Chapter 25
The cake had been delicious. Sadie ate four pieces, mostly to delay the photographs, which she knew would be awkward and time-consuming. She had taken an unjustified dislike to Mr. Warren, who was altogether too smooth and charming for anyone’s good. And she didn’t care for the speculative gleam in his eye now that he knew who she was. Perhaps she was justified after all.
Like Tristan, he was untitled, but heir to the Earl of Summerton. Unlike Tristan, he had no employment. Photography was his hobby, and he seemed to be efficient at it. She had sat still as a statue, unsmiling, as he positioned his tripod. He handled the glass plates with dexterity, was clear in his instructions, didn’t hurt her eyes with his lights or offend her nose with his chemicals.
But after half an hour, Sadie had had enough. She was tired, and the tiara weighed upon her head like a boulder. Warren’s and Tristan’s cheerful banter was more than annoying. She rose abruptly, brushing Tristan’s hand off her shoulder.
“I think we are done.”
“Whatever you say, my lady,” said the unctuous David Warren.
“Right then.” Sadie hesitated. She’d expected an argument.
“You probably want to take a rest this afternoon. I’ll have Mrs. Anstruther bring a tray to you.”
Sadie felt like resting at least until tomorrow, possibly the day after. Alone.
“Thank you. Would you please send either Hannah or Audrey to me?” She’d have to be cut out of the curtains before she could nap.
“Of course.” She could tell by Tristan’s face he preferred to be the one wielding the scissors. Well, it was best to begin as she meant to go on. She’d have to lock herself in.
Hours later, after a hot bath, a refreshing sleep and another substantial meal, Sadie heard the rattle at her door.
She didn’t care who it was. “Go away!” She was right in the middle of a very interesting chapter of one of Baroness X’s books. The villain, a tall, dark, and handsome gentleman who reminded Sadie of her alleged husband, had just been buried in a mudslide. No one was apt to shovel him out.
“Not bloody likely. Open the door, Sadie.”
Sadie almost smiled. She liked to hear her nickname on Tristan’s lips. It was so much friendlier than Lady Sarah, not that she wanted to be friends with him.
She put the book face down on a pillow and went to the door, making sure the key was firmly in its lock. “I have a headache.”
It was almost true. The ugly tiara had been a trial to her for hours. The diamond-encrusted set was now back in its velvet case on her dresser, perfect for Sadie to pack and abscond with. It was a pity the jewelry was so old-fashioned, but she was sure she could find a jeweler who wasn’t too particular.
“Do you remember what we talked about?” Tristan wasn’t shouting, but his words were very clear and measured through the wood.
How would old Roddy ever know what transpired on their wedding night? Were they expected to display the bloody sheets out of a Sykes House window?
“We don’t have to do anything,” Tristan said, his voice softer. “But for appearances sake, we need to spend the night together.”
“I suppose that’s what you say to all your wives.”
There was utter silence from the hall. Sadie had forgotten the man had been married before.
Oops.
“We may not even be married.” Sadie added. She really wasn’t quite sure, or so she told herself.
“I’m not going to fight with you. Or beg.”
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.” Hopefully the rain would stop by then and she could make her escape. She had diamonds to bargain with now.
But then the key in the lock clattered to her feet and the doorknob turned. It was too late to push a chair in front of the door, or scream her head off.
Who would come anyway? The staff was loyal to Tristan.
He waggled a ring of keys at her. “I came prepared.”
He was wearing a striped silk robe in masculine shades of brown and navy. His feet were bare, and Sadie suspected he wasn’t wearing anything on any other part of him either beneath the robe.
“You can’t just sally in here!” she hissed.
“Oh, I think I can.” He bent to pick up the key and turned it back in the lock. “Now we won’t be disturbed.”
Sadie was disturbed already. “I don’t want you in here!”
“Why not? The bed is big enough for two. Possibly three, although that sort of thing has never been of interest to me. I guess I’m too old-fashioned.” He gave her a lopsided grin that should not have the effect it had on her, and proceeded to sit down in a wing chair in front of the fireplace.
Her chest felt tight. “You promise not to touch me?”
He shrugged. “If I must. I admit the prospect of ravishing you has its appeal. We are married. I’d be within my rights to insist.”
Let him see how far he’d get insisting.
“Has your friend gone?”
“Yes. Hours ago. We’re down to your father and your ex-fiancé. Oh, and some inquiry agent who practically swam here this afternoon. He was supposed to find you, but here you are. You should have joined us for dinner. Jolly good fun.” His expression told her otherwise.
“Ugh. Poor you.” Not that she really had much sympathy.
“The only thing that could have made it worse would have been my father returning home from Paris. Not that he’d object to you as a daughter-in-law—”
“I should hope not!” Duke’s daughters didn’t fall out of the sky and into baronets’ sons’ laps every day.
“But he wouldn’t care for the commotion. My father is a stickler for propriety. He’s got quite a stick up his, um, anyway, he likes things to be calm. Settled. The ceremony would have made him break out in hives. And the dinner company—let’s just say Paris or perhaps Patagonia would have been preferable.”
“Was Roddy still an ass?”
“The man refuses to see the writing on the wall.”
Or the writing in the parish register. If Sadie legged it tomorrow, her marriage would certainly be invalid without her signature.
Would the de Winter diamonds still belong to her? They were his “wedding gift.” Tristan might have her prosecuted for theft.
Maybe she shouldn’t run away.
The idea was such a revelation she had to sit down on the bed.
Tristan brightened at her new position. “Tired? It has been a long day.”
“I am wide awake.” She picked up her book but couldn’t understand a word. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tristan rise from the chair and stretch, his robe gaping open.
His thighs looked very strong.
Oh, merciful God. She shut her eyes and now she really couldn’t read.
“Scoot over. You may want to burn the midnight oil, but I confess I’m exhausted.”
She heard the robe slither to the floor. What a conundrum. Should she open her eyes now, or wait until he was under the covers?
By the time she rolled to the side and decided to look, he was safe under the matelassé coverlet, punching a pillow into submission. All she saw was a brown shoulder and the curl of the shaggy dark hair on the back of his head.
So, clearly no pajamas or nightshirt. She was wearing her usual maid’s hand-me-down, billowing rough cotton and very un-wedding nightlike. Sadie realized she still did not have clothes of her own.
Something must be done.
She put the book aside. “Could you turn down the lamp, please?”
“Certainly.” He reached over, and the room was cloaked in darkness. Much better. She didn’t want to see brown shoulders or curly hair.
Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted to see it all.