warmed to you,” he went on more calmly.
“Not because of anything I’ve done,” Tristan said pointedly, finally spearing a hard look at the other man. “You know damned well she blames me for all your vices, without pausing to wonder how you manage to carry on at them even in my absence.”
Bennet flushed darker red. “Fair enough. But there’s no arguing with her now; she’s fixed her mind against you. So for both our sakes, leave Joan be.” He gave a rueful grin. “It shouldn’t be that hard. You said yourself she’s trouble. I’m doing you a favor, really—should you ever encounter her, you have my permission to run the other way.”
Tristan just grunted and snapped his fingers at the boy to fetch his clothes. Trouble, yes; but even more dangerous than Bennet suspected. Because Tristan didn’t want to run the other way when he saw Miss Bennet, as vexing as she was. He wanted to best her, to leave her speechless; he wanted to hear her confess that she was wrong and he was right, about anything at all. And most worrisome of all, he wanted to kiss her senseless when she did so. Maybe even before. He must be cracked in the head.
“So are felicitations in order?” he asked, trying to change the subject so Bennet wouldn’t keep talking about her. “Do I need to remove myself to a hotel so your bride can redecorate?”
His friend scowled. “Damn it, Burke, I’m not betrothed—”
“Two dances with the same woman? It won’t be long.”
“It was to appease my mother,” growled Bennet.
The servant had come back with his clothing. Tristan took his shirt and pulled it over his head. “I vaguely remember your mother. She wasn’t the most dreadful woman. Why, pray tell, does she inspire such terror in her children’s hearts that they cannot twitch without fearing her retribution?”
“It’s not terror,” Bennet exclaimed. “I just—just— It’s just not wise to rouse her temper, that’s all. It’s more peaceful.” Then he frowned. “Did Joan complain of her as well?”
The servant held out the cravat, neatly pressed again. “Wasn’t your sister sneaking out after she came to your home the other day? I gathered it was in defiance of your mother’s wishes, yet all she did was stroll up Bond Street. And you can’t refuse so much as a request that you attend a certain ball.” He began knotting the cravat, keeping his eyes on the looking glass the servant held up. “I suppose one might understand an unmarried lady being kept close by her mother,” he added. “But you’re a grown man. Buck up, old chap. Appeasement leads to subjugation.”
Bennet snorted. “As if you’d know! Free as a bird, your entire life.”
Tristan pulled the loose end of the cravat through the knot and stabbed a pin through it. “Yes, free from all that parental oversight that chafes you so.” Also free from any sort of loving home, but he forbore to mention it. His parents had been dead so long, he couldn’t even remember them. For all he knew, his mother might have been worse than Bennet’s.
“It certainly never appeared that you minded!” Bennet clapped him on the back, apparently restored to good humor. “Just trust me—it’s easier to appease Mother. I danced with the girl, everyone was satisfied, and now I’m free again.”
“Did you like the girl?”
Bennet blinked. “What?”
“Did you like the girl?” Tristan repeated, pulling on his jacket. “If you’re going to waltz with a girl, you might as well enjoy it.”
The other man stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Bloody hell! You don’t have to like a girl to like waltzing with her. Miss Drummond is nothing like the females I prefer—you know that. I might as well ask you if you enjoyed dancing with my sister!”
He should have laughed. He should have agreed wholeheartedly, and let the whole question drop. Instead Tristan pictured the curve of her lips when the music began, and felt the sway of her body in his arm.
“Not because of anything I’ve done,” Tristan said pointedly, finally spearing a hard look at the other man. “You know damned well she blames me for all your vices, without pausing to wonder how you manage to carry on at them even in my absence.”
Bennet flushed darker red. “Fair enough. But there’s no arguing with her now; she’s fixed her mind against you. So for both our sakes, leave Joan be.” He gave a rueful grin. “It shouldn’t be that hard. You said yourself she’s trouble. I’m doing you a favor, really—should you ever encounter her, you have my permission to run the other way.”
Tristan just grunted and snapped his fingers at the boy to fetch his clothes. Trouble, yes; but even more dangerous than Bennet suspected. Because Tristan didn’t want to run the other way when he saw Miss Bennet, as vexing as she was. He wanted to best her, to leave her speechless; he wanted to hear her confess that she was wrong and he was right, about anything at all. And most worrisome of all, he wanted to kiss her senseless when she did so. Maybe even before. He must be cracked in the head.
“So are felicitations in order?” he asked, trying to change the subject so Bennet wouldn’t keep talking about her. “Do I need to remove myself to a hotel so your bride can redecorate?”
His friend scowled. “Damn it, Burke, I’m not betrothed—”
“Two dances with the same woman? It won’t be long.”
“It was to appease my mother,” growled Bennet.
The servant had come back with his clothing. Tristan took his shirt and pulled it over his head. “I vaguely remember your mother. She wasn’t the most dreadful woman. Why, pray tell, does she inspire such terror in her children’s hearts that they cannot twitch without fearing her retribution?”
“It’s not terror,” Bennet exclaimed. “I just—just— It’s just not wise to rouse her temper, that’s all. It’s more peaceful.” Then he frowned. “Did Joan complain of her as well?”
The servant held out the cravat, neatly pressed again. “Wasn’t your sister sneaking out after she came to your home the other day? I gathered it was in defiance of your mother’s wishes, yet all she did was stroll up Bond Street. And you can’t refuse so much as a request that you attend a certain ball.” He began knotting the cravat, keeping his eyes on the looking glass the servant held up. “I suppose one might understand an unmarried lady being kept close by her mother,” he added. “But you’re a grown man. Buck up, old chap. Appeasement leads to subjugation.”
Bennet snorted. “As if you’d know! Free as a bird, your entire life.”
Tristan pulled the loose end of the cravat through the knot and stabbed a pin through it. “Yes, free from all that parental oversight that chafes you so.” Also free from any sort of loving home, but he forbore to mention it. His parents had been dead so long, he couldn’t even remember them. For all he knew, his mother might have been worse than Bennet’s.
“It certainly never appeared that you minded!” Bennet clapped him on the back, apparently restored to good humor. “Just trust me—it’s easier to appease Mother. I danced with the girl, everyone was satisfied, and now I’m free again.”
“Did you like the girl?”
Bennet blinked. “What?”
“Did you like the girl?” Tristan repeated, pulling on his jacket. “If you’re going to waltz with a girl, you might as well enjoy it.”
The other man stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Bloody hell! You don’t have to like a girl to like waltzing with her. Miss Drummond is nothing like the females I prefer—you know that. I might as well ask you if you enjoyed dancing with my sister!”
He should have laughed. He should have agreed wholeheartedly, and let the whole question drop. Instead Tristan pictured the curve of her lips when the music began, and felt the sway of her body in his arm.
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