The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (10 page)

“But you
weren’t
forcing yourself on me!” Leona exclaimed. “I was yours! I was practically begging for it!”

“Then why were you crying?”

“I don’t know. Maybe… maybe it was tears of joy?”
“I highly doubt that,” he scoffed. “I want you to
feel
something for me, Leona. I want you to care for me.”

“I already do! I think you’re a… a respectable man.”

“Respectable? I don’t just want you to think I’m respectable, Leona,” he said. “I want more than that. I don’t want you to cry when you kiss me. I want you to care for me.”

The more she spoke to him, the sillier she felt. A voice in the back of Leona’s head told her to be quiet and leave the room. If she had any sense at all, that is exactly what she would have done. Instead, the coldest, cruelest words flew from her mouth. “That might never happen.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she wondered how she would be able to face him tomorrow. Or ever.

Her words must have pained him, because he winced. “Why do you say that?”

“We don’t exactly have all the time in the world,” she said with a sigh.

“Leona.” He said her name forcefully. Angrily. “What do you mean by that, Leona? What do you know?”

Leona’s shoulders fell. Well, this was it. One of her secrets was about to be exposed. Or was it
his
secret? Whatever it was, Leona was glad she wasn’t dealing with the worst secret of all. “You’re dying. I know you’re dying.”

Tristan rubbed a hand over his lips several times, as if he was trying to rake his mouth off his face. “I didn’t know you knew that.” His voice, which had once been so sincere, had gone completely cold. “You weren’t supposed to know that.”

“Did you really expect my father to keep such a secret?” Leona asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think it’s cruel of you, my lord, to
want
to keep such a secret. Why would you keep such a dreadful thing from your wife? Shouldn’t she know if she’s to be a widow?”

His voice was so cold, it chilled her to the marrow of her bones. “Does it make you happy, then… to know I’m dying? To know you’ll be free in a short amount of time? Is that why you agreed to marry me? So you could elevate yourself in a quick and painless manner?”

Leona uncrossed her arms so she could shake a finger at him. “
That
is cruel, my lord. How could you say such a thing? Have I given you any indication that any of that is true? Were you saying any of these terrible things to my father when you were asking for my hand in marriage? Did you make him feel as terrible as you’ve made me feel?”

“I’m sorry.”

“This has all gone so terribly wrong,” Leona whimpered.

“So...” Tristan’s voice softened a bit. “I suppose that’s what made you so eager to be with me? You know about what little time I have, is that it? Well, if you’re so willing, why don’t you come over here right now?” He peeled back his blankets, a silent invitation. “If you’ll never care for me, we might as well. At least you’re not crying anymore.”

Leona glared at him for several seconds, appalled by the change in his disposition. “I liked you better before.” Having said that, she lifted her chin and made her second exit of the night.

Chapter Thirteen

Leona avoided him for the next two days. It was her way to punish him, but she wondered if she was punishing herself in the process. Deep down, she wanted nothing more than to mend the rift between them. Her husband seemed like a kind man, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized she was the one at fault. It was true that he’d been keeping a secret from her, but wasn’t her secret much worse?

Leona laid on her bed, staring down the length of her body, trying to determine if there was a slope on her midsection.
Not yet.
That was a relief. Leona still had time to make things right and carry out her father’s plan. If he didn’t bed her soon, she would have a lot of explaining to do.

She knew what she had to do, but it was pride that kept her away from him. It was hard to make nice with him when the last image in her mind was her husband's cold invitation to join him in his bed. She didn’t like that image of him. As much as she felt foolish for her tears, Leona preferred the version of Tristan who’d refused to touch her when she was crying.

There was a knock on Leona’s door, but it didn’t alarm her. Leona already knew who was standing on the other side of the door.

“Come in, Mary,” Leona called out.

The mousey maid entered, clutching a tray of food. “Hello, my lady. How are you feeling today?”

