Esme had a terrible feeling of what was to come.
At heart, Tristan was a kind older brother; he did not make her wait any longer.
“In truth, Esme, I fancied you and he had grown rather close over these last months.”
She closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing steady. She should have known that nothing within the walls of Wolvesley escaped his sharp attention.
“I even fancied that the indifference you displayed to all eligible suitors was underpinned by a liking you had for de Gough.” Tristan’s voice was conversational in tone, but she was all too aware of the steel running through it.
“You fancy much, brother.” She tried to smile, but her efforts at deflection died when she saw how serious his expression had become.
“I need to know this.” He turned to face her. “Did he hurt you?”
Warm tears nudged at the corners of her eyes. “Nay, he did not have the chance. Adam reached me in time.”
Tristan nodded slowly. “You speak of Callum’s man? Adam Hawker?”
The sound of his cherished name on her brother’s lips did strange things to her insides.
“He is a good man.”
“When I meet him, I shall give him my thanks.”
Esme took a shuddering breath, daring to hope that her inquisition was over. But Tristan showed no sign of it.
He cleared his throat. “Do you love de Gough?”
She reared backward and looked at him incredulously. “Nay.”
“You are very certain.” His voice was insistent.
“I am,” she nodded.
“How so?” He put his hands on his hips and his blue eyes seemed to gaze right into her soul.
Esme squirmed for a moment, then decided to speak truthfully.
“Because I know now what real love feels like.”
She anticipated some surprised reaction, but Tristan only narrowed his eyes.
He waited until a messenger boy had darted past them, before drawing her closer to the rose bushes. Thanks to the lateness of the season and the sparseness of the foliage, she knew there was no one else about.
’Twas a relief, of sorts, to confide in her brother. Some five years her senior, Tristan had always been a heroic figure to Esme. Someone she could always rely on to smuggle honey cakes from the kitchen and plead her case on the rare occasions she evoked her parents’ displeasure.
But still, her pulse pounded at the prospect of revealing her secret.
Tristan once again took her elbow and quietly asked, “Tell me, Esme, what does real love feel like?”
Startled, she threw him a quizzical look, but he only inclined his head, indicating that he would wait for as long as was necessary.
Esme bit down on her lip and considered his question.
When the answer came to her, it made her smile.
“Happy and safe.” She could not prevent her lips from puckering further upward. “When I am by his side, ’tis as if I know all will be well. Whatever the circumstances.”
She anticipated some further questioning, but Tristan shook his golden head with a chuckle.
