gift there and waited for the right moment to share it with her. If it were anything like his kiss, she ought to sit down first or she might not survive with her composure intact.
The gleam in his eye, two parts playful and one part sensual, had an adverse effect on her heartbeat. “Yes, I suppose I have always been manly. You, however have not always been so womanly—you were once a scrawny little brat.”
“You oughtn’t remind a lady of things like that,” she said with exaggerated primness.
His rich, contagious chuckle warmed her all over and she had to smile.
They reached the end of the fence dividing Rotten Row from the rest of the park and guided their mounts into the riding pathway. No one else used the Row this morning, not even grooms exercising horses. They trotted at a comfortable pace, Leticia adjusting to her borrowed horse’s gait, and Tristan riding as if he were born in the saddle.
For a time, the pathway followed the Serpentine River. Ducks glided over the surface like tiny boats leaving V-shaped wakes. The crisp morning air chilled Leticia’s cheeks and filled her with exhilaration. Her horse strained against the reins, asking to run. Leticia let him increase to an easy gallop. Next to her, Tristan kept pace, grinning and rosy-cheeked. The ease of riding next to Tristan combined with the fresh air renewed her and quieted the questions in her mind. All too soon, they reached the end of the riding trail.
As they slowed to a walk, he took a deep breath and let it out. “A gratifying ride, due in part to the charming company.”
“Flatterer.”
“Honest.”
Leticia’s stomach rumbled. “Have you broken your fast yet?”
“No, I never have much appetite first thing in the morning.”
“I find that hard to believe since you always seem to be hungry.”
“It does indeed take a great deal of food to keep all of this”—he gestured to himself from head to toe—“so manly. I merely cannot begin feeding myself too early.”
She huffed her amusement. “I’m not interested in feeding your conceit, but I haven’t eaten yet, either. Care to join me for breakfast? My aunt won’t mind.”
“Thank you.”
A feminine rider trotted toward them with a groom following behind. As the rider neared, the features of Lady Petre became clear. The lady glanced at them. Leticia sighed. The woman’s husband and mother-in-law were odious but this lady seemed different, if a bit browbeaten.
“Lady Petre,” Leticia called out
by way of greeting.
The lady flushed, glanced at Tristan, and flushed deeper. The groom following behind her kept up close enough to attend to her should the need arise, but at a respectful distance to allow privacy.
Lady Petre slowed and nodded to them. “Miss Wentworth. Mr. Barrett.”
“It’s the perfect day for a bruising ride,” Leticia said.
Lady Petre slowed as if to speak more, maneuvering her horse so she faced Leticia. “Miss Wentworth, I wish to apologize for my husband and mother-in-law. Their remarks in the teashop and at the opera were…unkind.” She lowered her gaze and twisted her reins in her hands. “I hope you are not offended.”
Leticia moved closer to her. “I assure you that I have quite forgotten. Think nothing of it.”
A pained smile came over Lady Petre’s face. “Thank you for being so gracious. And I…” She swallowed. “I applaud your efforts with the school. I wish I could lend my support.”
“I understand, my lady.” If she’d been able to reach the lady, Leticia would have grasped her hand. “Not everyone agrees with what we are doing, and of course I would not ask you to act against your husband’s wishes.”
The lady glanced up. “It isn’t him; it’s his mother. She has very strong opinions. If she weren’t so set against it, he might be persuaded…perhaps…”
Poor thing. Living with an overbearing mother-in-law and a son who agreed with everything she said must be a trial. Leticia searched for something comforting to say. “I’m sure he’s a good man deep down.”
The lady continued to look down as she nodded. “Thank you. Good morning.”
Tristan spoke. “Thank you for stopping to speak with us, Lady Petre. Your good opinion matters to us.”
As Lady Petre looked up, her glance skittered away, but something in Tristan’s expression captured her focus, and her smile grew, softening her features. “As does yours.” She nodded a farewell and urged her mount forward.
“Delightful lady,” Leticia murmured. “I hope she’s right about her husband. I fear he dominates her.”
“Do you think that’s why she’s so timid?”
“I used to think so, but now I wonder if she’s timid by nature and allows herself to be ruled. Perhaps if she spoke up, she would receive more respect from her relations.”
Tristan’s eyes took on that unfocused look he got when he grew introspective. “Family matters are complicated. I used to think Richard was a thorn in my side. Now I understand he was trying to protect and help me.”
Leticia bit back a teasing comment about how he must be growing up. In truth, he’d been maturing steadily—in more ways than one. Most of her life, she’d been too focused on Richard to realize how much Tristan had changed, especially over the past year. He had become a strong, capable, steady gentleman.
Chatting of inconsequential matters, they left the park and rode to Aunt Alice’s house. After Tristan greeted her aunt, Leticia and Tristan went into the breakfast room and helped themselves to the buffet.
Leticia imagined sitting across a breakfast table from Tristan every morning, listening to the sound of his voice, of his laughter, admiring his handsome face, the two of them teasing each other, discussing interests and household or estate matters. She couldn’t imagine anything more pleasant. Or more desirable.
Tristan leaned back and sipped his tea, eyeing her. That secretive smile returned.
