Chapter 30
thirty
Tristan had been right. The next morning as Effie was sipping her morning tea in the sunroom, no headache bothered her. But something else did—a combination of regret, a vague sense of guilt, and a good dose of longing.
Before last night, she’d never considered her feelings for Tristan.
But he’d stirred a certain desire in her.
A desire that didn’t want to leave her, thanks also to a sense of curiosity and tenderness.
The good wine had nothing to do with her desire because she was well and sober after a surprisingly restful sleep.
The sunlight didn’t hurt her eyes as she’d feared. But her thoughts jumped around, as Kettle did when he was nervous.
Jane came right after she finished her quick breakfast. Her stomach wasn’t upset, but her appetite wasn’t great.
After Doyle served a fresh pot of tea for Jane, they were alone in the bright sunroom.
“How do you feel?” Jane searched her face, likely for signs of a lie or a disease.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”
Jane folded her hands on her lap, as if gathering her patience. “He behaved, didn’t he?”
“Tristan was nothing but a gentleman.” She couldn’t completely remove the disappointment from her voice.
“So you don’t have to see him again. It’s done.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. They hadn’t discussed their next meeting. She would remember that, wouldn’t she? Was the deal done and dusted? He’d told her that when she was ready, he would bed her, but that was rather vague.
She needed to see him and clarify the details. “I need to get ready to leave.”
“To go where?” Jane looked shocked.
“A walk.” She waved in the direction of London. “Somewhere.”
Jane’s shoulders lowered with a long exhale. “You don’t fool me. Isn’t it too early to see him again?”
“Perhaps yes, but I need to understand a few things.”
“Effie, please, you must think about the rumours.”
A flare of annoyance hit her. “You really should stop worrying about rumours and gossip. You know, all your accusations against Tristan, all the rumours you heard about him are false. He doesn’t have a mistress and doesn’t visit a disorderly house.
Also, he doesn’t mistreat his workers. Spreading lies is dangerous and unfair. ”
Jane looked flustered. The colour of her cheeks matched her red velvet gown. “I’m trying to help you.”
“And I appreciate it, but I don’t think that constantly listening to rumours or worrying about what people think brings anything good. And one shouldn’t foment rumours that might prove to be wrong.”
“I’m careful about what people say. Is that a crime?”
“Yes, if you make your decisions only worrying about rumours and not about what you want.”
Jane scoffed. “I see you’re in a foul mood.” She rose. “Good luck with your endeavour. I don’t think you need me.” She headed for the door.
“Jane, please.”
Too late. Her friend left without a second glance.
A few things Jane had told her about Tristan were true; others weren’t. But that wasn’t the problem. She didn’t want to spend her life being careful not to start rumours about herself or worrying about what people would think.
Her deal with Tristan was dangerous, but rumours were the last of her problems. Her heart worried her more.
She chose a light purple gown with a lilac underskirt and a matching hat and heart pendant. In the country, there were few occasions to wear beautiful gowns, and she started to appreciate them. She wanted to look her best, lest Tristan think last night had worn her out.
No, she was lying. She wanted to see the hunger in his blue gaze again. He hadn’t touched or kissed her, but she was already a wanton woman.
Harris didn’t bat an eye when he let her in. Either he wasn’t aware she’d been in the house hours ago, or he was a good actor.
“Lord Montcrest, please.” She removed her gloves, pretending this was a perfectly normal call.
“My lady.” He showed her into the drawing room and left.
He returned to serve tea.
“Is Lord Montcrest busy?” she asked.
“He’s with Mr. Fleet. I don’t believe it will take long, my lady.”
“And Lord Rowan?”
“In the sitting room, my lady.”
While she was there, she might see how Rowan was faring.
She went down the corridor and knocked on the sitting room door. “Rowan? It’s me.”
“Lady Effie.” Rowan smiled. “I’m happy to see you.” He was still using the crutches.
On a table, a shiny new copy of A Textbook of Horseshoeing for Horseshoers and Veterinarians.
She rushed to it. “This book is wonderful.”
“A present from Uncle George. He said I’m going to be a great veterinarian.”
“And I agree. How are you doing?”
His smile disappeared. “Dr. O’Neil has just left. He removed the cast. Do you want to see the wound? I know you won’t faint. Harris became green when he saw it, and Uncle George was deeply upset. I would like to know your opinion.”
“Of course.”
He sat on a chair and uncovered his leg, revealing two long scars crisscrossed with stitches. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“No. Considering what happened to you, the leg is healing well. May I?” She warmed her hands.
“Please.”
She touched the scars and the flesh around them gently. “There’s no swelling, and the bone seemed perfectly healed.”
“That’s what Dr. O’Neil said, but he didn’t tell me if I would be able to walk again without crutches. What do you think?”
She hesitated before talking. The last thing he needed was false hope. “Animals are different, and they walk on four legs. Human anatomy is quite complicated when it comes to ankles.”
“So I’ll limp forever.” He covered the scar.
“No, I didn’t mean that. You’re young and healthy. With time, the leg might work perfectly well.”
He sagged back into the chair. “I hope it will when my mother returns.”
That surprised her after what Tristan had told her. “Your mother is coming?”
He blushed. “I don’t know. One day, she’ll come and see me, and I don’t want to give her a new reason to leave when she realises her son can’t walk.”
She took a deep breath not to let out a sob. Tristan hadn’t told her the full story, but from what she’d garnered, the chances Rowan’s mother would return were close to none.
