The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (31 page)

A knock on the door made Andrew sit up, rigid and gasping. He held his breath for several seconds, fearing the worst. Had someone come to tell him some bad news? Was he morbid for coming to that conclusion?

“Come in,” he said, as loudly as he could. Nevertheless, his voice sounded small. All his crying must have had some effect on him, if his voice sounded so weak. He wondered if the person behind the door would be able to see and hear the evidence of the tears he shed.

As luck would happen, the person on the other side of the door happened to be the person he would least like to reveal his weakness to. It was Mary.

She stepped into the room as coy as a kitten, eyes lowered. “I’m… sorry to bother you, Mr. Lamb.”

“What is it, Mary?” He hoped the question didn’t sound too cold. For some reason, the sight of Mary’s face made him awash with bitterness. “Please don’t tell me it’s… you haven’t come to tell me something about Tristan, have you?”

“No, Mr. Lamb,” Mary answered with a shake of her head. “I wish I had some good news, but his condition is the same as ever.”

“I was thinking it was bad news,” Andrew said. “Until recently, I’ve always been optimistic and confident. I think you’ve made a pessimistic man out of me, Mary. And call me Andrew, by the way.”

“
I’ve
made you a pessimistic man? How is that possible?” she asked. “It’s not fair to blame me for something like that.”

“Ever since you rejected me, I’ve started to fear the worst in all aspects of my life,” Andrew explained. “It’s a result of my broken heart.”

“Perhaps if you’d acted more like a gentleman, I might not have rejected you.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling as she spoke. “In light of the circumstances, I don’t think this is a topic we should discuss!”

“Sorry,” he apologized half-heartedly. “I just wish I had some happiness in my life. Everything seems so wrong lately.”

“The same could be said for all of us. At the moment, I’m sure Leona and Tristan are faring far worse than we are.”

With a sigh, Andrew rose from his bed and took a few steps toward her, his movements languid. “If you didn’t come with bad news, and you didn’t come to discuss the history of our relationship, why
are
you here?” He punctuated his question with a snort. “As if there’s any history to speak of…”

“If you’re going to be rude, I’m just going to leave.”

Before she could turn away, Andrew reached out and grabbed her hand. “No… don’t go. I’m sorry. Please tell me what you came to tell me.”

Mary looked down at her hand, which looked tiny in comparison to Andrew’s. “Well… I seem to remember a certain gentleman asking me if I would take a walk in the garden with him,” she said. “Although, it was quite a long time ago.”

“You better be referring to me. I don’t think I could stand to hear you talk about another man.”

“And
you
better be joking,” Mary said with a chuckle. “Do you really think another man would be foolish enough to waste his time?”

“Time with you is time well spent,” he countered. “Anyway, I’d love to take a walk with you… if that’s what you’re asking.”

When Mary answered his question with a nod, Andrew tucked his arm under hers and led her out of the room. He took her to the rear entrance of Randall Hall, where wide, double-doors led to a garden that was once lush and arrestingly beautiful. Since the master of the house had been in London in recent years, the garden had been neglected. The flowers weren’t as plentiful, but there was still enough color to make it an enchanting place. With autumn approaching, the blossoms on the trees were wilting. Their petals swirled in the crisp breeze.

He led her down a path of mud and stone, and they stayed silent most of the time, their despondent moods befitting the withering garden. After awhile, his arm dropped away from Mary’s—so he could hold her hand instead.

“You know,” Mary began, “I find myself… impressed by you.”

“Really?” An eyebrow shot up. “I thought you hated me.”

“Of course I don’t hate you. And how could I not be impressed by the concern you show for your friend? I think I’ve misjudged you, Andrew. You really are a kind, caring man,” she looked over at him, smiled, and added, “even if you did act poorly at times… to me, in particular.”

“You’re right. I didn’t treat you fairly,” Andrew agreed. “Which is why... if there was any justice in the world, it would be
me
on my deathbed right now, not Tristan.
He’s
the kind and caring one.”

“You really shouldn’t say that.”

“Isn’t it always the best people who die young? Why do you think that is?” Andrew asked, staring straight ahead, eyes vacant. “And a man like me lives on…and for what reason? So I can keep up my wicked ways? Then there’s Tristan. He’s practically a saint, but he’s probably going to die. It’s not fair, is it?”

“I think you’re a good man, Andrew,” Mary tried to convince him, but he didn’t care to listen.

“If I could, I’d trade places with him in a second.” Andrew kicked at a stone on the path, and it went careening out of sight. “No one would miss me like Tristan will be missed.”

“It’s possible he might not die, you know,” said Mary. “Besides… why are you talking such nonsense? You really don’t think you’d be missed? You don’t think
I’d
miss you? You must be saying all these awful things about yourself in an attempt to lure my feelings out of me. Is that your plan?”

His head dipped between his shoulders. “I don’t have a plan.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you so upset. You’re usually the uplifting one! It’s unnatural to see you like this.”

“Well… it might surprise you to know I’m not happy, jovial Andrew all the time. I’m not always the cad who chases after women. I have real emotions, just like everyone else.”

“I know,” Mary agreed. “I know you better than you think.”

He stopped walking, let go of her hand, and turned her toward him. “Do you? Do you really know me? I don’t think you do.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Mary said with a shrug. “I’m just the maid. It would be wrong for me to study you so closely.”

“You’re right. You don’t know me, because if you did, you’d know how much it pains me to hear you belittle yourself. You’d know I haven’t wanted to be with any other woman since I met you,” Andrew said, his eyes piercing her as he spoke. “You’d know how uncharacteristic my feelings are. You’d know how I wish I was a better man… a man who could make you happy…one who could make you love me… one who hadn’t messed up.”

