Chapter Thirty
Tristan swore under his breath. How did he get himself into such entanglements? He looked down into Henrietta’s enchanting face. He must not weaken. Yes, she was beautiful, and yes, he was lonely, but he no longer sought such empty pleasure. He ached for meaningful, lasting pleasure. Joy. Love. With Leticia.
He edged back. “I’m sorry, Henrietta.”
The blonde widow smiled coyly at him and wound her finger around a long curl skimming her collarbone, a provocative motion he once found irresistible. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Tristan. Now that I’m back in England, we can resume where we left off…”
“No, we can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Her blue eyes searched his, her expression sobering. “I never asked you to wait for me when we last parted, you know. If there’s been someone else, well, I’m not so maudlin as to expect any sort of fidelity. You know that, don’t you?”
He looked away. “I’ve changed. I want something…permanent.”
She laughed. “Oh, Tristan. You aren’t thinking of asking me to marry you? You know how I feel about that.”
This was not going well. “No, I mean to ask someone else to marry me.”
There, he’d said it. Of course, he still had a great deal of work ahead, but he would not give up.
Her smile faded. “You’re in earnest.”
“I am.”
That irrepressible spirit, born of supreme confidence returned, but her tone took on a mocking edge. “Are you doing this to satisfy your brother? Oh, wait, I know, you’ve met an heiress.”
Tristan shook his head. “I’m courting her because I love her.”
She folded her arms and gave him a disbelieving frown. “I don’t believe you. Not you, of all people.”
“It’s true. I love her and I plan to marry her as soon as I’ve convinced her I’ve changed. Being seen with you won’t help that endeavor. This is goodbye, Henrietta.” He offered an apologetic smile and walked away from the passionate beauty from his former life who now tempted him no more than Mrs. Hunter had at the house party.
He glanced at his pocket watch. He’d been certain Leticia would be here tonight but he had yet to have spotted her. Of course, in this crush of humanity, he might never find her.
A footman appeared with a tray of drinks, but Tristan declined. Having a clear head made it easier to read people, outwit opponents, appreciate a subtle joke, and resist women best left in the past.
Winding his way through the crowd, Tristan found his sister-in-law conversing with Miss Seton. “Elizabeth. Delightful as always.”
Turning, Elizabeth smiled. “Tristan. I didn’t know you were here tonight.”
They made all the correct pleasantries before he asked the question burning him. “Have you seen Leticia?”
“Why, yes. She’s dancing.” Elizabeth gestured to the dance floor.
At the far end of the room, a radiant, smiling Leticia danced with—Tristan ground his teeth—the Duke of Suttenberg. Perfect. Another paragon for competition. In the same circle danced Lord Bradbury and Captain Kensington. Tristan almost cursed. Hours after telling Tristan he was an unforgivable rake, Leticia danced with his main competitors, none of whom had behaved in a rakish manner in their entire lives.
Of course, Kensington hadn’t been a saint in his younger years, but his exploits never labeled him a rake. He’d come home from the war decidedly subdued, so of course the ton viewed him as a mysterious and well-mannered war hero. At least Tristan didn’t have to compete with him any longer. Practically tapping his toes in impatience, he waited until the set ended. Before Suttenberg returned Leticia to her aunt, Tristan stepped up. He gave Suttenberg a polite if curt nod and focused on Leticia.
Tristan held out a hand and gave her his most disarming smile. “Dance with me, I beg you, or I might expire on the spot.”
Suttenberg chuckled and faded into the background.
Leticia’s expression turned from startled to amused. “You needn’t be so theatrical, you know.”
He grinned. “Sometimes I cannot help myself.”
Returning his smile, she looked into his eyes. “It pains me to tell you this, but the next one is the supper dance, and I’ve promised it to Lord Bradbury.”
Bradbury! Tristan faltered. If he’d found her sooner, but no, he’d been walking the streets of London, almost succumbing to the lure of his old ways before he came to his senses. Then he’d had to change into his evening attire and dancing shoes before he dared appear at the ball. To top it off, he’d had difficulty finding her in this crush.
“I see,” he managed.
The image of Leticia waltzing with Bradbury, in such an intimate position, and then bathing him with her smiles and favoring him with her company and her rich laughter all through dinner made him want to hunt down Bradbury and challenge the man for a fisticuffs match. As satisfying as that sounded, such measures would not win Leticia’s favor. A more subtle approach, then.
Her smile faded. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”
He drew a steadying breath and focused on everything he loved about her, which made it easy to smile at her with sincerity. “The last dance of the evening, then. Or I really will expire on the spot.”
She seemed breathless and she looked down. “Of course—for the sake of your life.”
Bradbury arrived then, slipping in between them and taking her hand. He cast a dismissive glance at Tristan. “Barrett.” Then he turned his back on Tristan and held out his hand as the first notes of a waltz filled the ballroom.
The proverbial gauntlet landed at his feet. Tristan said under his breath, “May the best man win.”
