Leslie Lafoy (20 page)

The sense of melancholy welled up, fearsome in its sudden onslaught, wrenching in its depth. Tristan dragged in a breath and clenched his teeth until the initial swell passed. “As to placing myself between her and all danger,” he answered tightly, “yes, I can.”

Again Haywood considered him through slitted eyes. The horse shifted impatiently and Haywood released the bridle. Without another word, he turned on his heel, walked up the steps, and let himself into the house.

Tristan expelled a long breath, trying to bring the swirl of his emotions under control. His effort succeeded only in creating a hard knot low in the center of his chest. He absently rubbed the spot, shaking his head and remembering how wonderful the night had been until he and Simone had left the warehouse. If only they had stayed there, had said to hell with trying to maintain the illusions. If only there were no Lucinda, no reason to be the noblest of cads.

He blinked and frowned. Had he just, in a roundabout sort of way …

Growling in frustration, he wheeled the horse about and gave him his head to the garden gate. Once beyond the garden wall, he heeled the animal’s flanks, setting him toward home and the promise of brandied oblivion.

*   *   *

The sky was starting to turn pink by the time Tristan came from the stables and vaulted up the front steps of his town house. Even as he reached into his pocket for his key, the door opened. He crossed the threshold, remembering quite clearly having told his butler and footman not to wait up for him.

Stripping off his coat and handing it to the footman, Tristan asked, “Potter, is there some particular reason that you’re up at this ungodly hour?”

“Lord Noland is in the study, Your Lordship.”

Noland? Tristan pulled his watch from his coat pocket. Yes, a quarter to six. He put it away, asking, “What’s he doing here? Aside from waiting, I mean.”

“He didn’t say, sir.”

Of course not. Peers didn’t explain to servants. And servants didn’t ask. Tristan made his way down the hall and into the study to find his friend seated in one of the wingback chairs beside the cheerfully blazing hearth. “Noland?” he began, noting the empty snifter sitting on the side table. “What’s brought you out this early in the morning?”

“It’s not early; it’s late,” Noland replied, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “I haven’t been to bed yet, either.”

Well, if there was a story to be told … “Is there any brandy left?”

“A bit.”

Making his way to the sideboard and the decanters, Tristan asked, “Are you going to tell me why you’re here at this hour or do we have to play Twenty Questions?”

“I worked quite late this evening on a report I wanted to have on the commissioner’s desk first thing today,” Noland supplied as Tristan poured himself a generous drink. “It was after midnight when I left my office and headed home. Still, it was by sheer fortuitous coincidence that I happened to be in a position to notice that you and Lady Simone Turnbridge slipped away for what I presume was a tryst in your warehouse.”

Tristan froze, the glass halfway to his lips. “You followed us?”

“More accurately, I followed Lady Townsend, who was following you.”

Lucinda?
His heart sank to the soles of his feet and his brain went absolutely, utterly numb. “Jesus,” he muttered.

“I didn’t think you knew she was there.”

He hadn’t had so much as an inkling. The possibility had never even crossed his mind. Blind and foolish. Inexcusably lax. His blood running like ice, he brought the glass to his lips and took a full drink. “How long did she stay?”

“Not very,” Noland assured him. “As you passed off your horse to the night watchman, her carriage rolled on.”

Maybe …
“Are you sure it was her?”

Noland nodded. “Her coachman had parked under a street lamp near the Duke of Ryland’s town house, and when you and Lady Simone passed, she drew back the curtain to watch you. I saw her face quite clearly.”

Damnation. He took another drink and dropped into the facing chair. “Where were you?”

His friend gave him a chagrined smile. “Trying desperately to get smoothly out of sight before you saw me and assumed that I was there spying on you. Although, I must say that upon further observation, it became apparent that you weren’t aware of anyone other than Lady Simone. I followed in the event that you needed assistance in fending off a surprise attack.”

At least Noland had been in full possession of his faculties that night. It certainly wasn’t anything
he
could claim. “Thank you.”

“Four hours is a beastly length of time to spend on the docks at night, you know.”