“Miserable. I feel like such a fool.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Mary answered, placing the tray at her mistress’ bedside. “Is there anything I can get you? Or, if you’d rather… I could lend an ear if you want to talk about your troubles.”

“You’re so kind, Mary,” Leona said with a sigh, sitting up to take a bite of roast. “It’s more than I deserve. I’m afraid I’m a terrible person.”

Mary, who knew all of Leona’s secrets, adamantly shook her head. “No, my lady. I think you’re doing what has to be done.”

“And failing miserably.”

“If you had a fight with the viscount, I’m sure you’ll fix it,” Mary insisted.

“You’re so optimistic, Mary. I wish I could be more like you. You must be tired of coming here and listening to me blather on and on about how much I pity myself. If I wasn’t so self-consumed and self-pitying, I’m sure I’d live a much happier life.”

“Are you enjoying your food, miss?” Mary asked, hoping to redirect Leona’s thoughts.

“Oh, yes. It’s very good. Lord Randall has a good cook, doesn’t he?”

“Her name’s Lorna, and she’s the fiancé of John… his lordship’s valet,” Mary said, watching her mistress take another bite of her supper. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sure you’re not interested in any of the servants’ goings-on.

“No, please. Go on.”

“I’ve been helping Lorna in the kitchen… she’s so young. I think she’s about sixteen or seventeen, but she’s good at what she does. She’s a baker’s daughter, and she makes some delicious breads.”

“Yes, I believe I had one of her muffins.”

“Well…” Mary turned her eyes to the floor. “There’s something I haven’t been telling you miss.”

“What is it? About Lorna?”

Mary shook her head. “Not about Lorna. About… Lord Randall.”

Leona dropped her fork on her plate, and the sharp sound of clinking china seemed to echo. “What? Is something wrong with him?”

“I… can’t say for sure,” Mary replied. “There was a man to see him today… an old gentleman. I asked John who he was, and he told me it was the doctor.”
Leona’s own heart missed its next few beats. She didn’t love her husband, but the thought of losing him made her blood run cold. “
Doctor
? Do you know if his condition’s gotten worse?”

“As I said before, I really don’t know.”

“I should go see him… to check on him,” Leona sprung from her bed and headed for the door.

“What about your dinner?”

“I’ll finish it later!” Leona exclaimed.

And then she was gone.

* * *

“Was that the doctor?”

Those were the first words out of Andrew Lamb’s mouth, spoken as soon as Tristan opened the door.

“Andrew!” Tristan exclaimed, seizing his friend in a one-armed hug. “I wasn’t expecting you! This is a nice surprise. So, what brings you here?”

Andrew didn’t repeat his first question, as it had been a rhetorical question more than anything. He already knew the doctor’s face. “I came to see your lovely wife, of course. What’s it like to be the husband of such an exquisite creature?” Andrew held up a finger, delaying his friend’s response. “Even if you say it is the most wonderful thing in the world, don’t expect me to change my opinion on the state of matrimony. I like being a single man too much to sacrifice my freedom.”

Tristan chuckled. “It really
is
good to see you, Andrew. It’s only been a few days since the wedding, hasn’t it? But… by God, it feels like ages have passed!”

“Ooh.” Andrew inhaled a sharp breath and captured his bottom lip between his teeth. “Married life is
that
bad, is it? It makes every day feel like an eternity?” Andrew finally stepped out of the hallway and into the viscount’s bedroom. “By the way, Dubois told me to come up. He said you wouldn’t mind.”

“I certainly don’t mind! You’re practically family… which would mean you’re the only family I have,” Tristan said. “Of course, you’re
not
family, but you are closer to me than any family member I’ve ever had. You’re like my younger brother.”

“Thanks, old man.” Andrew lowered himself to a nearby chair and sighed. “So, where is the mistress of the house? Where’s the lovely viscountess?”

When Tristan sat across from his friend, he breathed an even deeper, greater sigh. “From what I gather, she should be in her room. I have not seen hide nor hair of her these last few days.”