In an attempt to appear unaffected, Leticia added cream to her chocolate and stirred the hot drink. “You look like the cat eying a canary. What wicked thoughts are you entertaining?”
“I’m thinking how lovely you are…how much I enjoy having breakfast with you.”
She blushed. Had he known her thoughts mirrored his own? “It is pleasant.”
“Are you going to the school today?”
“No, we are making calls.”
He hesitated, seeming to choose his words with great care. “I may need to go to Suffolk for a few weeks to see about estate improvements.”
“Oh? How soon are you leaving?”
“Next month.”
A looming separation from Tristan for a few weeks left a hollowness inside. “I shall miss you.”
“Will you?” he softly rumbled.
“Of course I will.”
He leaned forward, then stood and took her by the hand, drawing her to her feet. Odd, but she always seemed to forget how much taller Tristan stood than she, and how broad. Her heart thumped at twice its usual tempo.
“I am reluctant to leave for that long.”
“I…am reluctant for you to be gone so long.” Her voice came out breathless.
He drew nearer. With his bare hand, he traced the side of her face. A place deep inside her sighed at his touch. He leaned in and kissed her, his lips every bit as warm and soft as the last time. However, this time, his kiss posed no question. It made a statement—of possession, of affection, of love.
All uncertainty about Tristan’s sincerity dissolved. His heart thumped against her hand resting on his chest, and his caress grew firm. He slid his hand around the side of her face to the back of her head, guiding the angle, deepening the kiss. Under the power and majesty of their contact, her knees trembled. He looped an arm around her and held her against the length of him.
Tristan kissed her over and over, both hard and tender, demanding and gentle. His building passion fueled a longing inside her she never dreamed she possessed. Each moment, she lost another piece of her heart and became more joined with his until they were no longer two different people, but one stronger, more vibrant entity, whole and complete.
She knew then what she’d known all along but had been too stubborn to accept; she loved Tristan—not as a brother, nor a friend, but as a man with whom she would share her life.
Oh, how she loved him!
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tristan lost himself in the transcendent power of kissing Leticia. He had meant to convince her he loved her, but the strength of their passion and the depth of belonging that overcame him the moment he pressed his lips to hers took him by surprise. She sank against him and kissed him with all the tenderness and hunger also raging through him.
He’d never felt more complete or more certain of his path. Leticia loved him. She would never leave him.
Though his body screamed to stoke the fire blazing between them, he slowed the rate of their ardor to short, sweet kisses. Then he pressed his lips to her cheek, the hollow behind her ear, her brow, her forehead. He set a chaste kiss on her lips and cradled her face. With his uneven breathing—and hers—breaking the silence of the room, he rested his forehead on hers and grappled with his self-control. As he lifted his head, he gazed at her, admiring the curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow, the moist redness of her lips plump from kissing.
“I love you, Leticia.”
She opened her eyes. Tears glistened her eyes and fell onto her cheeks. “Heaven help me, but I love you, too.”
Using the pad of his thumbs, he wiped away her tears. “Heaven help us both, because I mean to marry you.”
She smiled again, but something akin to pain dimmed the joy that should have been there. “I don’t know if we should…”
“If I can trust you with my heart, you can trust me with yours, can’t you?”
“Trust me with your heart.” Her eyes widened. “You do trust me, don’t you?”
“I always have.”
She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him, the sweet kiss of promise. “Forgive me for doubting you. I do trust you.”
“Marry me.”
She let out a long breath. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s very simple.” He enfolded both of her hands with his and tried to keep his tone confident and persuasive instead of desperate. “I will approach your father, vow to treat you like a queen and love you faithfully all my life, assure him that I have adequate means to provide a comfortable life for you and our future children, and beg him to let me marry you.”
“Then we will purchase a marriage license and get married—unless you’d rather post banns.”
“Tristan.”
“I’ll carry you over the threshold…”
“Tristan.”
“Then I’ll show you why reformed rakes make the best husbands.” He grinned rakishly.
“Tristan!”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Yes, my love?”
She smiled at the term of endearment but looked down and squeezed his hands. “I…well, I…have an understanding with Lord Bradbury.”
All the warmth inside him froze. “Has he formally asked for your hand?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Did he speak to your aunt? Seek your father’s permission?”
“No.” She drew out the word.
He let out a pent-up breath. “Then you tell him that you came to the realization that you don’t suit.”
She sighed. “You know it’s not that easy.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated. You love me, and I love you, and we belong together. No two people were created for each other as perfectly as we are.”
The front door knocker boomed and the butler’s voice in the great hall carried to them. “One moment, Lord Bradbury, and I will announce you.”
Tristan let out his breath in disgust. What timing!
“Oh, dear,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand. “Now is your chance. Tell him. It would be cruel to allow him to believe a minute longer than necessary that you will have him.”
She drew a shaking breath and nodded. “You’re right. I’d best tell him right away.”
“Ah, there you are, dear.” Leticia’s aunt appeared in the doorway.
“Aunt.” Leticia glanced at Tristan. Clear dread at the conversation she must have with Lord Bradbury halted her speech. At Tristan’s reassuring look, she straightened as if finding her resolve. “Aunt, I must speak to Lord Bradbury as alone as propriety will allow.”