The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (9 page)

* * *

“Oh… hello…”

That was the only sentence he could manage: An
oh
and a
hello
. It seemed like a pretty pathetic thing to utter, considering the fact that he’d been pacing outside her room for nearly an hour. He held a candle in one hand, because the corridors of Randall Hall were pitch black at night. In his other hand he gripped his cane, in case he ever lost his balance.

He could see Leona’s eyes, wide with shock, in the flickering orange candlelight. “My lord… Tristan… you, uh… you’re here to see me?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I… I was just about to knock.” It was a lie, of course. He was probably going to pace around for another hour or so, wondering what he was supposed to do, before retreating to his bedroom. He never had a wife before. What was a man supposed to do on his wedding night when he didn’t know the girl? Was it within his rights to take liberties? Was it expected? Would she hate him for it? Even if he
was
dying, Tristan didn’t want to make a mess of things. At the very least, he wanted her to like him—just a little bit.

“Right.”

“Right.” After a minute of awkward silence, a thought crossed his mind. “Were you going someplace?”

“Um… heh heh…” Leona’s awkward chuckle echoed in the hallway. “I, um… I was coming to see you, my lord.”

“Oh.” Tristan barely heard her response, because for the first time, he noticed the effect the candlelight had on her nightgown. His mouth was hanging open, not so subtly, as he stared at the silhouette of her body.

“I was going to bid you a good night.”

“Yes. Good night.” It had been too long since he’d seen a feminine figure in such an intimate way. The sight of her turned Tristan into a slathering idiot. “I, um… I think I need a glass of wine.” He turned around and started heading away from her.

“Tristan!” she called after him.

He stopped. The next thing he knew, Leona was pattering down the hall, coming up beside him.

“I want to come with you.”

“With me?” he murmured, “to my bedchamber?”

“I don’t see why that’s such a surprise. I am your wife, am I not?”

“Yes, um… well, then…” Tristan, dumbfounded by her willingness to join him, continued to head toward his room with Leona at his side. “You look very pretty, by the way. Pretty… with your hair down.”

Leona ran a hand over her hair, which was so long, it nearly fell to her waist. “Thank you.”

“You’re always pretty.” He tapped his cane against the floor as they walked. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever known.”

“Oh, surely not,” she laughed.

“No, really.” As he said this, they arrived at the door to his bedchamber. He opened it and gestured for her to enter. “You really are.”

“I appreciate the compliment, my lord. Thank you.”

“If you insist on calling me
my lord
, I will have to insist on calling you
my lady
,” he threatened her. “It is far too formal.”

“Oh, yes.” Leona wrinkled her nose. “We can’t have that.”
Swallowing hard, Tristan walked to the far end of the room to pour himself a glass of wine. He extended the bottle toward her, offering to pour her a glass, but she declined by shaking her head. With a trembling hand, he set down the candle and filled his glass. In one gulp, it went down his throat. He poured himself another glass, which he held in his hand as he looked over at her. God, his wife was beautiful! In the candlelight, in her white gown, with her hair spilling over her shoulders like spun gold—he knew he would be lucky to see an angel so beautiful when he crossed to the other side.

“Will that candle be bright enough?” she asked, her voice soft and husky.

His throat went dry, so he took another drink. “Bright enough for what?”

Leona tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, as if to say,
must I really answer that?

“Um… well…” He walked over to the bed, using the lit candle to light another candle beside it, and the room glowed brighter than before. “There.” He placed the other candle on a nightstand and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at her like a nervous schoolboy.

Leona was just as nervous. She wished he wasn’t as nervous as she was, because she had no idea how to seduce a man. When he stared at her as innocently as he did, it was difficult to move. Wasn’t it the man’s responsibility to take the initiative?

“So,” Tristan spoke again. “Do you want to… do you want to, um… to talk?”

She actually chuckled when she heard him say that. “Talk? Are you serious?”
“I’m as serious as I can be.”

“You must know I’m not here to talk. You have to know what I’m here for.”

He did, of course, have an inkling. However, her aggression was a surprise. She didn’t love him… or even like him, for that matter. He was practically a stranger to her. Leona wasn’t exactly the blushing bride he’d expected her to be. “Do you want to do that?” he asked.

The lie was on the tip of Leona’s tongue.
I do.
She knew that was all she needed to say to ease his mind, but she couldn’t manage it. Instead, Leona answered, “I think we should.”

“
Should
?”

She nodded.

“Well, we don’t have to… if you don’t want to…. I mean… if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Leona stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns. He
was
dying, wasn’t he? If he was short on time, she wondered why his need for immediate intimacy wasn’t as great as hers. Was chaste companionship the only thing he wanted? If that was the case, seducing him would be more difficult than she thought it would be. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“I would never force you to do anything that would make you resent me.”

“Why would I resent you?”

“You don’t know me,” he said. “You don’t… care for me.”
“I don’t see why that would make me resent you.”

Tristan’s eyelids flickered, as if he’d been stricken. “I thought you might like to wait until you
did
.” He coughed. “Care
for me, that is.”
“Why would I want that?”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy enough.”

“Alright.” He sighed.

Leona took his response as a sign to proceed. It was quite clear he wouldn’t make a move; she would have to initiate everything. Leona moved toward the bed and sat beside him. Her hand seized the back of his head like a claw as she covered his mouth with hers. As much as she hated the thought of him, she tried to recall Lord Wintergreen’s passion as she kissed her husband.

Tristan kissed her softly, almost reluctantly. His head seemed to retreat at her aggression. Leona needed to be aggressive. She needed to do this to ensure her future. Her father’s words still echoed in her head.

