For the Love of Lila (29 page)

Taking both reins in one hand, he wiped his damp brow with the other. Eventually he would have to give his sister some sort of explanation, but he couldn’t do it now. Making excuses for himself wasn’t something he was used to, and at the moment he didn’t have the heart for it.

He’d driven for several blocks before he began pondering where to go. No place held any interest for him, if Lila wasn’t there. His own house was empty, except for a few servants. Going to his office would be useless—in this mood he’d have no concentration.

With a vague idea of heading for his club, he steered the horses around a curb. The need to weave through a local street market sharpened his aggravation. Maneuvering around housewives, messenger boys and domestics, he cursed the midday traffic.

When he finally reached Brooks’, he rode straight past. What little appeal the place had ever held for him was lost. He was in no humor for trading sallies with the crowd he’d find in there—a crew of spoiled rich men with little more on their minds than the next cattle they planned to purchase or what actress they meant to seduce.

He backtracked through the city, avoiding his sister’s street, and returned to his own townhouse. Handing over the horses and carriage to a footman, he trudged past the butler and closeted himself up in his chamber.

Half a decanter of scotch later, he lay sprawled on the bed, doubting every aspect of his life. Until now he had taken pride in his skill as a barrister. But if he were such a fine lawman, why couldn’t he think of an argument that would sway Lila to marry him?

He sat up to pour himself another drink and heard raised voices coming from the hallway. Of all times for the servants to have a tussle, why did they have to choose now?

The next moment his bedroom door flew open. He started, sloshing scotch onto his lap.

“What the—?” His voice died in his throat when he looked up to see his father, filling the door frame with his hefty form. The expression on the viscount’s face alarmed Tristan—a strange mixture of fury and another strong emotion...something that resembled fear.

Trapped behind the man in the hall, the butler murmured an apology for his failure to announce the visitor.

“You’re dismissed,” Lord Wyndam boomed without looking over his shoulder. He slammed the door in the poor servant’s face.

“What is it?” Tristan clambered to his feet, still holding his half-filled tumbler. He shook off a wave of dizziness. “Is something amiss in the family?”

“What would be amiss?” His father’s scowl deepened. The man stepped closer and stared at him, practically nose-to-nose.

Tristan swallowed, realizing that the dreadful mix of emotion on the viscount’s face was all directed at him. A thousand thoughts shot through his mind. Had Count D’Amiens betrayed his secret after all? Could someone here in England have discovered his affair with Lila and recounted the story to his mother?

He lifted his chin, determined to stand his ground. “What is this all about?”

His sire scrutinized him with the most intent gaze Tristan had ever seen. The younger man had to resist an impulse to squirm.

“Hester has come to me about the houseguest you’ve planted with her,” he said finally. “Your sister is all up in arms. She says you’ve been treating this woman as...as less than a lady.”

“You’re here because
Hester
asked you to talk to me?” For an instant he felt relief, but it quickly mutated into annoyance. He didn’t enjoy being treated like a child. Frowning, he set his drink down on the bedside table.

His father still studied him. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”

He twisted his mouth. “My association with Miss Covington is none of Hester’s business. Whatever she told you, she’s exaggerating.”

The viscount stared at him for another moment, then sat down on an adjacent armchair. “She told me you had your tongue down Miss Covington’s throat this morning. Is that an overstatement?”

Tristan balked but recovered fairly quickly. “If I did, it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to kiss and tell, would it? In any case, I promise you that Hester’s making a fuss over nothing.”

“Funny. She isn’t usually given to hysterics.”

He frowned. The observation was true. Worst of all, Hester had good reason to be upset now. Realizing he would have to offer some sort of accounting to his family, he reached for the decanter of scotch, purposely not meeting his father’s gaze. “Whatever passed between Miss Covington and me is over. There is nothing left of it now.”

“Indeed? Your sister suspects there is a little something left over—something that is going to get bigger. She tells me her houseguest has been casting up her accounts in the mornings and nearly swooned climbing the stairs last night. Hester is of the opinion that the young woman is in a family way.”

