“Share?I don’t like that word.”
He paused, glancing back at her. “Don’t you? What a pity. There’s not a great deal thatIcan do about that, though, is there?”
She let out a long breath, and Tristan suspected that she was fighting to control her temper. That was interesting, because he hadn’t thought that Madeline Huxleyhada temper.
Although that’s not fair, is it? I glimpsed a hidden well of rage when she recited that poem, didn’t I?
He caught her eye and held it. She flushed, dropping her chin.
“I think you are being rather selfish,” she said at last. “You mustknowthat this child will be happier and safer with Papa and me.”
Tristan suddenly found that he wanted very badly to grab her chin and lean close to her face, close enough so that the tips oftheir noses almost touched. She wouldhaveto look at him then, wouldn’t she?
“Selfish, eh?” he murmured, voice low. “Do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye when you make such accusations. It’s rather cowardly to level the worst insults you can think of at a man while not even bothering to glance his way.”
Madeline’s face turned a vibrant shade of red. Her capacity for blushing was a most interesting thing. It should probably be studied.
To her credit, she lifted her chin, forcing herself to look directly at him.
“I am a coward, I suppose,” she said at last. “The Society Papers described me as a wallflower, which I think is a rather kind way of saying that I am frightened of everything and just plain boring. And yet I think I would rather be described that way instead of the wayyouwere described.”
Tristan folded his arms. “And how was I described? Do enlighten me. For somebody who never reads the gossip columns, you are certainly well-versed in their contents.”
“You’re described as a rake, a decided flirt, and ablackguard. I overheard that said in a ballroom. A devil, they said.”
“Imaginative,” Tristan shot back. Even talk of all that ridiculous gossip left him wanting to yawn. Did people have nothing elseto do with their time than gossip and scribble about their peers? No, he supposed they did not. He did not care much about what he was called in the gossip columns.
Their anonymous writers all seemed fascinated with him; equal parts awed and disgusted to the extent that he wondered whether he had accidentally paid the authors a slight of some kind. After all, everybody knew that the gossip column writers moved through society with the rest of them, watching and listening and making notes.
“You can’t possibly care about the baby,” Madeline tried again. She was attempting to appeal to his better nature. How sweet. She still believed that he had one. “Papa and I can raise him, and I promise you’ll have a say in how he is raised. You can visit him, you can choose the school he goes to, you can…”
“He has my brother’s eyes,” Tristan interrupted. He was not sure why he had chosen to say that. But the words were out now, and there was no cramming them back into his mouth.
There was a brief silence after this. Madeline blinked up at him, her eyes growing large behind her spectacles. It was odd how one could forget that she was even wearing them. As he stared down at her, she lifted her hand, nervously pushing them further up her nose.
They slid defiantly down again, and Tristan’s fingers itched to reach out and take them off her face altogether. Would she blink nervously without them? Would her face look vulnerable and naked without her eyeglasses?
He cleared his throat, taking a step backward.
“He reminded me very much of Anthony when I first saw him,” Tristan continued, when Madeline did not immediately speak. “The resemblance was… was striking. Listen to me, Lady Madeline. Neither of us wishes to compromise on this matter. My solution is the only one that leaves us both happy.”
“Marriage. Your solution ismarriage,” Madeline responded bitterly.
He eyed her for a long moment. “Did you plan to marry somebody else?”
This seemed to take her aback. “What? No.”
“Well, neither do I. I have no intention of relinquishing my nephew, Lady Madeline. And regardless of what your friend wanted for her child, the plain fact is that he ismyblood relation, and therefore the law is on my side.”
The color left her face, and Tristan found himself wishing he’d phrased that sentence a little more gently. Too late now, however.
“I suppose you are right,” she responded bitterly. “I can think of no other solution.”
He let out a long sigh. “Shall I take that as a yes?”
“If you must. I cannot let Betty down. I cannot.”
It was a victory, but it did notfeellike a victory. Tristan stared down at the woman he had just become engaged to and wondered if it was normal to feel quite so hollow.
