The Baron's Betrayal (7 page)

A visit from his solicitor was in order.

Later in the evening, after a pleasant dinner, he and Marion retired to the library where she began
Pride and Prejudice
. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the comfortable leather chair. He was close enough to the fire to enjoy its warmth, without being near enough to cause the all too familiar smothering panic. Her soothing voice rolled over him, teasing him with how pleasant life could be had things been different. He and Marion, sitting together at the end of the day, enjoying a book, a brandy, and conversation.

No point in heading down that path. Life would never be the same, and the sooner he persuaded her to understand that, the sooner she would leave him, and he could get on with his own life. By himself.

Lonely. Boring. Endless.

Marion shut the book. “Perhaps we may end here. I find my eyes are growing weary. We must have Mrs. Downs add more oil lamps to the room.”

“You may instruct her in the morning. Until now I have had no reason to concern myself with that.”

The unspoken words echoed in the room.
Because I don’t need them.

“Yes. Well. I will speak with her tomorrow,” she answered softly, leaving him feeling like a cad for having baited her that way.

“Marion, may I offer my apologies?”

“Whatever for?”

“I’m afraid my years away from society have left my manners a bit raw. I don’t intend to hurt you. Lord knows I’ve hurt you enough without adding to it by snapping. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. You are quite right that I should be more sensitive to your new status. I don’t mean to hurt you, either.”

Of course she wouldn’t. His Marion loved him. She had loved him when they were children, when they were new lovers, and even now that he was no longer a whole man. Truth be told, she had him tied in knots. Everything had been so clear before his injury, but now his body and heart wanted to rule his brain. He could not allow that to happen.

“Come, let us retire upstairs.”

…

Marion stopped in front of her bedchamber door and turned toward Tristan. Sometimes everything seemed so normal, as if the past two years had never happened. Except, of course, his blindness.

However, he had appeared to enjoy her reading of
Pride and Prejudice
. He had swirled a brandy while she had sipped on tea. The room was cozy and warm. Tristan had rested his head on the back of his chair, a slight smile on his face. She would have given a king’s ransom to know his thoughts.

Now she pondered how she could convince him to come into her room and join her in bed. As scandalous as those thoughts were, she couldn’t help the desire that welled up in her as she regarded him. His spicy scent teased her, daring her to rest her hands on his shoulders and rise up on her toes and meet his lips.

His blue eyes stared at her, one lock of silky blond hair resting on his broad forehead. Numerous times she’d brushed it back, to only have it fall once more. She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. The smoothness of his face from his before-dinner shave, combined with the strength of his jaw, only increased her desire.

So many nights after she’d received word of his death she had lain in bed hugging her pillow close, wishing it were his body. Tears had coursed down her cheeks, soaking her bed linens. Now he stood right before her but, in some ways, he was as unreachable as he had been during those long and lonely nights.

Tristan closed his eyes and groaned. “Don’t do this, Marion.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will not end well.”

She drew in a deep breath and mustering her courage, said, “Come into my room.”

He shook his head and stepped back, as if putting space between them would stop the tension that radiated off both their bodies. “I must wish you good night.”

Marion’s hand dropped from his face in frustration. Had there been something heavy nearby, she would have popped him on the head with it. Perhaps that would induce him to stop this stubbornness. Before she could respond, he bowed slightly and turned, his steps beating a hasty retreat.

She entered her room and barely restrained herself from slamming the door. But she did allow an enthusiastic stomp of her foot like a young girl. And it felt good.

Blowing out a breath, she rang for Jane to assist her in preparing for bed.

Hours later she continued to toss on her mattress, her feet tangled in the bed linens, her nightgown wrapped around her thighs. Kicking furiously, she freed herself and left the bed. She walked to the window, pulling back the drapes to reveal pale moonlight illuminating the garden below.

Never in her life had she needed patience more than she did now. Tristan would not win this battle of wills. Whatever it took, she would convince him that whatever he thought of himself, it didn’t diminish her love for him.

In fact, she was surprised and impressed with his abilities. Obviously his boxing and archery were keeping him in fine fettle. He knew his way around the house and even outside on the grounds to some extent. Although she found it hard to imagine being without her sight, she must not let pity get in the way of her determination to keep Tristan and their life together. A proud and somewhat arrogant man, he would never allow that, and that would cause him to shut her out even further.

