Chapter Thirty-One
With the train of her riding habit draped over her arm, Leticia paced the length of the foyer. Morning light peeked in the windows, but failed to cast light on a wise course of action. She turned and paced back the other way, passing a table filled with flowers from both Lord Bradbury and Tristan. She continued into the open doorway of the morning parlor.
“Leticia?”
Leticia let out a yelp and jumped back. “Gracious, Aunt! You nearly put me into an early grave.”
Aunt chuckled. “I didn’t mean to startle you, dear.” Curled up in a settee and wearing an ivory morning gown, Aunt Alice sipped tea.
“I didn’t think anyone was up at this hour.” Leticia sat in an armchair next to her aunt.
“I don’t sleep much these days. I’m surprised to see you up after such a late night.”
Leticia adjusted her riding gloves. “I’m going riding with Tristan.”
“Ah. Has he declared himself to you?”
Leticia choked. “No. Well, not really.” Although his words last night might have been taken for a declaration of sorts.
“I’ve never seen a more smitten young man. You are wise to consider a man like Lord Bradbury, and he’s a fine catch, of course, but you are a very subdued version of yourself in his presence. When you’re with young Mr. Barrett, you come alive.”
Leticia hugged herself. “I’m comfortable with him because I’ve known him all my life.”
Aunt Alice set down her teacup. “What is it that makes you disregard him as a prospect?”
“You know what.”
“He comes from a long and distinguished family, he has a generous allowance, he’s delightful, and clearly devoted to you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s hailed as one of this Season’s most eligible bachelors. Why, all Season the gossip columns have been comparing Tristan to the likes of the young Viscount, Cole Amesbury, his youngest brother Christian Amesbury, Lord Bradbury, and even the Duke of Suttenberg. One of my favorite columnists is calling them The Five Incomparables, and declares they’ve put all of London into a collective swoon.” She leaned forward. “Although, truth be told, I’d add Captain Kensington into that list.”
Leticia waved her hand. “Yes, yes. Tristan’s handsome face is not the issue.”
“You’re worried about his reputation.” Aunt Alice clasped her hands and regarded her.
Leticia sank into a green striped armchair. “How do I know he won’t revert back to his dissipated lifestyle?”
“If you are asking me how does one person know if another person has repented, that is for God to judge—not us. All we can do is believe by their words and their behavior that they are sincere, trust that they are strong enough to persevere, and offer encouragement when they weaken.” She poured herself another cup of tea and sipped. “It sounds to me that you are afraid.”
“I am. I’m afraid if I fall irrevocably in love with him, he’ll eventually fall back into his old ways. That would break my heart.”
Aunt Alice set down her teacup. “You cannot be so afraid of twisting an ankle that you never allow yourself the joy of dancing.”
Leticia turned that thought over. “You’re saying the joy of love is worth the risk of a broken heart.”
“That’s right.” Aunt Alice leaned forward. “Do you believe his feelings are genuine?”
“I’m…not certain what, exactly, his feelings are. We’ve been friends forever. Now, there’s something new between us. I’m not sure I understand fully what is happening, or what he wants to do about it. Even if I did, I don’t know if I dare.”
Last night Tristan had surprised her. Twice. She’d watched as he’d rejected not one, but two offers from women who he would normally… Well. She wouldn’t go into details. Had Tristan’s changes really become permanent? During the house party, Tristan had showed no signs of succumbing to the alluring Mrs. Hunter, if Mrs. Hunter’s frustrated expression were any indication. Last night, she’d overheard two people commenting on how Tristan appeared to be growing out of his dissipated youth and turning into a steady young man. Did they all see something she failed to recognize?
Aunt Alice picked up her cup. “As his oldest friend, don’t you think you, of anyone, should believe in him?”
Guilt wagged a finger at Leticia. She looked away. “As his friend, yes, I should be. But if I am to become more than a friend—”
“You need to decide once and for all; do you trust him? If so, give him a chance. And let Lord Bradbury know your heart is otherwise engaged. You cannot keep them both dangling.”
“Dangling?” Leticia rocked back as if her aunt had thrown hot tea in her face. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Some may view it that way.”
