Reeves bent over him. “You were wounded. Lie still and I will take you to the cottage.”
“My cottage?” Tristan said, scowling. What the hell was wrong with Reeves? “Surely not—”
The thief pushed himself up on one elbow, pressing a hand to his side. “Reeves?”
From where she stood beneath Tristan’s arm, Prudence gave a start. Her wide brown eyes found his. “He knows Reeves?”
Tristan frowned at the thief. “How do you know Reeves?”
Reeves finished his ministrations and stood, picking up his lamp. “That is quite simple, my lord. I visited him last week.”
“You visited a highwayman? What for—” Tristan looked at the highwayman. “No. It…it cannot be.”
The man managed a weak smile, his mouth barely visible beneath the edge of his mask.
Tristan reached down, wincing when his leg protested, and slowly removed his opponent’s mask.
Reeves lifted the lamp. Light spilled over the thief’s face. Dark hair spilled over his brow; his eyes shimmered a hard green. “I cannot believe it,” Tristan said. “Christian?”
Chapter 18
To properly starch a cravat, place the linen smooth side down on a marble-top table. Heat is, of course, the crucial element. Without it, all would be a damp, wrinkled mess.
A Compleat Guide for
Being a Most Proper Butler
by Richard Robert Reeves
Reeves took Prudence’s arm and led her to one side. “This is his lordship’s long lost brother.”
Prudence could only stare in wonder. “He is…he was a highwayman.”
“Yes, a dangerous career, one we can only hope he will abandon.”
Prudence found herself nodding absently. She couldn’t seem to get her mind wrapped about that fact. And neither, from the look on his face, could Tristan.
Quietly, Prudence slipped aside, watching as the two brothers regarded each other, amazement and joy warring for expression. For an odd moment, she felt alone, outside.
It was where she belonged, she decided. This was not her home, not her family. Her family was her mother, who would be waiting to hear how the evening went.
Prudence wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of it had to do with what had occurred in the carriage.
The memory of that burned in her mind. The passion she’d felt, the love that even now warmed her in the chill evening—it was all real.
But that did not make it possible.
No, she would end this relationship gracefully. Easily. He need never know her feelings, especially as he did not share them.
Or did he? Her heart leaped at the thought. Was it possible Tristan cared for her? He had been very attentive lately and his reaction to the men at the dinner party had been quite odd, though she’d originally attributed that to his pride. But perhaps…perhaps it was something more.
But did that really resolve the issue? Did it change the fact that he was who he was? She tried to imagine him more settled. Yet all she could remember was his expression when he stared out at the sea, the bitter, intense longing.
What future could their relationship have if Tristan’s main wish was to leave, to sail the seas…away from her? She knew he could not do so because of his injuries. But that did not alter the fact that his heart was already somewhere else. She would not accept being second place in his life. If being with Phillip had taught her one thing, it was that a relationship only worked if both people involved were committed. To each other and their relationship.
She pulled her cloak tighter, watching his face in the light of the lantern. A cut marred his chin and his face was flushed from the cold and the fight.
He looked incredibly dear in that moment and it made Prudence’s heart ache.
Christian struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so. Tristan was there instantly, his strong arm about his brother’s shoulders. It suddenly dawned on her that she had shot Tristan’s brother.
She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead. “Tristan, I did not mean to shoot your brother! I mean, I did, but had I known who he was—”
“Nonsense,” Christian said, flashing her a smile. “You were protecting Tristan. I am glad to see that he fell into such good hands.”
Prudence’s cheeks heated. “You are mistaken. Your brother and I are not—”
“Madam?” Reeves took her arm. “Do not feel badly about shooting Master Christian. The bullet barely grazed him.”
“But…I shot him dead on.”
Tristan grinned, lifting something in his hand. “You hit him squarely in the pocket watch.”
Prudence stared at the mangled watch in Tristan’s palm.
Christian laughed, then winced. “I shall be bloodied and bruised, but I will not die. Besides, you did nothing you should not have. Indeed, I salute you for your bravery, madam.”
He coughed a bit, groaning as he did so. Tristan called for John the coachman to come and assist him in getting his brother on his horse.
Prudence watched them, feeling more miserable by the moment.
“Madam?”
She looked up at Reeves. “Yes?”
“Shall I escort you home? His lordship may be a while. Master Christian wishes to return to his home and not the cottage.”
“Yes. Thank you. That would be very nice.”
Tristan returned to them, wincing with each limping step. “Prudence, I want to talk to you.”
Her heart tight, she managed a smile. “You need to be with your brother now. I will see you tomorrow.”
Tristan took her hand and pulled her close, oblivious to Reeves’s presence. “Do you promise?”
Prudence gently disentangled her hand. “Of course.”
He looked at her a moment, but nodded. “Reeves, please see Mrs. Thistlewaite home. Take the carriage; I shall take your horse.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Smiling, Tristan cupped Prudence’s cheek with a warm hand. “We will talk tomorrow.”
