Chapter 15
Tristan dismounted outside the Bennet house in South Audley Street and took his time tying up his horse.
With any luck, this would be a brief visit, but he was beginning to wish he’d brought his own liquid refreshment.
How was his visit—for tea, no less—supposed to add to the Fury’s enjoyment of the Season?
If he’d had to lay money one way or the other, he would have wagered she’d rather not see him again.
For the hundredth time, he wondered how he’d let himself agree to this.
When Bennet returned to London, there would be a reckoning.
Look after my sister, he’d said; bloody Christ, he might as well have asked Tristan to catch a wild boar and ride it to York.
The boar would have appreciated his efforts just as much.
He straightened his jacket and rapped the door knocker, bracing himself.
The sooner he went inside and drank some tea, the sooner he could leave.
Whatever she said to him, no matter how provoking, he must not respond.
He would ask after her health; after her mother’s health; if she would like him to shoot her brother for subjecting them both to this farce; and then take his leave.
The thought cheered him. A few polite minutes of meaningless conversation, and he would be done.
The butler admitted him and soon showed him into the drawing room. But only Lady Courtenay was waiting for him, smiling a little too broadly.
“Lord Burke! How lovely to see you. Thank you so much for calling.”
Tristan bowed, resisting the urge to peer out into the corridor behind him. If he’d had the abominably bad luck to call when Miss Bennet was out, he damned sure wasn’t staying. “The pleasure is mine, madam. I was most gratified to be welcome.”
“Oh, yes,” she said in amusement. “Won’t you sit down? My niece will return in a moment. We were just about to enjoy some tea and sandwiches. Would you care to join us?”
“That’s very kind, thank you.” He took the seat opposite her as the countess rang for a maid and instructed the girl to have more sandwiches and some cakes sent up with tea.
“Now.” Lady Courtenay smiled at him. “How is Douglas? I haven’t seen him in an age, and my niece tells me you are staying with him at the moment.”
“He’s gone to Norfolk, but he was in excellent health and spirits when he left, ma’am.”
“Very good,” she said warmly. “I remember him as such a rapscallion, always in pursuit of adventure and willing to break more than a few rules . . . oh, but I mustn’t say so to you—he will never forgive me! I beg you to overlook the reminiscence of a fond aunt.”
“Of course,” Tristan murmured, feeling an unwanted bolt of envy for Bennet. If only his aunt had ever thought so well of him and his youthful escapades. Lady Courtenay showed no approbation, and even a little admiration.
“I must confess, he was a boy after my own heart,” his hostess went on.
“I knew it the moment he skidded down the stairs of this very house with an atlas for a sled. Such an uproar it caused! His parents were hosting a fine dinner, and he upset it all by flying through the hall, shouting for all he was worth.”
“I defy any boy not to shout whilst sledding down a staircase,” said Tristan with a slight grin. “I might have done that myself a time or two.” He’d done it exactly three times, before getting caught and thrashed so hard, he almost squirmed at the memory.
Lady Courtenay leaned forward and lowered her voice, still smiling broadly. “Of course! I did it myself as a girl, once my brother showed me how. We were clever enough to wait until our parents were away, however.”
“Very wise,” he agreed solemnly.
The door opened, and a woman came in. “Lord Burke,” she said a little breathlessly, dropping a curtsy. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Tristan stared. He’d shot to his feet at the sound of the latch, but if Lady Courtenay hadn’t said her niece would be returning soon, he wouldn’t have believed it was truly Miss Bennet.
She didn’t have a single flounce or shred of lace on her.
In fact, she seemed shorn of almost all trimmings.
Her dress was a muted green—damn, he’d been right that deep colors would suit her—and decorated only with a wide satin ribbon around the neckline.
Instead of ruffles and puffs, her skirt was embroidered, and it swayed softly from side to side as she moved.
And her hair . . . all the ringlets were gone.
Her chestnut locks were pulled back into a heavy-looking mass of soft curls that seemed to beg for a man’s hands to run through it.
“You changed your hair,” he blurted out.
She blinked. “Yes. A pin came loose and I had to repair it.”
For some awful reason, all Tristan could think about was pulling out that pin and all its brethren, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. He cleared his throat as she crossed the room and took a seat on the sofa. “Right. Well done.”
