The Baron's Betrayal (16 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“Madam, please tell me that despite my sense of hearing being well developed, I misheard what Jane said just now. You are breeding?”

Everything inside her body tightened, and her heart thudded so that Marion felt as though she needed to once again race to the chamber pot. That is, if her legs would even hold her up, which was questionable at this point.

Tristan walked farther into the room and closed the door. With Argos at his heels, he strode directly to her as if a magnet connected the two of them.

How does he do that?

Then she shook her head and straightened. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Answer my question, if you please. Or even if you don’t please. I am waiting.”

It was truly amazing how difficult it was to speak when one’s mouth was dry as sand. Marion opened her mouth, then closed it, attempted to moisten her tongue, then tried once more. “Yes. I am breeding,” she ventured, her voice shaking.

Tristan’s pale countenance quickly changed to an alarming red. Sensing his master’s anger, Argos bared his teeth and let out with a low growl.

“Cease!”

The dog whimpered and collapsed to the ground, still keeping his eyes on Marion.

Dear God, where could she run? She did not have the strength to have this discussion now. Although, truth be known, it was doubtful she would ever have the strength.

“I know I made my wishes quite clear on the matter.”

Slowly the fear receded and anger took its place as all the misery of the past two years, Tristan’s duplicity, and her lack of success in regard to their marriage assaulted her all at once. She stood, causing Tristan to back up a couple of steps.

“It matters not what your wishes are on the matter, my lord. It is done. And despite your decree, you had a part in this. I may not know much of the world, but I know this babe did not pop into my belly without your assistance.”

“That is not the point!”

“Indeed? Then exactly what is the point, my lord?”

“I will not be coerced into fatherhood.”

“Coerced?” She was so angry she could have slapped him had she not been better raised. “I did not coerce you. Furthermore, I want you to know that I am not unhappy about the babe.”

“Then you are the only one.”

She reared back. Whatever had happened to her Tristan? The man she’d known all her life, who had been her best friend, then her husband and lover? Did one’s eyesight mean so very much that all love and caring could be driven away by darkness?

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered.

“I do. And know this. I have no intention of raising a child. You will not gainsay me in this.”

“Tristan, I’ve never known you to be a coward. You received your title due to service to the Crown. You showed immense courage to salvage your ship after your two commanding officers had fallen. What has happened to that fortitude?”

“I do not wish to speak of that.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “Nevertheless, I am pregnant with our child, and there is nothing to be done about it.”

“There is.”

All the blood left her face and she held onto the back of the settee to steady herself. “What do you mean?”

“You will pack your trunks and return to your family.”

“No.”

“Yes. I will not be pitied by my own flesh and blood. I do not wish to know of the child, nor have contact with him. And that is my final word.”

Marion extended her hand in a plea. “Please, Tristan…”

He turned his back on her to leave the room. After he’d taken two steps, he said, “I will instruct Carson to have two footmen carry your luggage to the carriage.”

“I love you.” She spoke the words softly, yet the hesitation in his stride told her he’d heard.

He continued on.

How can someone you dearly love make you want to do them physical harm? Then, as if a pin pricked all the air out of her, she slid to the floor and curled into a ball, hugging the place where the babe, whose father did not want him, lived.

…

“Carson, have the carriage brought around. And see that the larger carriage is prepared for Lady Tunstall’s trip to Manchester Manor. Have two footmen retrieve her luggage. I would say give her three hours. Jane will also be traveling with her ladyship.”

The only response to Tristan’s staccato instructions was a mere, “Yes, my lord.”

Tristan headed to the library, going directly to the sideboard. He reached for the brandy decanter, opened the stopper, then closed it in agitation. He stood, hands on hips, his insides so knotted he could barely breath.

A babe!

How could she do this to him? He made his intentions known from the start.

Ah, as Marion pointed out, she had not been alone in this.

He pushed his fists into his temples, trying his best to remove the little voice chastising him for his one slipup. How was it that the months they were married before he’d returned to sea she’d never conceived? Now, after only one intimacy, she was pregnant. And he was trapped.

Of course he would support the child. He would set up an account and notify Manchester that Marion was to draw from it all the funds necessary for her and the babe. He would not have anyone believe he would shirk financial responsibility for his family.