Sinking down into her hands, she let out a moan. What to do? Lord Bradbury resembled a bed of coals, warm and steady and constant. Tristan reminded her of fireworks, bright and explosive and exciting. Would he vanish in a blink?
Leticia remembered the gun he carried, and the deadly calm with which he’d wielded it at the thug in Vauxhall. In the balloon ride, when she’d been frightened, he’d held her in a comforting embrace. She’d never experienced such a sensation of safety than she had with Tristan. Even his kiss had been respectful, an offer, a question, letting her take what she wanted, demanding nothing in return. She’d felt beautiful and cherished and…loved.
Did Tristan love her?
More importantly, did she love him?
The front door knocker broke the silence. Leticia stood as the butler opened the door and greeted Tristan.
“Good morning, Aunt,” Leticia murmured.
“Have a wonderful time, dear.”
As Leticia entered the foyer, Tristan’s face, so familiar, so dear, and yet somehow different, guided her to his side like a lighthouse guides lost sailors. His lean, broad-shouldered frame filled out his riding coat in a way that no doubt drew envy from gentlemen and admiration from ladies—far too handsome for his own good. If he’d been born plainer, perhaps he would not have been the object of every lewd woman who saw him. If only he’d had the wherewithal to have refused them.
He grinned and her heart leaped like a crazed circus performer. He met her halfway across the room, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. After kissing the back of her hand, he kept it nestled in his. The contact of his bare hand on hers gave courage to that crazy circus performer in her heart.
“You are radiant this morning, Leticia Love.”
Love. Did he mean that? Did he love her?
His grin turned intimate. How long they stood there, hands intertwined, looking into each other’s eyes, she could not have guessed. With his free hand, he touched her cheek. Did his touch mean he saw her as different, that he had never felt this way about someone else? That he had never treated anyone else as he treated her? That he would love her faithfully all his life?
“You seem to be taking very careful measure of me today.”
She opened her mouth but no sound came out.
He leaned down and kissed her brow, a feather-light touch. Then he kissed her cheek. Finally, he leaned lower. She lifted her face upward, aching, craving, starving for another kiss from Tristan. His lips touched the hollow below her earlobe, then her cheek.
The kiss on her mouth never came. Instead, a soft rumble of his laughter brushed over her. She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing.
Tristan whispered, “I’m very encouraged that you want me to kiss you. I may grant your wish—later.” A playful glint entered his eyes.
Her face burned that he’d read her so easily, and worse, denied her desire. How truly vexing man! He deserved a contemptuous set down—if only she could think of one.
His teasing grin reappeared. “I can’t tell you how gratifying it is that you seem happy to see me today.” He stepped back and spoke loudly enough to have been overheard. “It’s a fine day outside and I have it on good authority that we will be blessed with a rain-free ride.”
Still unable to speak, she picked up her riding crop and strode toward the door past the table of flowers. Tristan caught up to her before she’d stepped foot outside and offered his arm. She battled to regain control of her wits.
“You are a scoundrel,” she muttered.
He chuckled softly. “Are you trying to tell me you are not happy to see me?”
She sighed. “You can be so aggravating.”
“I hope there will be more happy times than aggravating times in store for us, Love.”
There he went again, calling her “love.” What was she supposed to make of that?
She waved toward the vases of blooms. “By the way, thank you for the flowers.”
“You are most welcome.”
A footman held two horses saddled and ready to ride. After greeting her mount and letting him get her scent, she accepted a boost up from Tristan and arranged the skirts of her riding habit. Still wearing that irrepressible grin, Tristan rode beside her to Hyde Park.
Inside the park, birds trilled and twittered like so many prima donnas vying for center stage. Wind whispered in the trees bringing scents of freshly mown grass and spring flowers.
As they headed for the fenced-off riding trail known as Rotten Row, Leticia scrambled for something to say to this different Tristan. “I always thought Rotten Row was a strange name. I’m told it’s named for La Route du Roi, or King’s Road, although last week, someone said the row led to Eton College, so they called it Rue d’Eton. It seems it eventually got corrupted to Rotten Row.” Oh heavens, she was rambling on about a boring subject.
