The Baron's Betrayal by Callie Hutton Page B

to see once more.
    Having already dismissed Jane for the evening, Marion moved to the dressing table and sat on the chair’s soft cushion to brush her hair. Once in a while she liked taking over her nightly ritual. She enjoyed running the bristles through her hair herself, closing her eyes, savoring the feel of the brush.
    Her thoughts drifted to the last few hours. It appeared she and Tristan had reached a stalemate. As she joined him in the drawing room before dinner, he asked her to sit, as he had something to tell her. Her heart started to pound at the serious expression on his face.
    Mrs. Downs had made it a point to tell her that Tristan had met with his solicitor earlier in the day. “What is it that seems to weigh so heavily on your mind?”
    Tristan walked to the sideboard and uncapped the decanter of brandy. “Would you care for a drink?”
    “No thank you.” Her stomach in knots, she waited patiently while he poured his drink, then crossed the room to sit in the chair farthest from the fire, Argos at his heels.
    “I had a visit from my solicitor, John McGregor, today.”
    She had a feeling this was not a conversation she wanted to have. “Yes?”
    “I had asked McGregor to investigate the best way for us to allow you your freedom.”
    Marion bristled. “Tristan, I’ve told you many times, I do not wish—“
    “Allow me to finish.” He took a sip of his drink while her insides twisted with fear that the solicitor had found a way. She licked her dry lips and tried to quell her rising panic.
    “Given the information he provided, a divorce is not probable.” He paused. “An annulment is impossible.”
    She released a breath. If that was the result of the solicitor’s findings, why did Tristan still appear so determined to have his way?
    “Then it seems we have no choice. We can resume our marriage and all will be well.”
    Tristan placed his glass on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. “No.”
    It was a good thing she had refused his offer of a drink. Right now she would have been hard pressed not to dump the contents on her very stubborn husband’s head.
    “I have asked John to look into seeking a divorce in another country, perhaps France, now that Napoleon has been soundly defeated.”
    Marion stood, her hand at her throat. “My God, Tristan. Do you really hate me so much? Would you move to another country to be rid of me? Give up your English heritage in order to be a free man?” Her voice rose in anger as she tried very hard to keep it under control. It was becoming difficult.
    “No, Marion, no. Not at all. I’ve told you this is for you. So you can have a full life.”
    “Dammit, stop it. Stop it now!” Hands fisted at her side, she barreled across the room until she was no more than two inches from his face. Tristan leaned back, his eyes wide. Argos growled.
    “Stop pretending this is for me. I’ve told you numerous times I don’t want to be ‘free.’ I want our marriage to continue. It makes no difference to me that you’re blind. I don’t care. Do you hear me, Tristan?” She cupped his face in her hands. “I. Don’t. Care.” Sinking to her knees as if her bones had melted, she rested her cheek on his knees. “I don’t care,” she whispered.

    Now, as she finished brushing her hair, the sounds of Tristan mumbling to his valet had her longing for his presence. Just to have his strong arms around her, to hold her. He didn’t realize how secure he made her feel, even though he felt useless as a man. During the two years of agony she’d gone through when she thought him dead, all she had ever wanted was to hold him once more.
    She blew out a breath and moved to the bed, climbing in and pulling the counterpane up to her chin. Something needed to happen soon. She’d been here almost a month, and they were no closer to a resolution than when she’d seen him in the assembly room with Mrs. Gibbons on his arm. She anticipated another night of tossing and turning,