Chapter 29 #2
He squeezed her hand. “Let me finish. After a while and a few miscarriages, my father must have realized that my mother would not produce living children. I imagine he considered abandoning her, but it was not possible. After all, my mother had done nothing wrong. So, he tracked down Sarah Hamilton, discovered her dead, and followed the line all the way to the orphanage where my brother and I lived. It was a terrible place. I was about seven years old then, old enough to understand that my younger brother was starving to death. Anthony’s memories of all this are very foggy, but I recall how Father arrived.
At the time, I thought he was a knight in shining armor, coming to rescue us.
I did not learn his true nature until later.
At any rate, he scooped us up and took us away.
I remember him telling us that we must forget everything in our lives up to this moment, because we were now Lovells, not Hamiltons.
Of course, we had different names. I spent the first seven years of my life as John Hamilton, while Anthony was Jack Hamilton.
Our father told us that we were to be Tristan and Anthony, and if we ever breathed a word of where we had come from, or implied that we were not Dorothea’s children, he would drown us in the Thames. I believed him.”
Madeline took a moment to gather herself.
“But… but how could it be done?” She stammered. “You were not babies; you were seven and four years old! And Dorothea—oh, how did she react?”
Tristan nodded slowly. “It was managed well. I will give my father that credit. My mother—that is, the woman I now call mother—had retreated to the countryside years ago, to escape her humiliation and misery at my father’s hands.
She had hardly any servants, as Father kept her in poverty, and she kept no company.
We bribed the servants, three of them—all now dead, and took the secret to their graves—and told the ton that Mother had taken her babies to the countryside for quiet rearing, only showing us to select friends.
Since everybody wanted to be considered select friends of the Duke and Duchess of Tolford, stories of people who had ‘seen’ us abounded.
My father’s story was never questioned. We grew up, accepted as the sons of the Duke of Tolford.
Anthony never really remembered much of his life before that, as I said.
My memories are only of the orphanage, with a few flashes of my real mother.
She never loved us and kept us only to secure our father’s affection.
No, Dorothea is my real mother, beyond a doubt. ”
“How did she react when you came?” Madeline whispered.
Tristan was silent for a moment. “You can imagine her humiliation, can’t you?
She was angry, I’m sure, not that my father cared.
But she told me that the moment she set eyes on us, she felt as though we were destined to be hers.
I remember…” He paused, chuckling, “I remember how she told us that we must call her Mother whenever we were ready to do so. Anthony was ready at once, but I took a little longer. But Mother worked hard to educate us, to love us, to make us happy. Our father took no more interest in us until we grew to be men, by which time I’d already learned that he was a vile man.
I suppose my upbringing made me a callous sort of rake, whereas it made Anthony a soft, kind man who wanted romance and a good, loving marriage. I am glad he got that in the end.”
Silence opened up between them. Madeline’s mind ticked through everything he had said, reviewing it.
“So, being born out of wedlock, you might not have become a duke at all?”
Tristan nodded. “To be clear, my cousin James was not next in the line of succession. I have no idea who it was. Some fellow abroad was, I think. But he began to think that I had taken the place that should have been his. I never thought there was any trouble at all; I thought he loved me. But there it is, Madeline. There is the nasty truth all laid out in front of you, for you to do as you like with.”
She jumped to her feet, pacing up and down the room. He leaned back, watching her.
“Does it concern you? I had rather thought that you would care little about lineage. I am a bastard, plain and simple.”
Madeline bit her lip. “In more ways than one.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning back at her. “Why, I do believe that is an insult, my dear duchess.”
“It is not your lineage I care about. Your past is simply that—the past—your future is what concerns me.”
“And what is it about my future that concerns you?”
She spread out her hands. “What do you think? What is our future together? Do I have a place in your world? I have a place in your… in your heart? I thought you had kept a mistress, and I suspect that prospect upset me more than anything. This feels… well, it feels like a relief.”
