The Baron's Betrayal (5 page)

“Oh, look! There are crocus over there.” Marion left his side to the sound of her feet sweeping through underbrush. “They are so lovely.”

Tristan turned to the sound of her voice, momentarily losing his balance on the uneven flagstones. He attempted to correct himself, but was unable to regain his balance. Reaching out for support, his arms waved helplessly as he crashed to the ground, falling on his cane and breaking it.

“Tristan!” Marion screeched and hurried to his side. “Are you all right?”

Humiliated and in pain where his leg twisted under him, he shoved her away. “Leave me be.”

“But you’ve hurt yourself. Let me help you up.”

“Get away from me. Now!” The roar that bellowed from him stopped Marion’s movements.

With a broken cane, there was no way he would be able to make it back to the house without her help. If nothing else had served to convince him of the untenable reality of his situation, this certainly had. He was so much less a man than the one she’d married. He wished for nothing more at the moment than to be left alone so he could lick his wounds like the animal he had become. A blind, wounded, snarling animal.

“Tristan, please. You are being ridiculous. Allow me to help you. This was not your fault. I can see where the stones in the pathway are seriously uneven. We must have the gardener see to this immediately.”

“Stop saying
see.
Please. Just stop.” He struggled to his feet and brushed off his jacket. “If you will assist me to the house, madam, I would be deeply thankful.”

They proceeded down the pathway, leaving behind the broken cane, the pleasure of the day gone. His leg throbbed from where he had fallen, but he’d be dammed if he would mention it. He deserved the pain. He deserved to be locked away. “His lordship has taken a spill, Mason. Can you please see to him?” Marion flinched when he yanked his arm away from her shortly after they entered the front hall.

“I am fine. There is nothing to concern anyone.” Taking a deep breath, he reached for the stone urn where several other canes were stored.

“Do you wish to wash up before we take luncheon?” Marion asked gently, keeping her distance.

“Please inform Cook that I would prefer a tray in my room.”

“But Tristan—”

“Please, Marion. No arguments.” He reached for the banister and slowly climbed the stairs, relishing the pain that radiated from his leg up to his heart. That was a pain that would never go away.

Chapter Five

Despite her best efforts, Marion was unable to persuade Tristan to join her for dinner the night of his fall in the garden, or breakfast the next morning. He’d taken trays in his room.

Sulking, she thought, just like a child. She left the breakfast room and approached Biddle, one of the footmen. “Will you please ask Mrs. Gibbons to join me in my sitting room?”

She added coal to the fire while waiting for Tristan’s companion. Since she’d been in residence, Mrs. Gibbons had not joined them for meals. When she’d asked Tristan about the woman’s absence, he said since Marion had arrived she felt more comfortable eating with the staff. When she expressed dismay at the woman’s decision, Tristan was quick to assure her that Mrs. Gibbons was quite happy with the arrangement, and did not feel the least bit put out. Picking up her needlework, Marion settled in the chair close to the fire. Within minutes there was a knock on the door. “Enter.”

“Good morning, my lady. Biddle said you wished to speak with me?”

“Yes. Please, have a seat. Come close to the fire where it’s warmer. I find that in the country even these early autumn days can create a chill.”

Once Mrs. Gibbons was seated, Marion placed her sewing in the basket by her feet and turned her attention to the companion. “Please tell me a little bit about your time with my husband the past two years. How you came to know him.”

For several minutes, Mrs. Gibbons related the story of her initial meeting with Tristan, how he had seemed grateful to be alive but, after a while, had slipped into melancholy. Marion watched her for signs of something more than the care a companion would feel for her charge. Although Mrs. Gibbons was most likely somewhere in her late thirties, more than ten years older than Tristan, she was an attractive woman in an ordinary sort of way. But she left no doubt that her intentions were nothing more than friendship.

“I was disheartened when he told me he had a wife and had no intention of contacting her.” Mrs. Gibbons leaned forward, looking directly into her eyes. “Please do not be upset by his attitude. He has had a very difficult time adjusting to his blindness. He somehow feels he is not a complete man, and it has hampered how he views himself. I know he loves you. Very much. You mustn’t give up on him. He deserves love.”

“Oh, I have no intention of giving up on him. You see, Mrs. Gibbons, I know my husband is stubborn, but what he has not counted on is that I am just as stubborn as he is. As I told you once before, I will remain here, or wherever he plans to be, despite his objections.”

“Good for you, my lady.” Mrs. Gibbons leaned back, beaming. “In that case, I must ask you to grant me a favor.”

Marion viewed her with raised eyebrows.

“I promised his lordship I would remain with him until he no longer needed me. I have received a note from my sister, who has recently lost her husband. She wishes me to make my home with her, since she also lost her only son in the wars. Her home is in Norfolk, near the sea.”

