Chapter Eleven
As Leticia climbed out of the hackney, she eyed a line of boats waiting at Westminster to take them across the Thames to Vauxhall Gardens. A group already gathered there. She glanced up at the blue, cloudless sky, the most pleasant day they’d had in weeks, which promised a perfect evening.
Tristan stood among the group, his tall, elegant form standing out as the others faded into gray shadows. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Tristan was too handsome by half—too handsome for his own good.
Isabella nudged her and said sotto voce, “Your Tristan appears to have this well organized.”
“He’s not my Tristan, you goose,” Leticia murmured.
Isabella cocked her head. “Do you think he will ever give up his wild ways and settle down?”
Leticia shook her head. “He shows no sign of that.”
“Perhaps if he stopped chasing loose women and got to know a lady, he’d find one he could love,” Isabella said.
A man as romantic as he ought to find a true love and settle down. Instead, he wasted his time with women who never knew or appreciated what a remarkable person lay under his flirtatious exterior. Such a travesty.
Leticia led the way toward the group, keeping her voice low. “That’s the odd thing. He doesn’t chase them. They chase him. He’s not a hunter. He’s…”
Isabella watched her. “He’s what?”
“At times, he seems to be a frightened little boy willing to accept anyone who might love him.”
Isabella looked at her as if she’d stood on her head. “He’s hardly a boy.”
“You know what I mean. I think he’s lonely, but afraid to open up his heart because that would make him vulnerable. So he tries to forget about his loneliness by spending time with women who promise no complications.”
Isabella’s stare turned pensive. “Lonely, but afraid to trust.”
“I think so. But then, what do I know?” Leticia flushed. She’d speculated about something rather too private about Tristan that she ought to have kept secret. “I’ve been reading a great number of gothics of late, so it’s possible that I’m creating a fantasy about him that has no basis in truth. Have you read A Lady in Peril by E.L. Windover?”
“I stayed up all night to finish it. It was her best book yet.”
With a silent breath of relief that she’d diverted the conversation away from Tristan, Leticia nodded. “So, I have heard. I can’t wait to read it.”
“You’ll love the hero. He’s so wonderful! Dark and forbidding at first, but then he is so gentle inside, and capable of such passion.”
Leticia smiled. “I’ll borrow it tonight.” Silently, she chided herself. She ought to mind her tongue, even to Isabella. Her observations about Tristan’s heart should be kept in the same strict confidence he gave her.
Tristan trotted up to them. His infectious grin flashed. “Good afternoon. A fine day for the gardens.”
Leticia returned his smile. “I admit I am rather looking forward to it. I’ve never seen them.”
“No? Well, then, I’m delighted to be the first man to introduce you to such a pleasure.” His voice took on a sultry tone, and she looked up sharply, but the rakish gleam in his eyes softened into one of teasing.
He offered them each an arm and escorted them to the rest of the group.
The tongue-tied Miss Seton and her equally bashful brother arrived last. Tristan greeted the shy siblings and treated them with upmost courtesy, playing the perfect host, attentive, charming, seeing to everyone’s comfort.
A moment later, he called out over the group. “I believe we are all here. Shall we go?” He gestured to the line of boats waiting to ferry them across the river to the gardens.
As groups began entering the boats, Tristan offered an arm to Miss Seton, who blushed. He leaned in and murmured something to her, the word ‘Whist’ mingled in. Miss Seton straightened and smiled. He guided her to Mr. Rowley and said something to them both that initiated a conversation between the charming Mr. Rowley and the shy Miss Seton. They stepped into the boat together.
Tristan arrived at her side with two men in tow.
“Miss Leticia Wentworth, Isabella, may I present Mr. Finley and Mr. Dixon.”
Leticia greeted the two gentlemen, both of whom appeared to be under thirty, well-heeled and without that rakish gleam that most of Tristan’s friends all seemed to have. But then, he had assured her that his guests were all perfectly respectable.
If she remembered her Debrett’s peerage, Mr. Finley was the grandson of a viscount, and Mr. Dixon was the third son of a marquis. Tristan seemed to be reaching high for potential husband candidates. She awarded Tristan a knowing smile, and he opened his eyes wide in mock innocence. She and Isabella exchanged greetings with the gentlemen and enjoyed polite, if a bit stiff, conversation.
