Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord (28 page)

“Dixon.”

She guided him over to a chair, forced him to sit by nearly pushing him down, then went in search of an extra hand. He wasn’t helpless, and probably could have fixed the break himself, but he would let her have her moment to fuss. She seemed truly concerned that he’d been injured, though it probably looked worse than it really was.

Dixon charged through the door a moment later with Charlotte on his heels. “My lord, I heard the maids tittering, but I didn’t expect you to look quite this bad.”

He’d need a mirror to see what everyone was fretting about. He pulled the cloth away from his face as Dixon came forward. His valet cringed but didn’t hesitate to reach toward Tristan’s face.

He clasped his head with both hands and looked him in the eye. “It’ll only hurt a moment,” he said a second before cracking his nose back in place. A fountain of tears streamed down Tristan’s face.

“Shit.” He winced. His face throbbed, his head pounded, and his vision was still a bit blurry. His lady wife had disappeared. And he was sorry she had left so soon. The idea of a wife appealed to him a great deal—and that surprised him since he’d never really seen himself as the marrying sort before meeting Charlotte.

“I’ll have the maids bring up some fresh linens. We’ll need to get you out of your clothes, the blood is liable to stain them.”

He was a trifle wobbly on his feet since his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. “I can’t believe I’m about to ask for your assistance in undressing me on my wedding night.”

Dixon laughed low, and released the buttons on Tristan’s jacket.

“I don’t think my head has ever hurt as much as it does now.”

“You can sleep it off, my lord.”

“Right, then. I’m sure my new bride will appreciate me retiring early on our first night wedded.”

“You aren’t going to be standing much longer, my lord.”

Black spots swam across his vision and his head bobbed back. “I think you’re right. Can you have the house packed up, Dixon, I think we’ll leave first thing in the morning for Birmingham.”

“I will have all the preparations made.”

“Just make sure I make it to the bed before I pass out.” Because there was no question in his mind that he was about to fall over.

Dixon chuckled again.

“You must have charmed your way out of every fight in your school days,” a soft voice said. He cracked his eye open—it felt quite swollen. Bea had come with a basin and linens, and not Charlotte as he’d hoped.

“I suppose it was too much to ask to have my wife tend to me.”

“The maids are helping her change out of her wedding dress. She fretted over getting your blood all over it.”

That news made him smile just before he fell back to the bed and knew no more.

*   *   *

“Do you think we should wake him?” Charlotte asked. Her sister-in-law was already attending her brother while she’d been changing into a borrowed dress.

“He’s never been fond of the sight of blood. Not once in his childhood did Tristan resort to using his fists to fight his way out of trouble. Charm and wit have gotten him by just fine for the whole of his life.” Bea shook her head. “He’ll be so disappointed that he fainted at the sight of his own blood.”

Charlotte placed her fingers over her mouth. She couldn’t help the giggle that came from her lips. It was too funny.

“Don’t tell him I told you. He’ll have my head.”

“I don’t think he will, Lady Beatrice. He might faint at the sight that makes.”

Bea laughed and wrung out the rag she’d used to clean the blood from her brother’s face. He lay atop the bed they’d slept in last night, half-clothed.

Charlotte should be cleaning him, shouldn’t she? Wasn’t that a wife’s duty? “I can help,” she said, feeling the need to step in and assist.

Bea turned to her. “I don’t mind. Besides, he’ll need someone to help put on his dressing robe at the very least. I’ll let you do that with Dixon.”

As far as she knew Dixon was in the dressing room picking out his master’s clothes for his wedding night. The thought of the rest of her wedding night had a blush heating her face.

Bea dabbed at Tristan’s face, mindful of his swollen nose and eyes.

“We’ll need to pack. Tristan won’t want to be around Town looking as he does. You’ll have enough speculation circulating and when he has two black eyes in the morning it will certainly make it worse. You’ll have to borrow my clothes until we can arrange to purchase you a new wardrobe. There’s a quaint village near the estate grounds where we can arrange a new wardrobe for you.”

“You are too kind.” She took the bowl from the bed and held it closer to her husband’s face so Bea wouldn’t have to trail blood across the bed. “I cannot believe my father struck him.”

“I’m sure any father would have done the same.”

Bea finished wiping the blood from Tristan’s face and dropped the cloth in the bowl. Charlotte took the bowl over to the bathing room and dumped the bloodied water down the drain. There was a ewer full of water, so she rinsed out the bowl, refilled it, and went back into Tristan’s—nay, it was their bedchamber now, not only his.

“I think I should take over. This is part of being his wife, especially if he has any more run-ins with my father.”

“You don’t have to.” Bea gave her a sympathetic glance.

“I want to. I haven’t really had the opportunity to talk to Tristan since we said our vows. So now is as good a time as any.”

Though it wasn’t a typical wedding night, it was still Charlotte’s wedding night. Bea seemed to contemplate the request before standing from the bed and tilting her head in farewell.

“I’ll leave you alone then. And I’ll pack clothes for our trip north for us both.”

“Thank you, Bea. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kindness right now. Even though we started the day off on the wrong foot.”

“My brother would not have married you if you were not a good match. He’s an excellent judge of character.”

Bea left the room, shutting the door softly behind her. Charlotte stood holding the cloth for a moment, staring at her unconscious
husband
on
their
bed. Would they be expected to share a bed tonight? Despite having participated actively in her ruin the previous evening, she felt suddenly shy at the thought of baring herself to this man a second time. Her emotions had been high last night, her situation dire …

She let out a laugh. “Yes, Charlotte, because you haven’t created an even more dire situation for yourself by practically forcing Tristan into marriage.”

