For the Love of Lila (28 page)

She recalled that when she’d insisted to Mary Shelley that she’d never compromise, the woman had predicted this temptation. “You may feel differently if you ever meet a man you love and admire with all your soul,” Mrs. Shelley had said. Lila did love and admire Tristan more than any man she’d ever met, and she really was tempted to do anything to be with him...but could she still respect herself if she violated the core of her philosophy?

Gazing into her own reflected eyes in the looking glass, she truly couldn’t say. The decision was too difficult to make, especially when she was under such physical and emotional stress. But when she’d been clear-headed, before her pregnancy, she hadn’t faltered like this. That fact seemed to reaffirm that she should stick to her principles now.

Resolved, she pinned up her hair and straightened her gown. Before she could waver again, she walked down to the dining room.

When she stepped through the door, Tristan and Hester looked up from the table in unison, twin expressions of seriousness emphasizing the resemblance between the siblings. They both rose, continuing the duality—but while Tristan met her gaze, his sister quickly looked downward.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Hester murmured, “I have a meeting scheduled with Digby.” She slipped out of the room, a fog of gravity clinging around her.

Lila bit her lower lip. She prayed Hester hadn’t guessed her secret. Before the woman’s suspicions deepened—or expanded to include Tristan—she had to get out of the house.

“Come on,” Tristan said to her, interrupting her thoughts. “Let’s go outside.”

He walked around the table and offered her his arm. She tucked her hand around his elbow, noting that his body felt warm but stiff.

“Is Hester well?” she asked as they retraced their steps from the previous evening. “She looks so grim this morning.”

“Don’t worry about her.” His mouth tightened into a tense line. “She’s got windmills in her brain—nothing worth discussing, I assure you.”

She frowned but reasoned that Hester must have spoken to him about some unrelated topic. If she’d said anything about pregnancy, he wouldn’t have dismissed her worries as “windmills.” “What is it that you
did
want to discuss?”

Opening the door for her, he met her gaze. “The matter I brought up last night.”

“So I thought.” She stepped out onto the terrace. Outside the morning sun shone brilliantly, and the air was cool and crisp. Birds volleyed obliviously cheerful calls amongst each other. Taking in the scene, one never would have guessed that the world was actually a terrible trap—an illusion that set you up with dreams of wonderful possibilities, only to crush and destroy you.

Tristan closed the door behind them and glanced around the garden, which appeared free of other inhabitants. “Have you also thought about consenting to the idea?”

She nodded, and a pang of renewed nausea struck her. “When shall we break off contact with each other? Today?”

He turned away from her and looked out at the maze. “I don’t know—maybe once I’ve spoken to Higginbotham again and can confirm that your trust money is available to you. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even see him today. I couldn’t bring myself to go into the bank.”

The pain she heard in his tone made tears well up in her eyes. She tried to swallow the lump in throat. “Delaying this won’t make it any easier, Tristan. The next time we succumb to our feelings the way we did last night, we may not safely survive the indiscretion.”

“I know.” Still facing the garden, he leaned on the railing. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “Nevertheless, I’m not sure that I can say good-bye now.”

She stepped up beside him. “Until you can, perhaps we should at least vow not to see each other in the evening. That will eliminate our ability to sneak off into the darkness.”

He nodded. “If Hester invites me to dinner tonight I’ll tell her I have other plans. But, you’re right, we can’t keep delaying the inevitable. I’ll make one last visit here tomorrow morning, and that will be the end.”

The end.
The ominous phrase loomed in the air, and she could think of no response to waft it away. Side by side, the two of them stared out into nothingness.

Finally, he spoke quietly, nearly in a whisper. “I’m not sure how long we’ll need to stay away from one another. At this point, I can’t imagine any length of time making much of a difference...but we need to set some sort of rules. I know
I
need a minimum. Shall we say six months?”

Seemingly involuntarily, her hand went to her abdomen. “It will have to be longer than that.”