They stepped into the boats and cast off. As the ferryman guided them across the river, Mr. Finley pointed out birds along the way and explained their traits to a degree that she couldn’t decide if it were impressive or frightfully dull. Still, ever courteous, he asked her questions about herself. Mr. Dixon offered Isabella livelier dialogue, but his self-importance would grow tiresome. Eventually, Isabella and Mr. Dixon fell into conversation of him speaking and her nodding as if interested.
The boat bobbed in the gentle waves, but Leticia kept a white-knuckled hold onto her seat. The water lapped at the edges as if hungry to consume them. Mr. Finley’s litany, though dry, helped keep her anxiety down to manageable levels.
They reached the other side of the river by Vauxhall. Mr. Finley extended a hand to help her, and they waited for Isabella and Mr. Dixon to disembark.
“That was a lovely lead up to the thrills of the gardens.” Isabella exchanged glances with Mr. Dixon who grinned back at her. His air of self-importance appeared to have diminished.
Out of the group, the diminutive Mr. Seton approached Leticia, offered her a nervous smile, then examined his feet.
She curtsied. “Good afternoon, Mr. Seton.”
“Miss Wentworth.” The small man shot his gaze at her before returning to his study of his feet. It was a wonder he managed to ask her to dance at the house party.
Mr. Finley pointed to a branch in a nearby tree. “Oh, look, that’s a blackcap—a male. Blackcaps have a jaunty little song. Many call it a Northern Nightingale.”
Leticia pretended interest in Mr. Finley’s description of the bird while Mr. Seton darted glances at her.
When Mr. Finley finished discussing the mating rituals of the bird, Leticia nodded at him. “I had no idea there was so much to know about birds.” She focused her attention on Mr. Seton. “Are you a bird watcher, too, Mr. Seton?”
“Er, no.”
She addressed them both. “Lovely afternoon for a visit to the gardens, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is.” Mr. Finley continued searching the trees, no doubt hoping he’d find some new exciting specimen.
“Yes. Lovely.” Mr. Seton looked up at her with undisguised admiration in his eyes, then resumed his stare at the ground.
Leticia’s heart swelled in sympathy. Poor man. She couldn’t help but be flattered that he liked her but she felt no attraction for him in return. Still, she couldn’t leave him stranded. A tense silence fell on them.
She searched for a topic. “I understand you plan to run for the House of Commons, as your father did.”
“Yes.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, but then returned to stare at the ground.
She hoped only ladies tied his tongue or he’d have difficulty getting elected to the House of Commons. Well, if Tristan could be kind to shy Miss Seton, she could do the same to the equally bashful Mr. Seton and the enthusiastic bird watcher, Mr. Finley.
Leticia took a step nearer Mr. Seton. “I’m sure you’ll be a fine elected official.”
He looked up again. “Do you think so?”
“Certainly. Your parents both seem well informed and I’m sure you have the good of the people in mind.”
“I do, I really do. I…” he stammered for a moment. “I admire your cause to help the orphans learn how to read. I want to help.”
“Do you? Oh, that would be lovely.” She smiled at him and he offered a smile in return.
“I…I can’t give as much as I’d like, but I’d be willing to make a pledge.
“Oh, Mr. Seton, you are as generous as you are kind. Here is the name of our solicitor who is handling the account for the school.” She pulled a card out of her reticule and handed it to him. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Wentworth.”
Tristan arrived last, no doubt to ensure no one had been left behind. He led the way to the garden’s main entrance. As he moved so confidently among the guests, Leticia couldn’t help but admire the calm, efficient way he managed everyone, seeing to their needs, making them feel heard. He would be a great leader, if he’d give himself a chance. If only he’d settle down and look for a kind, loyal lady who would love and cherish him as he deserved.
They proceeded forward, and Mr. Seton melted back into the group. Mr. Finley remained next to her, listing birds he’d seen at the gardens on previous trips. Leticia stifled a yawn. Apparently, Tristan equated respectable with boring. But then, men were often different with one another than they were with ladies so she ought not to blame Mr. Finley for his singular topic.
As Kensington walked by, he glanced her way. A touch of humor touched his mouth as if he suspected her disinterest with her walking partner’s topic of conversation. “I say, Finley, I overheard Miss Wynn say she’s a birdwatcher. Perhaps you ought to compare notes with her.”
“Is she, now?” Finley peered around. “I was not aware of that.”
“I think she’s partial to geese,” Kensington deadpanned.
As images of Miss Wynn’s incident with a flock of geese at the house party burst into her mind, Leticia tried to hold back a laugh but it ended up sounding like a cross between a cough and a snort.
