Chapter Thirty-Six
Tristan gave up on sleep and paced his bachelor’s rooms. Perhaps he deserved nothing less. He’d been a rake of the worst kind. Leticia had no use for such men, and he had no finger of blame to point at her behavior.
The question remained: what to do now?
As morning dawned, he dressed and began walking. He walked for the better part of the day, coming no closer to a course of action. He could leave now for the country estates as he’d promised Richard he would do and let Bradbury have Leticia. He could stay and fight for Leticia—wrest her away from Lord Bradbury. If he succeeded, did he dare trust her to love a wretch like him—enough to be faithful to him? Or should he cut his losses, accept his loneliness as penance for all his past misdeeds, and immerse himself into helping Richard make the estate more prosperous than ever?
He found himself at the front steps of Averston House. Richard. Could he confide in him without giving away too many details that would reflect poorly on Leticia? As he stood on the steps, Elizabeth stepped out.
“Why, Tristan!” she exclaimed.
He faltered. “Is Richard home?”
“No, he said he planned to stop by White’s for an informal gathering of some of his friends.”
He nodded.
She fixed a searching gaze on him. “Is something amiss?”
“Nothing of import.”
He backed away and continued on foot, ignoring his fatigue. Inside White’s, Tristan squared his shoulders and mustered up enough dignity to greet his new friends with a smile and a few casual, light-hearted quips so as not to appear a kicked dog.
Deeper in the club, he spotted Lord Bradbury seated at a table alone. Tristan’s blood heated. Torn between the desire to warn him that Leticia might be playing them both, and the urge to flatten the lord for pressing his advantage, Tristan marched to the good-for-nothing lord and glowered at him.
Bradbury raised his gaze and stared at Tristan as if he were a watercolor painted by an unskilled novice. “Barrett. Come to glo—”
“I should call you out.”
Bradbury’s expression went blank. Then pained. “She told you?”
“I saw you. How long have you been taking such liberties?”
Glancing around, Bradbury leaned forward. “Lower your voice lest anyone overhear and suspect who the lady in question is.”
He was right, curse him. Regardless of what Leticia had done, Tristan had no desire to smear her reputation. He settled for wishing for the lord’s demise.
Bradbury spread his hands. “I know it was beneath a gentleman. I assure you, that it went no further. You, of all people, should understand that sometimes a man—”
“I expect you to behave as a gentleman from this moment on,” Tristan snarled. How dare that arrogant scoundrel throw Tristan’s past into his face as a way of excusing his own bad behavior? Tristan planted his hands on the table and leaned in. “If I hear that you’ve insulted her or hurt her, I will call you out.”
“You don’t—”
“Be warned.” Tristan strode away before he struck Bradbury in truth.
Tristan came within a hair’s width of colliding with a waiter, and made his escape into another room.
The Duke of Suttenberg passed him. “Barrett.” The duke inclined his head in a greeting.
“Suttenberg,” Tristan managed.
The duke checked his steps. “I say ol’ chap, you seem rather blue-deviled.”
Tristan swallowed and grappled with his self-control. “Have you seen my brother, perchance?”
“I’m about to meet him in the coffee room. Care to join us?”
Tristan nodded and fell in step. In the coffee room, Richard sat surrounded by his peers in an animated discussion. Suttenberg took a seat at the table. Tristan had no stomach for conversation. Instead, he caught Richard’s eye, turned on his heel, and walked out. He found an empty reading room nearby. A waiter came by with the offer of a brandy. Tristan almost accepted, but hesitated. A difficult decision lay ahead; having a mind numbed by drink would not help him. He declined.
He picked up something to read in the hopes that people would leave him alone, but the words blurred into nonsense.
“Did you wish to speak with me?” Richard’s voice drew him out of his fog of sorrow.
Tristan looked up, unable to give words to the pain crushing him.
Richard peered at him. “I promised Elizabeth I wouldn’t be late. Care to join me in my carriage?”
Tristan dragged himself out of his chair and kept pace with his brother. Once inside the Averston coach, Richard settled back and eyed Tristan. “You look the very devil, little brother, but you’re sober.”
Tristan pushed his fingers through his hair. “I rather wish I were roaring drunk at the moment.”
“Drinking yourself to a state of unconsciousness never solves anything—it only assures a ‘roaring’ headache on the morrow.”
Tristan stared without seeing out the window and reached futilely at his stormy thoughts but they slipped away before he could name them. “I love Leticia.”
Solemn and subdued, Richard said, “I know.”
Tristan searched for words to identify his chaotic thoughts. “But she’s…”
Richard supplied, “She’s being courted by Lord Bradbury?”
Tristan closed his eyes but that brightened the haunting image of her in Bradbury’s arms. “She told me she loved me, and that she was going to tell Bradbury they don’t suit. Then I caught them…kissing…”
“Leticia?” Richard’s surprise revealed itself in his tone.
“Either she’s playing us both, or…”
“Stop.” Richard said. “You know her better than that.”
Rage knifed through him. “She kissed him!” he roared.
“Did she?”
“I saw them!”
“I know that’s what you saw. But often that is not what really happened. You know her. She is not the kind of woman who plays men.”
Tristan would not have thought so, either.
“Trust me,” Richard continued. “I made the mistake of jumping to conclusions with Elizabeth, a great number of times, and it almost destroyed any chance of happiness in our marriage.”
Tristan digested his words but they seemed to bang against each other in meaningless litany.
“Remember that night I thought you and Elizabeth had gone for a tryst during the ball?”
The reminder hit Tristan like a cold slap. He knew all too well how it felt to be so misjudged. Tristan rubbed his jaw to show Richard he remembered.
Richard fixed a pointed stare at Tristan. “Talk to Leticia again. This time, give her a chance to tell you what’s in her heart. Listen.”
Tristan leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.
“For all you know,” Richard continued, “She didn’t welcome Bradbury’s kiss. You might have left before she spurred him.”
Tristan lifted his head. What if it were true? What if she’d been the victim of an unwanted advance, and now the one person who should be defending her was instead condemning her?
“Go home and rest,” Richard said. “Seek her out on the morrow when you have a clear head. Isn’t she worth giving the her the benefit of doubt? Isn’t she worth a second chance?”
Richard was right. Tristan owed Leticia the chance to explain. Either way, he, of all people, understood the concept of second chances.
Very well. He’d give her another chance. As Richard said: she was worth it.