Chapter One
England, 1817
Leticia Wentworth was twenty times a fool. Richard Barrett never cared for her beyond a childhood friendship, and Leticia had been naive to believe he would love her as she loved him. With savage ferocity, Leticia squelched the cry of pain her heart made every time Richard turned a gaze of adoration upon his wife—the kind of look he never gave Leticia, not even when she’d been certain he’d approach her father to ask for her hand in marriage. She’d pinned all her hopes and dreams of love and family on a man she would never have.
Stupid, stupid girl.
Here she stood, watching Richard kiss his wife’s fingertips—the way she’d always imagined he’d do with hers—at a house party much like the one last year when her future had crumbled to dust.
Of course, Richard had never looked at Leticia the way he looked at his wife. He never loved Leticia—not really. That thought lessened the heartache that he’d been snatched from her.
Or so she told herself as she left the party for the quiet serenity of the garden.
She bolted down the gravel pathway and stopped as she came upon a garden fountain—very much like the place where it all started. And where it all ended.
“Weary of the noise inside?” drawled Tristan’s familiar voice.
Leticia didn’t turn around. Instead she sank onto a nearby stone bench and inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of roses. “I need a moment away from all that.” She made a loose wave toward the house.
Tristan’s clothing rustled as he sat with her. “Makes you want to move to the continent, doesn’t it?”
“What does—the house party?” She looked up at Tristan Barrett, his handsome face and midnight hair so like his brother Richard’s. Tristan’s presence filled her with the warmth of childhood friendship.
His grin turned sardonic as his coal-black gaze slid her way. “The lovebirds inside.”
“It’s lovely.” Did her voice sound as devoid of sincerity as she felt?
Tristan let out his breath in a huff of amusement. “Admit it; it’s nauseating.”
“I’m happy for them. They have what marriage should be.” Softer, she added, “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” She stiffened, cursed herself for her confession, and looked away before her long-time friend saw too much. They used to confide in one another; it had been so easy, so comfortable. But everything had changed.
He fingered his signet ring. “Sorry, Tish. You must hate me for making a muddle of your future.”
She sifted through possible replies. “He’s happier…with Elizabeth than he would have been with me.”
“You don’t truly believe that.” He paused. “Do you?”
“Of course I do. He never loved me the way he loves her.”
“Then he’s a fool.”
She wound her fingers together in her lap.
He laid a gentle hand over hers. “You’ll have that with someone else.”
She let out a sharp exhale that doubled as a mirthless laugh. “I think not. I have no prospects.”
“That’s what the London Season is all about, isn’t it? You’ll meet a duke or some other stuffed shirt and there you go.” He snapped his fingers. “The problem of spinsterhood solved.”
She shook her head. “I’m no longer in the first bloom of youth, and my dowry is unremarkable; I have little to offer. Besides, I’ll never love anyone else. And my sister Isabella is out now, and will have her first Season this year. We can’t afford a Season for us both.”
“Never love anyone else?”
Leave it to Tristan to pick up on what she least wanted to discuss. She pretended not to hear him. “Besides, the money I might have spent on clothes for a London Season would be better used helping educate the poor. Have I told you about Elizabeth’s and my newest project?”
“Never love anyone else?” he persisted.
Tristan could be annoyingly relentless at times. She adjusted her glove. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”
He made a tsking sound. “Since when won’t you discuss your thoughts with me?”
Long-suppressed anger roiled up inside her. “Since you ruined a duke’s daughter and forced my intended to wed her to save you from a duel!”
Tristan stared as if she’d slapped him, blinked, then hunched over and rested his elbows on his knees.
She turned away, her anger fading at the obvious sign that she’d hurt him. “Pray, forgive me. I didn’t mean that.”
“Of course you meant it. All of it.” He pushed out a breath. “I’ve known it all along. You’ve barely said a word to me since then. I deserve your hatred.”
“I could never hate you, Tristan.”
“Then you’re kinder than I deserve. I made an enormous mistake on so many levels. I should have dueled her brother and spared all of you the heartache.”
“No!” she almost shouted. Catching herself, she softened her voice. “No, you most certainly should not have dueled. You might have been injured or killed, or done the same to her brother.” She affected a tone her mother would have used. “Perhaps what you ought to be telling yourself is that you should never have lured an innocent out to a secluded garden.”
“How could I have known some of London’s biggest gossips would have a sudden need to go for a walk?” He trailed off. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been alone with her.”
No, he most certainly should not have coaxed a gently bred lady out for a moonlit kiss. No young lady should be unchaperoned in the company of a known libertine such as Tristan.
She halted that line of thought. No need to agonize over the past. Tristan had the wisdom to learn from his mistakes, she hoped. As her life-long friend slumped, clearly so full of regret, she had to say something. “It all worked out for the best.”
“Except you still hate me.”