“And yet you’re still distressed. About our future.”
“Well, yes! We had agreed to lead separate lives, and with so many secrets, we couldn’t have a real marriage.
But… but I don’t want to honor our deal anymore, Tristan.
I want you. All of you. So you must be honest with me.
I still don’t understand why you are so keen to spend time with me…
to claim me. But if it’s just the challenge you’re after, tell me now.
Because my heart won’t be able to take it…
and I can’t think of any other reason why somebody like you could ever have wanted somebody like me,” Madeline murmured the last part, brow knitting.
He leaned forward, brushing back a stray lock of hair, and cupped her cheek.
“Let me be plain, Madeline,” he said softly.
“I love you. I believe I began falling in love with you from the moment you first recited that poem. I could have let Juliana and James go on with their silly, pathetic lives without a twinge of conscience if they had not tried to harm you. Believe me, my love, had they hurt you any more than they already did, I would have killed them.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She met his gaze squarely, feeling the familiar flutter of desire in her chest.
“You love me?” she whispered.
He nodded, swallowing. “I have made a terrible mess of our marriage. I have been brusque, even unkind. I have been thoughtless. I have hidden things I ought to have made clear to you. But one thing I have never done, Madeline, is to betray you. Not with Juliana Bolt, not with anyone. I beg you to believe me.”
“I do,” Madeline responded instantly, not even needing to hesitate for a moment. “I do believe you, Tristan.”
Relief and joy lit up on his face. He leaned forward, fitting his lips to hers.
The kiss began sweetly, almost chastely. Madeline tasted the salt of her own tears, still lingering on her lips, and reminded herself that there was no more need for tears. They broke apart, and she gasped for breath.
“I want to be properly married, Tristan,” she whispered. “I want to belong to you.”
Heat surged into his eyes. He reached up to cup her neck, and the drag of his fingers on her skin made her shiver.
“Are you sure, my love?”
“I have never been more sure of anything,” she promised, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
He kissed her again, and this time there was more heat in his touch.
Madeline wound her arms around his shoulders, allowing him to guide her backward so that she lay on her back on the sofa.
He rested his weight on her, pinning her down onto the cushions.
After a moment, Tristan paused, lifting up onto his elbows.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, “I am getting carried away. I’ll crush you.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Madeline…”
“You won’t crush me,” she insisted staunchly. “I trust you, Tristan. I do.”
He stared down at her for a long moment, lifting a hand to trail down the side of her face.
“Very well,” he said at last. “No risk of a baby. Not yet. I promise.”
She smiled faintly. “I thought you were afraid of being too carried away to control yourself?”
“Believe me, I am,” he muttered darkly, and leaned down to kiss her again.
Madeline melted into the kiss, closing her eyes and letting sensations wash over her. She could smell the faint scent of mint coming off Tristan, and she swore that she could almost taste it on his lips. Could he taste lavender on hers? She would ask him later.
His hands trailed up and down her body, sliding over the curves of her breasts in a quick, tantalizing sort of way. Madeline wondered vaguely whether she should offer to let him unlace her gown at the back, but decided against it. The re-lacing would be a nightmare, after all.
His weight against her felt thrillingly wonderful, the pressure intensifying the pulse of desire in her gut. Tristan pulled back, and Madeline pouted at the loss of his warmth. He shrugged off his coat, tossing it carelessly aside, and slid up the crumple of her skirts to bunch around her waist.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Madeline,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her again.
“Hardly,” she mumbled.
He grinned, plucking her spectacles off her face and carefully setting them aside. He kissed her once more on the side of the neck and slid down her body. Madeline propped herself up on her elbows, curious.
As before, he slid his hands up her thighs before tracing a finger against the join of her legs, sending a pulse of pleasure shooting through her. The touch was gentle, almost tentative, and Madeline chewed her lower lip.
I want more, she thought, but I am not sure how to ask for it. I do not even know what I am asking for.
