The Baron's Betrayal (8 page)

A light tap, then the door to the drawing room opened, gaining their attention. Tristan moved into the room. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had visitors.”

Penelope and Abigail gave each other a questioning glance.

“My sister, Abigail, and my sister-in-law have come to visit.” She paused and turned to introduce her sister-in-law Penelope to her husband. “Your Grace, may I take this opportunity to introduce to you my husband, Tristan, Lord Tunstall?”

Penelope inclined her head. “My lord.”

He bowed stiffly. “Your Grace. And Lady Abigail, a pleasure.” He hesitated for a moment and, seeming to gather his thoughts, he added, “I apologize again for intruding. Ladies, I wish you all a good day.” He turned abruptly and left the room.

“Goodness.” Abigail blew out a breath and collapsed against the back of the settee.

“Do you see what I mean? He’s not the same Tristan I married.” Marion shook her head. “He never would have been so rude. He would have been more than happy to join us and chat for a while. Surely you remember, Abigail?”

“Yes, I certainly do. Tristan was always a warm and friendly sort, even if a bit on the quiet side.”

“But he knew you had visitors?” Penelope asked.

Marion smiled softly. “Is it not remarkable how he compensates for the loss of his sight?”

“My girl, you have your work cut out for you. But don’t give up,” Abigail said.

“I have no intention of giving up.” Marion studied the door where Tristan had exited. If she had to put her pride in her pocket and seduce her husband, then that was precisely what she would do.

Beware, Tristan. Your wife is coming for you, and I am determined.

Chapter Eight

Tristan made it as far as the library before he stopped and took a deep breath. How could he have been so incredibly rude? To ignore, and then cut, Marion’s family when they visited his home was beyond the pale. He’d been so taken aback and flustered at her having company, he’d reacted like a boor.

Should he return and apologize? Or just let it go? And how embarrassed Marion must be. He deserved a good tongue lashing.

Reaching the window, he pounded his fist against the frame. She should not be here, receiving visitors. She should be back with her family, not teasing him with her scent, her voice, her touches. Dammit, he didn’t want her!

Liar.

All right. He did want her, but for God’s sake he didn’t
want
to want her. She was slowly worming her way into his life. And heart. Not that she’d ever left his heart, but he’d hardened himself against her, had been able to keep up the pretense for more than two years. How easily she was breaking down his resolve.

A thought slowly trickled into his mind.
Suppose you stopped pushing her away?

The rush of joy and relief that washed over him almost brought him to his knees. Then, before he became too comfortable with the idea, he shoved it away.

No man without sight could be a proper husband. And fatherhood? How could he teach a son to be a man when he was only half a man himself? Best if he put that tantalizing idea to rest and accepted his life for what it had become.

Things would have been so much better had he been the one to die in the fire that had wiped out his family. Thomas would never have joined the Royal Navy and would have been able to carry on his family name and heritage. He, on the other hand, as the second best son, had let his parents down once again.

The sound of ladies’ chatter and the closing of the front door brought him up short. Would Marion lash her anger and disappointment on him? He braced himself as the door opened and Marion entered.

“My dear, before you say anything, I am sorry for having intruded on your company. I hope the ladies didn’t leave on account of my rudeness.”

“Not at all. We were nearing the end of our visit.” She hesitated, then continued, “I wish you hadn’t left so quickly. They were anxious to spend some time with you, as well.”

“No.”

When he didn’t add any further comments, he could
feel
her disappointment, and then her struggle to remain pleasant. God, he could sense her every mood by merely being in the same room with her.

“I was about to take a stroll in the garden. Would you care to join me?” He was correct, the fake smile was in her voice as she issued her invitation.

“Yes. I could use a bit of fresh air.” He gripped his cane and extended his elbow for her to take.

As they stepped outside, the lack of sun chilled him to the bone. He tugged Marion closer, not sure whether he was trying to warm her or himself. “Is it too cold for you today?”

“No, actually I enjoy the brisk air.”

“Did you have a pleasant visit with your family?”

“Yes, very much. It was so nice to see them again. And Penelope is
enceinte
once more, as is Abigail.” She sighed, causing his stomach muscles to tighten. Her unspoken
everyone except me
tore at him.

They strolled for a few minutes in tension-filled silence. He needed to have Landers contact his solicitor and have the man attend him. There had to be a way to release Marion from this spurious marriage. She deserved to be a mother—indeed, would be a wonderful one. With all her warmth and love, their child—correction,
her
child—would thrive and grow.