My family.

He whispered it. What an odd sound.

“My lord, the carriage you requested is ready,” Ellis said.

“Thank you.”

“I understand from Carson that Lady Tunstall is taking a journey to Manchester Manor?”

“Not that it is any of your concern, but she is.”

Any hope that his valet would withdraw and go about his duties was dashed with the sound of the library door closing and Ellis’s footsteps as he walked toward Tristan.

“What have you done?”

“Do not interfere in this. Remember your place.”

“I am well aware of my place, my lord. And as your valet, and dare I say, your friend, you are about to make the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Leave me. At once.”

After a few moments of silence, Ellis said, “As you wish.”

The valet’s retreat left Tristan with a choking silence. He spun on his heels and left the library, Argos alongside him.

After donning his greatcoat, gloves, and hat, he descended the stairs and entered the carriage. “White’s please.”

He eased back against the squab and closed his eyes. Life would never again be the same. Even if he did not recognize his child, he or she would be part of this world. Aware of the fact that his sire did not want him. Was that worse than having a blind father?

Of course not. Marion’s family with her brother and brother-in-law to help in the rearing of the child would be enough. No father at all was certainly better than a blind one.

Once again he was overcome with the raw feelings from his youth when his parents had been taken from him in a fire. The horror at being alone in the world, with no father or mother to love and protect him. As much as the old duke had tried his best to comfort him and give him a sense of security, he’d never again had that sense of belonging. Until he had married Marion.

She’d stuck by his side when he was lost, listened to him when he needed to speak of his devastation, and had looked at him at her come-out as if no other man in the world existed.

His sweet Marion. Lovely as a child, beautiful as a woman, and his best friend.

What sort of a friend am I?

…

A tap on her bedchamber door drew Marion from her musing as she gazed out the window.

“Milady, are you ready for the footmen to load your trunks onto the carriage?” Carson stood in his formidable butler stance, his eyes full of sympathy.

Three hours had passed since Tristan had ordered her to leave the house and return to her family. To raise their child on her own, like a widow. What she had thought she was for two years. While in reality, he had been going about his life, ignoring her, allowing her to believe him dead.

“No, Carson. I am not ready. In fact…” She swept her arm out, indicating the neat room, with no trunks spilling with colorful gowns. “…I have no intention of going anywhere.”

The butler bowed and left her, a sparkle of mirth replacing the sympathy in his eyes.

She was not going anywhere because she refused to run again. He’d driven her from her home twice, but this is where she would make her final stand. If he was coward enough to flee, she would follow him. Her child was going to know its father, no matter what.

She giggled at her determination, envisioning a life of trailing behind Tristan, dragging their child. Well, Lord Tunstall was not the only stubborn member of this family. Placing her hand against her stomach, she grinned, her heart pumping with excitement at her decision.

After a light luncheon, she retired to the library, determined to keep her mind occupied until her husband’s return. She browsed the bookshelves, pulling out the occasional book, flipping through the pages, and returning it. Nothing seemed to take her interest. Feeling restless, no doubt in anticipation of the upcoming confrontation with her husband, the idea of blindfolding herself to wander around Tristan’s bedchamber seemed a good way to pass the time.

So far, she’d only felt her way around her own bedroom. This would give her the opportunity to test herself further. She opened the door to his room and was immediately greeted with the overwhelming scent of Tristan. She wandered the room, dragging her fingers over his dresser with his shaving equipment all lined up neatly in a row. She fingered the drapes, rubbing her thumb and index finger together, the fabric smooth against her skin.

She lit a candle at the fireplace and carried it over to his armoire, opening the door to seek something to tie over her eyes. Not finding anything suitable, she set the candle down next to the dressing screen and went through the door joining their rooms and found a scarf of her own. She tied it snugly over her eyes and eased her way from her room and through the passageway to Tristan’s bedchamber.

Immediately, she banged her elbow on the doorjamb. That gave her a bit of information as to where in the room she was. She swung around, her skirts knocking something to the ground. Continuing on, she walked to his bed, then sat upon it. Feeling foolish, she laid her cheek on the counterpane and inhaled deeply of Tristan’s scent.

Up once again, she felt her way to the wall, then moved in a circle around the room, touching various objects and identifying them. She’d made it all the way back to the door separating their chambers when a crackling sound and the smell of smoke drew her attention to the far wall.