Andrew’s eyebrow shot up. “Really?”

“Unfortunately, I’m telling you the truth.” Tristan answered with a nod. “We had a, um… disagreement… of sorts.”
“Disagreement? Would you think I was prying if I asked for details?”

“I think I’ve chosen a wife who hates me.”

“Hates you? Already?” Andrew rubbed his lips, but it didn’t hide the fact that he was chuckling. “That didn’t take long, did it? Why do you think she hates you?”

“Well…” Tristan hesitated, reluctant to tell his friend any intimate details about his personal life, bungled as it was. “She was acting strangely, and then I acted rudely, and--”

Andrew interrupted. “Being ambiguous, are we?”

“She knows I’m dying. Her father told her.”

“Her
father
told her? You mean you didn’t tell her yourself?”

“No. I wasn’t planning on telling her at all… at least, not right away.”

“You would hide such a significant detail from your own wife?”

Tristan was silent for several seconds—silent, and glaring. As much as he liked Andrew, he didn’t want to be judged by a man who had no right to judge him. Andrew Lamb wasn’t exactly the world’s premier gentleman. “I would have told her eventually, Andrew. I wanted to see if we could form a bond without the comportment of doom and gloom looming over us. I didn’t want her to care for me out of pity. You, of all people, should know how much I hate to be pitied.”

“Still…”

Andrew wouldn’t have a chance to finish his thought, because a knock on the door interrupted him.

Tristan turned his attention to the door, assuming it would be one of his servants, likely John or Dubois. “Come in,” he said.

When the door opened, they were looking at a face much more feminine than John’s, and far prettier than Dubois’. “Hello, um… Tristan,” his wife uttered.

Tristan’s mouth parted, but it took him a few seconds to move his lips. “Oh… it’s you. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Almost immediately after she entered, her gaze bounced to Andrew. Tristan wasn’t surprised to lose her attention. Andrew Lamb was the sort of man who made women stare at him. “You’re not old,” she said.

Andrew threw back his head and laughed. “I should hope not!”

“I mean… I was expecting an older gentleman,” Leona went on, clearing her throat in the middle of the sentence. “My maid told me a doctor was visiting. You must not be that man.”

Andrew shook his head. “Far from it. Besides, what makes you think all doctors are elderly? I’m not so young that I couldn’t have had my own practice by now, if I’d wanted it…which I most certainly did not.”

“Oh… well…” Leona had yet to tear her eyes away from Andrew Lamb. “My maid specifically described him. Unless you were hiding yourself in a disguise on the way in, I don’t think you could be the
old doctor
.”

“Andrew Lamb.”

Leona looked puzzled. “Come again?”

“Andrew Lamb. My name’s Andrew Lamb, my lady,” he said.

“Ah, of course. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lamb. Now that I think about it, I remember your face. You were at the wedding, weren’t you?”

“Yes, my lady. Indeed I was.”

Tristan spoke up, secretly perturbed by how easily they conversed. “I’m sorry if you were alarmed, Leona. Ever since I heard the news about my health, my doctor’s been visiting me every week.”

“Oh.” Leona stole a peek at her husband—just a peek. For some reason, it was much easier to look at Andrew. Something about Tristan made her uneasy, especially after she made a cake of herself on their wedding night. “Did the doctor have anything to say to you? Are you unwell?”
With a half-hearted chuckle, Tristan responded, “It depends on what you mean by
well
. Am I healthy? No. Still alive? Yes. Likely to live another three years? Questionable.”

“I’m so sorry, Tristan.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” Tristan insisted. “I don’t think people should ever apologize when they’re not at fault.”

Andrew Lamb scratched his head as he observed the husband and wife's discourse. To say their conversation was awkward would have been an understatement of colossal proportions. Leona was staring at the ground so long, she looked as if she was trying to find a way to melt into the floor. And Tristan was twitching and fidgeting so much, Andrew thought he was trying to invent a new dance.