Tristan eyed him for a long moment, then slowly rolled his shoulders. A boxer preparing for a round. “I see.”
Stephen narrowed his eyes at him. “You don’t believe me.”
“Did I say that?”
“You might as well have.”
“Then let me be clear. You are my friend, Stephen, and I’ll believe whatever you care to tell me. However, I also believe my own eyes, and I saw the way you looked at her.”
“Oh? And what way was that?”
“Hungry,” Tristan responded, simply and curtly.
There was a brief silence after that.
Stephen pressed his lips together and glanced again in the direction of Madeline and Amelia. The taller of the two, Amelia, had her head slightly bent toward Madeline, listening to something the other woman was saying. Snippets of their conversation drifted on the wind, snatched words here and there.
As if she could sense his stare, Amelia paused, glancing briefly over her shoulder.
She was, of course, too far away for their eyes to meet, but even so, he couldfeelher stare.
Swallowing thickly, Stephen dragged his gaze away, turning back to his friend. “What were you saying?”
Tristan’s mouth twitched. “I was saying that it’s clear you have feelings for her.”
“It’s none of your concern if I do. I don’t recall you asking for my advice when you were courting Madeline.”
Tristan snorted. “Madeline and I had a distinctlyunusualcourtship. You must know that if you return to Society with Miss Holt and her sisters residing in your house, there will be comments. Conclusions will be drawn. The plain fact is that there is no reason for a pretty, unmarried young woman like her to be living in your house in any role other than that of a servant. And don’t give me thatgrandmother’s companionnonsense. The woman is a guest—they all are.”
“And I cannot choose my own guests?”
Tristan growled under his breath. “You are a wretch to argue with, Stephen.”
“I do my best.”
“I know that I am right. You’ll recover, butherreputation will be destroyed. Who is she, anyway?”
Stephen gave a tight, tired smile. “I have been waiting for you to ask that question.”
That earned him a sharp, curious stare.
“Interesting,” Tristan murmured. “Are you going to tell me, or shall I guess what you mean?”
Stephen threw another glance down the pathway. Amelia and Madeline’s figures were growing smaller. Soon, they’d take a turn that would lead them into the orangery, and they would disappear.
His chest tightened at the thought of Amelia being out of sight.
That, of course, was patently ridiculous, but the feeling would not be reasoned away. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her, sprawled on his bed, head thrown back, eyes closed, breathingheavily. He could taste her on his tongue, feel the warm, soft give of her flesh.
He wanted her again, and there was no getting around it.
“Nancy, my dear,” Letitia called, jolting him out of his reverie. “What exactly is happening between Dust and Tiny?”
Stephen reluctantly tore his gaze from the walking women and glanced over at the lawn.
Dust had found a moderately comfortable spot, lounging on a flat, sunbathed rock. Tiny lay nearby, his long paws outstretched. He had his entire mouth around the cat’s head.
For one moment, panic surged in Stephen’s chest, before he realized that Dust was not fighting and did not look hurt.
