For his part, Mr. John Gordon looked between his father and grandfather, eyes wide and guileless, before sparing a glance for Tristan. Though John and Tristan were the same age, Tristan doubted he himself had ever regarded the world with such unspoiled honesty.
Sir Rafe placed a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder.
Anger and yearning Tristan had assumed long buried uncoiled and slithered out from the hole to which he had confined them.
Yes, Kendall might detest Sir Rafe for his part in uncovering his bigamy, but Tristan hated his half-brother for the promise of what might have been.
When Tristan had been most vulnerable, Sir Rafe had ruthlessly rejected and betrayed him, resulting in Kendall’s virulent retribution. It had been one of his sire’s earliest and most brutal lessons on the folly ofwant. On the futility of expecting love or affection from another human being.
Tristan turned, intent on dragging his father to their own box, when the door behind Sir Rafe opened again, admitting another tall, middle-aged man into the hallway.
Like Sir Rafe and his son, this man was impeccably dressed. And like them, he paused when his gaze landed on Kendall and Tristan.
“Kendall,” he said, voice level and similarly laced with Scotland. “Hawthorn.” He nodded to Tristan.
“Hadley,” Kendall spat.
Ah.
So this was Andrew Langston, Earl of Hadley. At last, Tristan could put a face with the man who regularly took a scythe to Kendall’s funds.
The Treachery of Lord Hadleywas one of Kendall’s favorite ballads, a refrain he never tired of bellowing. Of an evening, he would rage over how Hadley, a Scottish cit, had succeeded to an English earldom. How Hadley systemically paupered the dukedom. How Hadley continued to corrupt the aristocracy with his emphasis on trade and business, two activities in which a true gentleman did not engage.
Tristan had to agree with his father when it came to Hadley’s love of commerce. The man might be as rich as Croesus, but he was hardly goodton.
Hadley had presence, Tristan begrudgingly admitted. Though the earl must be near fifty years of age, the breadth of his shoulders and depth of his chest pointed to a powerful physique. Tristan could see why the earl was admired by some members of theton. However, those admirers remained a segment of Polite Society that cared more for money than maintaining proper decorum and tradition.
Tristan did not, and would never, share in that admiration.
And Kendall’s vitriol aside, Hadley’s actions toward the dukedom indicated he had no care for Tristan himself. Kendall was an old man and nearing the end of his life. Hadley’s financial attacks hurt Tristan’s future more than Kendall’s, in reality. And given that, the earl’s behavior was hardly sporting.
Hadley folded his arms and fixed the duke with an icy gaze. “I see they let ye out from underneath the rock ye call home, Kendall.”
Kendall grunted. “Despicable,” he hissed. “I cannot believe any of you are still received. Your crimes should be punished, not celebrated. It pains me to even breathe the same air.” He turned to Tristan. “Yet another reason why attending the opera is abhorrent. We are leaving.”
Panic sparked in Tristan’s chest.
No! He had finagled and planned at length to reach this point of reconnaissance. His fiery-haired beauty might be just beyond the door of his father’s private box. They couldn’t leave now. Not without even five minutes to peruse the crowd in earnest.
Livid, Tristan shot Hadley and Sir Rafe a blistering look.
“If ye must, Duke,” Hadley said congenially, as if Kendall’s vicious words had been of no consequence. He smiled at Tristan. “Hawthorn is welcome tae stay, if he would like. We can see him home after the performance.”
Tristan stilled.
Under no circumstances would he spend time with Hadley, even if Kendall permitted it. Being seen in the earl’s company was anathema to Tristan’s own goals for power and prestige. He could not sully his reputation so.
“Permit my heir to rub shoulders with vulgar riff-raff? I should think no—” Kendall broke off as the same door opened for a third time.
“Papa?” a feminine voice said. “Mamma asked me tae check if all is well.”
A young lady stepped into the hallway. A lovely, red-headed lady.
No.
Please, no.
Tristan instantly recognized the beauty who had been haunting his dreams all week.
