The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (28 page)

When Tristan repositioned himself between her legs, and his tongue started doing what his hand was doing, Leona felt like she might pass out. The ripples of pleasure were almost too much for her. She laid her hand over her mouth in an effort to stop herself from making too much noise. When he lifted his head and sat on the end of the bed, Leona wanted to cry and scream for him to come back. She didn’t want the feeling to end—ever. However, her desire was replaced by a new emotion. Tristan had pulled off his pants, and her eyes swelled at the size of him.

“Are you sure, Leona?” he whispered, returning to position himself between her legs.

“God, yes!” she yelled, opening herself even more.

When his manhood plunged into her, Leona took a deep breath. Her body seemed to have a life of its own as it moved to match his pace, grinding against him. She’d never felt anything like it before—she’d never known such pleasure. True, she wasn’t
completely
without experience, but what Tristan was doing to her was incomparable. She felt like the lower half of her body had exploded a thousand times.

When he started to withdraw from her, Leona shouted, “Don’t!”

“Don’t?” he repeated with a chuckle.

“Right. Don’t.” She started laughing at herself. If she didn’t laugh, her request would be too embarrassing to utter. “I have half a mind to keep you inside me all night long…”

Tristan wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. When he rolled over, he stayed inside her—but now Leona was on top. “If that’s what you want, I have no complaints.”

Leona laid her chest on his chest and rested her head against his shoulder. She was surprisingly relaxed, considering the fact that he kept her filled. Leona never thought she’d feel so comfortable with another person. She never felt so free. “Tristan?”

“Yes?”

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder as she spoke. “Do you really love me?”

He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “With all my heart.”

“Tristan?”

“Mm?”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Anything,” he answered resolutely. “I’d give you anything you want.”

“Then… promise me you won’t participate in that silly duel!” she beseeched him. “It’s not worth it…
he’s
not worth it, and I couldn’t stand to lose you!”

Tristan kept sifting a hand through her hair. He liked the feeling of her hair running through his fingers, because it put his heavy heart at ease. “He’s not worth it, Leona, but…
you
are! I can’t let him get away with what he said.”

“But… you can’t possibly say you’re doing it for me, because I’m begging you not to do it!” Leona countered. She tumbled off him and draped her body in blankets. She couldn’t believe he was still considering the duel after everything that happened. “Promise me you won’t take part in it, Tristan! You said you’d give me anything I wanted, remember?”

Tristan closed his eyes and waited for his tongue to feel comfortable with a lie. Unfortunately, she was asking for one thing he couldn’t give her. “Alright,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

Chapter Thirty Two

He had to break his promise. The next morning, just short of five o’clock, Tristan rose from his bed. When he met with Andrew outside his bedroom door, the mood was incredibly somber.

“Are you sure about this?” Andrew asked with a shake of his head. “I mean… you could die, you know?”

“It’s encouraging to know you have so much faith in me,” Tristan said with a chuckle. “I’m not such a horrible shot, you know. Do you remember when we used to take hunting trips in Norwich?”

“I do.”

“Didn’t I always perform well?”

“I suppose so,” Andrew answered with a sigh. “But shooting a bird is a lot different than shooting a man.”

“I’m sure you’re speaking from experience… I shudder to think of all the furious husbands who’ve taken shots at your head as you flee from their wives’ bedroom windows.”

“Now, now… it’s not fair to assume that sort of thing happens to me on a regular basis. It’s only happened… twice,” Andrew protested. “Alright, it happened three times. But the fact remains, birds don’t fire back at you when you shoot! We don’t know anything about this Wintergreen fellow! He might be the best shot in the country for all we know!”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Andrew. Honestly… you worry too much!”

“Are you really planning on taking a shot at him? What if you kill him? You could land yourself in a great deal of trouble, you know?”

“I’d rather shoot at him than be shot
at
!” Tristan exclaimed. “I’ll try not to aim for anything vital, my worrywart friend.”

Andrew expelled a huge sigh. “As worried as I am, I can only imagine how worried poor Lady Randall must be.”

Tristan stared at the wall with a far-off look in his eye, which his friend interpreted immediately.

“She doesn’t know, does she?”

“No,” Tristan replied. “Well… she knew about Wintergreen’s challenge, and she knew I accepted it, but…. I promised her I wouldn’t go through with it.”

“And you’re breaking that promise. Obviously.” Andrew pointed to the box in Tristan’s hand—which, of course, contained his dueling pistol.

“If my honor was the only thing at stake, I wouldn’t care half as much. But I have to prove her honor’s worth fighting for,” Tristan explained. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I understand. I’m a man,” Andrew laughed. “If you can find one woman who understands the necessity of accepting a duel, well… I want to marry her!”

When Andrew and Tristan stepped outside, a heavy morning fog clung to the land, hiding everything lush and green. “What about Mary? She hardly seems like the sort of girl who’d encourage bloodshed.”

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Andrew went to retrieve his horse, which he mounted in a single, fluid motion. “Who said anything about Mary?”

“I thought you were infatuated with her.”

“Even if that was the case, you know I couldn’t marry her. She’s a maid!” Andrew exclaimed. “Anyway, why are we wasting time discussing my life when you’re likely marching to the end of yours?”

“I wish you’d just come out and admit you love the girl. You’d spare us all a lot of stress.” Tristan dragged himself onto his horse, much less enthusiastically than Andrew.

“Just like you should come out and admit you’re in love with your wife!” Andrew retorted. Their horses trotted forward, moving blindly through the fog.

With a wily look in his eye, Tristan glanced over at his friend. “I do. And I did.”

“You love her?”

Tristan nodded.