She squeezed his hand. “A mother doesn’t care about a bad leg.” She wanted to say more, that a mother would love her child unconditionally, but Rowan was a bright young man. He would understand she was listing all the qualities his mother didn’t have.
“Why did she leave?” he whispered. “Was I such a terrible son—”
“No. I don’t know her, but I know you. You’re a lovely, clever young man, and any woman would be proud to call you her son. It’s not you. She must have had her reasons, but they had nothing to do with you.”
His eyes shone with unshed tears. “May I hug you?” he whispered.
“Of course, darling.” She pulled him closer and held him.
He swallowed a few times as she patted his back. Her house had always been full of children, but her parents had never neglected them, no matter how difficult thirteen children were to handle. Yet Rowan had never experienced a mother’s affection and likely a father’s either.
The footman cleared his throat discreetly from behind her.
She was startled.
“Peter.” Rowan wiped his eyes quickly, releasing her. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
“My lord, Mr. Trowbridge is here for your French lesson,” Peter said.
“I’m ready.” Rowan stood up and gripped his crutches. “If you want to see Tristan, he’s in his study. You’d better knock and enter. When he’s working, he forgets about the world.” A hint of sadness laced his words.
“I will.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a shy smile.
“You’re most welcome.”
After Rowan left, she walked to Tristan’s study and paused before knocking. The door stood ajar, and Mr. Fleet’s voice came from the inside. So he was still there.
“Why did you change your mind? We were so close!” Mr. Fleet said.
“I made my point.” Tristan sounded calm and composed.
“I don’t understand you.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“Tell me what changed.” There was the sound of a fist thumping wood.
“This conversation is pointless.” That was Tristan.
They exchanged a few more words but too low for her to understand. And she was eavesdropping.
She was about to return to the drawing room when Mr. Fleet flung the door fully open.
He paused when he saw her. “Lady Effie.”
She greeted him with a nod.
“Effie.” Tristan smiled, brushing past Mr. Fleet and showing his dimples. His eyes lit from within, not with desire like last night, but with happiness. “Harris told me you were here. I’m sorry to have made you wait.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She didn’t know if she should leave or not.
Mr. Fleet shifted his gaze from her to Tristan. “How is Lord Winchester?”
“George,” Tristan said in a warning tone. “I believe you are leaving.”
“I believe I got the answer to my question. My lady.” He walked along the corridor.
“Please.” Tristan invited her to his study, and it wasn’t as she’d pictured it.
The room was wide, filled with brown furniture, and flooded with light from the large windows. The smell of worn leather wafted from the books and chairs, and brass lamps were scattered around. She wanted to lie on the chair, put her feet up on the desk, and read a book.
“Did I interrupt something?” she asked.
“Yes, thank goodness.” He crossed his arms over his chest, carelessly handsome. “I trust you feel well.”
“The herbal tea worked wonders.” In the bright sunlight flooding the room and in her very fine but tightly buttoned gown, coming here sounded like madness.
She should have stayed home and waited days before talking to him again, instead of chasing him like a lovesick girl.
“What is it?” He offered her a chair, but she didn’t sit.
“I was wondering…” She would sound like a woman obsessed with him if she asked him when they were going to meet again. “I would love the recipe for last night’s pudding, the one with the cherries on top.”
Pathetic, but that was the best she could do without being prepared.
He gave her one of his ‘what do you mean?’ looks. “You came here, first thing in the morning, to get the recipe for a pudding?”
“Yes. No, actually, I saw Rowan, and I would like to see Zeus.” That was a better excuse, but too late.
“You don’t have to come here to see Zeus and ask for my permission. You can go to the stables directly.”
On second thoughts, that wasn’t such a better excuse.
“Yes, well, thank you.” She would be the first woman to have died of embarrassment.
He flashed one of the charming smiles he reserved for her only. “What did you want to tell me?”
She scratched her ear. Better to be honest. “We didn’t discuss when we were going to see each other again.”
“Are you eager to?” He tilted his head, and his golden hair caught the sunlight.
“Well…I’m busy, so very busy.” She fiddled with her gloves. “I need to plan ahead.”
His chest rose with a breath. “What about tonight? Dinner. No wine.”
She pouted. “No wine?”
“It would be better for you.”
A laugh almost escaped her. “So you still want to see me? I thought I bored you to death.”
He stepped closer, and the wide room suddenly became a cupboard. “Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?”
“I wasn’t sure after I made a fool out of myself.”
He took her hand, the one he’d kissed last night, and traced the heart line slowly with a finger. “I believe I was clear about my intentions.”
A fluttery feeling started in her belly. “I wanted to be absolutely sure.”
“Then let me repeat them again.” He kept caressing her hand. “I don’t want anyone as much as I want you. You are the last woman who should doubt her charm.” He placed her hand over his chest where his heart was thundering.
His heart pounded against her palm as if the heartbeat were a shout of longing. What was happening to her? She’d never felt so desirable as she did now. One word from him, and all her doubts about what was right or proper, vanished in a puff of smoke.
But it wasn’t just that. Her pulse spiked as well when he was close. She’d always found him handsome, but now she noticed a sweetness about him that made his beauty special, more intimate.
“You didn’t make a fool out of yourself,” he whispered in a voice that promised all sorts of wicked things. “You were lovely.”
A soft moan was the only thing she could produce. Great.
“I’ll see you tonight then.” He kissed her knuckles, and she couldn’t stop a smile.
“Tonight.”