“It depends on what you’re doing,” Tristan offered dryly and with a half smile.

Noland chuckled. “I was playing cards with your night watchman. He’s damn good at cribbage, by the way.”

“I had no idea.”

“In the interest of friendship and full disclosure,” Noland went on, “I must mention that I followed you back to the duke’s town house. Just in case Lady Townsend intended to instigate her mayhem on that leg of your outing. Once you were in the company of Mr. Haywood and others, I broke off my surveillance and came here to wait for you.”

So Noland knew that he and Simone had been caught out together. And to think of how confidently he’d assured the duke that the affair was a secret. God, how a night that had been so good could go so bad.… Tristan took another drink, wondering how fast he could get drunk and how long he could afford to stay that way. “I owe you a great debt, Noland,” he offered, hoping to move matters along. And Noland out the door.

Not that Noland took the hint. He laced his fingers, laid his hands on his considerable belly, grinned, and asked, “Am I to be offering you congratulations on an engagement?”

Tristan lifted the snifter and took a healthy swallow before he answered, “No. The duke was satisfied by my promise to keep the escapade secret and to break off the relationship.”

Noland hummed a bit and cocked a brow. “Certainly not the typical or expected course of things,” he observed.

Tristan shrugged. “He’s not a typical peer.”

“Considering that you aren’t, either, it must have been an interesting meeting.”

“Interesting” wasn’t quite the term he would have used. “He was remarkably civil given the circumstances,” he supplied. “Christ on a crutch,” he whispered as his brain served up a startlingly clear and ugly realization.

“And the reason for your obvious agitation?”

“Lucinda knows about Simone.”

“Well, yes,” Noland agreed in an exceedingly patient tone. “But a tryst does not a marriage make. Lady Townsend doesn’t know that you and Lady Simone were caught together. I can’t see how she would think you might be contemplating matrimony. Forced or otherwise. She has no reason to believe that she needs to act against you.”

“Or so you assume.”

Noland, undaunted, countered, saying, “I didn’t see her carriage anywhere along the return leg of the adventure. Undoubtedly she went home after seeing where you and Lady Simone were going.”

His mind clicking through possibilities, Tristan nodded as though he accepted Noland’s analysis. Why had Lucinda followed him and Simone to the warehouse? Wasn’t knowing they were together sufficient? And if she’d actually been as dogged in her surveillance of them as Noland had been? If she’d seen Haywood waiting at the gate?

God, his brain was too tired to arrive at any sort of intelligent response to it all. The only thought that came to him—over and over again—was to keep as far away from Simone as he possibly could. And he needed to warn her, to let her know that Lucinda had found them out and that there was a chance that his stepmother would feel compelled to put her plan into action. Tomorrow, he’d … do something. Send Simone a note maybe. Or maybe not. There might be a better, more prudent course that he simply couldn’t see through his fatigue.

At the moment, the wisest thing to do was go upstairs, fall into his bed, and get some sleep. He looked over at Noland and said, “I appreciate all you’ve done on my behalf this evening.”

“Any time,” his friend drawled, taking his cue this time and pushing himself to his feet. “But if you could see your way to having a daylight tryst next time, I’d be most appreciative.”

“There aren’t going to be any more trysts. At least not with Lady Simone.”

“Ah, yes, your promise to the duke.”

It was the very least of his reasons, but it would do for an easy explanation. Tristan nodded. “Speaking of promises, I trust that your knowledge of the affair won’t be shared with anyone.”

Noland nodded and then grinned. “Not unless you tell me that you really would like to marry her and need a way around the duke’s objections. Then I’d be glad to tell everyone I know.”

“You’re a prince among men.”

“A friend in need and all that,” he said, grinning and heading for the hallway. “Good night, Lockwood.”

“Noland.”

Tristan stared down into his now almost empty snifter and listened to his friend’s departure. If Lucinda had decided to act that night … He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, disgusted with himself. He and Simone were both alive and unharmed only by the grace of God and whatever motives had held his stepmother in check. They’d been lucky. And it was up to him to make sure that at least Simone stayed that way.