She let the drape fall back against the window and took only a couple of steps before a loud thump sounded, followed by what could only be described as a blood-curdling scream from Tristan’s room.

Chapter Seven

Marion flew through the door joining their rooms, ignoring the pain in her toe from slamming it into the wall in her anxiety to reach Tristan. She gasped at the sight of him thrashing on the floor. Crossing the room, she dropped to her knees alongside him.

His face was pale and covered with perspiration, his breathing erratic. Although his eyes were open and staring, she didn’t believe he was awake.

“Tristan!” She cupped his face, gripping his chin.

“No. No. Get back. The fire is getting too close to the explosives.” He shouted as if giving orders.

Goose bumps broke out on her arms as she tried to wake him, but he threw her off and continued to thrash about. She fell backward from the force of his movements and landed on her hip. Pain shot through her, effectively blocking the pain in her toe.

She climbed to her knees and shook his shoulders. “Tristan, wake up.”

“Noooooo! Get back.”

“Tristan!” She gave him a strong shake.

She knew immediately that he had awakened. His body stilled, and his stiff muscles relaxed. “Marion?”

“Yes. It’s me. I’m here. You were having a nightmare.”

He closed his eyes and moaned, letting his head drop back.

Marion gave him a moment to compose himself, then grasped his forearm. “Let me help you back into bed.”

Tristan stiffened once more. “There is no need to help me into bed. I am not an invalid.” He brushed aside her hand and rose. Despite his claims to the contrary, he swayed when he stood, but quickly attempted to hide it by sitting on the edge of the bed.

Marion sat back on her heels and regarded him. “I think you were dreaming of your time on the ship.”

“Since lately that is usually the source of my nightmares, that is an excellent observation on your part.”

She felt him immediately shut down, blocking her out. “You have them often?”

After his quick nod, she continued, “Do you want to talk about it?” Although Drake had told her the story after he’d visited with Tristan, perhaps relating it to her might ease his mind a bit.

“What is it with women that they believe if one
talks
about something, it will go away?” He used the sleeve of his nightshirt to wipe the perspiration from his face. “Mrs. Gibbons always wanted me to
talk
about my experience. Do none of you realize that bad memories are a part of life? If one has no bad memories, then he most likely hasn’t lived long enough.”

Marion stood and sat alongside him on the bed, giving him distance. His anger was most likely in direct proportion to his embarrassment at again appearing less than a man.

He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned forward, his bent elbows resting on his thighs. After several moments of silence, he said, “The frigate under my command came upon pirates attacking a Portuguese merchant ship. We battled for more than three hours. We had crippled the pirates when a fire broke out on our lower deck where the guns and gunpowder were stored.

“It became apparent that the fire would soon rage out of control, so I ordered the men to abandon ship. Before the last man had left, the gunpowder exploded and I was thrown into the sea. Both the frigate and the pirate ship sank.”

Marion fought the urge to touch him. Tristan had been terrified of fire since his family had perished in a blaze. To think he had had to face that horror again made her stomach roil. Though somehow she knew any comforting on her part would be viewed by him as another sign of his weakness.

How she yearned to wrap her arms around him and lay her head on his chest. Not just for his comfort, but for hers. He’d suffered so much in his life, yet he refused to accept any of her compassion. To Tristan, any show of sympathy on her part would be viewed as pity. The last thing she wished to convey to him.

He shot her a wry smile. “Now that I have confessed all, I should feel up to snuff, with no worries or future nightmares?”

How to respond to that? His tone was obviously sarcastic, however, she couldn’t help but believe talking about his troubles would, indeed, help with his nightmares. Reaching the Tristan she knew so well, behind the façade of the man he’d become, would definitely be a dance of two steps forward and one step back.

“You may scoff, but keeping all of that bottled up inside you could not be good for your health.”

“Ah. My health. As if talking would bring back my sight.” He shook his head and stood. “If you will excuse me, madam, I wish to attempt a return to sleep.”

Frustrated, Marion climbed to her feet. “As you wish. I will see you at breakfast.”

“Yes, indeed. I will
see
you at breakfast as well.”

