Chapter 33
thirty-three
The moment Effie left Tristan’s bedroom, she let out a shaky breath. Stubborn, impossible man. She was shaking from head to toe.
“That was brave of you, my lady,” Harris said after he closed the door. “He needed a scolding.”
She felt anything but brave. “When was Lord Montcrest attacked?”
“Attacked?” His striped eyebrows went up.
“Obviously, thugs beat him.”
Harris clasped his hands in front of him. “His Lordship wasn’t attacked.”
“He said the same thing, which doesn’t make any sense. How did he get those bruises? Although his face is strangely fine. I know he’s involved in bare-knuckle fights, but not even illegal rings are that brutal.”
He shifted his position. “I can’t say more. His Lordship will tell you the whole story if he’s ready to. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Twenty minutes later, after a cup of excellent tea and nothing but silence from Harris, Dr. O’Neil called her.
“My lady.” The doctor let her and Harris into the bedroom.
“How is Lord Montcrest?” she asked.
Tristan’s jaw was so clenched she feared it might snap.
Dr. O’Neil glanced at him before speaking.
“The ribs aren’t broken, maybe badly bruised, but they should heal in a couple of weeks.
The concussion will require a bit longer, three weeks perhaps.
Every patient is different. I prescribed a balm to be applied to the bump and the ribs.
Valerian for the pain, light food, and rest.” He angled towards the scowling marquess.
“If you can convince His Lordship to do so.”
Tristan muttered something, but she ignored him.
“I can and I will. Thank you, Doctor. May I have a word with Lord Montcrest in private?” She waited for the butler and the doctor to leave before sitting on the bed next to Tristan. “The truth.”
He looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. “I told you the truth. I wasn’t attacked.”
“The second part of the story, then.”
“It’s not of your concern.”
She thumped the bed. “Honestly, I have treated mules less obstinate than you are, and donkeys less an ass than you.”
He worked his jaw. “You truly know how to make me feel better.”
“I’m trying to help you, and before you say you don’t need my help, let me tell you that you do. Or you wouldn’t be in that bed now, looking like my grandfather after a bout of pneumonia.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to despise me,” he whispered.
“Not if you tell me the truth. I could never despise you.” She put her hand over his, careful not to touch his bruised knuckles. “Trust me and tell me everything.”
There was a long pause, and she feared he wouldn’t say anything.
He lowered his gaze. “As you guessed, I box in an illegal ring.”
The bedsheet covered the mess on his torso, but the sight of his bruises was well imprinted in her memory.
“How many times do you box?”
He lifted a shoulder. “When I want to.”
“Why an illegal ring? You must be a member of some fancy gentlemen’s club where you can box every day in complete safety. Why not go there and be safe?”
“Exactly.” He opened and closed his hands. “A proper club doesn’t give me the same thrill.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Years ago, I was attacked by a group of anarchists. They beat me within an inch of my life.”
She held his hand, feeling his tendons tense. She expected him to slide his hand out of hers, but to her surprise, he gripped it with his strong fingers. “I know about the incident.”
“I spent months in the hospital in a deep sleep. After I recovered, for a long time, I was easily startled and scared of walking alone at night. I hated feeling so vulnerable and frightened. The wounds healed, but from that moment, something changed in me. I started boxing to learn to fight back, and I found that I enjoyed the pain. Now I need the pain. I crave it.”
Her throat became dry as she tried to understand how anyone could enjoy the pain. “You go to this illegal ring not to fight but to let other fighters beat you until you feel pain?”
He nodded without looking at her. “It’s called The Octagon and is under a house of ill repute. I guess that’s why there are rumours about me visiting such a place.”
She took a moment to ponder his words. What was she supposed to say to someone who enjoyed feeling pain? She had no idea such a condition existed. Addiction to pain wasn’t any different from addiction to opium. Both of them led only to one end.
“I understand it’s shocking,” he said.
“Terrifying more than shocking.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow. “If you don’t want to see me again, I won’t blame you.”
“I’ve never said I don’t want to see you again.” She held his hand in both of hers. “But Tristan…”
He stared at the bed canopy. A tear welled in his eyes and refused to trickle down.
“Look at me.”
He turned his sad eyes to her. He had nothing of the usual cocksure marquess who tossed orders around. He was a vulnerable soul, filled with pain and loneliness, but stubborn enough to refuse her help.
“You must stop.” Her voice cracked as the possible outcomes of his addiction filled her mind.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. One day, you’ll be punched too hard, fall to the floor, and never get up again. One day, you won’t recover from an injury.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
“Honestly, I want to slap you, but you would enjoy it.” A sob broke free of her. “What will happen to Rowan?”