She attempted to laugh lightly but it sounded as forced as an old key in a rusty lock. “I don’t hate you. I haven’t been avoiding you—I’ve been in Suffolk helping my sister Luciana with her new baby.”
He said nothing, his usual smile absent. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Tish. I’d only pursued Elizabeth as a flirtation, an interesting diversion. I never dreamed it would go that far, to feel…” He shrugged. “A mistake in many ways, all of it.”
Had Tristan formed a true attachment for Elizabeth? Leticia reached for the brother-sister-like banter they’d used so much of their lives. “Yes, well, the last several years, you’ve had a terrible time behaving as a gentleman and have taken a great many things too far.”
He feigned outrage. “I’m always a gentleman.”
She opened her eyes in mock wide-eyed innocence. “Since when is the word rake synonymous with gentleman?”
“Oh, you mean a gentleman by behavior and not by birth? Well, now, that’s another matter.” A touch of that familiar, teasing smile tugged at his expressive mouth, a mouth with full, kissable lips so like his brother’s, a mouth Tristan had probably used on dozens of women. How could two brothers be so alike in appearance and yet so different in behavior?
Unable to keep up the banter, Leticia turned her knees toward him. “What happened to that sweet, dreamy boy who loved poetry and clouds? You didn’t used to be so dissipated.”
Some inner pain passed over his expression so quickly that she might have imagined it. His grin flashed in the near darkness. “Merely living well, Tish.”
“Men can live well without becoming debauched.”
His mouth pulled to one side. “Yes, well, my dear brother is perfect enough for the both of us.”
“So, since you’ll never reach Richard’s level of perfection, you’ll be the perfect roué?”
He adopted a Byronic pose. “But of course.”
His fears of not measuring up to Richard didn’t touch that inner pain she glimpsed earlier. What secret did he hide? Had it been there all the time?
“Is it because you dislike women?”
He choked. “How can you say that after calling me dissipated, a rake, and a roué?”
“I’m not suggesting you don’t like to be in a woman’s arms, so to speak.” She cleared her throat while she blushed with such heat that she wished for a fan. “But no man who cares for the heart or sensibilities of a woman would use her in such a casual manner.”
“Trust me, none of the women I use, as you say, are innocent, or pretend to have true feelings for me. None of their hearts are involved.”
She let out a noise of disgust. “So it’s meaningless to you.”
“Well, there certainly aren’t any pretenses or promises.”
Fury at his nonchalant attitude brought her to her feet. “This is an improper conversation to have, even between us.”
He rose to his full height, like a cat uncurling after a nap, his smile lazy. “You brought it up.”
“Well, I’m ending it. Please don’t ruin anyone else’s life with all your pleasures, you heartless cad.” She turned and marched deeper into the garden.
His clothes rustled as he stood and his footsteps trailed after her. He caught up to her, matching her stride. He spoke in a voice as soft as silk on her skin. “Tish.”
She kept marching.
“Leticia.” He took her arm firm enough to halt her strides. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“For being who you are?” she shot back.
“For disappointing you.” True regret rang in his tone and in his expression.
His contrition smoothed the edges of her anger. Honestly, the infuriating man knew how to raise strong emotions in her, sending her from one extreme to the other.
“’Tis of no consequence.” She resumed her march back to the house.
Still keeping pace with her, he said, “I’m troubled that you believe you’ll never love or marry. Someone like you should not live as a spinster.”
“Someone like me?” she echoed.
He made a helpless gesture. “You have much to offer. You’re gracious and constant and…well…you’d make a good wife and mother—not run off when life gets dull or when your children misbehave.”
She stopped walking and stared at him. That same pain returned in Tristan’s eyes but this time it lingered as he stared out into the darkness. Not run off…the way his mother had. Is that what haunted him? Did he feel that no woman would ever love him enough to stay with him, that she’d leave him as his mother left when Tristan was a child?
She went deeper with that thought. Perhaps he believed his mother left because of something he’d done to drive her away. She’d heard of that happening. This, then, might be the source of that pain. Perhaps the source of his debauchery.
He seemed to catch himself. With a self-conscious smile curving his mouth, he pulled his gaze back to her face. “There are other dull stuffed shirts like Richard all over England. You have only to find them.”
She smiled. “Dull, stuffed shirt, eh? I’d almost believe that, except I know that you would die for your brother.”
Memories flitted through her mind of the daring rescue Tristan and Captain Kensington and one of Elizabeth’s reformed servants had orchestrated when Richard had been held captive during the peer trial last year. She’d prayed for Tristan when she’d heard he had been shot freeing his brother. To her regret, she’d been too far away at the time to offer assistance for his care.
Tristan shrugged as a sardonic smile played on his mouth. “Taking a bullet for my brother doesn’t mean I like him.”
She almost laughed. “I see.”