Tied in knots, and with no response that would help, she crossed the room and closed the door quietly.

…

“My lady, the Duchess of Manchester and Lady Abigail Fox have inquired as to whether you are at home.” Mason stood in all his butler-like stiffness as he announced Penelope and Abigail’s arrival the next afternoon.

“Oh, heavens. Yes, please, show them right in.” Marion leaped from her chair, casting aside the book she was trying very hard to read.

Her thoughts had been going in circles since she had arisen that morning. A visit from her sister-in-law and sister was just the thing she needed to pull her out of her doldrums. And perhaps they might even have some advice for her.

“Marion, how lovely to see you!” Penelope hurried into the room, her rounded belly a slight bump under her gown.

Marion hugged her back. “Yes, it is lovely to see you, as well.” She moved back and studied her. “You are beginning to show.”

“Yes, but I think this one will be a bit smaller than Robert. Perhaps we’re to be blessed with a daughter this time.”

“That would be wonderful.” Marion was immediately taken by a cry from Penelope’s son, Robert, who reached out for her with his chubby arms extended, his fingers flexing.

“My goodness, Robert, I am your auntie, too,” Abigail said as she handed the wiggling child over to Marion. At the early stages of her first pregnancy, Abigail’s belly was already larger than Penelope’s.

“There you are, my boy. Auntie has missed you so much,” Marion cooed as she ran her palm over the child’s silky hair. “I am so happy your mama has brought you to visit.” She turned to Penelope, who was shifting in her chair, trying to get comfortable. “Where is your nanny?”

Penelope waved her dismissal. “Oh, we had to let her go. Robert didn’t like her.”

Abigail and Marion grinned at each other. Penelope had let at least three nannies go since Robert had been born a mere ten months prior. But being the soft-hearted person she was, she always managed to find them another position with a glowing reference before they left.

Penelope did not want anyone taking care of her son except her. For, as unheard of as that was for someone of her rank, having been brought up in America, she viewed handing over your children to staff members with disdain. Luckily, the dowager duchess had been a very involved mother with her children, so no one in the family found Penelope’s concerns odd. And a besotted Drake would do just about anything his wife wanted.

“I miss my favorite nephew so much.” Marion nuzzled his pudgy neck, and the child threw his head back and giggled.

Abigail patted her stomach. “Be careful there, Auntie Marion. You may have another nephew in a few months, and one mustn’t play favorites.”

“Yes. I know. But from the size of your tummy already, perhaps I will have another nephew and also a niece.”

“Twins?” Abigail smiled and rested her hand on her belly. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Perhaps you will have a child of your own sometime soon,” Penelope said, touching Marion’s arm softly.

She sat the baby in her lap and regarded the two women. “Probably not.” She chewed on her lip, avoiding the women’s stare and then, to her horror, she burst into tears.

Sensing his auntie’s distress, Robert began to wail, and reached out for his mother.

“Oh, dear.” Penelope hopped up and rescued her son from Marion’s grip. “We need tea. I’ll send for tea.” With the wailing child in her arms, she hurried to the door.

Abigail moved to sit next to Marion, her arm around her as Marion’s shoulders shook and she wiped her cheeks with her fingers.

“Don’t let anyone see me,” Marion called from her spot on the settee.

“No, of course not.” Penelope opened the door, jiggling Robert as she summoned Mason. She was apparently having some difficulty asking for a tea tray over Robert’s wailing and Marion’s sobs. Mason attempted to push open the door, but Penelope held firm.

“Your Grace, if my lady is distressed, perhaps I should send for his lordship.”

“No!” Marion stood abruptly, almost knocking Abigail to the floor. “Mason, I am fine.” She twisted her hands. “Just have Cook prepare the tea.”

Penelope closed the door, took two steps, and was yanked back, almost losing her footing. “For heaven’s sake…” She turned and mumbled under her breath. Tugging hard, she pulled the bottom of her gown from where it had caught in the door. A ripping sound followed as she hurried to the women on the settee.

“Oh, look. You’ve torn your gown.” Marion patted her eyes with the handkerchief Abigail had drawn from her reticule.

“It is no matter.” Penelope walked up and down, patting Robert on his back. Within minutes the boy settled down and, in the way of children, fell fast asleep against his mother’s chest.

