“Are you serious now?” Tristan demanded, even though he could still feel the heat of Cathy’s fingers instinctively curled around his cock. There was a hunger in the way she held him, but perhaps he was merely projecting his own desires. In this case, the desire was completely inconvenient. He was getting married, and Kathleen Quinten was a spinster with a drunkard father.
“We are speaking of Kathleen Quinten, the coldest spinster known to theton. She was screaming when she saw me. A lady seasoned to scandalous trysts would know to keep quiet. This one threw a pillow at me!” Then, he took a deep breath before admitting, “She does have a firm grip, though. Such fire in a woman is wasted in the dowdy clothes she prefers.”
I wonder what lies beneath those buttoned-up gowns she prefers...
Tristan groaned.
“Tristan, stop that line of thinking,” Brandon warned, looking more alarmed than amused now. “I do not think you would want to be in the scandal of the century. It does not look good for you to be in bed with another woman during a wedding party at the house of your betrothed.”
“Then tell me what happened!” Tristan bellowed. Then, he paused, wondering, this time, if anybody had heard. “I remember drinking a little, but I had no intention of looking like a fool.”
“Well, there was a competition,” Brandon said, sighing. Tristan had let go of him, and he took it as a chance to rest his back against the wall for strength. The man looked positively exhausted. He squeezed his eyes shut. “It started innocently. You two were so eager to win each round. Some guests even placed bets. But I was there with you, Tristan. You did not drink that much. The amount you consumed could not justify a loss of memory.”
“I was not drunk the whole time?” Tristan asked, a chill passing over him. He fixed his friend with a stare, trying to study every expression on his face.
“Not enough to forget your own bedroom or who you were with,” Brandon said slowly.
“If I were not drunk, then what could have happened, Brandon? Did someone put something in my drink? Did someone lead me to Miss Quinten’s room? Did she lead me there herself?”
Tristan had to ask the questions, even though he was not certain how he would take the responses.
“I am not certain how that would happen,” Brandon muttered as if he did not want to discuss it at all. “She seemed quite dazed near the end of the night as well. Listen to me, Tristan. I know I do not look any better, but you are the groom. You must prepare yourself for the wedding tomorrow. Pray that Miss Quinten does not utter a word about this, or else we are all finished.”
We?
That word certainly made Tristan wonder just what Brandon meant.
“Do you think that people will suspect there was something more to it?” the Duke muttered, still feeling a throbbing pain in his temples. The heavy feeling in his brain could not have materialized out of nothing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I have no idea. It was clear, though, that Miss Longrove witnessed the whole competition. There was a lot of shouting, which was already scandalous in itself if not for the fact that some people were actually clapping and jeering you on. It was only the race that would have been considered unacceptable, but there was an audience, the whole wedding party. Anyway, your betrothed was furious at the whole scene. She left the games in tears.”
Tristan’s chest clenched. He did not often feel guilty because he knew he was always in control. This time around, he was not. Anne Longrove was sweet and biddable. She was what anyone in thetonwould consider a pleasant woman. Her family spent a fortune hosting the wedding party at their house. While he did not love her, she did not deserve such humiliation.
“I must speak to her,” Tristan mumbled. “I need to apologize to her. I will tell her that the excitement of the impending wedding, plus whatever I drank, had made me act like a total fool.”
He straightened his cuffs the way he intended to straighten his life, while he kept his expression steady and devoid of any warmth one might expect from a groom.
“I did not expect you to care so much about her all of a sudden.”
“It is not that, and you know it. However, it is a matter of decorum. I do not want anyone to say that I began this marriage by failing my duties as a gentleman and groom. I will go to her rooms now.”
“No!” Brandon had moved so quickly that Tristan was startled that his friend was suddenly blocking his path.
“Brandon, what are you doing? I need to do this.”
“I... I think that it would be best if you gave her some space for now, Tristan,” Brandon pleaded, his voice unusually strange. “She is likely still resting. If you go to her this early in the morning, disheveled and perhaps smelling of Miss Quinten...” Tristan’s brow rose at that. “You will only make it worse. Wait until later.”
Tristan tilted his head to the side as he studied his friend.
“Since when are you an expert on Miss Longrove’s temperament? I am her betrothed, and I confess that I know little of her yet.”
“Women are all the same. Besides, I am your friend,” Brandon replied, his eyes shifting to the side. “I am merely trying to save you from disaster. Wash first. Change your clothes. Even my not-so-sensitive nose can smell a hint of lavender that does not belong to you.”
Chapter 4
“Remarkable display last night, Your Grace.” Lord Althorp settled into the chair beside Tristan. He reached for his wine with great enthusiasm. “Never seen a woman best a duke at mathematics before. Quite the entertainment. Though I must say, the poetry round was what had Lady Pendleton losing three shillings. She was quite certain you would win.”
“How unfortunate for Lady Pendleton,” Tristan said, unfolding his napkin.