Chapter 24 #2
James sighed. “Tristan would recover from your loss and the baby’s in a matter of days. I hate to paint such a callous picture of my cousin, but after all, blood will out.”
“Blood will out?” Madeline echoed. “Do you mean his father’s blood?”
A muscle twitched in James’s jaw, and he glanced away.
“That is not my story to tell, I think,” he murmured. “Forget I said it.”
As if I could, Madeline thought, furious and bewildered. Her cider was rapidly cooling, the mug growing progressively heavier in her hand. She took a sip, more out of habit than anything else, and found that the sweet liquid now tasted sour in her mouth.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “Tristan was so adamant that he wished to raise his nephew.”
“And at the time, I’m sure he meant it. But now that he’s back in London, with things to occupy his time, he’ll grow tired of the child.
You mustn’t leave Adam behind, Madeline, you mustn’t.
If Tristan knows that you have the child safe in the countryside, the dukedom can still be left to him.
He will lose interest in you both within a week, I can assure you.
I have watched it happen before. Miss Juliana Bolt held his attention for longer than any woman I’ve known,” James added, with a contemptuous huff, “and even so, she has to work hard to regain his favor.”
He jerked his chin in the direction of the stall. Madeline followed his gaze, and her blood turned cold.
At some point, the glorious singing had stopped. She had not noticed, wrapped up as she was in her conversation with James.
Miss Juliana Bolt had come pushing through the crowd, closing in on Tristan like a bloodhound following a scent.
Dorothea was chattering away to the stall owner, her back turned to her son. Tristan was staring at Juliana, who was standing very, very close to him.
Madeline watched numbly as Juliana reached out, laying an elegant hand on his arm, her glittering eyes resting on his face.
She was saying something, red lips curved into an attractive smile.
Tristan stared back at her, no doubt mesmerized by her beauty.
What man could resist a woman like Juliana, after all?
Madeline’s spectacles began to steam up from the inside, and she realized with a pang that tears had started to gather on her eyelashes.
Crash.
The sound seemed to come from far away, and she stared down at the fragments of her cider mug, scattered at her feet. James was talking, but his voice had a strange, echoey quality. He was trying to get her to step away from the pottery shards, one hand resting on her shoulder.
Almost without thinking, Madeline jerked her shoulder away from his hand. He stared at her momentarily, confused, and she shook her head, turning her back.
I have to get out of here.
She began to walk, oblivious to James calling after her. As she managed to push her way through the crowd, hemmed in all around, Madeline’s nerve broke entirely, and she began to run.
“You cannot mean it, Tristan,” Juliana laughed. There was an edge to her laughter.
Tristan shook off her hand. “I am Your Grace to you,” he said sharply.
“Juliana, I have been clear. Our relationship is over; you must see that. I am a married man, and it is beneath you to pursue a married man. You always said that you would not lower yourself to chase a man who did not want you, didn’t you? ”
Juliana frowned. “You are different.”
He sighed. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you love me? No, you cannot, because you do not. Juliana, the world is at your feet. You are talented and remarkably charming. You knew all of this about yourself long before you met me. You do not need me, but this is becoming an obsession. Love is not a game, my dear. You do not win or lose.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I think that perhaps you do not understand. Goodbye, Juliana. I would be obliged if you would not contact me again. I wish you no ill will, but this really must stop now. Speak to me again, let alone touch me, and I’ll make you sorry.”
He did not give her a chance to respond, turning away at once.
Through the crowd, Tristan could see directly over to where his cousin and Madeline had been standing. A rush of fear ran through him when he saw that Madeline was no longer there, and James stood alone.
He pushed through the crowd, his momentum nearly sending him crashing into his cousin.
“Where is she?” he gasped. “Madeline—where has she gone?”
James blinked stupidly at him. “Gone?”
Tristan growled. “Oh, you’re useless.”
Ignoring his cousin’s yelp of protest, Tristan plunged through the crowd again, this time aiming for the road they had entered by, the one that led back to the river.
It was dark, of course, and there were fewer lights strung along the riverside. He relied mostly on the silvery light of the moon to illuminate his way. He was not disappointed. Up ahead, he spotted a familiar silhouette climbing back into the boat that had borne them here.
“Madeline!” he cried, voice carrying easily along the quiet river. She flinched, so he knew that she had heard him, but did not stop clambering into the boat.
He raced toward her, skidding to a halt just as the boatman was preparing to cast off. He jumped neatly into the boat, making it rock and yaw wildly, and the boatman yelped in alarm. Madeline, who sat huddled in her cloak, held up a hand to forestall the casting-off.
“Get out of the boat, Tristan,” she said wearily. “I am going home. I will send the boat back for you as soon as I reach the other side. I will take the carriage home and send that back for you. Don’t be concerned; you will not have to look around for a way home.”
“That is not what worries me, you little fool,” he growled. “You ran off because you saw Juliana speak to me, didn’t you? Well, I told her never to speak to me again.”
Madeline shook her head listlessly. “It isn’t about Juliana.”
Tristan blinked, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I want to go home, Tristan. That’s all you need to understand.”
He stared at her, not quite able to pinpoint when the conversation had gotten so far away from him. She wouldn’t even look at him.
What have I done? Why does it seem that every time I am making progress with her, she pulls more determinedly away?
Perhaps she hates me after all.
He was not sure what impulse made him lean forward, curling his palms around her cheeks. At any rate, he kissed her, and she did not resist.
Her lips were soft and smooth against his; her face was chilled from the sharp night air. Tendrils of her hair, carefully curled, hung against her neck, brushing softly and teasingly against the backs of his hands.
She did not prevent him from kissing her, but neither did she kiss him back. Tristan pulled away, a niggle of worry sounding in the back of his mind.
“I care for you, little fool,” he whispered. “Why won’t you believe me?”
She swallowed and looked away. “You are very good at kissing, Tristan. You must have had a good deal of practice. And you’ll get more practice, I daresay.”
He let go of her entirely, sitting back with a frown.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head. “I mean that I am tired, I have the beginnings of a headache, and I want to go home. You cannot leave your cousin and mother here alone, so please, Tristan, get out of the boat.”
There was an exhausted resignation in her voice, a flatness that concerned Tristan more than any flights of temper or declarations of hatred.
He obeyed mechanically, clambering to his feet and stepping back onto dry land. The boatman, who had made a heroic effort not to notice what was going on, cast off and pushed the boat away from land. Tristan watched him row strongly toward the opposite bank.
He watched Madeline’s cloaked form recede over the water, her head hidden in the folds of her voluminous hood.
Look back at me, damn you, he thought, with a fervor that rather shocked him. Look back, even once.
But Madeline did not look back, and the boat was slowly but surely rowed out of sight, eaten up by the river mists.