She whipped the scarf off her eyes and backed away. The drapes at the window had caught fire, the flames already spreading to a pile of papers on a table next to the bed. Flames licked at the drapes hanging on the next window, consuming the material in a flash. The fire was spreading rapidly, engulfing the dressing screen which blocked the exit to her bedchamber. She coughed as smoke billowed up from the carpet, stinging her eyes. Jolted into action, she turned and raced to the door leading to the corridor. “Fire!”

The staff would be below stairs, taking their afternoon break before dinner preparations, but Carson would be at the front door. Her heart pounding, she bolted from the room and down the corridor, catching her foot on a table as she rounded the corner. Waving her arms frantically, she attempted to stop herself from moving forward, but fell to her knees at the edge of the stairs and tumbled down, banging her shoulder on the stairs, twisting her leg, and finally striking her head against a marble statue at the bottom of the stairs.

Chapter Eighteen

Tristan accepted the cup of tea from a footman at White’s and sipped on the bracing beverage. About now Marion should be packing her trunks, and soon she’d be on her way to Manchester Manor. He squirmed at the thought of how Drake would view this latest arrival of his sister to her family home.

This back and forth would end now. Marion simply had to adjust to the fact that she needed to remain with her family. He would speak with his solicitor and have a trust set up for the babe to provide for his or her every need. With Manchester’s connections, Marion’s child would have every advantage.

Except knowing its father.

He shoved that thought away. Unconsciously, Tristan reached out to pet Argos, and then remembered the dog was at home. Most likely curled up in front of a fire, awaiting his master’s return. In the future, Argos would be the only one to meet him when he arrived home. But that was fine. He didn’t need more than the dog and servants who saw to his every need.

Not all my needs.

Nevertheless, he’d done quite well without the pleasure of a woman’s body for two years. As a married man, he would not be free to indulge in a dalliance, but would find other distractions. Perhaps he would take up a new sport or hobby.

“Tunstall, is that you?” A deep male voice pulled him from his musings, almost causing him to spill tea in his lap.

He turned in the direction of the voice. “Yes. And to whom am I speaking?”

“What? Don’t you recognize your boatswain, Easton?”

“Mr. Easton?”

“That is correct. Except since my uncle died, I am now Lord Sharrington.”

Easton was one of the few men under his command he’d been comfortable with. They’d struck up a friendship onboard and had downed an ale or two while in various ports. He remembered him as tall and lanky with deep brown eyes and a ready smile. He’d been young, barely into his manhood, but one of the best boatswains he’d ever encountered.

“Please. Sit down.”

Sharrington ordered coffee from a footman, then said, “I must tell you, I thought my eyes deceived me when I saw you sitting here. I was under the impression that you hadn’t survived the explosion.”

“As you can see, I did. However, I’m afraid my sight did not.”

After a few moments of silence, Easton sighed. “Ah, that is why you did not recognize me.” Thankfully Tristan sensed no pity in his words.

“Indeed.”

“Are you getting on all right?”

“I have my good days and bad days.”

“I am quite sure that is so. How is your wife? I remember many nights while we stood watch together you would tell me stories of the two of you when you were children, how lovely she looked at her come-out ball, and how anxious you were to return to her and start your family.”

“My wife is fine.” If his abrupt answer startled his companion he didn’t know.

Sharrington thanked the footman, then said, “I assume by now you have a child or two? You were one of the few men who talked of family matters. I remember the time we found that tot wandering outside the sweet shop and you threatened to bring her home to your wife if the child’s mother couldn’t take proper care of her.”

Damnation, was there no peace from the subject of offspring?

“No children. Not yet.”

“Ah, well, I guess it is only a matter of time. And I imagine that is something you work very hard at.” His chuckle grated, causing Tristan to squirm.

“As you say.”

Tristan searched for a subject matter that didn’t include wives and children. “When did you assume your title?”

“Back in June. M’uncle had a lingering illness. Went down to skin and bones. I rather cared for the old man, actually. He was my father’s older brother. He never married, and since my sire was his only brother, the title came to me.

“As soon as I received word, I applied to leave His Majesty’s service. I always knew I would inherit one day, but I am still trying to figure out all the ins and outs of his estate.”