With his brows raised, Bradbury glanced over his shoulder at him. Tristan stared back, all boldness. After a startled pause, Bradbury swept Leticia into his arms in waltz position though the music had yet to start. Grinding his teeth, Tristan moved back to Elizabeth standing in the company of several ladies. Tristan singled out the shy young Miss Seton, offered a proper bow, and invited her to dance. As they waltzed, he teased a smile out of her by making wild claims of their winnings at whist and becoming a formidable partnership. It helped him to keep from staring at Leticia as she waltzed and later dined with another man.
After supper, Miss Seton thanked him for being her dining companion, adding, “I know you would rather have been with someone else, but you were kind to spend this time with me.”
As he tried to deny it, Miss Seton added, “You’re a fine gentleman, Mr. Barrett. I hope you get your heart’s desire.”
Sheepish, Tristan took his leave of her. Back in the ballroom, he sought out the hostess and begged a favor. With a smile, and a wink, she agreed. Tristan danced every set with wallflowers and each time placed himself near enough to dance with Leticia as the formation moved. Once, Henrietta caught his eye, and she gave him a puzzled, hurt frown. He did his best to avoid looking at her.
At last, the final dance began. A waltz. Tristan grinned at the hostess for agreeing to his wish. He wound through the crowd to Leticia. Bradbury stood next to her, close and possessive. That must be Tristan’s cue.
Tristan tugged at the end of his waistcoat, and stepped up to her. “I believe this last one is ours.” He held out a hand.
With an apologetic glance at Bradbury, she put her hand in Tristan’s. As the music began, she lifted her brows. “Another waltz?”
“How fortunate for us,” he murmured.
She cocked her head to the side. “Did you arrange that?”
“Of course I did. I refused to be robbed of an opportunity to waltz with you.”
“And why is that so important?”
“A chance to hold you close.” He held her gaze, willing her to see the truth.
Her eyes widened. She took a step back, but he caught her hand and led her to the floor, drawing her into waltz position. Her breathing quickened as they danced. He held her no closer than he ought, no closer than strictly proper, but every breath, every rustle of her skirt, every motion, heightened his senses until he expected to shatter into a hundred pieces.
“Come riding with me tomorrow, Tish. Early in the morning.”
“I-I can’t. I have calls to make.”
“You don’t make calls that early.”
She let out a huff. “You don’t get up that early.”
“Yes, in fact, I do, and have been for most of the Season.”
She leaned back to look at him. “Why?”
“Because, as I keep trying to tell you, I don’t stay out all night anymore—unless I’m dancing with you, that is.” No longer willing to resist, he drew her closer—not so much as to scandalize chaperones, but enough to make his point. In a low voice, and allowing his breath to stir the little curls by her ear, he murmured, “Come riding with me tomorrow, Tish.”
She shivered and her hand trembled. “I-I shouldn’t. I mean, I don’t know if a groom will be available to attend me.”
“No groom necessary. I will see that you come to no harm.”
“Alone?” her brow furrowed.
“No less proper than riding unchaperoned in an open carriage.”
“No, I mean, yes, I mean, I realize that but—” She broke off and her mouth tightened.
He put a slight distance between them. Perhaps that would ease her distress. Very gently, he asked, “When did you become reluctant to spend time in my company?”
She remained silent so long that he feared she would never answer. After a hard swallow, she whispered, “You know why.”
He whispered back, “Because I kissed you?”
Her cheeks pinked, and she held her lower lip between her teeth.
Tristan put a husky, teasing quality into his voice. “Was it so bad?”
She let out a shaky breath and turned her head away.
His stomach clenched. “Don’t fear me, Tish. I would never ruin you.”
“I know.” Her eyes brightened with gathering tears.
The sight of her tears sent a bolt of alarm through him. “Trust me. Please trust me.”
She refused to look at him. He needed to fix this. Now.
The waltz ended. He led her off the dance floor, but instead of returning her to her aunt, he took her outside to the far edge of the terrace, still within view of the open doors but out of earshot. With lights from the ballroom falling upon them, he stood near enough that they could converse. Though craving the contact, he refrained from touching her.
“Then please believe me when I say that I have changed. I know you have other prospects, but I ask you to allow me to court you. Don’t agree to an offer from anyone else—I beg you—until I have had a chance to prove to you that I am what I claim.”
She turned and leaned on the stone balustrade, gazing out over the moonlit gardens.
Unable to resist touching her, he also leaned on the balustrade and rested his crossed arms next to her, letting his fingers brush her elbow. “Let me prove to you my intentions. Let me show you my heart.”
She closed her eyes as if his words inflected pain. At last, she nodded.
“Come riding with me tomorrow?”
Another nod. “I’ll be ready.”
A steady stream of couples passed by on their way from the garden into the French doors leading to the house.
“Leticia dear,” Mrs. Tallier called from the doorway. “I believe Isabella is rather fatigued.”
“Coming, Aunt.” Leticia glanced at Tristan.
Trying not to allow his desperation to show, he said, “I’ll call for you at seven o’clock.”
For a moment, the Leticia he knew and loved emerged and cast him a disbelieving smile. “My, so early for Town hours.”
“Even owls are capable of being awake early mornings—with the proper motivation.” He grinned.
She awarded him a faint smile in return, still two-parts disbelieving. “It’s almost three o’clock in the morning. Let’s make it eight, shall we?”
