The Baron's Betrayal (6 page)

“Thank you, Jane, but sometimes I’m tempted to cut it all off, it can be such a bother.”

“Oh, no, my lady!” The girl gasped. “You would never do that, would you?”

“No. But the thought is intriguing.”

Jane put the brush down and viewed her in the mirror. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Nothing. Seek your bed. That is what I intend to do.”

Jane dipped a slight bob and left the room. Marion tried to settle into bed, but she was restless. The scant moonlight peeking through her bed curtains highlighted the empty space alongside her. She sighed, punched her pillow, and turned onto her stomach. She should be in Tristan’s bed, snuggled in his arms.

After a few minutes of flipping back and forth, pretending sleep was at hand, a repetitive noise drew her attention. She held her breath and cocked her head to one side, listening. On the other side of the wall came the distinct sound of thumps, followed by grunting. She scooted up, moving farther on the bed toward the wall, and sat very still. Yes, there were definitely odd sounds coming from Tristan’s room.

She tossed off the covers and slipped into her bed slippers and dressing gown. Tying the sash tightly, she walked softly to the door joining their rooms. The noises grew louder, until she convinced herself he was in some type of peril. Had he fallen? Where in heaven’s name was his valet?

Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned the latch and eased the door open. Her jaw dropped.

Tristan stood with his back to her, feet braced apart, stripped to the waist. His upper body was covered with sweat, his hair damp, the blond curls plastered against his head. Her gaze slid to his powerful thighs and firm buttocks as the muscles undulated with each movement.

A large, bulky bag had been suspended from the ceiling and anchored to the floor. His hands encased in boxing gloves, Tristan pounded away, his anger palpable as he thrust and battered the bag. Ellis stood nearby watching his master, his face impassive.

A quick glance around the room revealed a bathtub at the ready a bit of distance from the fireplace, steam wafting from it. Several fluffy towels sat on a rack near the warmth of the hearth. She glanced at Ellis, but if the valet had noticed her presence, he didn’t acknowledge it.

After watching in wonder as Tristan’s shiny skin rippled with muscles, she closed the door softly and returned to her bed. So that was how her husband kept his athletic body, despite his blindness.

She was disturbed to note her heart racing, her breathing rapid and shallow. The area between her legs tingled, and a longing for the comfort and strength of Tristan’s body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress, made her groan. She closed her eyes, but the vision of his almost naked form, glistening with sweat as he hammered away, did nothing to return her heart to its normal rhythm.

Once she’d learned of Tristan’s death, all desire for the activities in the marriage bed had fled. No man she’d met since then had interested her in that way, even when she had returned to Society and danced with various gentlemen. Some of them had been truly handsome and charming, but she’d never felt the longing and desire that ravaged her body now.

She rolled over, pressing her breasts into the mattress, trying desperately to bring some relief. Squeezing her legs closed, she tried to put the vision of Tristan out of her mind. No matter how hard she tried, all she could see was the ferocity with which he pounded the bag. The strength in his legs and the tightened muscles beneath his golden skin taunted her, burning into her memory.

For the next hour, all she heard was her own breathing and the sounds of Tristan battering away behind the door that was as much closed off to her as he was.

Chapter Six

Tristan was already seated at the table when Marion entered the breakfast room the next morning. Although he was fully dressed in buff breeches, a dark blue coat, and starched necktie, her memory of his near nakedness the night before caused havoc with her senses. She swallowed, trying to gain enough moisture to wish him a good morning.

Before she even took two steps into the room, he was on his feet and pulling out her chair. “Good morning,” he uttered as he pushed her seat in.

Startled by his abrupt action she mumbled, “Good morning.” She shook out her serviette and placed it on her lap. Last evening he was fighting like a
pugilist, and this morning he was ever the gentleman. Whyever did the man believe he could not be a proper husband to her? From what she’d seen so far, he had managed to compensate for his loss of sight in numerous ways.

“I meant to tell you before now that I love this house. Were you in London before you arrived in Donridge Heath?”

“Yes. Before I left the hospital in Portugal, I had my solicitor purchase a townhouse for me where Mrs. Gibbons and I resided. We were there for almost two years, during which time I rarely left the house. Since I wanted more freedom to move about, I decided to move away from the dirt and odors of the city. However, she led me to believe that we had secured a home in a remote part of the country. I never would have permitted her to bring me to Donridge Heath.”

“You were so determined to avoid me?”

Tristan’s lips tightened. “I will never be an acceptable husband to you. Please reconcile yourself to that, Marion. While I will not go so far as to remove you from the premises, it is necessary for you to understand there will be no resumption of our marriage.”

“And where does that leave me, Tristan?”

“You are young. We can divorce.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Divorce is impossible to attain, and even if it were feasible, I would be scandalized, and no proper gentleman would come near me. My entire family would be disgraced and suffer the consequences.”

“Then we are at odds, madam.”