Kensington’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Finley bade her a good day and went off in search of a fellow birdwatcher. Leticia suspected he would be disappointed.
Leticia gave in to her laughter. “I didn’t realize you had a wicked streak.”
His smile grew. “I prefer to think of it as a rescue, Miss Wentworth. I feared you’d die of boredom if I didn’t intervene.”
“It appears I owe you my life then.”
She admired the breadth of his shoulders, the sunlight shining on his dark hair. Captain Kensington was, without question, an attractive man.
They arrived at the gate of Vauxhall Gardens, paid admission, and moved inside. Leticia drank in the sight of the Grand Walk, a large, open pathway lined with trees and whimsical pavilions. Tristan and an unfamiliar gentleman approached. The newcomer held Leticia’s gaze. He stood a few inches taller than Tristan but less broad, possessing that enviable lean figure that the dandy set adored. His clothing oozed wealth and taste, almost too opulent for an afternoon outing, but fit the sinewy grace of his every movement.
Tristan led the gentleman to her. “May I present Lord Bradbury. My Lord, Miss Leticia Wentworth.”
Leticia lowered her eyes and sank into a curtsy as she greeted the newcomer. “Delighted to meet you, Lord Bradbury.”
Lord Bradbury bowed. “Your servant, Miss Wentworth.”
She looked up at the rumble to his voice and exchanged a rather direct stare with him. His dark hair had the faintest touches of auburn, and his blue eyes gave the impression of wisdom and kindness.
Tristan cleared his throat. “And I believe you know Captain Kensington, my lord.”
Leticia caught herself staring. Her cheeks warmed and she glanced at Tristan. With his head cocked to one side and his eyes widened with curiosity, Tristan looked so impish and adorable that she wished they were children again so she could throw her arms around him. Tristan glanced meaningfully at Lord Bradbury, and her cheeks burned hotter still. No doubt Tristan wanted to crow over his victory at having introduced her to a man that piqued her interest.
Lord Bradbury inclined his head to greet Kensington. “Captain.”
Kensington nodded but his posture changed subtly, as if he were preparing to spring into action.
Bradbury’s gaze shifted back to Leticia with another piercing look, giving Leticia the distinct impression he viewed her as a beautiful lady rather than a dowdy country miss. Which was silly. She never claimed to be as elegant as this lord, and no one had ever called her beautiful.
“I understand this is your first visit to this auspicious garden?” Lord Bradbury said.
“Indeed it is,” she admitted. Further proof of her low gentry status.
“Then allow me to show you around.” He offered his arm. “If you don’t mind, Captain?”
Kensington held up a hand. “Not at all, my lord.”
With a backward glance at Tristan and Kensington, who both looked too thoughtful for her comfort, she took Lord Bradbury’s arm and allowed him to lead her. Another glance backward assured her that Isabella stood in the middle of the group, surrounded by three men vying for her favor. Leticia returned her attention to the gardens and to her companion.
A large marble statue of a man standing in a relaxed pose, wearing slippers and a banyon-like dressing gown greeted them. He looked neither a statesman nor a soldier and his state of dress mystified Leticia.
“That’s the great composer Handel,” Lord Bradbury explained.
“What an unusual way to sculpt a man—in such a state of undress.”
“Indeed.” His eyes crinkled in humor. “I understand that idea belongs to the man who commissioned it, Jonathan Tyers, a music lover and patron of the arts.”
They walked past lush flowerbeds and arbors. Street performers stood among the guests who roamed and danced, all mingling with the aristocracy, the gentry, and the working class. Leticia verbalized her delight as they strolled through the Grove surrounded by supper boxes. The orchestra building dominated the center of the Grove. Lord Bradbury led her to a pavilion where pastoral paintings hung.
I understand you and Mr. Barrett are old family friends,” Lord Bradbury said.
“Yes, we are.”
“Averston asked me to encourage his brother to run for Parliament but I must say, his reputation gives me pause.”
“Lord Averston’s?”
“No,” he chuckled. “Mr. Barrett’s.”
“Oh, yes, well, I’m sure he was deserving of that when he was younger, but he seems to have turned over a new leaf as of late.”
At least, she hoped he had. He did seem more clear-eyed and purposeful lately. If she had to exaggerate the truth to help him get elected, she would.
“So I’m told,” Bradbury said. “He seems to be genuinely interested in the working class, an admirable quality for a candidate for the House of Commons.”