The painting lessons were over. He’d have to think up a suitable excuse for Emmaline, of course. But he’d tell Simone the real reason that he couldn’t see her anymore. She deserved to know that she might be in harm’s way.

How to tell her that, though … Straight out would be the quickest.
I promised your brother-in-law that I wouldn’t see you anymore in exchange for not having to marry you. Which I did to protect you from Lucinda. Which, as it turns out, was a rather empty sacrifice since she knows about our night together. So sorry. I don’t know how seriously deranged she is and I don’t think she’d consider you a threat, but still … You might want to keep an eye out over your shoulder for her. Just in case, you know.

Tristan sighed and opened his eyes to lift and drain the snifter. And as long as he was being a total ass, he could just as well add something at the end along the lines of,
Oh, and thank you for a wonderful night. I thoroughly enjoyed you and would continue on with you if I thought there was any way I possibly could and get away with it.

Yes, that ought to sufficiently lower her opinion of him. Not that it was going to be all that high once the duke informed her that her lover had taken all of a minute to agree to abandon her. God, what a mess he’d made of things. If only he’d listened to common sense and held to his principles in the garden.

Of course, he could just sail away and be done with the whole thing. He certainly didn’t need the estate; actually, it was a drain on his personal fortune and he’d be considerably wealthier without it. And he didn’t care one whit about taking his seat in the House of Lords. England wasn’t exactly home anymore. Not that it had ever been much of one. In either case, there wasn’t any great sense of duty to country that would keep him rooted to English soil.

Yes, sailing away would be the intelligent, rational thing to do. If Lucinda couldn’t find him, she couldn’t kill him for the insurance money. Most important, though, there wouldn’t be any reason for her to harm Simone.

Still … Tristan sighed softly and leaned his head back again. He could justify and rationalize it a hundred different ways, but in the end leaving would amount to turning tail and running. Lucinda would not only get away with having killed three men, but there would be no one to stand in her way if she decided to insure Emmaline. And Simone’s opinion of him … God, he didn’t even want to think about how deeply and forever she’d loathe him.

He needed to find a way to force Lucinda’s hand without endangering anyone but himself. Which was far easier said than done. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a few minutes and thought about it, he could … come … up …

*   *   *

“Sir?”

Damn it all, he wasn’t deaf.

“Sir?”

Or dead. He growled in protest, shifted his body from under the hand that was trying to shake his teeth loose, and opened his eyes. “Gregory?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I thought you’d like to know that the
Constance
is coming into berth.”

He heard all the words, but putting meaning to them was a slow and foggy proposition. He was in the study. Had apparently fallen asleep in the chair. The fire was still going. And somehow his brandy snifter had disappeared. Someone—probably his butler—had put the coffee service on the table beside him. Tristan scrubbed his hands over his face and then sat forward in the chair, asking, “What time is it?”

“Ten, sir.”

Four hours of sleep. He could remember the days when two had been more than enough. Tristan scraped his fingers through his hair. “It’s a bitch growing old.”

“A rough night?” Gregory asked entirely too cheerily.

“A long one.”

His clerk reached out and plucked something from Tristan’s shoulder. Even as he was puzzling the motion, Gregory turned toward the window and held his hand into the light. “A long night with a brunette.”

Simone
. Tristan’s brain didn’t so much click into gear as it ground and squealed and lurched. “Do me a favor, Gregory.”

“Aren’t I always?”

Tristan looked up at his clerk. “You didn’t find a dinner companion last night, did you?”

Gregory cocked a brow and asked dryly, “Your favor, sir?”

Chuckling, Tristan rose from the chair. “I’m supposed to be at my sister’s this morning, helping her with a portrait she’s painting of her friend.”

“The travails of your life never end.”

Actually, aside from the matter of Lucinda, he considered his life to be damn near charmed. Not that Lucinda didn’t make a twisted knot of everything else. “I need you to go over to my sister’s home and tell her that I have to be elsewhere this morning. Offer my apologies and all. While you do that, I’ll make myself presentable. I’ll meet you on the dock.”