Mary was silenced by his words. All she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss him, which she couldn’t do. Her confidence wasn’t strong enough to allow her to do such a bold thing. If she kissed him, she was afraid he might think she’d gone mad.

“I know I’ve upset you in the past. I’ve said some stupid things,” Andrew went on. “Regardless of what I’ve said before, I want you to know how I feel about you
now
. You’re beautiful to me.”

“Beautiful?” Mary repeated with a chuckle. “Not quite.”

“You
are
beautiful. And you should accept that compliment like a lady.”

“But I’m not a lady,” she reminded him.

“Rubbish,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re every bit of a lady. You’re as intelligent and coy and witty as any woman I’ve ever known.”

“So, you’re surprised to find intelligence where there’s no breeding or education?”

“I never said that.”

“Oh, I’m not accusing you of that. It just… saddens me how those of your class will always look at someone like me and assume there’s nothing but ignorance.” She turned her eyes to the sky with a sigh. “I wish I would’ve been born a duke’s daughter… or something like that.” If she had, Mary knew he wouldn’t have asked her to be his mistress—he might have asked her to marry him instead. Of course, she’d have to be beautiful too, to attract a man like Andrew Lamb. And she knew she wasn’t a beauty, regardless of what he said.

“Or maybe you could’ve been born a princess,” Andrew said with a smile. “And you could’ve gone on to be queen. I’m sure this country would be a better place with someone like you on the throne.”

“I would’ve hit you over the head with my scepter at least a hundred times by now.”

Andrew doubled over, chuckling. “Ah, Mary. I can always count on you to distract me from my sadness.”

“Really?” Mary held her breath for several seconds. She knew what she wanted to say, but she had to summon the courage to say it. “I bet I could think of something else that would distract you.”

“Oh, really?”

She could feel the blood rushing in her head, breaking down her walls of reservation as it surged. All of a sudden, she rose to her tiptoes and kissed him, ever-so-lightly, on his mouth. “You know how you asked me to be your mistress?” she asked. “Well, I’ve changed my mind about that.”

“You… what?” Andrew could hardly believe his ears. He could still feel his lips tingling where her lips had willingly brushed against his. It thrilled him. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’m saying I want to be your mistress. I want to be with you,” Mary said; her heart drummed beneath her chest, as if trying to beat some logic back in her head.

“But… would that make you happy?”

“I know it would. Now that we’ve come so close to seeing death, I think it’s made me realize something. I want to experience life,” she said. “And I want to experience it with you.”

They were both silent for several seconds, the new development having left them speechless.

“But we can’t be together right now… not when everything is as terrible as it is. When the master starts to recover, we’ll be together,” Mary said. “I’ll come to your room.”

“You’ll come to my… you
will
?” He couldn’t believe he was so stupefied by the prospect of having Mary in his bed. He’d been with countless women, but none of them had left him in so much anticipation. His mind was petrified by temptation.

“I will.”

After giving him another little kiss, Mary turned around and sprinted up the garden path in the direction of the house. She looked back at him and smiled—a smile that held so much promise.

Chapter Thirty Five

Leona was afraid to fall asleep. She was terrified of what could happen when she slept. She watched Tristan in the dark, forcing her sleepy half-lidded eyes to stay open. The candlelight cast an orange, flickering blanket over his motionless body. His entire face glistened with sweat. Each breath he took was a struggle to sustain life. Leona wanted to watch him as long as she could. If his spirit was going to leave his body, she wanted to be with him when it did.

She sat in a chair beside his bed, occasionally wiping tears from her flushed face. It was turning out to be the longest, most difficult night of her life. She felt like it would never end—but she didn’t know if she wanted the night to end, because the morning could bring bad news. She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, bending her head in silent prayer. Though her prayers had not been granted in the past, she was willing to try anything, because she couldn’t fathom a life without Tristan. Nothing could ever match the comfort she found in his eyes and arms.

Leona leaned back in her chair, sighing. She turned her eyes to the window and saw the sun peeking over the horizon, signaling dawn. She’d stayed up the entire night watching over him, her mind begging for his recovery. The sun baked the sky red—the same color as Leona’s eyes, no doubt. She wasn’t accustomed to staying up as long as she did. Her eyes were so heavy, she felt like she had stones attached to the bottom of her eyelids.

With a groan, Leona rose from her chair and shuffled to the other side of Tristan’s bed. She rolled into bed beside him, wrapping her arm around him as carefully as she could, because she didn’t want to hurt or disturb him. As soon as her head fell on the pillow, she couldn’t last another second.

Even if the morning would hail bad news, she had to sleep.

* * *

A few hours later, a tap on the shoulder jolted her from her sleep. Leona sat up, her heart racing, her mind immediately remembering the reason for her anxiety. She wondered who tapped her—and she wondered what they had to say. She could feel her insides wrench with trepidation.

She looked over her shoulder, only to find that it was, in fact, Tristan who had tapped her. He was sitting up in bed with a tray on his lap, balancing two bowls of soup. He smiled when he saw her.

“I’m sorry to wake you, my love,” he said, “but I didn’t want the soup to get cold.”

Leona rubbed her eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing. “Tristan?!”

“Yes?”

“You’re…” She rubbed her eyes again, making sure she wasn’t hallucinating or stuck in a dream. “You’re… awake! How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing rather well, all things considered,” he said with a chuckle. “Actually, the doctor was here just a moment ago. I told him to whisper, because I wanted to let you sleep, and--”

“I would have wanted to be awake for that!” Leona gasped. “What did the doctor say?”

“The fever’s gone, the wound’s closing… the doctor seems to think I’ll make it.”

Leona clasped her hands over her mouth, stifling an excited trill. “Are you serious?!”