As soon as he’d come home for lunch, he’d been informed by Grimsby that “a person” had come seeking him out. It was clear from the way the butler said those two words that he did not approve of the visitor. He’d refused the man entrance, but not before taking his calling card. “Dermot Daniel Reid” was printed on the cheap stock along with the name of his training stable at Newmarket.
Tristan shut his eyes briefly and pocketed the card. He should never, ever have written to the man in his misguided attempt to try to make Sadie happy. Now the fellow had been on his doorstep.
“Did he say when he would return?”
“He’s still on the premises. In the stables, I believe. He said you were interested in a filly he had. I told him to speak to Faraday.”
Bloody hell. A filly. Tristan yearned to smash something.
“Where is Lady Sarah?”
“In the garden, Mr. Tristan.”
Tristan went through the drawing room French doors that led to the terrace and path below. He stood, surveying the sweep of the acreage. Even wearing green, Sadie was easy to spot, as she was in the heart of it.
And so was a man in a loud plaid Norfolk jacket and matching pants.
Bloody, bloody hell.
He wanted to run. It took everything in his power of self-control not to.
His eyes never left them as he worked his way through the garden. Sadie was backing away, the white bandage standing out as her hands fluttered. Reid dropped onto the bench as if he owned the whole estate, his legs splayed out in relaxation. Tristan knew at once when the man saw him coming—even at a distance he could see the cocky tilt of Reid’s smile.
Sadie glanced behind her, and he waved. She didn’t wave back.
Not a good sign. But then this whole debacle was his entirely fault. Why should she be pleased with him? Blackmailers were never satisfied. Reid had tricked Islesford and Charlton into giving him money, and now he was here for more.
Unless he was under the delusion that Sadie still cared for him. Tristan was sure—well, mostly sure—that Sadie was falling in love with her own husband. All the signs were there.
And they were reciprocated.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell. He couldn’t fool himself any longer; he loved his wife, though she drove him insane a good deal of the time, and was bound to continue to do so.
He picked up his pace. “Sadie, my dear, who is our guest?” He dropped a kiss of possession on her cheek, though she was as stiff and white as the marble statuary.
Reid remained seated. Still not a gentleman despite his gaudy but expensive clothes.
“This is Dermot Reid. I told you about him.”
“Ah. The groom who was kind to my wife when she was a child.”
Reid guffawed. “Is that what she told you? There was a little more to it than that, if you know what I mean.” The man leered, and Tristan noticed Sadie’s good fist clench.
“The Duke of Islesford and Viscount Charlton may have believed your fairy tales, but they are both men of inferior intellect. I understand you are here to try to sell me a—horse? You surely haven’t come here to try your luck at bribing me too.”
“I see why you don’t want to go to bed with him, Sadie. He’s a cold fish, ain’t he?”
Tristan shot her a look, but she didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, she was talking to the statue of Flora, facing away from both Reid and him. “I told him we have a marriage of convenience, and that you care nothing for me, Tristan. I’m sorry.”
What game was she playing?
Ah, trying to save him from being bled by this leech.
“Even if you don’t want her, you can’t have your wife’s reputation dragged through the mud,” Reid said.
“It won’t be the first time,” Tristan said tightly. “Didn’t you do your research? My first wife cuckolded me at every opportunity. I survived that, and I can survive anything you can dish out.” As he said it, he knew it was true. He could live through anything as long as Sadie was beside him.
“I don’t believe you. Your first letter—you can’t tell me you don’t feel something for the tottie.”
A red haze swam before him. No, giving into rage would not be helpful—that was Sadie’s method, and look where it had landed her. True, she’d wound up in his bed, thank God, but many miserable years had preceded it for her.
“She is my wife, at least in name. But I doubt we’ll have children, so there’s no worry about besmirching the family escutcheon. You know, I’m just the son of a country baronet. We are nothing in society, buried in this backwater. Why should anyone care what happened or didn’t happen years ago? Sadie was, I repeat, just a child. You might have been horsewhipped. Or jailed. You still might be.”
Reid rose from the bench. He looked strong and sinewy, and for just a second Tristan wondered who would win an altercation should he lose his tenuous temper. “Are you saying you won’t pay me off?”
“I guess I am. I cannot see the advantage of giving you anything. You’d just be back for more next month. In fact, if you want to take Sadie with you, as I originally offered, I would not stand in your way. I warn you—she’s expensive to keep. And somewhat unbalanced.” Pray to God she understood what he was doing.
“You think you’ve got one over on me, don’t you?” Reid shouted.
“I think nothing of the kind. I’m only telling the truth as I see it.”
Reid spat at Tristan’s feet. “Pah! You nobs wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the arse. I wish you joy of the slut. Does she still have that freckle that looks like a crescent moon on her left breast?”
Don’t do anything stupid now, his inner voice warned him. It was a struggle to comply.
“I wouldn’t know. You’ll find your own way out, I hope?”
He watched as Reid headed toward the stable block. After an interminable silence, Tristan cleared his throat.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
Sadie gave up her inspection of Flora. “You were brilliant. It’s as if you read my mind. I love you. Does my mouth look funny?”
He hadn’t expected that. “I beg your pardon?”
“Does my lower lip twitch when I say it?” She came closer. “Look carefully. I love you.”
Her mouth looked perfect. Kissable. “I see nothing irregular. Do you mean it?”
“I suppose I must. I’m very angry with you, though.”
“As you should be. I’m so sorry, Sadie. I told him not to come, but he must not have gotten the letter.”
“The second letter.”
Tristan felt his face go hot. “Yes.”
“You gave me away. To him.” She said it with contempt.
“No. It wasn’t like that. I thought—well, you know what I thought. I was a monumental idiot. We were forced to marry, and I thought you deserved to be with someone you love.”
“I love you.” She held a finger to her lower lip as she said it. “Curious. How very odd. It must be true. What a pickle.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, as you said, we were forced to marry. And now I love you, and you cannot possibly love me back.”
“Why can’t I?”
“I’m expensive to keep. And unstable.”
“Oh, my darling, dearest girl.” Tristan put his arms around her. “Everything I said to that wretched man was a lie. Except about Linnet.”
Sadie hugged him tighter. “I knew. Your friend David Warren told me. I’m so very sorry, Tristan.”
“It’s not something I brag about.” Or talked about. He must love Sadie if he’d confessed to Reid.
“But it’s over. And nothing like that will ever happen to you again. I’ll be the best wife I can possibly be, even if you don’t love me.” She was so sincere. So lovable.
“Of course I love you. And we’ll have a dozen children if we’re so blessed.”
She looked up at him in alarm. “That number is unacceptable.”
“Fine. You decide.”
“You’re not going to ask how he knows about the crescent-moon freckle?”
“I am not. It looks more like a flying bird anyway. We’ve discussed it before as I recall.”
He had to kiss her, so he did. When he thought they might fall to the grass and lose their collective minds before God and all his garden creatures, he stopped kissing her, painful as that was to do. “Why do you think I didn’t want you here? I knew the moment I saw you howling on the Stanchfields’ floor that my fate was sealed. It was Lady Maribel all over again.”