monopolise your time, then – time that you should be spending with me.”
His bitter and possessive words were the guiltiest of thrills. Esther bit on her lip as she nodded without meeting his intense stare. “I...I suppose they will, yes. They are the only family I have left to me, after all, and Uncle Charles is as good as a father to me now.”
The slow-burning flicker of hope that had taken root inside him whilst they had made love so intimately faded away. “You are close to him, then?”
She nestled further into his arms and tugged the sheets up over their bare bodies. “Tristan, he and Charlotte are all I have left. I can neither deny nor defy them.”
“I see,” Tristan said stiffly as he allowed her to rest her head on his chest. As he absently stroked her hair to soothe her back into what would hopefully be a more restful sleep, he silently cursed Charlotte Tennyson and her father. Were it not for them, he was convinced that Esther could be persuaded to be his wife, for the love he had for her could break down any protest she offered up – it was a love that he knew now she too could feel for him, if only she allowed herself to.
Nonetheless, he would not give her up without a fight, no matter how futile it seemed his efforts would be. Tristan had never wanted anything or anyone as much as he wanted Esther – if he had to prostrate himself in front of her, her family or even all of England to win her, then so be it.
Neither of them slept well that night.
Chapter Ten
The Earl Montfort and his daughter had arrived at Fleetwood Hall less than ten minutes after Tristan had left Esther’s bedchamber with one last impassioned kiss that had her wordlessly clinging to him. Tears had filled her eyes again when he had mutely detached himself from her, his jaw clenched tightly when he had caressed her flushed face before departing.
Her uncle had gone to look over the grounds with Anton, leaving Charlotte and Esther to become reacquainted – Esther had not seen her since the previous summer she had spent in London, the summer when she had thrown herself into the arms of any man who would oblige her.
She had never liked her frivolous cousin. Charlotte Tennyson was filled with delight in her own beauty and had no wish to do anything but attend balls and fritter away her father’s vast fortunes on gowns, jewels and soirées. It seemed that in their year apart, she had not changed.
Esther could pay no attention to Charlotte’s enthusiastic and inane prattling about the ton, for her thoughts were consumed by the memory of the fierce possessiveness in Tristan’s eyes when he had made love to her after the painful secrets she had shared with him. She closed her eyes briefly and allowed herself to imagine a world in which he and her cousin had never met, had never shared the night of passion that had so ruined Charlotte’s prospects.
It was not the act itself which bothered her, for she knew that she herself had many such liaisons in her past. The issue was that Tristan had been so careless and selfish in seeking out his passion; Charlotte said that he had known she was a virgin and betrothed, but that he had only seen her as a challenge and seduced her regardless.
Were it not for that knowledge of how cold and cruel he could be, then Esther knew that she would still be in Tristan’s arms and eagerly accepting all that he had seemed to be offering to her. Though deeply unsettling, far more troublesome was the certain knowledge that she would soon be without him. The mere thought of it was enough to set a spiralling panic inside her.
Still, though, now that she was out of his intoxicating presence, it occurred to Esther that perhaps the man she thought she had come to know was only what he had wanted her to see. He had made it very plain from the first moment they met how much he desired her; the tender sensitivity he had displayed had been so precisely what she needed that it may have been no more
His bitter and possessive words were the guiltiest of thrills. Esther bit on her lip as she nodded without meeting his intense stare. “I...I suppose they will, yes. They are the only family I have left to me, after all, and Uncle Charles is as good as a father to me now.”
The slow-burning flicker of hope that had taken root inside him whilst they had made love so intimately faded away. “You are close to him, then?”
She nestled further into his arms and tugged the sheets up over their bare bodies. “Tristan, he and Charlotte are all I have left. I can neither deny nor defy them.”
“I see,” Tristan said stiffly as he allowed her to rest her head on his chest. As he absently stroked her hair to soothe her back into what would hopefully be a more restful sleep, he silently cursed Charlotte Tennyson and her father. Were it not for them, he was convinced that Esther could be persuaded to be his wife, for the love he had for her could break down any protest she offered up – it was a love that he knew now she too could feel for him, if only she allowed herself to.
Nonetheless, he would not give her up without a fight, no matter how futile it seemed his efforts would be. Tristan had never wanted anything or anyone as much as he wanted Esther – if he had to prostrate himself in front of her, her family or even all of England to win her, then so be it.
Neither of them slept well that night.
Chapter Ten
The Earl Montfort and his daughter had arrived at Fleetwood Hall less than ten minutes after Tristan had left Esther’s bedchamber with one last impassioned kiss that had her wordlessly clinging to him. Tears had filled her eyes again when he had mutely detached himself from her, his jaw clenched tightly when he had caressed her flushed face before departing.
Her uncle had gone to look over the grounds with Anton, leaving Charlotte and Esther to become reacquainted – Esther had not seen her since the previous summer she had spent in London, the summer when she had thrown herself into the arms of any man who would oblige her.
She had never liked her frivolous cousin. Charlotte Tennyson was filled with delight in her own beauty and had no wish to do anything but attend balls and fritter away her father’s vast fortunes on gowns, jewels and soirées. It seemed that in their year apart, she had not changed.
Esther could pay no attention to Charlotte’s enthusiastic and inane prattling about the ton, for her thoughts were consumed by the memory of the fierce possessiveness in Tristan’s eyes when he had made love to her after the painful secrets she had shared with him. She closed her eyes briefly and allowed herself to imagine a world in which he and her cousin had never met, had never shared the night of passion that had so ruined Charlotte’s prospects.
It was not the act itself which bothered her, for she knew that she herself had many such liaisons in her past. The issue was that Tristan had been so careless and selfish in seeking out his passion; Charlotte said that he had known she was a virgin and betrothed, but that he had only seen her as a challenge and seduced her regardless.
Were it not for that knowledge of how cold and cruel he could be, then Esther knew that she would still be in Tristan’s arms and eagerly accepting all that he had seemed to be offering to her. Though deeply unsettling, far more troublesome was the certain knowledge that she would soon be without him. The mere thought of it was enough to set a spiralling panic inside her.
Still, though, now that she was out of his intoxicating presence, it occurred to Esther that perhaps the man she thought she had come to know was only what he had wanted her to see. He had made it very plain from the first moment they met how much he desired her; the tender sensitivity he had displayed had been so precisely what she needed that it may have been no more
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