He looked at her for the first time in minutes. “You know, I had expected you to put up some amount of protest to this plan. I’m surprised how easily you’ve agreed to it.”

She slid her hand off her belly. “This isn’t easy for me at all. I’m simply acknowledging what’s necessary.”

He stared at her for a moment that seemed to draw out forever. Just at the point she began to think he could read her mind, his gaze dropped to the slate surface of the terrace. He kicked at an invisible pebble. “I know. I know you are.”

Absurdly enough, his failure to perceive her thoughts disappointed her. She wished, more than anything, that she could tell him about the baby. If she did, however, she knew that he’d never let her move to Italy. He hadn’t even allowed her to travel to Paris on her own. With her carrying his child, his sense of honor would never permit him to desert her. He might even acquiesce to her desires and live openly with her as his mistress...jeopardizing all of his dreams.

She couldn’t let him do that. At all costs, her pregnancy had to remain a secret.

“I’d better leave,” he said, again looking at her. “Do you mind if I put off calling on Higginbotham until tomorrow morning?”

“That’ll be fine.”

Once more they couldn’t seem to break the stare between them. His gaze slipped down to her mouth. He glanced around the garden and into the hall beyond the French doors. Lifting her chin, he bent to kiss her.

At first he just grazed her lips, but the sampling wasn’t enough for her. Without thinking, she grasped for his shirt and clenched the fabric in her fists.

After a brief survey of their surroundings he gave her a more thorough kiss—still not enough, but at least she managed a taste of him. He gently pried her fingers from his shirtfront and backed a step away.

She let him. She knew she had to.

This time they both scanned the area. She didn’t spot any prying eyes in the garden or through the windows. They appeared to have escaped detection.

He shook his head and went to open the door to the house. Ushering her inside with a light hand on her elbow, he asked, “Are you going back upstairs?”

“I think I’ll stop by the kitchen and see if Cook can fix me something easy to digest.”

His eyebrows lifted. She supposed he thought it strange that she’d be hungry at such a time. In reality, she still felt a little sick, but for the baby’s sake she thought she should eat. Of course, she couldn’t explain that to him.

“Very well.” He walked her to the kitchen and got the door for her but didn’t follow her inside. With Cook looking up at them from a table full of rolled dough, he nodded farewell. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before she could even respond, he ducked behind the door, vanishing from her sight.

Her throat tightened. She screwed up her face, struggling not to cry in front of the cook. The smell of onions emanated from a pot over the fire, and her stomach began to churn. The world seemed a miserable place.

Wretched in body and soul, she turned her head away from the aroma, only to be assailed by the sight of a plate of eggs left over from breakfast. Gooey white scraps glistened next to a yellow puddle with a flaky, drying skin.

“I’ll stop back later,” she blurted to the cook and pushed her way out the door. The servants steps were just outside, and she dashed up them, hand clamped over her mouth.

Once she’d reached her chamber she could no longer avoid losing what little she’d eaten that morning. She expelled the whole into the chamber pot, and her stomach stopped lurching.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she patted her damp face with a towel. How would she go on like this? She couldn’t imagine surviving the journey to Italy in such a woeful state. Even in normal health, the unwanted trip would seem endless—and traveling in this condition, she would have to take the road inch by inch.

Unfortunately, her only option was to start off as soon as possible. The longer she stayed in England, the more likely someone would discover her secret.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tristan drifted back toward the front of the house. The prospect of his separation from Lila made him feel sick to his stomach. He almost wished that her will had been weak and she’d insisted they put off parting indefinitely. Instead, with her showing such strength, he felt his own resolve threatening to crumble. He hoped he wouldn’t end up breaking their vow and running back to her, begging to be with her.

A rapid pounding of footsteps prompted him to look up to the main staircase. He saw his sister running down the steps, her hair tumbling out of its pins and over her shoulders.

“Good God, Hester, what’s the matter?” He rushed to the foot of the stairs.