“And you would like to join her there?”

“Yes. She has a lovely house left to her by her husband, along with a tidy income. With my added funds, there is plenty to support the both of us.

“Please excuse my impertinence, Mrs. Gibbons, but you seem a tad young to seek that sort of life. Have you no wish to marry again?”

“No. I’ve been married three times, the first one at only fifteen years. I am happy with no husband to tend to.”

“Three husbands, my goodness. Well, perhaps that may change at some point.”

“Yes, perhaps.” Despite her words, Mrs. Gibbons held the expression of someone who had absolutely no desire to take up the state of matrimony once again.

“My sister—Mrs. Stephens is her name—has a circle of friends, and is very busy with her church. I am sure it will be a pleasant life.”

Marion acknowledged her words with a slight nod. “Then you must accept this offer. I know Lord Tunstall will miss you. You seem to have a very special relationship. Also, please do not be disturbed by his annoyance at your machinations to bring the two of us together. I will forever be in your debt for returning my husband to me.” Unbidden, tears rose to her eyes, and as she fumbled for a handkerchief, she noted Mrs. Gibbons patting her eyes as well.

“Well, aren’t we a couple of watering pots?” Marion said, tucking her handkerchief back into the pocket of her morning gown.

“If you will excuse me, my lady, I will send a note to my sister that she should expect me soon.”

“We will send you in our carriage. And Jane, who is now my lady’s maid, will assist with your packing.”

“You are most kind, my lady.” Mrs. Gibbons rose and before she could turn to leave, Marion stood and embraced her.

“Godspeed.”

…

Tristan joined Marion for dinner that evening. He entered the drawing room, freshly shaved and dressed in tight pantaloons, a dark waistcoat, and jacket. His snowy white cravat was perfectly tied. “Good evening, my dear.”

She turned swiftly from the window where she stared at the reflection from the candles around the room. “Good evening.” Her eyes feasted on him, and once again her heart soared at having him back.

He expertly crossed the library and headed to the sideboard. “Would you care for a sherry before dinner?”

“Yes. That would be very nice.” Confused at this turnabout in his attitude, she whispered a quick prayer of thanks and took a seat next to the fireplace.

He deftly poured sherry into one glass and brandy into another.

Marion watched as he carried the two glasses across the room, leaving his cane behind. He held her glass out to her. “Madam?”

“Thank you.” Once again she stared into those crystal blue eyes and her insides melted. Their hands touched as she took the glass from his hand, leaving behind warmth and a powerful longing throughout her body.

He sat next to her, on the far side of the fireplace. “I understand you’ve managed to run my companion off.”

No smile was forthcoming, so she wasn’t sure if he was angry.

“Mrs. Gibbons had a very kind offer from her sister and seemed anxious to join her.”

“So she told me.” He swirled the brown liquid around the brandy snifter and took a sip. “Convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

She stiffened, still unsure of his mood. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my dear, you take up residence, and all of a sudden my companion of more than two years decides to join her sister.”

“Despite what you might think, I had nothing to do with her departure.”

“As you say.” He took another sip.

Not wishing to turn their pleasant conversation into an argument, she decided to change the subject. “I will be meeting with Mrs. Downs in the morning to make decisions on redecorating several of the rooms. Did you have any special requests?”

He waved his hand. “No. You may do as you wish, and I trust your ability to guard my purse while you choose whatever furnishings you desire.”

“That is very generous of you.” She took a sip of her sherry. “I thought perhaps once we finished with the refurbishing, we could arrange a small dinner for my family, perhaps, or a neighbor or two.”

“No.”

“Won’t you—“

“No.”

She huffed. “Do you plan to hide from everyone for the rest of your life?”

“My dear, I tried my best to hide from you, but that hasn’t seemed to deter you from attempting to run my life.”

She drew back in surprise. “Tristan, that is not fair. I am not attempting to run your life. I just thought some social discourse would be pleasant.”

“I have no desire for social discourse, or to have people here feeling sorry for me, or offering to ‘help’ me move about in my own home.”

“Dinner is served, my lady, my lord.” Mason stood in the doorway, his eyes straight ahead.

“Thank you.” Tristan placed his glass on the table next to him and stood. “Allow me to escort you.”

Marion joined him, taking his arm. Without much help from her, they made their way into the dining room. Nothing further was said about Mrs. Gibbons or a family dinner.

…

One they had settled in their seats, Tristan gazed in her direction and cleared his throat. “I haven’t changed my mind about our marriage, but if you insist on remaining here, we can at least have friendly conversations. Please accept my apology for snapping at you in the garden yesterday.”