“What?” Tristan shot up off the bed. Was Lila
pregnant
? Surely Hester couldn’t know if she were. The room swayed. His thoughts went cloudy then sharpened with frightening intensity. Lila had indeed been sick the last few mornings...and he couldn’t deny they’d taken a good many chances they shouldn’t have.

“Good God.” He sank back onto the bed, the decanter still in his hand, hanging over the side of the mattress. The bottle slipped through his fingers to the floor, somehow landing upright.

“From your reaction, I take it that you concede the possibility—and the likelihood of your responsibility.”

He met the viscount’s gaze. His father’s expression was stern but surprisingly controlled. As for himself, nothing came out of his open mouth. He covered the stupid, gaping hole with both of his hands.

“Very well.” Lowering his voice, Lord Wyndam leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. He looked as if he discussed such catastrophes every day. “We shall have to take care of this very quickly. I understand that the young woman in question is the daughter of Sir Francis Covington and has a large trust fund coming her way. At least you’ll have made a decent match. According to Hester, Miss Covington is more than presentable.”

Tristan gawked at him, scarcely able to credit the composure the man exuded. At the moment he wished he could borrow an ounce of his aplomb. His own hands were trembling.
A baby
? If Lila were expecting a baby, wouldn’t she have told him? Maybe not, considering how adherent she was to her vow never to marry.

His mind stormed. He needed to talk to her—but what the hell would he say? He couldn’t demand that she marry him, so what could he do to help her? He could offer support for the child, but how could he protect Lila from the social ruin she stood to incur?

Lord Wyndam leaned forward to pilfer his son’s glass from the bedside table. He downed several gulps of the liquor. “Since her parents are dead, your mother and I will undertake all of the arrangements for the wedding.”

Tristan moaned and crooked his arm over his face. “I only wish it were that simple. I would marry Lila in a minute, if I could.”

“What do you mean ‘if you could’? Are either of you betrothed to someone else? Under the circumstances, this marriage will have to take precedence over any other youthful whims you may have entertained.”

“It’s nothing like that.” He uncovered his eyes, resigned to braving another attack. “She doesn’t believe in marriage. Mary Wollstonecraft, the champion of women’s rights, is Lila’s idol. Have you, by any chance, read
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
?”

The viscount shook his head. “No, but I have heard a thing or two about Mary Wollstonecraft’s radical ideas. Am I to understand that Miss Covington is a fanatic of some sort—one of those women who call themselves ‘bluestockings’?”

“I’ve never heard her label herself that, and no, she’s not a fanatic. She simply believes that a woman shouldn’t concede her rights when she marries.”

His father rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and took another sip of scotch. “The notions women are getting into their heads these days! Can they not realize that we men have their best interests at heart—and far more of a head for financial matters? Is the chit entirely unreasonable?”

“Not at all.” Tristan propped himself up in a sitting position. “To be honest, Father, you have to admit that not all men have women’s interests at heart. Look at how Queen Charlotte was practically tarred and feathered simply for following the lead of her husband and shunning their marriage vows.”

“Both of them are disgraceful.”

“But that’s beside the point. The king gets away with his antics well enough. In any case, as a man of law, I have to agree that Lila’s arguments are valid. She’s merely saying that women ought to retain control over their own property and equal custody of their children.”

His father gave his eyebrows a noncommittal lift. “If you were Miss Covington’s husband, would you be willing to grant her these rights?”

He nodded.

The viscount threw his free hand up in a gesture of frustration. “Then what’s the problem, son? You’re a barrister. For heaven’s sake, can’t you draw up a marriage contract that she would deem equitable?”

Tristan stared at him. After a long moment, he blinked. “By God, perhaps I can.”

“Well, get on with it.” His father stood, polished off the drink and set down the empty glass. “You’ll have to arrange for the license, too. I can take care of posting the banns. Your mother will want to start planning a wedding feast of some sort. See if you can bring Miss Covington around to the house this evening. We’ll need to meet her as soon as possible.”

