Trey’s voice yanked Tristan out of his turmoil, and he turned to look toward the building. Trey had been leaning against the side of the structure in the shadows. He pulled away and sauntered toward Tristan.
“I couldn’t help but overhear what you and Hollingsworth were talking about.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“Is there something I can do to assist?”
Tristan shrugged. “I want to marry Miss Baldwin and she wants to marry me, but her father signed a contract with Hollingsworth. Do you have any insane ideas on how I can stop her from marrying the wrong man?”
Trey chuckled. “I must admit, Tristan, I never thought I’d see you so adamant about a woman you just barely met. What happened with Lady Jane?”
“Nothing at all happened with her, nor will it ever. I want to marry Diana.”
“Well, if it were me,” he said walking past Tristan slowly, “and mind you, I will never be in your shoes, but if that were me, I would take what is mine without questions asked.”
“But Trey, she’s not mine.”
Trey stopped, turned and looked over his shoulder at Tristan. “Then make her yours.”
“How?”
“Elope. Go get her tonight and take her to Gretna Green.”
“But can I?”
“What is Hollingsworth or her father going to do once she’s married and you have consummated the marriage bed?” He shook his head. “Not one bloody thing! And although the elopement may dampen yours and Miss Baldwin’s reputation for a while, people will soon forgive and forget, but at least the lady will be yours and not Hollingsworth’s.”
Hope sprang to life in Tristan’s chest and he clamped his hand on Trey’s shoulder. “What a brilliant suggestion. Has anyone ever told you how very clever you are?”
Trey’s smile widened. “All the time, my dear brother.”
Excitement rushed through Tristan once more, and he ran to his horse, mounted, and rode toward Bristol to finally rescue his fair maiden. He wouldn’t get there tonight, but he would still take her to Gretna Green sometime tomorrow.
Chapter Twelve
Diana’s stomach churnedwith dread, her nerves fraying with every passing second. She had barely slept, her mind a relentless whirlwind of worst-case scenarios. All night, she had waited, hoping Tristan would come with good news. But as dawn arrived without him, her deepest fears began to take root, suffocating her fragile hope. What if he hadn’t been able to convince Hollingsworth to release the betrothal contract? What if this nightmare truly had no escape?
By ten o’clock, her mother had dragged her into the nearest village for more shopping, an errand that felt like torture. She didn’t want to see anyone—least of all the villagers who might greet her with cheerful smiles, unaware of the dread eating her alive. She couldn’t bear the thought of meeting their gazes and acknowledging that she was destined to be the viscount’s bride. Her pulse thumped at the very thought, her skin prickling as if she were wearing a dress made of needles.
As they moved from one shop to the next, Diana kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with the bustling townsfolk. In the dress shop, she stationed herself by the window while her mother haggled with the shopkeeper. The warm, musty scent of fabric surrounded her, but she hardly noticed. Her gaze kept darting outside, scanning the road as if Tristan might magically appear to rescue her.
She sighed, resting her forehead briefly against the cool glass. But then—movement. Her breath hitched as her eyes locked on a figure across the street, standing just inside the blacksmith’s barn. A familiar shadow. A man facing the shop. Her heart stumbled in her chest, then began to race.
Tristan.
She didn’t think. She couldn’t. The need to see him, to hear those long-awaited words—you’re free—propelled her forward with reckless speed. Her legs carried her before her mind could catch up, and she burst from the shop, dodging a startled vendor as she made her way across the road. The clatter of a passing horse and buggy barely registered as she darted between them, her skirts brushing the wheels. She was breathless, nearly to the barn door, her pulse thundering in her ears.
In just moments, she would see him. Just moments, and everything could change.
Entering the stable, she called out, “Tristan?”
The shadow moved toward the light. A strong hand grasped her arm and pain shot through her limb, making her cry out.
“No, my dear Diana. It’s not your precious Tristan, but your fiancé.”
The scent of alcohol from his breath made her gag, and she tried to pull away. Instead, he yanked her closer.
“Ah, my pretty Diana.” His hand stroked her cheek. “You are going to make a fine, passionate wife, especially if you show as much interest in me as you do to Lord Tristan.”