“That can be tricky business. Do you have a decent steward?”

“Yes. The man had been with my uncle for more than a score of years.”

“Then you will do just fine. I find relying on the expertise of those who have been successful at it is the best way to go.”

“A different life from the one we knew onboard when our problem was merely trying to stay alive.”

“Well put.”

Several men stopped by to greet them, a few lingering for a minute or more, asking after Marion and speaking of invitations to winter and holiday house parties. Despite his blindness it appeared he and Marion were well received and expected to make the usual round of
ton
affairs. No point in mentioning that, as they spoke, his wife was following his orders to return to her family. For good this time.

After the last one left, Sharrington said, “You’re a fortunate man, you know.” He paused, then cleared this throat. “I don’t mean to make light of your blindness. I am sure it was very difficult in the beginning to adapt to such a life. But I remember all the conversations we had in the cold night air, slapping our arms, trying to keep warm. How your face lit up each time you mentioned—Marion—isn’t that her name?”

Feeling awkward at Sharrington’s words, Tristan merely gave him a curt nod.

“I could tell she meant the whole world to you. I envied you, then.”

Tristan could hear him shifting in his seat, perhaps uncomfortable with the subject, but nevertheless determined to have his say.

“I had the best woman in the world at one time. Eloise—that was her name. She and I were betrothed. Then one afternoon, barely a week before our wedding, she and her sister went for a walk to the village. They told me later she had seen a watch fob in a jeweler’s window that she wanted to buy for me as a surprise.

“A carriage pulled by a horse that had become spooked ran over them both. Her sister was crippled in the accident, but survived. My Eloise died. Right there in the mud, without me holding her.”

Tristan’s insides clenched at the thickness—raw pain—in the man’s voice. How horrible it must have been for him. But why was it today of all days he had to run into the man and hear his story?

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence followed while Tristan sensed Sharrington’s attempts to pull himself together.

“Don’t ever take your wife for granted, Tunstall. Never do that.”

The springs on Sharrington’s chair squeaked as he rose and a heavy hand landed on Tristan’s shoulder as the man squeezed, then lumbered away, leaving him with thoughts of Marion. The woman he had promised to love and cherish but whom he’d ordered to leave his house—again.

He counted back to the night he’d made love to her before he had raced back to London the next morning. His figuring told him she would be several weeks along in her pregnancy. Since he had refused to touch her since that night, he was curious as to whether her body had changed at all.

Had her waist thickened, or was it too soon? Were her breasts tender? Was she sick in the mornings? As her husband, he should know these things. They should be sharing all of that together. But he had chosen to shut her out.

Her words about him being a coward had stung. Truth be known, with the way he’d been behaving since she’d spotted him a few months ago across the ballroom floor, her comments were sadly true. Since that fateful night at the assembly, he’d either been chasing her away or running from her. Shame and guilt rose in him, choking off his air as effectively as if someone had him around the throat.

He’d behaved in a horrible way. Right now the woman he loved, who carried his babe, was packing to return to her family. Most likely with tears dropping on her belongings.

What the devil kind of a man had he turned into? A blind one, for sure. But there was more than one type of blindness, and he was possessed of the worse kind. The sort of sightlessness that refused to see how deeply his wife loved him. How she had fought to keep them together, to have a life with him. She didn’t care that he was blind.
He
cared. And if she didn’t care, then neither would his children.

His children. A child. Now growing under Marion’s heart. The heart he had so ruthlessly stomped upon. Oh, dear God, what had he done? He’d made a huge mistake, that’s what he’d done. And not satisfied to hurt her once, he’d done it over and over again.

He had thrown away a love so strong that nothing could break it. Not even him. Despite the terrible way he had treated Marion, she still professed to love him and was joyful that she carried his child.

Suddenly he had the urge to leave, to hurry back to his house and catch her before she left. He loved her, and she loved him. It had always been that simple, but in his stubbornness he’d refused to see that. He’d been complicating it, looking for problems, trying to decide what was best for her, when she had known from the start what was best for her and what she wanted. Him. Blind, stubborn, and arrogant—she still wanted
him.