It was time to pull back. He was being unreasonably stubborn, and pushing him would serve no purpose. She must convince him that nothing had changed between them except for his sight, and arguing would solve nothing.

She took several deep breaths to gain control of her emotions. Plastering a smile on her face that he couldn’t see, but could certainly hear in her voice, she said, “Mrs. Gibbons came to say her farewell to me this morning.” Her words softened Tristan’s expression.

“Yes. I wished her the best a short time ago, as well. I will miss her. She was an excellent companion.” His lips tightened. “Until she betrayed me.”

Not wishing to resume their disagreement, Marion hurried on. “I should like to take a ride into town today. May I use the carriage?”

“Of course. Everything here is at your disposal.”

Everything except my husband.

“Thank you. Would you care to join me?”

“Perhaps some other time. I have a meeting this morning with my secretary, Landers.”

She nodded, but then realizing he couldn’t see her action, said, “All right. Another time.”

They both resumed their breakfast, the clink of silverware and china the only sound in the room until Marion grew uncomfortable. The easy silences between them earlier in their marriage now seemed strained.

“I remember how much you enjoyed reading your newspaper. Since I don’t see one, I assume you no longer have a subscription?”

“It might have slipped your notice, but I am unable to read.”

Heat rushed to her face at his brusque tone, and she bit back a sharp retort. She would need to practice quite a bit of patience with her husband if she were to bring him around. “Of course I know you cannot read, but I would be more than happy to read to you. And I would enjoy having a newspaper myself. May I order a subscription?”

He wiped his mouth and rewarded her with his first smile of the day. “Actually, Mrs. Gibbons was not fond of reading aloud. Probably more than most things, I miss books and newspapers. If you would read to me, I would be extremely appreciative.”

The tension in her body eased. At last she’d found a way to reach him. If it took her growing hoarse from constant reading, she would use that as a path to renewing their connection.

…

Tristan sat across from Landers, having a great deal of trouble focusing on his correspondence. His secretary would read his letters aloud, and Tristan would instruct him on how to reply. It had always been a system that worked well for them, but today he’d had to ask Landers to repeat himself many times.

Even though he could not see her, Marion’s presence at his breakfast table had unnerved him. Her voice, her scent, and the warmth that radiated from her when she moved past him to sit in her chair, had made him harden in places he wished to ignore.

Memories of previous meals with the two of them not able to take their eyes off each other swamped him with both joy and sadness. The early days of their marriage had been filled with such times, staring at one another, fingers intertwined as they strolled together, small intimate touches that had marked them as lovers.

How they would go on was a conundrum he wasn’t prepared to deal with. His plan since he’d regained his memory in the hospital had been simple. He would allow Marion to believe him dead, and she would be free to marry again.

Except Drake’s very astute observation that any marriage Marion contracted would be bigamy on her part
—
albeit innocent
—
and would therefore render her children bastards. Why he hadn’t thought about that when he had devised his scheme proved how unprepared he had been for his new life as a blind man.

Although he hadn’t brought it up, he’d been aware that she had watched him last night as he worked out his rage on the punching bag. His acute hearing had picked up the sound of the door latch opening, as well as her gasp of surprise, then heavy breathing. Had passion been the cause of her breathlessness?

The thought that she had witnessed his raw anger left him vulnerable. If he were to convince her of his determination to keep them apart, he needed to maintain a cool demeanor. He could not succumb to his baser needs. She must never know how much his heart yearned to take her in his arms and make love to her as he used to.

When he had been whole.

How much longer could he expect Marion to remain under his roof given the restraints he’d placed on her? Knowing his wife as he did, she would not be moving out anytime soon.

“My lord, there is a note here from Lord Weatherby. He wishes to hold a dinner in your honor. From what he says, he apparently learned from Her Grace, the Duchess of Manchester, that you and Lady Tunstall have rented this house and are settled in the neighborhood.”

Jolted back to his present surroundings by Landers’s voice, he said, “Thank his lordship for his kind offer, but refuse.”

“Refuse?”

“Is that not what I just said?”

“But what shall I say?”

“Think of something, Landers. That is what I pay you for, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

Good heavens, he was turning into a grouch. The simple life he’d planned for himself when he had left the hospital in Lisbon was crumbling about his ears. He didn’t want a social life. Didn’t want to be “honored” by his neighbors. And most of all, he didn’t want a desirable, determined wife gawking at him while he pounded on his punching bag like a madman.

The woman was turning him into someone he no longer recognized. She had entered his home, taken over his staff, chased off his companion, and left her mesmerizing scent everywhere in the blasted house. He heard her laughter no matter how many doors he closed.

“That will be all for today, Landers.” No point in continuing, since he couldn’t keep his mind focused long enough to make it worthwhile. “Please have Mason send Ellis to me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Tristan leaned back and linked his fingers across his middle as Landers shuffled papers, then took his leave.

“You wished to see me?” Ellis entered the study moments after the front door closed, announcing Landers’s departure.