He lifted a brow but drawled in a tone of cultured urbane boredom one normally reserved for a new acquaintance in a drawing room, “Oh? I thought it was named for the mix of gravel and crushed tree bark to create a pliable surface for the horses’ feet and legs. Rotten also means soft, you know.”
“I suppose we’ll never know for certain.” Her cheeks heated. Why did she start such a dull conversation with Tristan?
He glanced at her, mischief and challenge sparking in his eyes. “I know for certain that if I raced you there, I’d win.”
His familiar teasing eased her tension. She scoffed. “Of course you would; I won’t go running through the park like some wild little girl.”
“Come now; there’s no one about. Who would censure us?”
With a slight shake of her head, she smiled. “You’re still stinging over my beating you the last time we raced.”
He gave a dismissive wave. “That was years ago—when you were a wild little girl.”
“Getting beaten by a girl must have been a blow to your manly pride,” she teased.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t very manly then, so ’tis of no consequence.”
“You have always been manly, and you know it.”
His gaze slid her way and a secretive smile hovered at his lips as if he had tucked some surprise gift there and waited for the right moment to share it with her. If it were anything like his kiss, she ought to sit down first or she might not survive with her composure intact.
The gleam in his eye, two parts playful and one part sensual, had an adverse effect on her heartbeat. “Yes, I suppose I have always been manly. You, however have not always been so womanly—you were once a scrawny little brat.”
“You oughtn’t remind a lady of things like that,” she said with exaggerated primness.
His rich, contagious chuckle warmed her all over and she had to smile.
They reached the end of the fence dividing Rotten Row from the rest of the park and guided their mounts into the riding pathway. No one else used the Row this morning, not even grooms exercising horses. They trotted at a comfortable pace, Leticia adjusting to her borrowed horse’s gait, and Tristan riding as if he were born in the saddle.
For a time, the pathway followed the Serpentine River. Ducks glided over the surface like tiny boats leaving V-shaped wakes. The crisp morning air chilled Leticia’s cheeks and filled her with exhilaration. Her horse strained against the reins, asking to run. Leticia let him increase to an easy gallop. Next to her, Tristan kept pace, grinning and rosy-cheeked. The ease of riding next to Tristan combined with the fresh air renewed her and quieted the questions in her mind. All too soon, they reached the end of the riding trail.
As they slowed to a walk, he took a deep breath and let it out. “A gratifying ride, due in part to the charming company.”
“Flatterer.”
“Honest.”
Leticia’s stomach rumbled. “Have you broken your fast yet?”
“No, I never have much appetite first thing in the morning.”
“I find that hard to believe since you always seem to be hungry.”
“It does indeed take a great deal of food to keep all of this”—he gestured to himself from head to toe—“so manly. I merely cannot begin feeding myself too early.”
She huffed her amusement. “I’m not interested in feeding your conceit, but I haven’t eaten yet, either. Care to join me for breakfast? My aunt won’t mind.”
“Thank you.”
A feminine rider trotted toward them with a groom following behind. As the rider neared, the features of Lady Petre became clear. The lady glanced at them. Leticia sighed. The woman’s husband and mother-in-law were odious but this lady seemed different, if a bit browbeaten.
“Lady Petre,” Leticia called out by way of greeting.
The lady flushed, glanced at Tristan, and flushed deeper. The groom following behind her kept up close enough to attend to her should the need arise, but at a respectful distance to allow privacy.
Lady Petre slowed and nodded to them. “Miss Wentworth. Mr. Barrett.”
“It’s the perfect day for a bruising ride,” Leticia said.
Lady Petre slowed as if to speak more, maneuvering her horse so she faced Leticia. “Miss Wentworth, I wish to apologize for my husband and mother-in-law. Their remarks in the teashop and at the opera were…unkind.” She lowered her gaze and twisted her reins in her hands. “I hope you are not offended.”
Leticia moved closer to her. “I assure you that I have quite forgotten. Think nothing of it.”
A pained smile came over Lady Petre’s face. “Thank you for being so gracious. And I…” She swallowed. “I applaud your efforts with the school. I wish I could lend my support.”