The relief at throwing off the shackles of fear and depression had an intoxicating effect. Nearly bursting with excitement and unable to sit any longer, he hopped up, most likely startling anyone in his vicinity. Having a hard time controlling his grin, he fisted his cane and headed to the door.

After he requested his carriage be brought around, he asked to speak with the club’s manager. No more hiding or apologizing.

“Lord Tunstall, my name is Mr. Ambrose Penwick, how may I be of service?”

“Good day, Mr. Penwick. As you can no doubt see I am without sight. However, I have a dog that helps me get around. I will be bringing the animal with me on future visits.”

After a few moments of stunned silence, the man sputtered, “Er, yes, of course we will be most happy to accommodate your…pet.”

“Ah, my good man, he is not a pet. He is my eyes.”

“I see. I mean—well—that is fine. Good day to you as well, my lord.”

Tristan climbed into the carriage and tapped on the ceiling. Now that he’d made up his mind to stop Marion from leaving, he could barely contain himself. He had the urge to laugh out loud, to go running through the streets of London, hugging strangers.

When he finally arrived home, he would grab Marion and swing her around, hopefully not banging her into things. He would tell her how much he loved her, and how fortunate of a man he was to have her for a wife. Together they would unpack her trunks and he would insist she move her things into his bedchamber.

Then he would take her upstairs and make love to her all night. And all day tomorrow. He would use his sense of touch to discover for himself how pregnancy had changed her body.

His groin tightened in anticipation.

He tapped his foot impatiently. The carriage had slowed to a crawl, leaving him with the desire to get out and shove the vehicle along. Anything to move faster.

He leaned back and thought about the babe. Would they have a boy or a girl? A strong son to help him with estate matters. A boy who would be a joy to his mother and would do his parents proud. Or perhaps a girl. A small version of Marion. Soft and sweet-smelling. They would have tea parties together, and she would serve him and her dolls.

What the devil is the hold up?

The carriage had come to a complete stop. After a few minutes, he banged on the ceiling. “What is the problem?”

His footman, Gillbanks, opened the door. “There is quite a bit of traffic, my lord. I am not sure of the cause.”

“Very well.” There was no point in taking out his agitation on the footman. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.

There would be several children. An entire houseful of them. Laughing, playing, and teasing each other. The little ones would crawl onto his lap in the evenings, their small, warm bodies curled up in his arms while Marion read to them.

Once more he sighed impatiently. From what he could conclude, they were no more than perhaps six blocks from home. If Argos had been with him, they could have set out on foot. From now on the dog would accompany him everywhere.

Slowly the carriage inched forward. After another five minutes or so, Tristan once again banged on the ceiling.

“Yes, my lord,” the ever patient Gillbanks said.

“I prefer to walk the rest of the way. Will you please accompany me?”

“Certainly, my lord.”

Tristan climbed down and, using his cane, found his way to the sidewalk and began walking. After about two blocks, he turned to the footman. “Has the traffic eased up yet?”

“No. It seems to be blocked by carriages trying to get down our street.”

The hairs on the back of Tristan’s neck rose and he began walking faster. However, that caused him to bump into people, only slowing him down more. “What the devil is going on?”

“Fire!” A lad’s voice rose above the murmuring of the crowds.

“Did someone just say fire?” Tristan asked Gillbanks.

“Yes, my lord. He did.”

“I can smell the smoke. How close are we to home?”

“About two blocks.”

“Do you see fire equipment?”

“Not yet, but the carriages are still blocking everything.”

Terror started in the pit of his stomach and raced upward. Memories of watching his family’s home burn to the ground while he had stood helpless made him break into a sweat. Then pictures of the fire onboard his ship, right next to the stored ammunitions, flashed in his mind. His breathing became rapid, his stomach clenched, and he wiped the sweat from his brow and upper lip.

The smell of the smoke reached him, causing him to gag. He had to get away from here. Away from the smell, the horror, the memories.

“How close is the fire to my home?”

“It is hard to say, my lord. There are crowds of people. I will see better once we turn the corner.”

He tightened his lips and nodded. They continued toward his home, at this point Gillbanks practically dragging him by his elbow as they made their way through the throng.

“My lord, I can see a bit better now.”

Tristan’s breaths came in spurts. The crowds pushed in on him, smothering him, making it almost impossible to move.