She walked toward the bed and stared down at Tristan. She shook her head. She still couldn’t believe that she was the Marchioness of Castleigh.

Her father had done quite a bit of damage to Tristan’s handsome face. Since the valet had set it the swelling had receded, but his eyes were starting to turn a deep shade of purple. She grimaced as she reached out to wipe the last of the blood away from his cheek. His eyes cracked open and he stared back at her.

“Should I take that expression on your face as a sure sign that I look like I’ve been in a tavern brawl?”

She winced because yes, that’s what she imagined he looked like. “It will heal in time,” she reassured him.

“Maybe I should avoid a mirror for the rest of the night.”

At least his good humor was still present and he wasn’t angry with her about his face—at least not yet, but he still hadn’t seen how awful it truly looked.

Charlotte leaned over to put the bloodied linen in the water and rinsed it out. When she was done, she folded the cloth and laid it over the edge of the bowl that she’d placed on the nightstand. She was at a loss for what to say so she picked up the bowl again and brought it into the bathing room.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It wasn’t I who cleaned you up. After Dixon put your nose back in order, your sister washed away most of the blood. I had the maids help me into another dress.”

“I don’t think I told you that you looked lovely today in my mother’s dress.”

“I wanted to change so I didn’t get any blood on it.” She dumped the water.

“And it’s appreciated.” His voice was much closer than it was before.

She spun around and nearly dropped the bowl into the tub. She jumped at the sight of him so suddenly close to her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She looked at him a long moment, contemplating what needed to be said.

“We were friends only yesterday, why should everything have to change between us?”

He scratched at the rough underside of his jaw. “I imagine the next few weeks won’t be easy. And I’m sorry we couldn’t think of another way for you to avoid marriage to Warren. We might have been able to if things hadn’t gotten out of hand last night.”

“I brought this on myself.”

“It takes two to make love, Char. We were both
very
active participants.” He took the bowl from her and placed it on a bench. “We were both consenting and we both knew the consequences.”

“I’m usually better at planning things in my life. I’m not one to act without a thought to the consequences. At least not under normal circumstances.”

“I can imagine.” He reached for her then, not to embrace her but to squeeze her arm at the elbow. “This change in both our lives will take time to get used to.”

She didn’t say anything, only nodded her agreement.

“I’m going to give you some time alone and take the guest room tonight. We’ll decide on our sleeping arrangements when we arrive in Birmingham tomorrow.”

She nodded again, happy that she would have privacy tonight. It would give her a chance to digest the events of the last twenty-four hours. So much had happened and changed that she really hadn’t stopped for a moment to think what impact these events would have on her life and Tristan’s. Goodness, she was a stepmother now. Never had she thought to utter such a word.

He turned away from her, proving his intent to give her the privacy he had promised. She reached out and took hold of his arm before he could leave her completely.

“Thank you. Not just for tonight, but for the sacrifice you made in marrying me.”

He took her chin in the palm of his hand. “It wasn’t a sacrifice; never think that again.”

She gave him a smile and clasped his hand in return. “Good night, Tristan.”

He gave her an elegant tip of his chin. “Good night, lady wife.” And then he was gone.

Charlotte sat on the edge of the bathing tub. She felt out of place, which was probably normal since this wasn’t technically her home, at least not yet and probably not for some time. She curled her hands around the lip of the tub and closed her eyes. She wanted to block everything unfamiliar for a moment and embrace what she knew, but there was nothing here that she knew. It was a shame that everything couldn’t be normal when she opened her eyes.

The night was early, but she was surprisingly tired, so she went into the next room to ready herself for bed.

*   *   *

Tristan wandered down to his study, intent on wrapping up any unfinished business. He’d have to send a letter to Leo, telling him he hoped he fared well in his search for Miss Camden, for he could no longer be of service to him since he was headed to his Birmingham estate. Goddamn the mess he had put himself in. Yet he couldn’t imagine any other outcome. Charlotte was his wife, and that felt more right than anything.

Chapter 16

If the archbishop received two visitors in one day, it shouldn’t be a surprise that two households have packed up to retreat for the country when the start of the little season is around the corner. There were two notable absences when the House of Lords took their seats. Perhaps it was the stench and heat of the day that kept them away—but I hardly think that to be the case.
—The Mayfair Chronicles,
August 1846 It was imprudent of him to assume he could escape Town without a friend paying him a visit. He’d received Hayden first thing this morning. Hayden preferred to deal with business in person, and wanted to go over the outcome after the reading of a new bill in Parliament that Tristan had missed—the tax levy on sugar imports that had partially started this whole charade regarding Charlotte.

“So the levy passed through both houses in Parliament?” Tristan asked.

“We always knew it would.” Hayden crossed his ankle over his knee as he settled deeper into the wooden chair.

Tristan shook his head. “Bloody stupid bill.”

“All it does is enable those with plantations run on the backs of slaves to profit further.”

While Tristan didn’t rely solely on the income of his sugar imports, the new tax would hurt other plantations in the West Indies.

A footman came into the room, and served Cook’s famous coffee as they stared at each other across his desk. Tristan hadn’t found sleep easily last night with his head throbbing and his face still hurting. The cold cloths resting over his eyes to bring down the bruising from yesterday’s run-in had helped a great deal, but he still looked like he’d been beat to a bloody pulp.

“I can’t believe you let him get a hit in,” Hayden said.