“Agreed.”
After another smile, she joined her aunt inside. Tristan took a long exhale. He still had much damage to repair, but at least she’d agreed to give him a chance.
A sultry feminine laugh caught his attention. Mrs. Hunter ascended the steps on the arm of a gentleman. Upon reaching the terrace, they shared an intimate smile and parted ways. The gentleman slipped in first, while Mrs. Hunter smoothed a hand over her hair and her gown. As she strode past Tristan, she glanced at him, and paused mid-step.
“Well, Tristan Barrett,” she purred. “You are looking absolutely delicious this evening.” She sauntered to him and draped herself against the balustrade, looking up at him with a sultry glint in her eyes. “I hope you’ll be a gentleman and rescue me from a lonely ride home tonight.”
Tristan stiffened and took a step back from her. How had he ever found such women desirable? “I believe you have already found relief from loneliness this eve.”
“An appetizer. I’d love to make a main course of you.” She touched his lapel and ran her hand up along it to his cravat.
He stiffened. “I must decline.”
Her lazy sensuality increased. “Come home with me for a glass of champagne. Talk to me.”
Tristan pushed off the railing. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hunter, but I am not looking for a dalliance.” He affected a brief bow and strode away as quickly as possible without breaking into a run.
Inside the doors, he ran straight into an older gentleman prowling along the perimeter of the ballroom as if searching for something.
“Forgive me,” Tristan said, stepping back.
The gentleman, elegant and distinguished, with blond hair fading to silver, glanced at him. “No harm done, young man.” He narrowed his eyes at him. “I say, have we met?”
Tristan searched his memory. “I believe so. I’m Tristan Barrett. We were introduced at the benefit ball, I believe.”
“Ah yes. You are the very image of Lord Averston—brothers?”
“Yes, my lord. And you are Lord Tarrington, as I recall.”
“The same. Say, have you seen a bracelet hereabouts? My wife lost hers.”
Tristan drew a breath and collected himself. “No, sir, but I’d be happy to help you search.”
Tarrington nodded. “Good man.”
“Where have you looked so far?” Tristan indicated the floor.
The earl made a gesture. “I started at that far corner.”
Servants also hunted in the near-vacant ballroom, their gaze fixed on the floor.
“The servants might find it if I don’t hurry, and I want to be my lady’s hero, even if I am getting old and gray.” Lord Tarrington winked.
Tristan smiled and joined the search. A moment later, a glittering object caught his gaze. Tristan hurried to it and picked up an emerald bracelet. He carried it back to the earl. “Is this it?”
Tarrington broke into a broad grin. “By jove, it is! Many thanks.”
“My pleasure, sir. Tell your lady you found it so you can be her hero.” Tristan pressed his finger to his lips.
The earl chuckled. “I owe you, son.”
“Not at all.”
“I know it isn’t my business, lad, but you seem a bit blue-deviled. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
Tristan sighed. “No, sir, not unless you can change a person’s reputation or win a heart.”
A blond brow raised. “Whose reputation? Yours or another’s?”
“Mine, more’s the pity.”
“Ah. Your last few years as a rake are now hindering your wooing of a lady?”
Tristan blanched. Did everyone know of his wild ways?
“I had the same problem. I found the lady of my dreams but she wouldn’t hear of letting a known rouè court her.”
Tristan stilled. “What did you do?”
“First I took a hard look at myself to determine if I were changing to please her, or if I wanted to change. Once I realized that I wanted to change for the very reason I lost my heart to her—because my life, as I’d been living it, was meaningless—I turned my energy to bettering myself and my life; I took a greater interest in our estate, followed political concerns, took up some good causes, did everything I could to make myself into the kind of man that would attract a lady of her level of excellence.”
Tristan nodded. “And then?”
“It wasn’t easy, I feared it was too little too late for her—others were courting her. But I refused to give up.”
“Did it work?”
His blue eyes danced as he fingered the bracelet . “After thirty two years of marriage, I’m still her hero.”
“I’m glad. I hope it works out as well for me.”
The older man nodded. “I wish I were having this conversation with my son, Cole. At first I was proud of his exploits, but he’s doomed to suffer from the same mistakes I did. I hope he doesn’t wait until it’s too late.” He clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Change is not easy, but it’s worth it.”
“Did you find it?” a feminine voice called from the far end of the room leading to the great hall.
Tristan grinned at the earl. “Go impress your lady fair.”
The earl held up the bracelet and called, “Right here, my love.”
The countess, a stunning older lady with rich, dark hair, clasped her hands together. “My hero. You always manage to save the day.”
Tristan bowed and crossed the wood floor, scuffed from dancers, on his way out. He must find a way to prove himself to Leticia.
Perhaps he could ask his man of business to provide a ledger, which would show his expenses were not extravagant, and that his gambling wins and losses were infrequent and never for exorbitant amounts. He could show that to Leticia to put her mind at ease in that regard. As far as drinking, she already noticed he’d virtually cut that out of his life. As to the more serious of all his past vices, he was at a total loss. He’d resisted all manner of temptations, with more ease than he ever would have imagined, but she had no way of knowing that. How could he prove his faithfulness?