The Baron's Betrayal Read online

  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 continu
ed 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.

  “So you have decided to proceed with your foolish plan to dispense with your wife?” Ellis asked, brushing the back of Tristan’s jacket.

  Tristan waved off Ellis’s remarks. “This does not concern you.”

  The valet moved in front of him and readjusted the neckcloth. “Someone has to point out your failings, my lord.”

  “I shall begin the search for a new valet as soon as I am through with McGregor,” Tristan mumbled.

  “If I find some free time this afternoon, I shall assist in the hunt. I will also be sure to advise candidates for the position of their prospective employer’s foolish flights of fancy, and lunacy,” Ellis replied.

  The man had been with him since St. George’s hospital in Lisbon. He had been a batman to an officer who had died in battle, leaving Ellis with no visible means of support. With Mrs. Gibbons unable to take care of Tristan’s personal needs, he’d hired the man as a valet when they’d left Lisbon. For some reason Ellis seemed to think because of their time together he could freely spew forth his opinions. And he generally did.

  “Nevertheless, you will dispense with your insubordination, and I shall leave your trying presence to meet with my solicitor.”

  With trepidation and fortitude, Tristan made his way downstairs, Argos on his heels. Dratted animal followed him everywhere. He knew Marion thought it a joke that the dog panted after him like an untried youth with an opera singer. However, for as much as he grumbled about the dog, he’d found a certain amount of comfort in the animal’s presence. He no longer felt completely alone when no one was nearby. He shook himself from such fanciful thoughts and entered the library.

  “John, I appreciate you coming so quickly.” Tristan extended his hand, and the other man grasped it, warm and solid. He and McGregor had been friends since Tristan’s parents’ deaths. John’s father had been named as trustee for the inheritance young Tristan had received. Once John had joined his father in his law practice, he’d taken over Tristan’s legal work.

  They’d spent some time together when Tristan was living incognito in London, but this was the first time John had made the trip to Donridge Heath.

  “It is wonderful to see you. And I must say, you are looking splendid.” The leather chair in front of his desk creaked as the man settled into it. Tristan moved around the desk and sat, resting his cane against the edge of the desk, noting the rustle of Argos stretching out alongside his chair.

  “I assume you bring me news on the problem I had Mr. Landers write you about?”

  “Indeed. I did quite a bit of research, mostly to familiarize myself with the Hardwicke Marriage Act and any cases that have been brought before Parliament since the law passed.”

  “And what have you found?”

  McGregor cleared his throat to the sound of papers shifting about. “Before I start, I must strongly voice my disapproval of your plan, my lord. It was difficult enough watching your estate languish while the courts waited for sufficient time to pass to declare you dead. As you know, it placed me in an uncomfortable position.

  “But now this attempt to somehow relieve your wife of her marriage vows is foolish at best and social suicide at worst.”

  Tristan sighed in frustration. “I fear I must warn you it will be necessary for you to join the queue to make known your opinion. I find as the day wears on that no one in my employ seems to think chastising the man who pays their salary is inappropriate.”

  John continued. “If it is truly your intention to end your marriage, I’m afraid the only solution for you is to attempt to obtain a divorce. Before we proceed any further, please know that a divorce is not only scurrilous, especially for Lady Tunstall, but for all intents and purposes, impossible to secure.”

  Tristan flinched at the thought of Marion being the subject of scandal. Something her brother had pointed out to him when he had first visited after the disaster at the assembly dance. John’s words only confirmed what he’d been afraid of. “What about an annulment?”

  “Impossible.”

  “Why not? I’ve been considered dead for more than two years.”

  “Ah, but you were not dead for those two years.”

  “Suppose my wife had remarried during that time?”

  “According to English law, she would still be married to you, and any marriage she contracted would be null and void.” He cleared his throat one more time. “And any children born of the marriage would be declared illegitimate.”

  Tristan leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes. Nothing looked different. Darkness surrounded him whether his eyes were open or closed. He took several deep breaths to stop the panic that sometimes rose when he dwelled too much on his blindness. Attempting to distract himself, he asked, “What would be involved in a divorce?”

  The chair across from him creaked once more as McGregor shifted. “A divorce would require several steps. Since the only grounds for divorcing Lady Tunstall would be if she committed adultery—“

  “Stop!” Tristan threw up his hand, sweat breaking out on his brow. Those words spoken alou
d made him feel dirty and vile. To hear “Lady Tunstall” and “adultery” in the same sentence made his stomach roil. His sweet, loving Marion would never willingly give herself to another man. Of that he was certain.

  “Then what you are telling me is there is no way for my wife to be free of me.”

  “Excuse my impertinence once more, but as your solicitor for some time now, as well as a friend, I feel the need to ask if this is something Lady Tunstall wants?”

  Tristan’s lips twitched. “Yes, you are impertinent, as always, but I will answer your question. My wife does not wish to be free of me. I wish for her to be free of me.”

  “For heaven’s sake, man, why?”

  Tristan pushed back his chair and stood, anger at his predicament washing over him. Then, at the slight whimper from Argos, he composed himself and sat back down. “I cannot be a proper husband to my wife, nor a father to any children we might have.”

  “That is probably the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say.”

  He stiffened. “It is not ridiculous. I have nothing to offer her. She is better off without me.”

  “Ah, you foolish man.” His solicitor paused. “Let me ask you something.”

  Tristan grunted his response.

  “If the situation were reversed and Marion had lost her sight, would you be so quick to be rid of her?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Because?”

  “Because I love her. It would not matter to me.” He tightened his jaw. “But before you go any further, this situation is very different.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course it is. A man needs to be the protector of his family. Don’t you understand I cannot do that?”

  And there was the crux of the matter. When the time came to take care of his family, he would utterly and completely fail. Just as he had failed his parents when he had survived the fire and his brother had not.

  Chapter Nine

  Later that night, Marion untied the scarf from the back of her head and shook it out. She blinked a few times to clear her vision. This was the third time she’d wandered around her room blindfolded, and she now knew at least a smidgen of how Tristan felt being unable to see. Frightening is the word that came to mind. Certainly very different from Blind Man’s Bluff. No children cheering you on, calling out to you. No knowledge that with a quick tug at the end of the scarf you would be able to see once more.