“And you told Leona you love her? Hmm…” Andrew raked a hand across the stubble on his chin, which must have sprung onto his face overnight. “Well, don’t expect any admonitions of love to come from me. I care about Mary, sure. But I’m not in love with her. I know I’ve lied to women to get them into bed in the past, and the word
love
rolls off my tongue like water over the side of a cliff.” Andrew squeezed his horse’s bridle until his knuckles turned red. Every time Mary crept into the conversation, why did he feel so uneasy? “But Mary deserves more than that. She’s a good girl. I wouldn’t lie to her.”

“Would it be a lie?” Tristan asked. “You really don’t love her?”

Andrew looked over his shoulder, as if to make sure Mary wasn’t eavesdropping again. “Honestly, Tristan… why would I fall in love with Mary when I’ve had an entire host of beautiful women to choose from?” Andrew’s own words were burning his ears as he spoke them. He never spoke words that made him feel so guilty, or more wrong. He didn’t believe a word he was saying. “She was just another conquest, Tristan… that’s all. She was a failed conquest.”

“I should take you to task for trying to seduce my maids.”

“And I should horsewhip you for turning the conversation on me again!” Andrew playfully admonished his friend. “Honestly, my fruitless romance is the last thing we should be discussing right now.”

“I’m grateful for the distraction.” Tristan could feel his throat tightening as he spoke. They were quickly approaching their destination—the site at which their duel would take place. Lord Wintergreen and his second had already arrived; they were standing at the top of a grassy hill. The fog had amassed around the hill, but the summit was green and clear. It seemed as if the fog itself was waiting for their moment of fate.

“Speaking of distractions…” Andrew pointed at the man standing next to the viscount. Wintergreen’s second was obviously a dandy, with his huge mass of curly hair, and a coat that was a shocking shade of—

“Pink.” Tristan was holding back a laugh. “That’s pink, isn’t it? Have you ever seen a man wear such an atrocious color?”

“I think your opponent hopes you’ll be so distracted by the appearance of his second’s attire, you’ll forget to shoot,” Andrew said with a chuckle. “Maybe I should have come naked. That might have evened the odds, eh?”

“You’re assuming I wouldn’t be doubly distracted by your naked backside?” Tristan asked with a chuckle. “Not a chance.”

They left their horses at the bottom of the hill and joined their opponents at the summit. Lord Wintergreen looked confident, grinning like a cat in a fish pond. But the grin didn’t really suit him, considering he had a broken nose. Tristan was positively pleased when he saw the result of his fist’s work.

“Hmm,” Tristan raked a hand over his chin as he swaggered over to his opponent. “I didn’t think my left hook was quite as powerful as my right hook, but I guess you’ve proven me wrong. Your nose looks like it might never recover. What a pity.”

“If you’ve come to mock me, you’ll soon eat your words,” Wintergreen threatened. “Judging by your attitude, I assume we won’t be averting this with an apology.”

Tristan held open his arms and laughed. “An apology? Are you expecting an apology from me?” he asked. “I think
I’m
the offended party. If anyone’s apologizing today, it
will
and
should
be you. You insulted my wife. Dishonoring a lady is a far greater crime than a little tap on the nose.”

“If the woman in question was a lady, then I’d have something to apologize for,” Wintergreen countered. “I thought I was doing you a favor. I thought you’d be interested to know what sort of woman your wife really is.”

“You know nothing about her. And if you utter another word against her, I swear to God I’ll throttle you.”

“You don’t look fit to throttle anyone, old man,” Wintergreen said, which made his foppish friend break out into a fit of giggles. “But go ahead and blather on. You’re just giving me more reasons to aim well.”

Tristan motioned for Andrew to open his pistol box. He was done talking. “So… we settled on twenty paces. Is that right?”

Wintergreen took his own pistol in hand and held it close to his face, checking it over one last time. “Indeed.”

“I’ll count,” the man in the pink coat proclaimed, slicking back his curly coif with one of his delicate hands.

“That’s fine with me. It doesn’t matter who counts,” Tristan said with a shrug. “It’ll end the same either way.”

“At first blood,” Wintergreen added. “Yours.”

Andrew couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. The man had too much of a mouth on him, and Tristan wasn’t the best at comebacks. “Let’s see if you’re still that confident when you’re lying on the ground!”

Eyebrow raised, Wintergreen turned his attention to Andrew. “Oh… your puppet speaks! Does he know about your wife, by the way? Or should I inform him?”

Tristan pointed his gun between Wintergreen’s eyes. “If you say another word, my pistol will splatter your brains at close range.”

Wintergreen scoffed off his threat. “Oh, you don’t want to do that. You seem like an honorable man to me.”

“But
you
don’t.”

With a roll of his eyes, Wintergreen lifted his pistol and turned his back to Tristan. “Well, are we going to get on with it or what? We can’t stand around all day arguing about who’s honorable and who’s not.”

“You’re right. It’s meaningless. We already know the answer to that question.” Tristan spun around. When both men were standing back-to-back, Wintergreen’s second stepped forward with flourish. He held one hand behind his back and proceeded to count.

“One.”

Tristan stepped forward. He could hear his heartbeat, weak as it ever was, drumming in his ears. For all his talk, he was actually terrified.

“Two… three.”

He closed his eyes as he took his steps. He could see an image of Leona’s face in his mind. What was he doing?! How disappointed would she be when she found out where he was?

“Seven… eight…”

And what if something happened to him? What if that pompous peacock Wintergreen was aiming to kill? If Leona really loved him, wouldn’t she be heartbroken? What would she do? What about the baby?

“Sixteen… seventeen…”

On the eighteenth count, a shot rang out in the sky. Tristan stood still for several seconds, wondering if he’d been shot. He didn’t feel any pain, but his adrenaline could’ve been masking it.

When he was positive he wasn’t bleeding anywhere, Tristan turned around, irate. “What the bloody hell was that?”