“Yes, he is very compassionate toward the down-trodden. He’s helping Lady Averston and me with our school for the poor. I assume you’ve heard of it?”
“My help with her rather unconventional auction has been enlisted.” Amusement colored his voice. “I found it difficult to say no.”
They shared a smile, and Leticia breathed another sigh of relief that they’d gained the support of such a respected lord.
They strolled through lawns and charming groves intersected with winding paths. Around every turn, they encountered floral bowers arching over benches of wrought iron and some of stone. Trees and thatched pavilions canopied the area.
Isabella’s laughter floated over the air, and Leticia glanced back. Isabella walked between Captain Kensington and Mr. Dixon while two others tried to impress her with their wit. Most of Tristan’s group strolled nearby in groups of three or four. Music floated over the air, lending a magical quality to the already surreal beauty of the gardens. Lord Bradbury led her past a replica of a castle, complete with cannons, swings, and bowling greens.
“Amazing,” she said.
“There are ruins over that direction.” He gestured. “Replicas instead of the original, of course, but diverting, nonetheless.”
While they admired the gardens, often stopping to exclaim over some charming statue or fountain or artwork, dusk deepened.
Tristan called out. “We should head back to the dinner boxes.” He laughed at something Miss Wynn said. His gaze caught Leticia’s gaze and grinned meaningfully at her, no doubt pleased Leticia still walked on the arm of Lord Bradbury.
Who was she fooling? Bradbury’s position in society soared above her. Tristan must be deranged to think a lord like Bradbury would make a match with a simple miss such as she.
As they returned to the area of the dinner boxes, she looked for Tristan but only found other members of their group. The two ladies Tristan had been accompanying now walked with other gentlemen. Craning her neck, she scanned the darkening gardens for him.
“Our group seems to be congregating by that fountain,” Lord Bradbury said. “Shall we join them?”
“There’s Isabella. I wonder how she’s enjoying the gardens. Please excuse me.”
Lord Bradbury bowed. “It was a pleasure to enjoy the sites thus far in your company, Miss Wentworth.”
“The pleasure was mine, my lord.”
He inclined his head and she curtsied before she moved toward Isabella, trying to appear casual as she let her gaze slip over the crowd, searching for Tristan.
Where had he gone?
She approached Isabella in the middle of the group admiring the fountain. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“It’s magical.” Isabella linked arms with her. “Tell me about Lord Bradbury.”
“He’s very charming.” She craned her neck, looking out another direction for Tristan’s form.
“And handsome.”
“Yes.” Where could Tristan have gone?
Isabella’s smile turned sly. “I haven’t seen him for a few minutes.”
“Who? Lord Bradbury? He’s right back there.”
“No, goose—your Tristan.”
“He’s not my Tristan.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Leticia spotted him striding toward them from the main pavilion. A woman of questionable reputation wearing a rather low-cut red gown revealing most of her large bosom stepped in front of him, swaying suggestively. Leticia held her breath. Tristan shook his head. Stepping around her, he continued toward Leticia and the others with long, purposeful strides.
Leticia let out her breath to release her tension. Tristan had refused. He hadn’t even seemed to deliberate. She should have known he would never associate with members of the demi-monde.
“Our dinner boxes are ready for us,” Tristan said as he reached her side.
Kensington appeared at Leticia’s side and held out an arm. “Shall we?”
“Thank you.” She took his arm, mystified at the attention of so many distinguished gentlemen.
“I haven’t been here in years,” Kensington commented. “They’ve made a few additions since then. Oh, and wait, any minute now they’ll…never mind. You’ll see.”
“What?”
He touched a finger to his mouth in a hushing motion. “It’s better as a surprise.”
They strolled silently along the path as the deepening dusk made it difficult to see. Instantly, hundreds of variegated lanterns leaped to life in perfect unison. Leticia breathed out an oooh and the crowd let out a collective gasp. Nobility and shop boys alike exclaimed over the sight.
“Remarkable,” Leticia breathed. “How do they do that?”
Kensington said, “I assume with an army of servants and practiced timing.”
Following Tristan, who now escorted Isabella, the group strolled along the Grand Walk through rows of whimsical pavilions all representing Chinese, classical and gothic styles of architecture.
As their group gathered in two neighboring dinner boxes and chattered about the sights, musicians played a selection of Handel. Leticia found herself seated between Tristan and Captain Kensington, and across from Lord Bradbury. Isabella sat between Lord Bradbury and another gentleman. Servers brought out platters of food including an assortment of biscuits, thinly sliced ham, and some of the best wine she’d ever tasted. She glanced at Tristan, whose eyes sparkled with pleasure.
