Chapter 27
THE FOLLOWING MORNING
Tristan stared down at the note he had received with breakfast, his fingers laced together and propped under his chin.
Juliana’s handwriting, always bold and pointed, swirled across a piece of paper in front of him.
The message was clear, as always. She knew exactly what she wanted to say.
He could, of course, ignore it. The prospect was tempting. He could pretend that he had not received her message and go about his day as normal.
But where would that leave him?
Sighing, Tristan got to his feet, crumpling up the letter.
He would, of course, show it to Madeline and explain the situation, but only after he had managed the issue.
He placed the letter down on his desk for later.
The answer was clear, and he knew what he had to do.
He strode toward the doorway, head spinning…
The door opened before he could touch the doorknob. Madeline stood there.
He took a step back, suddenly wary.
She will suspect me at once, and I can hardly blame her. If I were in her shoes, I would suspect me, too. Once I have dealt with this issue, I will explain all.
“Tristan,” she said, smiling. “I was not aware you had had your breakfast already. Truly, I slept like the dead last night.”
Of course, she had. Last night, they had danced and laughed and talked at the Devil’s ball until the early hours of the morning.
He wished he could have forgotten what James had said so that he could have rested, too.
Light had streaked the sky by the time they returned home.
He did not blame her for sleeping so soundly.
It did not change the way guilt shot through his gut at the sight of her face.
Enough, he told himself angrily. You have no reason to feel guilty. You have done nothing wrong.
“So did I,” he answered, smiling back. “I have business to attend to this morning, Madeline, but we’ll have luncheon together. Would that suit you?”
He saw anxiety slide over her face, with a touch of hesitation there. He did not blame her. He had done plenty to merit hesitation. She fought past it, however.
“Of course,” Madeline answered firmly. “I would love to luncheon with you. We can bring Adam down, too. What would you say?”
“I should love it,” he answered firmly, and bent down to kiss her cheek. Her skin was warm and supple under his lips, and his chest tightened.
Enough, he told himself. Later.
They seemed to have crossed a threshold last night.
Despite her obvious displeasure at his refusal to explain what James had meant—he would give his wretched cousin a good kicking later for saying that blood will out, of all the ridiculous things to say—but it was also clear that she was willing to do things properly.
The idea of being properly married sent shivers up and down Tristan’s spine. He had wanted her for as long as he had known her, but this sort of thing simply couldn’t be rushed.
He stepped past her, hoping that she wouldn’t be offended at his sudden departure. This sort of thing had to be dealt with quickly. The sooner the better, really.
Madeline watched Tristan hurry away, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. There was something on his mind; she knew that. He had not met her eyes, and his gaze had jumped about the room, thoroughly distracted.
It was difficult not to worry. Despite their sharp conversation last night about James’ remark—blood will out—she really did hope that she and Tristan had turned a corner. After all, wasn’t it better for Adam that they were a proper couple presenting a united front to the world?
Never mind the fact that you want him for yourself, you greedy thing, pointed out a dry voice at the back of her mind. Madeline winced and tried not to listen.
Tristan threw her a nervous smile and strode out of the room. She heard him calling for a footman at the end of the hall, demanding that his horse be fetched, and quickly.
It would be appropriate for Madeline to leave his room now. This was his study, his private space. There was nothing for her here.
And then she spotted a crumpled piece of paper on the edge of the desk, and her blood chilled. Why crumple up a letter only to place it reverentially on a desk, in plain sight?
I should leave it alone. It’s none of my concern, she told herself firmly, even as she leaned forward and picked up the piece of paper. She smoothed it out, heart thumping.
It was a handwritten note, written on ordinary paper, not the stiff, formal card of an invitation. No, this was personal. In fact, if she lifted the paper to her nose, she could smell the sweet, fragrant scent of perfume. Perfume?
She read the letter, her heart beating faster and faster.
My dearest Tristan,
We have something very important to discuss. If you can evade your interminable duchess, meet me at our usual spot.
I shall see you soon.
All my love,
Juliana
Juliana. Juliana. Juliana.
“Juliana damnable Bolt,” Madeline breathed. Oh, it wasn’t Juliana who enraged her. No, Juliana was just doing her best to keep her hands on a duke when she had him. No, her rage was aimed at Tristan, who had gone rushing out of the house to meet her.