Watching the scene of mother and child, with Penelope’s slightly swollen belly, and Abigail’s hand resting on her tummy, brought on a fresh wave of self-pity. Marion took in a shuddering breath. “I am so sorry for my outburst.”

“No need to apologize, Marion. But can you tell us what has you so upset?” Abigail asked.

After a few seconds of trying to put into words all her fear and disappointment on how their marriage—or lack of marriage—was progressing, she decided on one word. “Tristan.”

“Ah.” Penelope eased her body into the chair across from Marion and Abigail, and shifted Robert so he lay cradled in her arms. She absently trailed her fingers through his curls. “Are things not going well?”

Marion shrugged. “Things aren’t going at all.” She wiped her nose with the handkerchief and shook her head. “At times it seems as if nothing has happened to change us. I sense the familiar warmth and closeness that we’ve always shared. Then, when I am feeling hopeful, Tristan will pull back and shut me out.”

“Is he still determined to seek a divorce, then?”

“Yes. But that is impossible. He is of the opinion that if he divorces me, I can find another husband and have a family.”

“That’s preposterous!” Abigail said.

“Exactly. If he were even able to secure a divorce—which is highly unlikely—the scandal would prevent me from ever marrying again. And…I don’t wish to marry again. I have a perfectly wonderful husband whom I love dearly, and who I know loves me still.”

“Oh dear, this is a conundrum.”

The women all fell silent until a knock on the door drew their attention. “Yes,” Marion said.

“Your tea, my lady.” A footman opened the door, and Mason carried in a tray laden with a teapot, cups and saucers, and a plate of biscuits. “My lady, Cook said if you wish something heartier, she can send some sandwiches.”

“Thank you, Mason, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Um, actually, Marion, I wouldn’t mind something more substantial.” Abigail grinned, her face flushing.

“Oh, of course, forgive me. I forgot you are eating for more than one person.” She addressed Mason. “If you would please have Cook send some sandwiches, that would be wonderful.”

After placing the tea tray within reach of the three women, the butler left, closing the door softly behind him.

“Now, Marion. We must come up with a plan to get Tristan to realize his blindness does not in any way make him unacceptable as a husband,” Abigail said.

“Seduce him!” Penelope blurted out. Then, seeing the startled looks on her sisters-in-law’s faces, she covered her grin with her fingertips.

“That’s a splendid idea.” Abigail leaned forward, her tea forgotten. “If you seduce him, he will be hard pressed to say he is not an acceptable husband. I mean, after all, isn’t that what marriage is all about?” She stopped at the other women’s gasps, then raised her chin. “Don’t deny it, ladies. We all know what men like best about marriage. And if he is able to, um…perform, his ego will be comfortably soothed.” She paused and regarded the other women with wide-eyed concern. “Heavens, he
is
able to…I mean, his blindness hasn’t affected his…um, nether parts?”

Marion and Penelope exchanged guilty glances, and then all three burst out laughing.

“Since he hasn’t, ah, approached me in that way, I can’t say for sure if his…manly parts work,” Marion fanned her heated face. “However, from what I’ve seen when he was unaware of my regard, all seems to be in order.” She wiped her forehead. “Goodness, I can’t believe this conversation.”

The ladies giggled once more, then Marion’s face fell. “I’m afraid I have no idea how to seduce someone.”

Penelope tapped her finger against her chin. “I would suggest a certain type of nightgown, but since Tristan can’t see that…”

“Tristan says he can always tell when I’m near him. He claims it is my unique scent and my footsteps. According to him, since he lost his sight, his other senses are stronger.”

After a minute Abigail said, “Well…since his sense of touch and smell are sharper, you’ll just have to use your hands.”

“Or your mouth.” Once again, at Penelope’s suggestion, the other women blushed brightly and then giggled.

“Penelope, since you are married to our brother, I don’t think I want to hear any more suggestions from you,” Abigail said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her grin.

“Oh, my. This room has become quite heated.” Marion said as she patted her upper lip with a serviette.

“But now you have some ideas on how to go on. You have to get Tristan interested in you…that way. Then, once you’ve shared a bed, it will be much harder for him to insist on a divorce. He is a gentleman, after all,” Abigail said.