“Heavens, there is a dog coming toward us!”

He frowned. “A dog? I don’t own a dog.”

“Nevertheless, here he is.” She released his arm and he heard her knees crack as she squatted. “Hello there, boy. What are you doing here?”

“Marion, take care. He could bite you, could be sick with something.” He went down on one knee and attempted to nudge her to stand, when a large, wet article slobbered his face. “What the devil?”

Marion giggled like a young miss. “Oh, Tristan, he likes you!”

He quickly wiped the mess from his face. “I don’t wish him to like me.”

“But he does. Oh, he’s so sweet.”

“Marion, let us be on our way. I will have Mason put him outside the gate. I can’t imagine how he got in here.”

“No, Tristan. We can’t do that. The poor thing is cold and shivering. And he’s matted with mud.”

“Wonderful. Just what we need to bring into the house for Mrs. Downs to deal with. She will be quite distressed with a dirty animal about the place.”

“What’s the matter, sweeting, how did you find your way in here?” She continued to murmur to the beast.

“Marion, I insist we return to the house and have Mason deal with this…dog.” He tugged at her arm.

“Can’t we at least give him a bath and a good meal before we set him free?”

“Egad! Bathe him? Who do you intend to take on that task?”

“I will do it.”

“You?”

“Yes. I’m not afraid of a little dirt, and my brother and sisters and I oftentimes bathed our dogs. You remember how my mother was so fond of bringing home strays.”

“A trait that apparently she’s passed down to her daughter.”

“Please?”

How could he deny her this one request? So much of what she wanted from him he was unable, or unwilling, to give her. What harm could come from allowing her to bathe and pamper the animal for a bit?

“Very well. But don’t get attached to it.”

“No, Tristan. I promise. We will give him a nice hot bath and then some of Cook’s meat and then we’ll set him free.”

…

Marion ran her fingers through the silkiness of Argos’s fur. Three days had passed since the bedraggled animal had wandered onto their property. After a bath had revealed a beautiful brown and white border collie, he had a nice dinner of meat scraps and then he’d sauntered into the drawing room, curled up in front of the fireplace, and gone to sleep. Where he’d been ever since.

“So much for your promise that this animal would be sent on his way,” Tristan grumbled as he settled into his chair and the dog padded over to rest his head on Tristan’s feet. “And I can’t think of a more ill-fitting name for the mongrel than Argos.”

Marion sniffed and raised her chin. “Argos waited patiently for
Odysseus
to return for twenty years. To me he is the symbol of lifetime love.”

Tristan snorted.

Her husband didn’t fool her one bit. She’d seen him casually petting the dog in the evening when she read aloud. And the dog had certainly formed a connection with Tristan. The only time Argos left the fireplace was to follow his master about. It amused her to see man and dog go room to room, with Tristan pretending he didn’t know the animal was there.

“Shall I continue with
Mansfield Park
?” They’d both been excited to receive a copy of Jane Austen’s novel by the post just yesterday.

“Yes, please do. I find I am feeling quite sad for poor Fanny Price.”

Marion opened the book and took up where Fanny had just been sent to Mansfield Park to live with her wealthy relatives.

One of Marion’s talents was the ability to read aloud and still allow her mind to wander to other things. While the words flowed from her lips she thought again about their stalemate. Tristan continued to thwart her attempts at seduction. Not that she was in any way adept at such an undertaking. But having shared a bed with her husband before he’d gone to sea should give her some idea of how to go on.

Either Tristan was extremely good at hiding his feelings, or she truly did not interest him in that way any longer. True, he couldn’t see her, but the light brushes against his body, and the easy touches on his thigh as they sat together seemed to evoke no response. Short of stripping down to her skin and climbing into his bed, she had no other ideas.

Then again, perhaps that was exactly what she needed to do.

They spent the next hour in Fanny Price’s world, commiserating with the trouble her relatives caused. Marion closed the book and looked over at Tristan. “Would you care for a brandy before retiring?”

“I think not. I am feeling fatigued, and will be happy to gain my bed.”

Without me.

She bristled. Perhaps she should make a visit to Manchester Manor and swipe the book she and Abigail had stolen from Drake years ago. The information they’d poured over, giggling like fools, had been worth the stern lecture they’d received from their brother. Right now she was out of ideas on what to do to entice her husband back into her bed.

They proceeded upstairs to their bedchambers. They stopped at her door and Marion turned to him, wishing for something—anything—to indicate he desired her, wanted her to proceed with him to his bedchamber.