“You’re enjoying yourself,” she commented.
“I am indeed.” Tristan sipped his drink, then held it out to her. “Care to try some arrack punch?”
“What’s in it?”
“Rum mixed with other things including the grains of the Benjamin Flower. Quite a heady liquor.” He grinned.
She held out her hands to ward it off. “Er…no. One of us should keep our wits about us.”
He raised his glass to her in silent homage, then sipped it. Toward the end of the meal, a bell sounded. Several people sprang to their feet including Tristan. His glass of arrack punch remained half full.
“What is it?” she said.
“You don’t want to miss this.” Tristan offered his arm, exchanged meaningful glances with Lord Bradbury. “If you don’t mind?”
Bradbury’s eyes narrowed briefly, but waved him off. “Not at all. Miss Isabella, if I may have the pleasure?”
Her face lit with pleasure, Isabella took Lord Bradbury’s arm and disappeared into the magical garden.
Leticia wound her arm through Tristan’s. “Where are you taking me?”
Tristan looked over his shoulder. “My apologies, but I wanted to be the one to show you this. It happens at nine o’clock and lasts just a few minutes.” He walked on, glancing sideways at her. “What do you think of Lord Bradbury?”
“He was an attentive companion, but I’m confident he has no designs on me.”
“I’m confident he does, especially after that look he gave me when I wanted to spirit you away.” He grinned at her. “Of course, nothing quickens the chase more than healthy competition.”
Leticia scoffed. “If I thought either of you were competing for me, I’d be a foolish green miss indeed.”
“Admit it; men find you attractive.”
“The only men interested in me are the ones you’ve put up to it.”
He affected a wounded expression. “Not true. I’ve done nothing but make introductions. Their interest is genuine.”
“Tristan…I appreciate what you’re trying to do but you must see what a futile effort it is to bring me to the attention of a man like Lord Bradbury. No one of his rank would have any interest in the daughter of a simple country squire.”
“Have faith in your feminine allure, Tish. You’re well-respected in the ton and lovely to boot. He’d be mad not to consider you. Besides, people have crossed bigger social lines than those between you and Bradbury.”
She turned to him in surprise. “Why, Tristan, I believe there was a compliment in the midst of that.”
“Don’t sound so shocked. Have I been so inattentive that I never compliment you?”
“I can honestly say I don’t recall you ever paying me any such thing. Although I do seem to recall that you admired my neck once. Of course, at the time, you were threatening to bite it because I’d made some kind of reference to the possibility that you were a vampire.”
He chuckled. “I do admire a pretty neck.”
“I refer to your habit of keeping late hours and sleeping away the daylight.”
They passed underneath a bower, which blocked them from the prolific lanterns and cast a shadow over them. Couples strolled past without taking note of them.
He stopped and turned to her, and the intensity in his eyes glimmered in the shadowy light. “I apologize for being remiss in my compliments to you. I shall make an effort to rectify that omission.” He cupped her cheek with a gentle hand.
Too startled to move, she went still, all her focus captured by Tristan. His touch induced strange stirrings deep inside, both soothing and exciting. Her heart thudded an unsteady rhythm.
His voice took on a tone he’d never used with her, achingly soft. “You are lovely, Leticia. You have skin like a porcelain doll, and eyes like the sea—mysterious and passionate, yet as innocent as a new leaf in spring. And your lips”—he brushed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, sending spirals of tingling warmth outward—“they are like rosebuds waiting for a touch to release their sweetness.” His voice turned sultry. “They would tempt any man.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth. His hand cupping her cheek made slow caresses, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. Every nerve in her body quivered. Her heart flailed against her ribs and her breath came too fast. His aftershave curled around her, drawing her in closer in a blend of familiar bay rum and some other, more exotic, scent. His hand slid along her cheek to her chin. With one finger, he gently lifted her face toward his.
She leaned into him and rested a hand on his chest over his heart. He drew closer, leaning down toward her. His lips parted and came nearer, nearer still. The nervous excitement in her stomach tightened, building up a pressure that must surely shatter her any moment. Her mouth yearned to touch his. Her body craved his arms around her. He closed his eyes. She held her breath, aching, burning for his kiss. The world held its breath in expectant wonder.
No. This was wrong. Tristan was a friend; nothing more. Besides, for all she knew, he presently engaged in an affair with Mrs. Hunter, or someone like her.