He glanced up, met her eyes, and dropped a wink.
Then he leaned forward, briefly kissing the inside of her thigh, and before she could recover from the thrill of that sensation, he placed his mouth against her core, almost as if he were kissing her.
She gasped aloud, her hand slapping over her mouth.
He licked a long, slow stripe up against the join between her legs, and she trembled. He reached up to take her hand away from her mouth.
“You are always trying to keep yourself quiet,” he murmured, sounding almost disappointed. “Not this time.”
He made no move to touch her again, and Madeline let out a wobbly sort of moan. Was he just going to leave her lying there? Was he not going to finish it?
Tristan sat back on his heels, and his hands dropped to the placket of his trousers. She could see a bulge there and watched, mesmerized, as he unfastened his trousers.
Now, Madeline had seen a few sketches of a man’s member, mostly in biological textbooks, which were kept far away from women. Tristan’s member seemed to fit the sketches very well, except for one small concern…
“It’s very big,” Madeline mumbled nervously.
“It will not hurt,” he promised.
She nodded, and he leaned forward to kiss her again.
There was a strange taste on his tongue, and Madeline realized with a jolt that it was of herself.
His weight pressed her into the sofa, not enough to crush the breath out of her, but certainly enough to keep her in place as he reached between them, his fingers ghosting over her entrance.
He kissed the side of her neck, and pleasure fluttered through her once more. Madeline closed her eyes and let out a half-gasped moan, clutching at his shoulders.
He pushed his way into her with care, slowly and almost luxuriously. The sensation was odd, taking her a moment or two to adjust. Madeline opened her eyes when he went still and noticed that there was a frown between his brows.
“Are you well?” she whispered, reaching up to press the pad of her thumb against the frown line.
“Well? Heavens, woman, I am fighting not to lose control entirely,” he muttered, chuckling.
He kissed her once more and then began to move.
At first, the slow, careful movements felt strange to Madeline, but before she knew it, pleasure had started to build up inside her once more, more intensely than anything she had encountered before.
Every thrust jerked a breathy gasp of a moan out of her lips, growing louder and louder.
Tristan seemed to like that, chuckling at her and kissing her occasionally.
He braced himself on the sofa arm, speeding up, and Madeline had a quick, powerful image of herself on the edge of a canyon, teetering on the brink of something very large indeed. She closed her eyes, digging her fingers into Tristan’s shoulders, and cried out.
Her climax was more powerful than before, making her vision warp a little at the corners. Her mouth fell open, and she gasped for breath.
Tristan leaned down and kissed her, just for a moment—neither of them had breath for much kissing—and growled, low in his throat. His thrusts grew erratic, and he reached out, fumbling between them.
Something hot and sticky spilled down the inside of Madeline’s thigh. Tristan leaned his weight against her, going still.
For a moment, they lay like that, simply breathing, arms and legs tangled around each other.
“That was wonderful,” Madeline managed at last. Her voice had gone faintly hoarse.
Tristan chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her neck. He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped at her thigh.
“I rather thought you enjoyed it.”
“What was that?” she asked, nodding at the handkerchief. “I thought you had relinquished control.”
“No babies yet, that was what you said,” he responded, propping himself up on his elbow and eyeing her curiously. “Unless, of course, you have changed your mind?”
She bit her lip, reaching up to push his hair back from his forehead.
“I think I might,” she confessed. “Perhaps next time we could… could do things differently?”
He tilted his head. “Perhaps we might. Since you are now my proper wife, there are many things we might do differently.”
She giggled, pushing up to kiss him on the mouth.
“I should like that, husband. Oh, and there is something I forgot to tell you.”
“Oh?” He lifted an eyebrow.
She beamed up at him. “I love you, Tristan.”
His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss her once more.
“And I love you, Madeline. Now, let’s put your spectacles back on your face, shall we? I adore how you look with them.”
“Oh, please do,” she answered fervently. “Frankly, I cannot see a thing.”