“Of course. I understand how difficult things can be for you.”

“No you don’t, my love. But the less said about that, the better.” He shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap.

Taking his meals in his room had not removed the constant thoughts of Marion. He had listened to her moving about in the room next to him. Caught her scent in the corridor. Heard her soft footpads as she walked past his door. There was simply no getting away from her, from her presence, or from wanting her.

“Now let us enjoy our dinner, and tell me the news from your family. I am sorry to hear about your father passing.”

Marion regaled him with tales of her family, her sisters’ debuts into society, and Manchester and Abigail’s marriages. He had to admit surprise at Lady Abigail marrying Joseph Fox, a rector in a small town south of Donridge Heath. But Marion assured him theirs was a match made in heaven, and they were very much in love.

Listening with half an ear, he concentrated instead on her voice. During all the lonely months he adjusted to a world without sight, he had remembered Marion’s face as clearly as if he could see it right in front of him.

But her voice was something that had faded from his memory. Deeper than most women’s, her tone was nevertheless melodious and pleasant to the ear. As she continued on, the combination of her voice and her own unique scent had his mouth drying up, making dining difficult. As desire raced through him, a faint sheen of sweat covered his body. He shifted in his chair as his pantaloons tightened. Perhaps his reckless statement that if she insisted on remaining here they could have a pleasant relationship had not been well thought out.

His hands ached to run his palms over her soft skin, to trace her curves, cup her plump breasts. Had her body changed in the past two years? When she’d first arrived and had thrown herself against him, he’d noticed her form felt too slender. Pushing his plate aside, all appetite gone, he signaled for the footman to pour him more wine.

“You will love Penelope. She is the perfect wife for my brother. I can’t begin to tell you how stuffy he became once he assumed his title. Most of last year he insisted he would find the
perfect
woman for his duchess. But his idea of
perfect
was all wrong for him. Then Penelope came into our lives, and turned my brother’s life upside down. One time, he…”

His attention wandered once again, remembering Marion at her come-out ball. That year London had been abuzz with the news that, due to the king’s madness, the Prince of Wales had assumed the role of prince regent.

A few months prior to that, Tristan had been awarded a barony as a result of recognition by the Admiralty. He had been a lieutenant on a ship that was under attack. When the senior officers were killed, Tristan had taken command. He’d fought off the attackers, taken their vessel, and had saved his ship, including the cargo, which included the pay for Wellington’s army. The Crown had been very grateful.

Happy with his life, he’d not considered marriage or a family.

However, all that had changed when he had stared, mesmerized, at Lady Marion at her coming out ball. He’d wanted her. Like he had never wanted anything in his life. She had not been the little Marion of his childhood. She’d been a desirable, beautiful woman who, miraculously, appeared to have eyes only for him.

As he had held her in his arms while they waltzed, he’d known then that his life in the Royal Navy would soon come to an end. They had been betrothed within two months, and were married a mere month later. After a two week wedding trip, they had spent a few months in marital bliss before he had reluctantly returned to his ship, with promises of resigning as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, before he had been able to do that, he’d come upon the battle between the Portuguese merchant ship and the pirates. And now, the life they’d planned together, as they had whispered in the dark as new lovers, would never be.

“Would you like me to leave you while you have your brandy?”

Pulled back from his musing, he shook his head. “No. I will be retiring now.”

“So soon?”

The disappointment in her voice hit him in the gut, but he needed to get away. Far away. From her, and the memories her presence swamped him with.

“I’m afraid so. But please make use of the library. I have quite a collection. At least that is what I have been told. And now I will wish you good evening.” He turned and, after accepting the cane from a footman’s hand, left the room.

…

What was that all about?
Tristan had seemed much better when he’d first arrived in the drawing room. Their conversation at dinner had been friendly, although, it did seem that a great deal of the time he had not been listening to her. But his abrupt departure after finishing their meal left her feeling lost, uncertain. She sighed. It seemed to be an uphill battle, but as long as she remained right where she was, she was confident of prevailing.

Once the tea tray had been removed, she strolled through the library, pulling books from the shelves in an effort to find something to entertain her until bedtime. The walls were filled with volumes on all subjects. There were several Latin publications, and a few novels in French. Of course, the only way her husband could make use of this extensive collection was if she read to him. She smiled at the thought. That might be a good way to have them spend more time together in the evening.

She imagined a roaring fire, with both of them snuggled up together as she read to him from various works. It would be a lovely, peaceful time. Quite a domestic scene.

After leafing through several tomes and not becoming engaged at all, she gave up and headed to her bedroom.

An hour later, she sat in front of the mirror, Jane standing behind her, slowly running a brush through her hair. “My lady, you have such lovely hair.”