Page 70 of Courting the Country Miss

“I’m trying,” said Richard.

Tristan screamed. Elizabeth fell to her knees and prayed. Leticia put a hand over her mouth, fearing she’d cast up her accounts. What were they doing to him? More cries, then silence. Her heart thundered in her ears and her legs shook.

Unable to stand it another moment, she went to the door. “Richard?”

“Stay out!” Richard roared.

Tristan screamed again. Leticia’s knees wobbled and she had to sit down. More screams and moans. She put her hands over her ears but couldn’t shut out the sound.

The cries ceased. All fell silent.

Chapter Twenty

Tristan awoke, disoriented. His head throbbed. How much had he had to drink last night? He hadn’t been this jug-bitten in…how long?

No, wait; he lay in his old room at Averston House in London. He’d know those bed curtains anywhere. Mother always liked fleur-de-lis. What had he drunk last night? He felt like a horse had trampled him.

Not a horse. A race. An accident. A fall.

The death of a friend.

He closed his eyes, willing himself back into oblivion, but remained awake. Heavy breathing next to him caught his attention. To his right, Richard lay curled up next to him, almost touching Tristan’s shoulder. Funny, how he always thought Richard would sleep on his back like some kind of monarch, not curled up like a child. Elizabeth slept on a chair next to the bed.

Off to the left, someone sighed. Tristan turned to that side. Pain spiked at the motion. Leticia sat in a chair scooted up to the bed, the upper half of her body resting on the mattress next to him, her head lying on her arm, her hand resting on his stomach. Her relaxed face reminded him of a painting of an angel. Her perfect rosebud lips parted as if she awaited a kiss.

He relived their kiss, shocking in its sweetness. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to repeat that act. The next time, he wouldn’t surprise her with it. He’d woo her and kiss her when he was sure she wanted it. She may not want it now, but he’d pursue her until she did. And he’d do a proper job of it next time.

She said she’d had better kisses. Well, he’d make sure she got better—from him.

Whom had she kissed? The thought nagged at him but he shut it down. It didn’t matter. He’d make sure their next would convince her she never wanted one from another man.

The old Tristan waited for beautiful, experienced widows to pursue him and offer themselves to him. The new Tristan would do the pursuing. He would court Leticia. He’d be proper and persistent until she said yes.

A bolt of alarm shot through him. Say yes to what? More than a kiss, surely. But what? Marriage? Good heavens, did he truly contemplate marriage? He stumbled over that thought.

If he ever were to marry, Leticia would be the one he’d want for a wife. She had been the one constant in his life, next to Richard. Tristan liked Leticia. He trusted her. She’d be a faithful and loving companion.

With one finger, he traced the curve of her cheek, admiring the perfection of her ivory skin like a finely-crafted porcelain figurine created to portray an angel. He ached to encircle her with his arms, to guide her head in the hollow of his shoulder, feel the length of her body against him, love her as a man loves a woman.

He loved her. He loved Leticia.

All those other women had been small, pencil sketches compared to the real, larger-than-life, living color of Leticia.

He caressed her skin with the pad of his thumb, then traced the curve of her lips. She stirred and he let his hand fall away. He’d have to move with care, take his time. He must prove his sincerity, that he had changed from the callow rake of his past. She would be hard to convince. Still, she alone knew him. If anyone would believe in him, she would, in time.

She turned her head, and yawned. Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked as if trying to focus. As she met his gaze, she smiled and raised her head.

What a beautiful sight—Leticia smiling! He wanted to wake up to that glorious smile every morning. Her smile inspired him. He could do anything. The possibilities took flight.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

He grinned at her but the motion tore at his cracked lips. “Good morning yourself, you hussy, spending the night in a bedchamber with two men.”

Smiling, she reached out a hand and touched first his cheek, then his forehead. He held his breath, loving her touch, but afraid to move lest he frighten her off.

“You’re cool, at last.” She cradled his head while she steadied the glass so he could drink. “You gave us another scare. I hope you’re finished having fun at our expense.”

“I make no promises.” He paused. “Did I have a fever? I felt like I might set the bed on fire.”