A
nne desperately wanted to be on a horse but Chetwyn had brought his barouche. The driver had set the chestnut mare from a lovely trot into a leisurely walk once they arrived at the park. The carriage’s hood was folded back, allowing the sunshine to wash over them. Anne knew she should relax and enjoy it, but she was anticipating the arrival of a storm.
Chetwyn sat beside her. They had spoken of the weather and the flowers. She didn’t know why she was having such a difficult time with ordinary conversation. She certainly had never found herself lacking for words where Tristan was concerned. Their discourse ran the gamut from teasing to serious to sensual to angry to sad to profound. She thought she could talk with him forever and never find herself scrambling for topics. But with Chetwyn—
“What sort of sister by marriage would you like?” he asked.
She looked at him. He had such kind brown eyes. Walter’s eyes. “Pardon?”
“I promised to provide you with a list of potential ladies for Jameson. I wondered what your criterion was when it came to a sister by marriage.”
“Only that she makes Jameson happy. I shan’t be living with her.”
“But you shall see her from time to time.”
“I can tolerate anything unpleasant for a short period of time.”
“Even a husband?”
She smiled. “No, I would like him to be pleasant all the time, although I suspect there will be moments when he’ll be difficult.”
“I can’t imagine that any man who gained your favor would ever abuse such grand fortune. He would want you to always be happy.”
She wondered if he was talking of himself. She didn’t want to journey into a discussion regarding the sort of man she wished for a husband. She feared her desired qualifications might have taken a nasty turn toward the adventuresome. “You and Jameson have been friends for a good while. Do you know if he ever had any tender feelings for Lady Hermione?”
Clearing his throat, Chetwyn looked out over the green. “He might have found himself fascinated with her.”
“Two years ago? Before the lords of Pembrook returned?”
Chetwyn nodded, then shifted his glance over to her. “It seems you have captured the attention of at least one of those lords.”
“It was only a dance.”
“Two actually.”
“Two is proper.”
“But he isn’t.”
She wanted to deny it, but proper gentlemen didn’t climb in through windows bent on seduction.
“Does he fascinate you as he fascinates all the ladies?” Chetwyn asked.
“He’s not a threat to you or any of the other lords. He has no intention of staying here. He has a ship. He travels the world. Marriage to him would be a lonely affair.”
“So you’ve considered it?”
“No!” She felt herself blushing. She had not wanted the conversation to go here. “I only meant to reassure you that he engages in harmless flirtation.”
“Then I need not consider him competition for your attentions?”
Her face, her entire body, grew warmer. She had to tread lightly here. Did she wish to encourage him? She knew him. He was kind and well mannered. She suspected he would not stray from his vows. He would not leave her weeping or angry or shattered. She wanted to reassure him, but instead she heard herself spouting a lie. “He means nothing to me.”
Chetwyn nodded. “I still miss him, you know?”
The words made no sense and left her doing little more than batting her eyes, because she was fairly certain he wasn’t referring to Tristan.
“Walter,” he added, as though she needed the clarification, and shame on her because for a moment she’d forgotten all about him.
“As do I.”
“War is a terrible thing.”
“But sometimes necessary.” She could not—would not—believe Walter had died in vain.
“It takes a toll on a man,” Chetwyn said. “On his family, on those who love him. And on a country actually. A lot of men returned with missing limbs, unable to work.”
“I suspect they could work if people would only give them a chance.”
He gave her a small smile. “Quite right. But until they are given that chance, some are living in the gutters. I want to change that, Anne. In Walter’s memory. I want to arrange a home for soldiers where they can stay until they get back on their feet.”
“Oh, Chetwyn.” Without thinking, she placed her hand over his where it rested on his thigh and squeezed. “What a lovely idea.”
He turned his hand over, threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m arranging a ball, with help from Mother, of course. Only a select few shall be invited as we’ll solicit monetary contributions. A crass endeavor in one way, but I feel I must do something.”
“I think it’s an exceedingly generous undertaking.”
He held her gaze. “May I feel free to seek your advice on certain matters?”