“I understand, my lady.” If she’d been able to reach the lady, Leticia would have grasped her hand. “Not everyone agrees with what we are doing, and of course I would not ask you to act against your husband’s wishes.”
The lady glanced up. “It isn’t him; it’s his mother. She has very strong opinions. If she weren’t so set against it, he might be persuaded…perhaps…”
Poor thing. Living with an overbearing mother-in-law and a son who agreed with everything she said must be a trial. Leticia searched for something comforting to say. “I’m sure he’s a good man deep down.”
The lady continued to look down as she nodded. “Thank you. Good morning.”
Tristan spoke. “Thank you for stopping to speak with us, Lady Petre. Your good opinion matters to us.”
As Lady Petre looked up, her glance skittered away, but something in Tristan’s expression captured her focus, and her smile grew, softening her features. “As does yours.” She nodded a farewell and urged her mount forward.
“Delightful lady,” Leticia murmured. “I hope she’s right about her husband. I fear he dominates her.”
“Do you think that’s why she’s so timid?”
“I used to think so, but now I wonder if she’s timid by nature and allows herself to be ruled. Perhaps if she spoke up, she would receive more respect from her relations.”
Tristan’s eyes took on that unfocused look he got when he grew introspective. “Family matters are complicated. I used to think Richard was a thorn in my side. Now I understand he was trying to protect and help me.”
Leticia bit back a teasing comment about how he must be growing up. In truth, he’d been maturing steadily—in more ways than one. Most of her life, she’d been too focused on Richard to realize how much Tristan had changed, especially over the past year. He had become a strong, capable, steady gentleman.
Chatting of inconsequential matters, they left the park and rode to Aunt Alice’s house. After Tristan greeted her aunt, Leticia and Tristan went into the breakfast room and helped themselves to the buffet.
Leticia imagined sitting across a breakfast table from Tristan every morning, listening to the sound of his voice, of his laughter, admiring his handsome face, the two of them teasing each other, discussing interests and household or estate matters. She couldn’t imagine anything more pleasant. Or more desirable.
Tristan leaned back and sipped his tea, eyeing her. That secretive smile returned.
In an attempt to appear unaffected, Leticia added cream to her chocolate and stirred the hot drink. “You look like the cat eying a canary. What wicked thoughts are you entertaining?”
“I’m thinking how lovely you are…how much I enjoy having breakfast with you.”
She blushed. Had he known her thoughts mirrored his own? “It is pleasant.”
“Are you going to the school today?”
“No, we are making calls.”
He hesitated, seeming to choose his words with great care. “I may need to go to Suffolk for a few weeks to see about estate improvements.”
“Oh? How soon are you leaving?”
“Next month.”
A looming separation from Tristan for a few weeks left a hollowness inside. “I shall miss you.”
“Will you?” he softly rumbled.
“Of course I will.”
He leaned forward, then stood and took her by the hand, drawing her to her feet. Odd, but she always seemed to forget how much taller Tristan stood than she, and how broad. Her heart thumped at twice its usual tempo.
“I am reluctant to leave for that long.”
“I…am reluctant for you to be gone so long.” Her voice came out breathless.
He drew nearer. With his bare hand, he traced the side of her face. A place deep inside her sighed at his touch. He leaned in and kissed her, his lips every bit as warm and soft as the last time. However, this time, his kiss posed no question. It made a statement—of possession, of affection, of love.
All uncertainty about Tristan’s sincerity dissolved. His heart thumped against her hand resting on his chest, and his caress grew firm. He slid his hand around the side of her face to the back of her head, guiding the angle, deepening the kiss. Under the power and majesty of their contact, her knees trembled. He looped an arm around her and held her against the length of him.
Tristan kissed her over and over, both hard and tender, demanding and gentle. His building passion fueled a longing inside her she never dreamed she possessed. Each moment, she lost another piece of her heart and became more joined with his until they were no longer two different people, but one stronger, more vibrant entity, whole and complete.
She knew then what she’d known all along but had been too stubborn to accept; she loved Tristan—not as a brother, nor a friend, but as a man with whom she would share her life.
Oh, how she loved him!