“We were speaking of Douglas,” said Lady Courtenay. “And what a scamp he was as a boy.”
Miss Bennet turned her gleaming gaze on him. “That must be a lengthy conversation! I am sure Lord Burke knows a great deal about the topic.”
”Are you asking me to tell tales on your brother, Miss Bennet?
” He was still having difficulty believing it was the same woman, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t see anything that wasn’t her.
He’d just never noticed that her fine complexion went all the way down to the swells of her bosom.
In fact, now that the lace and trimmings were gone, he had an all-too-clear view of her bosom, along with the rest of her figure.
Far from making her look fat, as that horrid pink dress had done, this gown made her look lush and delectable.
His hands almost itched to test the span of her waist.
“Oh, my. No doubt my aunt and I would both swoon away at your exploits.” She batted her lashes at him, which only drew his attention to her eyes and the sly sparkle in them.
It made him grin. She was once more undaunted and uncowed, just as she had been the day she invaded Bennet’s house.
He much preferred her this way, instead of the nervous, anxious creature she’d been at the Malcolm ball.
He felt no shame in admitting it, either.
If he had to dance attendance on a woman, it might as well be interesting.
“Goodness, no,” said Lady Courtenay with a laugh. “How can we talk of Douglas when the poor boy’s not here to defend himself?”
“Much more easily than if he were here,” murmured Miss Bennet.
Tristan coughed to cover a laugh. “I hope Lady Bennet is recovering her health.”
“We’ve only had a brief letter from Sir George,” said Lady Courtenay. “They were obliged to stop in Bath, which I believe may be very fortunate. I’ve always found Bath so invigorating, but also restful. Have you ever visited Bath, Lord Burke?”
“Er.” There had been one dreadful summer, when he was eleven, when he’d been unable to secure an invitation to any schoolmate’s home and had been forced to spend a month in Bath with his aunt and uncle.
Aunt Mary had been expecting then, and her pregnancy had made her more unbearable than ever.
Not from ill humor; on the contrary, she’d been certain she would have a son, thus removing Tristan from any claim to the Burke title, and she’d been in exceptionally good spirits the whole time.
He always wondered how great her disappointment had been to have two daughters instead of a son.
But he would always remember Bath for the complacent smile she had given him every day of that horrid month.
He shook off the bad memory. “Not really, Lady Courtenay,” he replied. “I merely passed through once.”
She was watching him thoughtfully. “You must stop sometime. It’s a lovely town.”
He just nodded as the maid came in with the tray of tea.
Lady Courtenay bid her niece pour, barely interrupting her attention to him.
“But here I am, encouraging you to leave town, when London holds so many diversions, it would take a lifetime to enjoy them all! Just this morning we were discussing which invitations to accept. Does Lady Brentwood serve decent wine at her balls?”
“Ah . . .” He stared at her. “I’ve no idea, ma’am.”
Lady Courtenay made a face and waved one hand. “Oh, we shall have to take the risk, then. At least we may count upon Lady Martin to have a fine selection at her soiree on Thursday. Joan, you may send our acceptance to Lady Brentwood this afternoon. Will we see you there, Lord Burke?”
He looked at Miss Bennet as she handed him a cup of tea.
Dancing with her once or twice would satisfy his debt to Bennet, after all.
“Likely so, Lady Courtenay.” The lady across from him lowered her gaze, but not before he saw her roll her eyes.
“Perhaps Miss Bennet will save me a dance that evening.”
Her head came up in surprise, but then a faint smirk touched her lips. “I’m afraid I cannot, sir.”
Tristan almost dropped the teacup. He didn’t ask many ladies to dance, but when he did, he was never refused—never.
Instead of being a relief, it made him want to dance with her more than anything.
He wanted to know if she still smelled lovely.
He wanted to feel her against him again.
And damn it, he did not want to be refused.
“Your brother exacted my explicit promise to dance with you.”
She smiled at him in the overly bright way he had come to mistrust. “Goodness! What a dilemma. My mother exacted my explicit promise not to dance with you. I expect they’ll have to fight it out—although I assure you, Mother will defeat Douglas every time.”