“By all means. I would love to be involved.”
“I feared it might make things more difficult for you. I know you’re striving to move on.”
“Moving on doesn’t include forgetting.”
“My brother was exceedingly fortunate to have you in his life. I don’t believe I received a single letter from him that didn’t mention you. Although I have to confess that even without his assurances, I knew you were extraordinary.”
She wondered if she was blushing as deeply as he was. “You’re too kind.”
“Hardly.”
She tried to imagine what it would be like to gaze across a room every evening and see his face, to hold the majority of her conversations with him, to have him kiss her. She was fairly certain it would all be comforting enough. Pleasant even. She would have no surprises, no—
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Tristan sitting astride a beautiful ebony horse, trotting toward her. He looked as magnificent as she’d imagined. Did any setting exist in which his mere presence didn’t dominate? It was as though the lovely park suddenly became smaller, insignificant. As though—
“Anne?”
She looked at Chetwyn, his furrowed brow, his concern. “I’m sorry. I became distracted.”
Then as though her attention had become metal shavings and Tristan were a magnet, she was again gazing past Chetwyn.
“I see,” he muttered and ordered his driver to draw the carriage to a halt.
She wasn’t certain if that was good or bad. It would certainly make it easier to speak with Tristan, but it would also make it easier for
him
to speak and she dreaded what he might say, how he might insinuate an intimacy between them.
He brought his horse to a halt on her side of the carriage, even though it meant going around the contraption and confirming that his interest was in her. He swept his beaver hat from his head and bowed slightly, his ice blue eyes glittering with a possessiveness that she wanted to deny. “Lady Anne.”
She wished they were in the country so they could go galloping over the rolling hills together. She wished she hadn’t felt a need to be polite and accept Chetwyn’s offer to accompany her. She wished she understood this excitement that thrummed through her simply because Tristan was near enough to breathe the same air as she. “Lord Tristan, what a pleasant surprise.”
What in the world was wrong with her voice? She sounded like a pesky little dormouse.
“Surprise indicates that you weren’t expecting me. Did I not make clear that I would join you at the park?”
She stopped breathing, waiting in horror for him to reveal exactly when they had the conversation, but apparently even he realized that would be a step too far and would neatly slice her reputation to ribbons. With her worry dissipating, her anger sparked. She’d not have him playing games with her in public that would serve only to start tongues wagging. “During our dance I recall mentioning, offhandedly, that I would be riding this afternoon. I expected to be alone. Instead Lord Chetwyn was kind enough to give me the pleasure of his company.” Ignoring the tightening of Tristan’s jaw, she turned to her traveling companion. “Lord Chetwyn, allow me to introduce—”
“I’ve had the privilege.” He spoke the last word as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She’d never heard him speak so succinctly, and realized he was no happier than Tristan. “Oh, I see. Of course.”
Tristan’s gaze dropped to her lap. No, not hers. Chetwyn’s. Her hand was still entangled with his. She wanted to snatch hers free, but he closed his fingers so tightly around them that they were beginning to go numb. To separate them now would do little more than cause a scene.
“A lovely day isn’t it?” she offered.
“A storm’s coming,” Tristan answered, and she suspected he wasn’t talking about the weather.
“Do you find the park to your liking?”
The right side of his mouth hitched up into a grin with which she’d become far too familiar. It was a portent of teasing.
Don’t,
she wanted to beg,
don’t say anything that will give Chetwyn cause to believe we are more than acquaintances
.
“I prefer the sea.”
“When will you be returning to it, my lord?” Chetwyn asked.
“When my business here is completed.”
His gaze settled on her. To her shame, she was keenly aware of pleasure spiraling through her. She was his business. But for how long and to what purpose? A few more nights between the sheets? He’d certainly given no indication that he desired more from her. Even his suggestion that they sail the sea together gave way to the promise of an end. A year or two at the most. Then she would be returned to shore a shattered woman, because she feared during that length of time she would give him her heart.
“Am I correct, my lord, in understanding that you own a ship?” Chetwyn asked.
“You are indeed, sir.”
