Page 3 of Courting the Country Miss

“Well, there certainly aren’t any pretenses or promises.”

Fury at his nonchalant attitude brought her to her feet. “This is an improper conversation to have, even between us.”

He rose to his full height, like a cat uncurling after a nap, his smile lazy. “You brought it up.”

“Well, I’m ending it. Please don’t ruin anyone else’s life with all your pleasures, you heartless cad.” She turned and marched deeper into the garden.

His clothes rustled as he stood and his footsteps trailed after her. He caught up to her, matching her stride. He spoke in a voice as soft as silk on her skin. “Tish.”

She kept marching.

“Leticia.” He took her arm firm enough to halt her strides. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“For being who you are?” she shot back.

“For disappointing you.” True regret rang in his tone and in his expression.

His contrition smoothed the edges of her anger. Honestly, the infuriating man knew how to raise strong emotions in her, sending her from one extreme to the other.

“’Tis of no consequence.” She resumed her march back to the house.

Still keeping pace with her, he said, “I’m troubled that you believe you’ll never love or marry. Someone like you should not live as a spinster.”

“Someone like me?” she echoed.

He made a helpless gesture. “You have much to offer. You’re gracious and constant and…well…you’d make a good wife and mother—not run off when life gets dull or when your children misbehave.”

She stopped walking and stared at him. That same pain returned in Tristan’s eyes but this time it lingered as he stared out into the darkness. Not run off…the way his mother had. Is that what haunted him? Did he feel that no woman would ever love him enough to stay with him, that she’d leave him as his mother left when Tristan was a child?

She went deeper with that thought. Perhaps he believed his mother left because of something he’d done to drive her away. She’d heard of that happening. This, then, might be the source of that pain. Perhaps the source of his debauchery.

He seemed to catch himself. With a self-conscious smile curving his mouth, he pulled his gaze back to her face. “There are other dull stuffed shirts like Richard all over England. You have only to find them.”

She smiled. “Dull, stuffed shirt, eh? I’d almost believe that, except I know that you would die for your brother.”

Memories flitted through her mind of the daring rescue Tristan and Captain Kensington and one of Elizabeth’s reformed servants had orchestrated when Richard had been held captive during the peer trial last year. She’d prayed for Tristan when she’d heard he had been shot freeing his brother. To her regret, she’d been too far away at the time to offer assistance for his care.

Tristan shrugged as a sardonic smile played on his mouth. “Taking a bullet for my brother doesn’t mean I like him.”

She almost laughed. “I see.”

He cleared his throat. “I think all you need is to meet a new crop of eligible bachelors. Surely you’ll find one who can steal your heart.”

Leticia had no desire for anyone to steal her heart. She’d rather willingly give her heart to someone who loved her. She shook her head. “I’m going to dedicate my life to helping the poor. Elizabeth and I are planning to open a charity school for girls. Won’t that be wonderful?”

He narrowed his gaze at her. “Is that what you want?”

“Of course. There are a lot of fine minds out there that don’t have the advantages of education. Reading and mathematics is crucial to any skilled profession. An education will help them better themselves.”

“I mean, is educating other people’s children what you want? Do you aspire to be an old maid?”

She flinched. No, of course she did not, but what choice did she have? She would never love another as she’d loved Richard. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love him. That didn’t matter anymore. “I want to make a difference…”

“Getting married and having children won’t make a difference?”

She huffed in exasperation. “I told you, I have no prospects. I’m not likely to find one, nor do I want to try. They would all be compared to the ideal and fall short. And I will never, ever, open up my heart to that kind of pain again.”

He tilted his head. “I wager a hundred guineas I can find you a husband by Christmas.”