He cleared his throat. “I think all you need is to meet a new crop of eligible bachelors. Surely you’ll find one who can steal your heart.”
Leticia had no desire for anyone to steal her heart. She’d rather willingly give her heart to someone who loved her. She shook her head. “I’m going to dedicate my life to helping the poor. Elizabeth and I are planning to open a charity school for girls. Won’t that be wonderful?”
He narrowed his gaze at her. “Is that what you want?”
“Of course. There are a lot of fine minds out there that don’t have the advantages of education. Reading and mathematics is crucial to any skilled profession. An education will help them better themselves.”
“I mean, is educating other people’s children what you want? Do you aspire to be an old maid?”
She flinched. No, of course she did not, but what choice did she have? She would never love another as she’d loved Richard. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love him. That didn’t matter anymore. “I want to make a difference…”
“Getting married and having children won’t make a difference?”
She huffed in exasperation. “I told you, I have no prospects. I’m not likely to find one, nor do I want to try. They would all be compared to the ideal and fall short. And I will never, ever, open up my heart to that kind of pain again.”
He tilted his head. “I wager a hundred guineas I can find you a husband by Christmas.”
She waved her hand. “Pish! You’d lose that wager.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
“Besides all the reasons I listed, it’d never work because you’d introduce me to your dissipated comrades, and I refuse to marry someone one like that.”
“Someone like me, you mean?” Did she imagine that his smile faded a little?
“You’ve always been a good friend, Tristan. Well, mostly a good friend,” she teased. “But you’d make a terrible husband.”
“I would, I really would. Which is why I’ll never marry. I wouldn’t want to break my wife’s heart. No one deserves that.” His gaze drifted over the night scene, his expression growing solemn.
She squeezed his hand. When did Tristan become so enigmatic?
Her touch seemed to bring him back to their topic. “Very well, I will not introduce you to any of my associates. Tell me what you require in a suitable husband and I will search for him.”
Taken aback, she stared. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. How do you define the perfect husband?”
Amused, she shook her head but decided to play along. Perhaps his search for a good husband for her would do him good. It might, at least, put him in respectable company, which may temper his wildness. “Well, to begin with, he must be capable of monogamy. Contrary to current trends, I refuse to love a man who chases light skirts or keeps a mistress.”
He nodded. “Monogamy. A worthy virtue.”
“A crucial virtue.”
“Point taken. What else?”
“He must be a man of integrity.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less for you.”
“Are you mocking me?” She folded her arms.
“No, ma’am. Agreeing. Monogamy, integrity. Please continue.”
“He must have some means of supporting me. Nothing in excess—a vicar’s salary would be sufficient so long as he can afford to buy essentials such as food and candles.”
“Won’t let you starve or sit in the dark. Sensible.” He smiled.
“Now you are making fun of me.” She unfolded her arms and stepped forward so he might feel the full force of her glare.
“Why is it when I agree with you, you assume I’m mocking you?”
“Because you do it so seldom.”
“Mock you or agree with you?” A grin played around the corners of his eyes.
“Agree with me!” Exasperated, she almost stomped her foot.
His teeth flashed in the darkness. “I vow to agree with you whenever you are right. Pray, continue. Any other virtues you require?”
Her ire faded. She thought for a moment, the silvery tinkling of a fountain breaking the garden’s stillness. “He must be both kind and gentle. No selfish bully who thinks wives should be ignored or kept under his thumb.”
He shivered. “I’d never introduce you to such a boorish brute. So your paragon is faithful, a man of integrity, has a respectable fortune, and is kind-hearted. Is that all?”
“A sense of humor and some wit. He cannot be dull or stone-faced all of the time.”
“Of course not. A lively young lady like you must have someone with whom to converse and remind her not to take herself too seriously.”
She chuckled softly. “Do I take myself too seriously?”
“Perhaps on occasion. So, the wager is, if I fail to find you this paragon in possession of all these fine virtues before Christmas, I will give you a hundred guineas.”
“It won’t happen. First of all, you don’t know anyone who matches that criteria. However, if you’re itching to give me a hundred guineas, I’ll take it in the form of a donation to our school for the poor.”
He grinned. “Done. Now, what remains to be seen is; what will you give me if you lose?”
She thought a moment. “If I saved all my pin money for a decade, I could never come up with a hundred guineas.”
He waved it away. “Not your money. No, it must be something more personal. Hmm….” He stroked his chin, exaggerating his pensiveness. Then he snapped his fingers. “I have it. If you marry a man I find for you before Christmas, you must name your first son Tristan.”
She laughed at his vanity. “Very well.”
She’d never lose this silly wager. After all, who could measure up to Richard? And if she did meet this paragon, he’d never marry her, the daughter of a country gentleman with a paltry dowry.
Nor would she risk her heart to such a risky venture as love.