When she heard his voice, she stopped on the landing and

focused on him. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and she clenched her teeth. He hadn’t seen so much rage in her expression since their childhood. It reminded him of the time he’d hidden her favorite doll under a woodpile and accidentally cracked its porcelain face. The memory froze him in place.

“Tristan,” she hissed at him. “I’ll have a word with you. In my sewing room. Now.”

She picked up her skirts and flounced down the rest of the stairs, turning her shoulder on him as she passed. Without even looking to see if he came after her, she marched to a small room behind the main parlor.

Too startled to reason for himself, he followed without question. He couldn’t fathom the cause of her anger.

They entered the chamber, and she slammed the door behind him. She stood in front of it as if to block the exit. Only then—too late for him to get away—did he think of a likely reason for the confrontation.

Why hadn’t he checked the upstairs windows before he’d kissed Lila on the terrace? He frowned, fighting the urge to slap his palm against his forehead.

Hester crossed her arms over her heaving chest. “I saw you manhandling Lila Covington a moment ago. I demand to know what’s going on between the pair of you.”

Still stunned, he wondered how much she had witnessed. It was too much to hope that she’d stalked away from the window after the first, innocent peck he’d given Lila. On the slightest chance that she had, he tried playing dumb. “Why all the fuss over a little brush of the lips?”

“That was no little brush that I saw.” She addressed him in a harsh whisper, her stare drilling into him. No, I got the distinct impression that a great deal of prior rehearsal had gone into the move. Now, I want to know what your intentions are, Tristan. If there’s an understanding between you and Lila, why haven’t you told us, your family?”

Heat accumulated under his collar. He didn’t know whether he was more embarrassed or enraged. How had he let himself get caught in this position? And how could he admit there was no understanding—at least not the sort that Hester meant? On top of everything, he resented feeling like a little boy scolded by his big sister.

“There’s nothing to tell.” He steeled his jaw and tried to dart past her for the door.

She grabbed his arm and held on with surprising firmness. “Are you saying that you and Lila are not betrothed? If so, this matter is more complicated than I care for.”

“The matter is simple: We are not betrothed, and you are stirring up a commotion over nothing.” Shrugging out of her grasp, he reached for the door handle.

She clapped her hand over his, startling him into immobility. “I saw that kiss, Tristan, and I’m convinced this affair is serious. Several other observations I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours have added to my apprehensions.”

His blood went cold. Had she witnessed the tryst in the teahouse? But, no—if she had, she would have staged this showdown last night.

He pulled away from her and met her gaze. “What exactly have you observed?”

“Enough to conclude that either she’s taking advantage of you—” She paused and sucked in her breath. “—or you are taking advantage of her.”

“Well, neither is true, so you may rest easy.”

“You don’t have the look of a guilt-free man. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” As she studied him the lines in her forehead suddenly smoothed, and tears gleamed in her eyes. When she spoke again her voice had softened. “Tristan, you must know that I don’t mean you any harm. On the contrary, I’m concerned for both you and Lila–as well as for our family.”

The new approach only made him more angry—mostly at himself. His throat closed up, and he couldn’t answer her. He grasped for the door handle again. This time he undid the latch.

“Tristan, wait. Why won’t you talk to me about this?”

“Because it’s none of your business.” He flung open the door and stalked to the foyer.

She picked up her skirts and chased him outside, halting on the front steps. By this time, he’d reached his carriage and untied the reins.

“Tristan, please stop and think rationally about this! I suspect you are in need of counsel.”

“Even if I am,” he tossed over his shoulder, “it’s not your place to counsel me.”

“But someone must!”

Without looking back, he climbed up on the box. He yanked on the reins, unable to bear the distress he’d seen in her face.

The horses pounded off down the street. Hester may have been out of view, but her expression wouldn’t fade from his mind. With her knowing the truth—even only half the truth—the full extent of his recklessness struck him. This sordid business of his had jeopardized his family’s name. He had known beforehand that it would, yet he’d gone ahead and gotten involved with Lila. What a disgrace he was.