John the coachman asked a question from where he held Christian’s horse; something about the other highwayman. Tristan gave Prudence one last smile, then he was gone, limping off to help John awaken the huge thief.
“Are you ready, madam?”
She straightened. “Yes, I am.” She would go home to Mother and they’d work on their plan to start a school. Mother should hear from her friend in Scotland any day now, and perhaps that would get their endeavors off to a good start.
Yes. That was what she should be thinking about and not the earl next door. She was silent in the carriage on the ride home, wrapped in her own thoughts. Reeves made no effort to engage her attention, though he gave her a long look when he finally escorted her to the door.
Mother was waiting. Prudence brushed off the barrage of questions and hurried to her room, closing the door with a heartfelt sigh. Now, inside the silence of her bedchamber, Prudence threw herself on her bed and cried.
Tristan looked over his mug of ale at his brother. They’d been drinking since the doctor had left.
It had been a bit awkward, calling the doctor to attend his brother after the incident at the party, but it had to be done. Tristan was not about to lose his brother after finally finding him.
The doctor refused to look at Tristan, which was fine with everyone concerned. Still, though Tristan despised the man for flirting with Prudence, he was glad the competent physician took the time to make certain Christian was fine.
Tristan stared into his mug of ale. Prudence had looked at him rather oddly when she’d left. Rather sad, as if…he frowned. As if she meant to say goodbye.
He put the tankard back on the table.
“Tristan?”
He looked up to find Christian regarding him over the rim of his own drink.
Christian set down his own mug. “You’ve developed a dour disposition over the years.”
“You just found me at an ill time.”
Christian’s mouth flickered into a smile. “Not as
ill as it was for me.”
Tristan managed a grin. “Perhaps not.” He lifted his mug. “I propose a toast.”
“To what?”
“To the women in our lives.”
“There is not enough ale in this tavern for such an endeavor.”
Tristan managed a painful smile. There had been women before Prudence. He just could not remember any of them. Not a one. His ale tasted suddenly bitter and he set it aside. “All these years and you are still a damn fool.”
Christian grinned, a wicked flicker of humor that made Tristan’s heart tighten.
Damn, but he had missed his brother. All the agony of those painful days and nights following their separation seemed far, far away.
Of course, there were some differences. This Christian was harder, sharper, with an edge beneath a seemingly charming veneer. Tristan could not forget the black-cloaked figure that had lunged across the road at him, the one who had held Prudence at sword point.
That still rankled. “You are fortunate you did not hurt anyone tonight.”
Christian didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “You are speaking of the lady.”
“Yes.”
“A lovely woman. Is she yours?”
Tristan wished he could answer that. He grabbed the mug and took a drink.
“Ah,” Christian said.
“What do you mean by that?” Tristan snapped.
“Nothing. I only meant…she is lovely. And if she lives nearby—”
“She is a widow.” Tristan wasn’t sure why he’d added that, but it seemed important to tell Christian.
“She looked far too young to be a widow.”
“The light was poor. She is older than she looks.”
“Those are the best kind,” Christian said with a considering nod, not seeming to notice Tristan’s rising ire. “Not too young and a widow. They have enough experience to have lost that shy demeanor I find so annoying. And yet, if they are young enough, they still retain an attractiveness that can be just as enthralling.”
“We should discuss something else.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t wish to discuss her with you.”
“Hm,” Christian said, his lips pursed thoughtfully. “Do you find her interesting?”
“She annoys the hell out of me.” That, at least, was truthful. When she wasn’t making him lust after her in a most distracting fashion, she was indeed inciting his ire. It was one of her greatest skills. “I went with her to a dinner party this evening. We were on our way back when you found us.”
“How delightful. Did they have dancing? I know the quadrille.”
“How would you know that?”
Christian smiled slyly, reminding Tristan of a million other sly smiles covering everything from putting frogs in their tutor’s bed to suggesting that they slip away from their mother’s watchful eye to play with the village boys.
But that had been far away and long ago. Now Tristan wondered who his brother really was. “There were moments this evening I thought you were determined to kill me.”
Christian’s gaze met his steadily. “I am not a murderer.”
“So Reeves would have me believe.”
“I have not killed anyone…yet.” A secret smile touched Christian’s face. “But there will come a day. I am certain of it.”
Tristan shrugged, moving his leg a bit to one side so that the back of the chair did not press against it. “I cannot make that claim. I’ve fought many sea battles and killed more men than I can count.”
Christian’s green eyes darkened. “Does it bother you?”
“A little. Some were fighting for their country, as was I. Those were more difficult.”
“I can imagine.” Christian raised his hand to garner the attention of the serving maid to his empty tankard, wincing as he did so.
Tristan frowned. “You should be in bed.”
“Nonsense. A mere flesh wound.”
“It was enough to knock you off of your feet.” Just knowing Prudence had been enough to knock Tristan off of his. Tristan raked a hand through his hair, wondering why he felt so hollow, so empty.
Christian’s eyes glowed with admiration. “You wield a sharp sword, my brother. It is not often I am bested.”