She drew back with a strangled laugh and put a shaking hand on her forehead to check for fever. “No wonder you’re such a master seducer. You almost fooled me with that one.”
Tristan opened his eyes, but they were heavy lidded as if coming awake. “Hmm?”
With that sleepy-eyed, slightly bewildered look, he looked so much like the sweet Tristan of her youth that she longed to guide his head to her lap and stroke his hair and listen as he read poetry to her.
Not quite. She wanted nothing more in that instant than to kiss Tristan, either as he appeared now, flushed and confused, or in that magical bubble of desire that had unexpectedly engulfed her a moment ago. She almost laughed. Such an act with Tristan would be foolish on every possible level.
No wonder Elizabeth had fallen so hard for Tristan before she married Richard. No doubt every woman of Tristan’s acquaintance had succumbed to his spell and threw themselves at his feet.
Tristan’s eyes seemed to focus. Stepping away, he dragged his fingers through his hair and blew out his breath. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was as stunned as she. After clearing his throat, he chuckled and shook his head. “Just checking to see if you’re woman enough for these men I’m considering for you.”
“Woman enough?” She lifted a brow.
He winced. “Ah…”
“Don’t move,” rasped another voice. A ragged man holding a knife crouched in the darkest part of the shadows, poised to spring. “Gimme yer valuables, gov’nah. You too, missy.”
Leticia gasped, her heart skittering to a stop. Cold chills spread across her arms.
Tristan stepped in front of Leticia, blocking the man from her view. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“No trouble,” the knifeman said. “Jes gimme yer purse and that there fancy ring and you’ll never see me again.”
Leticia gripped Tristan’s shoulder with both hands and peeked out at the thug.
Tristan stood, calm and courageous. He held out his hand wearing his signet ring, which bore the Barrett family crest, and turned it so the filtered light made the rubies sparkle. “The money I could part with, but this ring has been in my family for generations. It is one of five, which are worn by descendants of the very first Lord Averston dating back to William the Conqueror. If you think I’m going to hand it over because you wave a puny knife at me, you are unforgivably stupid.”
Leticia gasped at his audacity, her gaze darting to their assailant. Surely the thief would be furious.
Tristan reached back and placed a hand on her hip, an intimate, soothing gesture.
The knifeman scowled and brandished the knife. “’and it over, fool, along with yer money, or I’ll carve ye up first and then I’ll ’ave a go at yer ladybird.” He leered at Leticia.
Tristan’s shoulder tensed under Leticia’s hands but his voice remained calm. “Very well. I can see you won’t be reasonable.” He reached into his back pocket underneath his tailcoat and pulled out a small pistol. With a steady hand, he leveled the pistol at the thief. “You will not touch this lady. You aren’t fit to look at her. Now back away and leave us in peace or I’ll be forced to shoot you.”
The thug’s eyes widened and he held up his hands. “No trouble, sir, no trouble. I’ll jes’ be on me way.” He faded back into the shadows.
“Back away, Tish.” Tristan took a step back and Leticia followed his lead as if they were dancing in reverse position. When they reached lamplight on a main path, Tristan peered again into the shadows, then guided Leticia forward.
He tucked the gun away and turned to her. “A bit of adventure, now, eh?”
Now that danger had passed, Leticia began shaking. Tristan enfolded both of her hands inside his, strong and safe and steady.
“Come,” he murmured. “We’d best find a constable before the blackguard tries that with someone else.”
Leticia nodded. Tristan took her hand and they walked, hand-in-hand like children. Tristan hailed a constable, described the knifeman, and pointed out his last known location. The constable went to investigate. Leticia hadn’t been able to utter a single word.
He turned to her. “Tish?”
She looked up into Tristan’s concerned eyes and tried to pull herself together. “You were amazing. When did you start carrying a gun?”
“Since those men snatched Richard last year. I rather like defending myself and others.”
She let out a shaky breath. “My hero.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Come, Love. Let’s find the others.”
Love. He’d never called her “love” before. Perhaps he frequently addressed women of his acquaintance by that term of endearment, but it enfolded her in joyful bliss. Grandmama had called her “beloved” with such sincerity that Leticia never doubted that she meant it. That same sincerity rang in Tristan’s voice now. Could she trust that he meant it?
Walking on Tristan’s arm, Leticia straightened her shoulders and released the last of her fears. She was safe with Tristan. Her friend. Her champion.