You marry him, you bed him, and you make him think that bastard is his.

Tristan’s voice was also trickling into her head.

“
I thought you might like to wait until you did… care for me, that is. I just want you to be happy”

The stark contrast between his words and her father’s made her heart ache, made her devastated as she kissed him. The depression, deeply rooted and buried away, came spilling out at the least optimal time.

When he tasted the salt in her tears, Tristan withdrew his mouth from hers. She tried to move in for another kiss, but he slid away from her. “Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

Leona’s shoulders were shaking as she tried to fight off the tears. Sniffling, she reached for the hem of her nightgown and started to pull it over her legs, and over her thighs.

Tristan put his hand over hers, stopping her. “Don’t.”

“Why?” Leona asked with a sob. If he knew what a whore she’d made of herself, she knew he would let her proceed. He would hate her if he knew everything, and he certainly wouldn’t sound so sincere.

“I don’t want you crying while we… you know…”

“What does it matter?”

With a flick of his hand, Tristan produced a handkerchief from his pocket, which he used to dab at her eyes. “It matters to
me
. I don’t want you to be upset. The last thing I want to do is--”

Leona tore the handkerchief from her husband’s hand and sprung from the bed. “You’re making me feel foolish!”

“I don’t mean to.”

“Is there something wrong with me? You don’t want me to take off my clothes?” she asked with a sniffle.

“If you’re crying, I don’t think we should proceed any further.”

“Don’t you realize how humiliating this is for me? I hate you already!” she declared with a wail. Her thoughts swimming, Leona turned on her heel and ran from the room.

A few minutes after she left, Tristan was still staring at the door, completely agape. He would never be able to understand women.

Least of all, his new wife.

Chapter Twelve

She somehow managed to seek out her favorite room in the dark manor—the room with the Tudor furniture. A dying fire cast a dim glow around the room, enough to help her scramble to a chair. She curled up in the chair, which Queen Elizabeth herself might have sat in, and sobbed into Tristan’s handkerchief.

“I really made a mess of that,” she said out loud. “Did I really have to say I hated him? How stupid of me.” Leona blew her nose, hoping he didn’t want his handkerchief returned to him.

Now what?
She wondered.

Her entire plan revolved around getting into his bed and making him believe her baby was his. But…
now what
? If she hadn’t cried, she might have been upstairs right now, removing her clothes in a dutiful manner. It was her fault, wasn’t it? Or was it his fault? If Tristan wasn't so nice about everything, she wouldn’t have had a reason to cry.

Leona took a deep breath and held it for awhile, hoping that would stop the flow of her tears. She would have another chance, wouldn’t she? She would have another chance to bed him. Her task was laid out in front of her, and it was difficult indeed. Not only would she have to bed him, she would have to make him believe she cared for him as well.

And she did, didn’t she? She already cared for him a little bit. Lord Randall wasn’t so bad. He was gentler than any man she knew, and he seemed to have genuine concern for her.

“Oh, God, I made such a mess of things…” Leona repeated to herself, her voice squeaking as she buried her face in the damp handkerchief. She wondered if she could go upstairs and undo the damage.

It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

* * *

When he heard the knock on the door, he froze. The last thing he expected was a visitor. And he didn’t know what to say to
this
particular visitor, as he’d been left completely perplexed by her enraged exit.

Of course, Tristan couldn’t fall asleep after that. He had been lying in his bed ever since she left, replaying their conversation many times in his head, obsessively poring over it. No matter how much he thought about it, he didn’t feel any more enlightened.

Maybe Leona could shed some light on her outburst?

“Come in,” he said, a bit apprehensively.

Leona shuffled inside, her eyes turned sheepishly to the floor. When she finally summoned the courage to look at him, Leona almost gasped. Her husband was reclining on the bed looking…well…
handsome
wasn’t the right word. He was looking quite attractive, though, with his shirt unbuttoned completely, his eyes burning with concern. Her gaze was caught—and held—by the dark patches of hair on a sinewy, masculine chest.

She hadn’t married an ugly man, she realized. He didn’t look the least bit like an invalid, aside from the dark circles under his eyes.

As she stared at his chest, Leona felt her own heart sinking. Someday, the heart beneath that chest would stop beating, and she would be alone. A widow. That thought was already depressing her more than she thought it would.

“Hello,” Tristan said, chuckling at her silence. “Did you forget something?”

Leona held out the handkerchief she stole from him. When he didn’t reach for it, she placed it on the end of his bed.

“Ah. I stand corrected. You came to
return
something, I see. How very kind of you.”

“It isn’t nice of you to tease me.”

“It isn’t nice of you to misunderstand me,” he responded with a frown. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, Leona. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

“I just… I would…” Leona turned to face the wall. She couldn’t bear to look at him, half-dressed as he was, and as foolish as she felt. “I’d like an explanation.”

“An explanation for what?”

“An explanation for why you didn’t
want
me, my lord.”
“
My lord.
There’s your explanation,” he replied. “Your formality and your tears, Leona… that’s what made me pause. I completely understand why you were crying. You hardly know me. We should wait until we’re better acquainted.”
“Is there something wrong with me?” she whispered.

Tristan sat up, rigid, and raked a hand over his chin. He hadn’t known many women in his lifetime, but he thought he might have found the most frustrating one in the world. “Goodness…
nothing!
You’re lovely and wonderful. But I happen to think a man should always be a gentleman, especially when he’s with his wife. I wouldn’t force myself on you when you were crying. If I did, what sort of man would I be?”