“I wasn’t besting anyone. I was struggling to outlast you and failing. Thank goodness Prudence found that pistol—why in the hell are you laughing?”
“Prudence? The lady’s name is Prudence?”
“Indeed it is.”
“That is amusing.”
It was indeed. “A less prudent woman I have yet to know.”
“She charged in not once, but twice, all in an effort to save you. And succeeded, too.” Christian eyed his brother a moment. “She seemed to think you quite worthwhile. But then, so do I. Tristan…I am glad to see you.”
The faintest hint of thickness touched Christian’s voice.
Tristan reached across the table and grasped Christian’s arm. “I never forgot you. Never. When I had to push you from that window—” He couldn’t finish.
Christian squeezed his brother’s arm so hard it hurt them both. Then, grinning sheepishly, he released Tristan and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Sand in my eyes,” he mumbled.
“Yes. Me, too.” Tristan cleared his throat. “Did you injure yourself when I pushed you? I always worried about that.”
“I thought I’d broken my arm, but it was just bruised. Tris, our good fortune is amazing. The late earl was a horrible father, but we have finally gained something from the connection.”
“I wonder.” Tristan slid his mug to the center of the table. “Did you know I was at Trafalgar with Nelson? It’s where I injured my leg.”
“So Reeves told me.”
“After the war, I was ordered to London to meet the king. Everyone in society wanted to meet me, as Nelson…Christian, he died in my arms.”
“I didn’t know that. I am sorry.”
“Yes. It was difficult. When I arrived in London, I was treated like a…like a…”
“A war hero?”
“No. Like a curiosity. They wanted to hear about Nelson’s death, but not about the man himself.” Disgust sat heavy on Tristan’s tongue. “They wanted tidbits of gore, hints of weakness, it was as if they wished to pick him to death even though he’d already died.” He met Christian’s gaze. “I never wish to go back. The title will mean nothing to me here. But the funds…That is another story. I need them to help my men.”
“You will get the funds.”
“I hope so, though if what Reeves has told me is true, the trustees are the most shallow, most self-important fops to walk the earth.”
“So? Show them a bit of silk and they will leave you be.”
“Silk is not so easy for me,” Tristan said grumpily. He eyed his brother for a moment. “You always did know how to dress, even as a child.”
“Both Mother and I liked pretty things.” Christian sighed. “I still dream of her, you know.”
“So do I.”
They were silent a moment. Christian leaned back in his chair, careful not to put any pressure on his side. A smile touched his mouth. “You know, I still cannot believe you are here.”
“Nor I.”
They sat a moment in silence, grinning foolishly at each other.
“Christian, I intend on using the funds for my men. What will you do with your portion?”
All levity left Christian’s face and he said in a quiet tone, “I will do the one thing I’ve wished to do since I was ten; find who was responsible for Mother’s imprisonment.” He paused, his green eyes almost luminous in the smoky tavern. “Tristan, I am close to discovering who betrayed Mother.”
Tristan put down his tankard. “Yes?”
“I must go to London. The answers are there.” Christian sighed. “I suppose Father did help us.”
“Twenty years too late.”
Christian caught the serving wench’s eye and winked. “More ale, love.?
??
She winked back and sashayed off, Christian watching her go with appreciation.
“A skirt chaser, eh?”
Christian pretended to be hurt. “I am not a ‘skirt chaser.’”
“No?”
“No. I am, however, a ‘skirt catcher.’”
Tristan shook his head. “You were never shy.”
“And you were never slow. I’ve loved women from the time I could appreciate them. The fascination never wanes.”
“It appears you have inherited some tendencies from our father after all.”
Christian’s smile faded. “Never say that again.”
Tristan grinned. “Make me.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed even as he smiled in delight. “Don’t tempt me.”
It was an old game, one they’d played countless times before, a right of passage for most males, Tristan supposed. Suddenly, his heart felt full. Had it not been for the nagging worry over Prudence’s farewell look, he would have been an incredibly happy man.
Christian tilted his head to one side. “Do you sail at all?”
“I cannot keep my balance. A captain who cannot keep his feet when the ship rolls is as useful as an oyster with a cart.”
“I like to eat oysters. I get them from the street vendors in London all of the time.”
“Wonderful. I am reduced to street vendors’ fare.”
Christian flashed a white smile. “It’s your job to develop into an ogre and my job to remind you that you are all too human.”
“Thank you. I don’t know how I lived without you all these years.”
“Poorly, from the sound of it.”
Tristan nodded, though he wondered if perhaps Christian was right. Tristan had been well fed. His house was snug and warm. He’d had the companionship of his men. And when the urge had demanded it, he’d been welcomed by the tavern wenches in town.
Had he more coin to assist the lads, he’d have had a perfect life. Except for one thing…Prudence.
All throughout his home now, there were little touches of Prudence here and there; the chair remained ridiculously close to the settee, the breakfast table was now a permanent fixture in his library, and Stevens had hung a special hook in the front closet for her cloak. Small things and yet they gave the place a sense of something. Of home, perhaps.