“By what name does it go?”
“What’s your interest?”
“Why the secrecy?”
“I simply wouldn’t want to go to the docks one night and discover it ablaze.”
Anne didn’t understand this verbal sparring, but she did know for certain one thing. “Chetwyn would never destroy your ship. Where is the harm in revealing its name?”
Tristan studied her for a moment before saying,
“Revenge.”
“An homage to your uncle?” Chetwyn asked.
“To my lost youth.”
“You may not give credence to my words, my lord, but I, for one, never faulted you or your brothers for the manner in which you treated your uncle. Quite honestly, I found him to be a pompous prig.”
Tristan flashed a grin. “My lord, my respect for you has increased tenfold.”
He shifted his gaze to Anne and she couldn’t help but think that his respect for Chetwyn hadn’t increased at all. She wanted each man to appreciate the other, but she felt instead that they were sizing each other up, searching for flaws and weaknesses, analyzing strengths. She very much felt caught in the middle.
“I suppose we should be off,” Chetwyn suddenly announced.
“Yes, by all means,” she said. Although she didn’t really want to go, but she was acutely aware of the storm Tristan had mentioned brewing.
“My lord! My Lord Tristan!”
She thought if he were a man prone to rolling his eyes, he’d have done so at that moment. Instead, he forced a smile that was filled with none of the subtle nuances and emotions that usually accompanied it.
Ladies Hermione and Victoria brought their horses to a halt near Tristan’s.
“My Lord Tristan, I was so dearly hoping that I should cross paths with you here today,” Lady Hermione said breathlessly, leaving Anne to wonder what Jameson might have seen in such a flighty girl. “I trust you remember my dearest friend, Lady Victoria. She is now married to the Earl of Whitby’s second son. She is serving as my chaperone. We were so hoping that you would join us in a turn about the park.”
“It would be my pleasure to accompany two such lovely ladies.”
Anne didn’t know why his words stung. She was here with another man. Why shouldn’t Tristan prance about with another lady or two?
He tipped his hat at Anne. “I look forward to our meeting again.”
Dear God, help her. She knew exactly when that meeting was going to take place and where. Tonight. Her bedchamber. She was not so much scandalized by the notion of it as she was by her anticipation of it.
A
s the carriage bolted away, Tristan wondered if Anne knew how grateful she should be for Lady Hermione’s appearance. He’d been close to leaning down and snagging her out of that contraption, settling her on the saddle between his thighs, and whisking her away to someplace private so he could claim her. She was holding the blasted marquess’s hand with fingers that had stroked him in the early hours of the morning. Tristan’s only consolation was that she was wearing gloves.
He didn’t know what to make of this fury that was rampaging through him. He’d never been a possessive sort, perhaps because he’d never had to be. When he was with a woman, she was his sole focus and he was hers. There was none of this flitting about from man to man nonsense. When he wearied of a woman, she moved on and he thought nothing of it. The trouble here was that he had yet to lose interest. Far from it, truth be told.
Well, he thought sarcastically, one should specify. He was not bored with Anne. He was bored silly with Lady Hermione.
“—made her look like a ripe strawberry. Honestly, she shouldn’t wear that shade of red.”
He had no idea which lady she was referring to or why he should care one whit that she had the appearance of fruit. Lady Victoria was trailing along at a discreet distance. It seemed Hermione wanted to follow in her friend’s footsteps and marry the second son of a lord. He wondered how she would take the news that she could marry the first son. Anne’s brother would no doubt still take her if she were to make herself presentable to him, instead of latching onto Tristan as though she were a trailing vine.
“You don’t fancy her, do you?” Lady Hermione asked.
“Women who favor fruit have never appealed to me.”
She tsked. “I was referring to Lady Anne Hayworth. It seems whenever my path crosses with yours that you are speaking with her.”
“Mere coincidence.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
With a sigh, he brought his horse to a halt, and she quickly followed suit. She had such large expressive green eyes. One never had to wonder what she was thinking. Tristan preferred a woman with a bit of mystery to her. Anne had that in abundance.