As soon as he received the letter, no less, Madeline thought, with a surge of misery flooding through her. How could I have been so foolish?
“Madeline, what are you doing here?”
She flinched, spinning around. James stood in the doorway, eyeing her warily.
“This is Tristan’s study,” he added, a trifle unnecessarily. “Does he know you are here?”
Madeline swallowed thickly and shoved the letter at him.
“Read this,” she choked. “Read this.”
He took the crumpled letter and read quickly. It was not a long letter, but she saw how he frowned as he read.
“Ah,” James muttered, frowning. “He’s gone to see Juliana Bolt again. I… I cannot say that I am surprised, Madeline. She always did have such a hold on him.”
Madeline gave a rasping sob. “Yes, but I believed that things were different. I believed that I… that he cared about me.”
James crouched beside her, wincing. He reached out as if to take her hand, then seemed to change his mind, drawing back his arm.
“Yes, Tristan is rather good at making people think that,” he mumbled. “I am so sorry, Madeline. You did not deserve this. After all these years of stoutly telling us all that he is nothing like his father, I suppose the similarities are there, after all.”
Madeline swallowed hard, feeling bile crawl up her throat. How could she have been such a fool? She covered her face with her hands, groaning aloud.
“What am I to do, James? We were meant to try to be a real couple; we were going to do things differently.”
He clucked his tongue. “Oh, my dear girl, I can see how upset you are. I should have known that the apple would not fall far from the tree. When you think of his birth…”
“His birth?” Madeline repeated, removing her hands and peering up at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”
James shook his head, looking away. “It is not for me to say.”
Madeline scowled at him. “I am not in a fine temper at the moment, James. Tell me plainly what you mean, or stop saying it at all. I do not care for innuendos.”
James blinked at her, seemingly taken by surprise. “Heavens. They said that you were a wallflower, you know.”
Madeline gave a brittle smile. “They say a good deal about me, and little of it is true. What are you saying, James?”
“I am saying that you require time to think clearly. You are upset and confused, and my cousin—much as I love him—is rather good at leaving ladies baffled and out of place. Is there anywhere you can go to be safe?”
Madeline breathed out slowly, and nodded her head. “Yes. I shall go to Papa’s. I shall take Adam with me.”
“Yes, a fine plan,” James responded, nodding approvingly.
“And I shall tell Dorothea of my plan.”
James frowned at that. “Is that wise? Surely…”
“Tristan is afraid that I will take myself and his nephew and disappear into nothing. I shall do neither,” Madeline answered firmly. “Now excuse me, I shall begin to pack.”
Gunter’s Tea Shop was the most popular location for tea and ices in all of London.
So, of course, Tristan and Juliana had never gone there together. It would be foolish to appear at such a famous location. After all, half of the ton fought to be seen there at least once a week. A duke and his opera singer would never get a moment’s privacy.
At any given moment, there were at least half a dozen copycat teashops in London, all hoping to emulate Gunter’s success. Tristan and Juliana had preferred to patronize a place called Edward’s Tea Shop, which served dry cake, half-melted ice cream, weak tea, and undrinkable coffee.
It had always served their purpose in the past. And now, Tristan hoped it would serve them once more.
He had entered the shop and gone to their usual table, a booth near the back, walking over gritty, bread-crumbed floors to reach it.
He sat down, pointedly not touching the sticky table, and waited.
And waited.
A full half hour had passed by, with no sign of Juliana, and he was beginning to believe that she would not arrive.
And then, quite abruptly, a vision in sable and blue silk sailed into the shop, bypassing the proprietor with an elegant wave of her hand. The woman descended upon Tristan and tossed back her hood.
“Tristan, my darling,” said Juliana, with her most becoming smile. “You came.”
“Of course I did,” Tristan responded tightly. “Your letter was most sharp.”
“Ah, only you can read between the lines of what I write.”
“Mm-hm. What do you want, Juliana?”
She pouted. “So harsh. You used to be romantic with me, once.”
Tristan tightened his jaw, glancing aside. “You never loved me, Juliana. Please, a little honesty. You would have married me if I had asked, but not for my sake. You wanted to be a duchess.”
“I would have been a fine duchess.”