“Yes. I feel the need for some exercise.”

…

Marion removed her hat and gloves and handed them to Mason. “Is his lordship in his study?”

“No, my lady. He has gone out with Ellis.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Indeed. Do you know where they went? Did they take the carriage?”

“No, my lady. I believe they are out on the archery field.”

Taken aback by this news, she asked, “And will you be so kind as to direct me to the archery field?”

After Mason’s brief directions, she headed toward the rear door, startling the kitchen staff as she hurried through, then descended the back stairs. The crisp autumn air greeted her, along with the pungent scent of apples as she passed through the orchard. She slowed her pace, then stopped to pick a ripe piece of fruit from a low-hanging branch.

Far off in the distance, to her left, were two men. She turned slightly and followed a footpath in that direction, enjoying the crunchy sweetness of the apple as she walked.

The closer she came to the two men, the more confused her thoughts. It appeared that Tristan was actually shooting arrows at a target. How in heaven’s name could a blind man shoot arrows?

Ellis stood behind and to the right of Tristan. In front of her husband was a brace of some sort that was anchored into the ground. It consisted of two strong pieces of wood, fastened together to form a large cross. Tristan rested his elbow where the two pieces joined, which created a sighting for him.

As she watched, he let fly an arrow that landed with a thump onto the target some distance away.

“Very good, my lord. About two more inches to the left.”

Tristan backed up and reloaded his bow, aligning his feet with a board on the ground which apparently kept him facing the correct way. After careful consideration, and more instructions from Ellis, he released another arrow and, to Marion’s amazement, hit the target directly in the center.

“Well done, my lord,” Ellis said.

Tristan stepped back and moved his arm down so the bow rested alongside his body. “What do you think of that, Marion?”

She jumped, startled that Tristan addressed her. How did he know she was behind him?

“I am truly amazed.”

He turned and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. The grin on his face was worth more to her than anything on earth she could ever possess. Pride, happiness, and a certain smugness made her want to throw her arms around him in glee.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Your footsteps as you moved through the grass. I know Ellis’s footsteps, yours were much lighter.”

“I could have been one of the maids.”

Tristan handed the bow to Ellis and rested his gloved hands on his hips. “I would know you anywhere, Marion. I could never mistake anyone else for you.”

Ellis cleared his throat and gathered up the equipment lying about their feet. “I will collect the rest of the arrows, my lord.”

“Thank you. Perhaps Lady Tunstall would be so kind as to escort me back to the house.”

Flustered from Tristan’s comments about knowing her anywhere, she quickly stepped up and took his arm. “Of course. I would be happy to stroll with you back to the house.”

Tristan flashed a devilish smile. “Ah, well done, my dear.”

“Excuse me?”

“You refrained from stating that you were escorting me back to the house, rather that we would be taking a stroll.”

Still off balance, and not sure if he was annoyed with her or not, Marion merely moved forward, with Tristan’s confident steps joining hers.

“How was your visit into town?”

“Quite useful. I borrowed a few books from the circulating library. I thought perhaps I could read to you in the evenings.”

“I would like that. What books did you acquire?”

“I wasn’t quite sure what you would enjoy, so I picked up a few different types of books. Last year I read
Pride and Prejudice
, and if you weren’t familiar with it, I thought that one might be of interest. Although it probably appeals more to the ladies.”

“Actually, I tried to encourage Mrs. Gibbons to read some of Miss Austen’s work, but she didn’t get too far with
Pride and Prejudice
. She became extremely annoyed with Mr. Darcy and, after a few chapters, claimed to have lost the book.”

Marion laughed. “Ah, but Mr. Darcy does redeem himself.”

“We shall see.” Obviously familiar with the pathway to the house, he turned them both toward the front door.

“I also arranged to have the newspaper delivered once again. I like keeping up with the news, and I’ll be happy to read that to you each morning, as well.”

He didn’t answer, but a slight smile teased his lips.

…

How torn he was with her walking beside him, the warmth of her body igniting a need in him he’d long ago squelched. The familiarity of her voice, the perfume that was only her, her very presence, drew him like a starving man to a feast. And that is precisely what he was
—
a starving man, and she the desirable banquet.

But his resolve reared its ugly head, reminding him that this was fake. He and Marion could never go back to their prior relationship. He was blind, could never take care of her as a husband should. And if God was amused enough to bless them with a babe, how could he ever teach the child the important things in life as a father needs do?

No. It was best he allow her to spend whatever time she needed here to make her understand the way of things. Divorce would not be impossible, although he’d not really looked into it. If it were not possible, then a separation where she could have a full life without him was best.

How he expected her to have a full life with no husband, home, or family was not a point he wished to dwell upon. Truth be known, he was still reeling from the fact that his well-laid plans of remaining “dead” had been thwarted by the woman he’d trusted. Never did he think he would have to contemplate how to release Marion from her vows.