and tilting back her chin rapped loud and clear on the roof of the carriage.
Tristan raised his head from the pillow, glanced at the high sun glaring through the window, and let his head crash back. How much whiskey had he downed the night before? The day before? He’d left for his club as soon as he’d sent a note summoning the lads for a night of cards and carousing – and questions -– nothing out of the ordinary, but each drink had only created a greater ache within him.
He couldn’t even remember coming home, finding his own bed . At least it was his own bed. Wakening in some tavern, or worse, would have been unbearable. Remember. There was something he was supposed to remember.
He opened a blurred eye and stared at the canopy above his bed . Even with his mind fogged he knew there was something someone had said – something that had not been right.
Damn . It refused to come to him. He swung his legs free of the covers and instantly his door inched open. Jackson, his valet, appeared – pot of chocolate and hot buns ready.
He almost reeled back into bed at the sight . His stomach rose high in his throat. He should have had more sympathy for Marguerite.
Marguerite, the cause of his current mis ery. With every drink he’d consumed last night he’d seen those clear blue eyes staring at him, questioning him, wanting to know why he’d involved her in this mess.
Remember . What was he supposed to remember?
He waved Jackson and his tray away.
“Just water.”
“Are you sure, my lord? I always find that a bit of bread helps sop up the –“ Jackson began.
“And when have you overindulged ? I’ve never seen you less than pristine.”
“I do have my day off , my lord.”
“Of course . And I am sure in theory you are right, but my belly would beg to disagree. Just the water.”
“But, my lord, Cook has prepared some succulent kippers for breakfast.”
God, who had ever decided that fish was breakfast food? Tristan made no answer except a glare. Jackson turned to fetch a glass and pitcher.
“And Jackson ...”
“Yes, my lord?”
“How did I manage my way home last night?”
“Lord Landon saw you to the door and up the stairs . The others waited by the carriage.”
God, he didn’t even remember Landon being there last night . “What others?”
“I coul dn’t say. He was the only one who entered the house. I just heard the laughter. Possibly the footman saw more. Should I inquire?”
“No. ”
Tristan downed the water in a single swallow . Jackson continued to hover.
“Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
Jackson hesitated only briefly. “About your wife, my lord, I did want you to know, to be sure you realized –“
“No!” His headed pounded at his own vehemence. “I do not want to hear one word about my wife.”
God, would Marguerite never cease to plague him ? Even when she was gone he could feel those cobalt eyes asking more of him, wanting something more from him.
“But, my lord –“
“I mean it, not one.”
“As you say.”
Tristan gestured towards the tray Jackson had set aside.
“ Leave it and bring the newspapers. I’ll drink it in my own time. Be sure I am not disturbed. I’ll be leaving for the club after I finish the papers.”
Tristan approached his home with weary feet. He’d had a most successful morning and afternoon at the club. Apparently his overindulgence of the night before had led to unexpected bonding with Lord Simon Moreland. The details of the evening were still a blur, but Moreland had planted himself in the chair beside Tristan that morning and proceeded to ramble on as if they were childhood chums. It was amazing what a few drinks could accomplish.
“Something you’ve neglected to tell me, brother?”
Tristan started with a jerk at the quiet voice behind him. He turned and set his features as he regarded the warm, wide smile of the man before him. His brother, Peter, had returned.
“You’re
Tristan raised his head from the pillow, glanced at the high sun glaring through the window, and let his head crash back. How much whiskey had he downed the night before? The day before? He’d left for his club as soon as he’d sent a note summoning the lads for a night of cards and carousing – and questions -– nothing out of the ordinary, but each drink had only created a greater ache within him.
He couldn’t even remember coming home, finding his own bed . At least it was his own bed. Wakening in some tavern, or worse, would have been unbearable. Remember. There was something he was supposed to remember.
He opened a blurred eye and stared at the canopy above his bed . Even with his mind fogged he knew there was something someone had said – something that had not been right.
Damn . It refused to come to him. He swung his legs free of the covers and instantly his door inched open. Jackson, his valet, appeared – pot of chocolate and hot buns ready.
He almost reeled back into bed at the sight . His stomach rose high in his throat. He should have had more sympathy for Marguerite.
Marguerite, the cause of his current mis ery. With every drink he’d consumed last night he’d seen those clear blue eyes staring at him, questioning him, wanting to know why he’d involved her in this mess.
Remember . What was he supposed to remember?
He waved Jackson and his tray away.
“Just water.”
“Are you sure, my lord? I always find that a bit of bread helps sop up the –“ Jackson began.
“And when have you overindulged ? I’ve never seen you less than pristine.”
“I do have my day off , my lord.”
“Of course . And I am sure in theory you are right, but my belly would beg to disagree. Just the water.”
“But, my lord, Cook has prepared some succulent kippers for breakfast.”
God, who had ever decided that fish was breakfast food? Tristan made no answer except a glare. Jackson turned to fetch a glass and pitcher.
“And Jackson ...”
“Yes, my lord?”
“How did I manage my way home last night?”
“Lord Landon saw you to the door and up the stairs . The others waited by the carriage.”
God, he didn’t even remember Landon being there last night . “What others?”
“I coul dn’t say. He was the only one who entered the house. I just heard the laughter. Possibly the footman saw more. Should I inquire?”
“No. ”
Tristan downed the water in a single swallow . Jackson continued to hover.
“Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
Jackson hesitated only briefly. “About your wife, my lord, I did want you to know, to be sure you realized –“
“No!” His headed pounded at his own vehemence. “I do not want to hear one word about my wife.”
God, would Marguerite never cease to plague him ? Even when she was gone he could feel those cobalt eyes asking more of him, wanting something more from him.
“But, my lord –“
“I mean it, not one.”
“As you say.”
Tristan gestured towards the tray Jackson had set aside.
“ Leave it and bring the newspapers. I’ll drink it in my own time. Be sure I am not disturbed. I’ll be leaving for the club after I finish the papers.”
Tristan approached his home with weary feet. He’d had a most successful morning and afternoon at the club. Apparently his overindulgence of the night before had led to unexpected bonding with Lord Simon Moreland. The details of the evening were still a blur, but Moreland had planted himself in the chair beside Tristan that morning and proceeded to ramble on as if they were childhood chums. It was amazing what a few drinks could accomplish.
“Something you’ve neglected to tell me, brother?”
Tristan started with a jerk at the quiet voice behind him. He turned and set his features as he regarded the warm, wide smile of the man before him. His brother, Peter, had returned.
“You’re
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