Tristan slowly got to his feet. His head reeled—his fortunes were reversing so quickly! He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. “Keep in mind that she hasn’t accepted my proposal...though I will do the best that I can.”

Watching him closely, his father smiled. “You truly care for the chit, don’t you?”

He nodded, his throat constricting with the stark fear of failure that came hand-in-hand with new hope.

The viscount clapped him on the back. “Your mother will pleased to hear that it’s a love match. She and Hester already had you paired up with this woman a week ago—before anyone imagined you’d got her with child.”

“Well, we don’t actually
know
that Lila is expecting.” He himself certainly had trouble getting his mind around the possibility. And before he tried to absorb the idea, there were too many other matters to tend. “Er...you’d best not mention it to Mother until we know for sure.”

“Hester seemed convinced, but I suppose you’re right. And if it’s true, your mother will figure it out soon enough. Women have a sense for these things. Meanwhile, with you soon to be a family man, perhaps it’s time to look into that career in the House of Commons that you’ve always seemed to yearn for.”

Tristan thought his eyes would pop out of his head. All at once the world seemed full of possibilities, when ten minutes ago he’d thought life was over. Afraid to count his chickens before they’d hatched, he said, “First things first. I’ve got to talk a woman into marrying me.”

His father gave him a lopsided grin. “I shouldn’t expect much of a problem, given that you’ve already talked her into your bed. Your girl may be a bit of a bluestocking, but she’s clearly still a woman.”

Tristan took another clap on the back without comment, surprised by the vote of manly support.

“I’ll see you tonight, my boy, with your betrothed on your arm.” As the viscount opened the bedroom door, he looked back, his expression sober again. “Don’t bother showing me out. Get right onto sorting out that marriage contract, and make that lady of yours see sense. I have complete confidence in you. I’ve seen you in action in the courtroom.”

“Thank you.”

His father offered him his hand, and Tristan shook it, still feeling astonished.

He watched him leave, then scrambled for his desk and rummaged for clean paper. Finding several sheets in the drawer, he cleared the surface and sat down to write. His hand shook as he dipped his quill in ink.

This might not prove the most tidy contract he’d ever written, but he could guarantee it would be thorough and utterly fair. He’d be damned if he was going to botch this one chance to make Lila his partner in life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Lila shook out the crumpled gown she’d worn the previous evening and spread it across the bed. Reminded of the mistreatment the dress had suffered in the teahouse, she felt rather shocked at her own audacity...and Tristan’s, for that matter. His recklessness then—and again today when they’d kissed on the terrace—proved what a bad influence she’d been on him. Once she’d moved to Italy he could go back to the respectable lifestyle he’d always led before they’d met.

She smoothed the fabric as well as she could and folded it carefully. Having arrived only the day before, she didn’t have much to pack, but her progress was slow. Whenever she wasn’t stopping for a sip of water to calm her stomach, she got caught up in wistful memories and regrets. She supposed she’d spend the rest of her life plagued by such feelings. The child she carried would be a permanent reminder of Tristan.

A soft knock at the bedroom door surprised her.

“Lila?” a male voice whispered. “It’s me.”

Tristan?
She jumped to her feet and whirled around to face the door but hesitated to answer. Surely he couldn’t really be there, right outside her bedchamber.

 She watched, mesmerized, as the handle slowly turned. The door opened a crack, and Tristan poked his head through. He met her gaze, his eyes rounded with apparent apprehension. “Can I come in? Quickly—before someone sees me.”

Her lips parted but no sound escaped from her throat. What on earth was he thinking? Had he come up
here
to inform her about her trust?

Without waiting for her to regain composure, he slipped inside and closed the door. The key stood in the hole where she’d left it, and he twisted it to the locked position. She noted that he was carrying a leather satchel with papers protruding from it. Did he truly expected to conduct business in her bedroom?

He turned around toward her, giving her a shaky smile.

She still could scarcely believe her eyes. As her voice finally came back, she croaked, “Have you gone mad?”