He raised her hand and kissed her fingers. “Good night.”

“Tristan…” She gazed into his beautiful sightless eyes, and her heartbeat sped up. Was it her imagination, or had his lips tightened? Did he feel something after all? Was his cool demeanor no more than an act?

He dropped her hand and stepped back. “Yes?”

“I want to…” Her nerve failed, and she slumped. “Nothing. Good night.”

A look of both disappointment and relief washed over his face. He bowed slightly and continued on his way with Argos right behind him.

Marion pondered her dilemma while Jane helped her out of her gown and into her night rail. What would it be like to be blind? She sat and closed her eyes while Jane brushed her hair. But somehow closing one’s eyes didn’t seem to be as devastating as it would be to open them and still not see anything. She rubbed her palms over her arms as goose bumps broke out at the thought of how horrified and scared she would be if she suddenly lost her sight.

“Are you chilled, my lady? Shall I have more coal put on the fire?”

“No, that’s fine, Jane. I shall climb under the coverlet and be warm enough.”

After dismissing the young maid and drinking the heated milk she’d left on her night table, Marion scooted under the covers and stared at the canopy.

Am I being too unfeeling in my treatment of Tristan? Am I disregarding how frightening it would be to have no sight?

She’d been so intent on resuming the marriage she’d so desperately wanted, perhaps she hadn’t really tried to imagine how Tristan felt, being sightless.

Marion threw the covers off and padded across the room, the scant moonlight guiding the way to her armoire, and pulled open a drawer. She withdrew a scarf, held it up, then discarded it, and continued to search. After pushing around several other scarves, she retrieved one and shook it out. Folding it several times, she placed the material over her eyes, then tied the two ends behind her head.

Many times as a child she’d played Blind Man’s Bluff, but to Tristan, this was no game. It was what his life had become. Aware of the furniture placed around the room, she eased one foot forward, arms extended.

Cautiously, she moved ahead a few steps. “Ouch.” Her bare toe smacked into the leg of a table. She wasn’t even sure in what direction she had walked. Sliding her foot along the carpet, she continued on until she banged into the wall. She waved around, striking her hand against the window frame.

She whipped the scarf from her eyes and was amazed at where she found herself. While she’d been “blind” she’d become completely turned around. Slowly she returned to the bed, her mind in a whirl. Perhaps if she practiced moving around the room, and then the rest of the house, with her eyes covered, she could think of things that might help Tristan.

In any event, she would discover what it is like to be without her eyesight. She shivered at the thought and pulled the covers up to her neck.

It was a long time before she fell into an uneasy slumber.

…

Tristan cocked his ear at the sound of Marion tossing in her bed, a mere few feet from him. If he didn’t get her out of the house soon he would break his vow to leave her alone and haul her to his heated body and have his way with her. And never let her out of his bed again.

If she thought he didn’t notice her attempts to drag him into intimacies, she was sorely mistaken. All her little touches and brushes up against him, and even the mere scent of her arousal, had been wreaking havoc with him for days.

He’d been walking around with an erection for so long it was a wonder he wasn’t crippled by now. And attempting to hide it from Marion had been no minor feat. Abruptly sitting down, or sliding a book in front of him, or hiding behind his desk, was not easy when one couldn’t see where one was placing one’s bottom.

Even though it wasn’t necessary, he closed his eyes to remember the sight of her lush body, curved in all the right places. Her breasts were magnificent, and he had never been able to get enough of them. And the little mewling sounds she’d made when he had caressed her. Long, pale legs had wrapped around him as she had moaned his name in his ear.

Despite the daily pounding he gave his punching bag, the raging vexation had not diminished. The longer Marion and her voice, scent, and touches remained under his roof, the more he was doomed to an agony of frustration.

And from the sounds coming through the other side of the wall, he wasn’t the only one suffering tonight.

I could ease both of us. All I need do is cross the room and open the door.

He gritted his teeth and willed his body to remain where it was and push that idea from his mind. He sighed and rolled over once more. Sleep would be an elusive bedfellow tonight.

The next morning, Mason entered Tristan’s bedchamber as Ellis put the final touches on his neckcloth. “My lord, Mr. McGregor awaits you in the library.”

“I will be there promptly.” The long-awaited meeting with his solicitor, to find a way to set Marion free so she could live a full life, had arrived. He’d sent instructions when he requested the meeting for the man to investigate what it would take to sever the marriage vows. He knew his solicitor to be a man of integrity and tenaciousness. If there was any way to allow them to move on with their lives, he would discover it.