“He’s a clever boy. He’ll be all right.”
“He lost his father. His mother abandoned him, and he still hopes she’ll return one day. Of course, he won’t be all right without you. I won’t be all right without you.”
A flicker of life lit his gaze. “You don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true. I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re here because you’re worried about your father and made a ridiculous deal with me.”
“I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
“Effie.” He blinked, but that tear didn’t want to slide down. “Quitting is more difficult than you think.”
“I’ll help you.” She sniffled. “We’ll find a way. Next time you feel the need to go to the ring, you’ll send for me, and we’ll be together until the need is gone.”
He flashed her favourite crooked smile. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Well, you might want to show a more positive attitude for starters, instead of being so pessimistic. That alone would do wonders.”
He gave her an elegant nod. “Fair point.”
“In my parents’ estate where I grew up, we had a cow who was frightened of thunder.
Every time there was a storm, she would kick and hit her head against the wall.
The poor thing hurt herself. So I stayed with her every time it thundered, holding her with a rope quite firmly.
It took a while, but she overcame her fear of thunder and had never hurt herself since. ”
“Fascinating story, but—”
“No but.” She’d had enough of his ‘but’s. “You must be hopeful. That’s the first step. I won’t let you destroy yourself because I care about you.”
Finally, that tear spilt and rushed down his cheek as if in a hurry.
She cupped his cheek. “I care about you, Tristan.”
Was it so important for him to hear that?
“Promise me you’ll do everything to stop this madness.” She brushed his cheek with her thumb. “Promise me.”
Another tear slid down. “I feel no motivation to do so. There isn’t anything in my life that excites me or makes me happy. Aside from you.”
“That’s a start, and I’m here for you. We’ll find something that replaces hurting yourself, something safer. And you sound very ungrateful. Rowan loves you. Harris cares about you. I care about you. And frankly, I’m disappointed you don’t find me exciting enough to make you stop.”
He flashed his sad smile. “Another fair point.”
“Good. What do I have to do to convince you? Shall I kiss you?” She meant it as a joke, but why not?
The change of his mood was immediate. His eyes brightened with attention, and blood returned to his cheeks. Even his lips became an intense pink, catching her eye.
Heat stirred inside her as his gaze dipped to her lips.
“Do you mean it?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes. If a kiss will convince you to try, I’ll kiss you.”
“Another negotiation.” He pressed his cheek against her palm.
“Negotiations seem to interest you.”
“You interest me more.” His eyes locked on hers, and she couldn’t gaze away.
She inched closer, smelling his cologne mingled with the disinfectant the doctor must have used. He slid his long fingers to her nape with infinite tenderness, sinking them in her curls. A flare of heat made her dizzy as their lips became a feather apart.
“You must promise me,” she whispered against his lips.
“Anything you want.” He brushed his lips against hers in a gentle stroke that fuelled the heat inside her like a breeze on a fire.
She shivered at the contact. He repeated the gesture, light and gentle, until she moaned.
When he pressed his mouth against hers firmly, sensation exploded below and spread through her body.
With his hand on her nape, he guided her closer, and that was the only warning she had before his velvety tongue demanded entrance.
She yielded immediately and trembled again when he explored her mouth with slow lashes of his tongue. Her toes curled, and a fierce hunger reared its head within her. He kissed her faster but was always careful to make her feel everything, every detail of the kiss.
The heat of his expert tongue made her inner muscles clench with anticipation. He kissed her thoroughly and desperately, his chest brushing hers.
He trailed his fingers down her neck to her breasts until he found her nipple. A breath rushed out of her when he teased her nipple with his thumb. Liquid heat pooled between her legs. Sweet sensations took control of her body, prevailing over reason, and she surrendered willingly.
If he weren’t injured and tired, she would beg him to take her.
He broke the kiss slowly, scattering little kisses on her lips and chin and stroking her nipple. His breathing came out ragged, just like hers.
For a long moment, they didn’t speak, but their hearts were having a conversation made of fast pulses and loud thumps. He touched his forehead to hers, his nose brushing hers.
“Are you going to stop boxing illegally?”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.
A riot of sensations washed over her, from triumph to a sense of power that worried her, and sheer joy.
“Then stop. Please. You would make me so happy.”
He held her face in his ruined hands. “I will. I promise.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, careful not to hurt him. He hugged her back and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
She made a promise as well. She would care about him and help him along the way because leaving him alone wasn’t possible. How could she have ever thought him cold and unfeeling?
He was the opposite. Tristan felt too much, cared too much. And she cared about him, too.