Kindred Hearts (13 page)

Oh, God
.

He was going to hell. He’d always expected it after his years of adultery, but always in the back of his mind he’d hoped for leniency on God’s part. After all, everyone did it. But this—lusting after
men
—this God couldn’t forgive. He was doomed.

And he didn’t care.
Oh, God
, he thought again, what was he to
do
?

“There you are,” a voice said behind him. “Good Lord, Tris, aren’t you freezing?”

He turned, social mask in place, and grinned at Gibson. “Too beastly hot in there,” he said lightly. “Where the devil have you been?”

“Stuck at my sister’s,” Gibs said. “Sorry about that. I’ve done the pretty to our hosts, so I’m ready to leave.”

“Good,” Tristan said, elbowing him lightly as he went past. “I need a drink.”

“I heard you’ve a visitor,” Gibson said as they moved through the crowd.

Tristan stopped and blinked at him. “How did you find that out?”

“Osborne said you’d mentioned it. Lottie’s brother?”

“Yes.” Tristan started moving again, smiling, bowing, nodding at acquaintances as they made their laborious way through the crowded rooms to the door. Taking their coats from the footman, they moved out into the night.

In the dark, knowing Gibson couldn’t see his face, it was easier to talk. “Yes, Major Mountjoy is selling out and has deigned to grace us with his presence,” Tristan said lightly.

“Oh, one of those pompous types?” Gibson said.

Tristan sighed. “No, actually, he’s quite pleasant. Personable. I suppose I’ll put him up for membership in my clubs; he’s selling out, so I suppose he’ll have to meet people sooner or later. I’ll introduce him around. I think you’ll like him.”

“If you do, I probably will,” Gibson drawled.

“He’s all right,” Tristan said dismissively and changed the subject.

It was
still quite dark when Charles woke suddenly, disoriented for a moment in the strange bed. Then he remembered where he was, but wasn’t quite sure what had woke him. Then he heard it again: the soft scrape of footsteps, the creak of a stair, a muttered word. He rose quietly, drew on his dressing gown, and opened the door a crack.

Reston, Tristan’s valet, was coming up the stairs, candle in hand. Behind him, two of the household’s footmen supported the master of the house as he stumbled up the stairs.

Charles opened the door wider. “May I help?” he asked softly.

Reston looked up and shook his head wearily. “No, thank you, sir,” he said equally softly. “Mr. Northwood is very tired and just needs to retire.” He opened the door to Tristan’s bedroom and stepped in. The footmen half-carried Tristan in behind him.

Charles waited until the footmen had again left the room before he closed his own door and opened the adjoining one. Reston was efficiently stripping Tristan, and pulled the voluminous nightshirt over the thin body with practiced movements. Charles watched silently. Finally Reston looked up and said wearily, “There is nothing wrong, Major.”

“He does this every night?” Charles surmised.

The valet said only, “I am not unaccustomed to the process, Major. Mr. Northwood will sleep the rest of the night. Thank you for your concern.” He bowed politely, then reached past Charles for the knob, and pulled the door shut in Charles’s face.

Charles studied the grain of the wood in the panel before him a moment, then went back to bed.

Despite
his interrupted sleep, when Charles woke at dawn, he felt quite rested and decided to go for a ride before breakfast. He walked over to the Horse Guards’ stables, where his cattle had temporary lodgings, and roused his groom to saddle Paragon, then rode the gelding to Hyde Park for a quick shake-down run along one of the few paths that had been swept clear of snow. It was on his way back to the gate about a half an hour later that he met Tristan, on a rangy bay that pranced about energetically, its breath puffing white clouds in the cold.

“Good morning,” Tristan said politely. His eyes were bloodshot, but otherwise he showed no sign of the intoxication that had required two men’s assistance earlier that morning, and his gloved hand on the restive bay was steady and strong. “You’re out early.”

“Yes,” Charles said. “I was about to head back, but if you’re up for some company….”

“By all means, if you don’t mind the cold,” Tristan said, and Charles turned his mount to ride beside his host. “That’s a mannerly gentleman,” Tristan nodded at Paragon.

“He is,” Charles replied, patting the gelding’s neck affectionately. “His name’s Paragon, and he is. Steady and strong and sweet-mouthed. I bought him in Portugal, about five years ago.”

Tristan’s bay reached his head out—Charles didn’t know whether he meant to nip Paragon or just investigate him, but the gelding calmly stepped aside without breaking stride. Tristan chuckled. “He’s a smart lad too,” he said, slapping the bay’s neck gently. “Behave, Brat,” he said to the horse.

“That’s his name? Brat?” Charles raised an eyebrow.

“It’s appropriate,” Tristan said. “He’s not a bad lad, but he’s mischievous. He wouldn’t have bitten your mount, but he might have pretended he was going to up to the last second. I think he likes to test. But he’s a nice, smooth ride.”

Charles’s eyes flicked up, meeting Tristan’s. To his amusement and interest, Tristan’s cheeks blushed briefly scarlet, then the other man looked away, over toward the other side of the park. “Oh, lord,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “here comes Bab Abernathy, without a groom as usual. I don’t think she’s seen us yet. It’s early enough—race you to the Serpentine?”

“You’re on,” Charles said.

“Ready, steady… go!” And Tristan was off, Charles at his heels.

They’d
drawn up at the edge of the frozen water and were walking to cool the horses (Tristan had won by a whisker) when Charles said, “Who’s Bab Abernathy and why were we avoiding her?”

“Oh, you’ll meet her soon enough,” Tristan said. “She’s Lady Barbara Abernathy. She was… a bit of an inamorata of mine a few years ago. Sometimes she’ll catch me here in the mornings and try to… well, you know. I lost interest in that connection, and she doesn’t quite want to believe me.” He glanced at Charles. “She is quite lovely,” he said honestly. “I could introduce you, if you wish.”

“I’m sure I’ll meet her sooner or later,” Charles said lazily. “No need to interrupt a perfectly good morning ride. Do you normally ride at this hour?”

“Most days,” Tristan said, turning Brat’s head back toward the gate nearest the house. “When it’s clear like this. Brat doesn’t mind the cold.”

“Is this usual weather for late December?” Charles inquired. “It seems cold for so early.”

Tristan shrugged. “Perhaps a bit more snow than usual,” he said, “but they’ve kept the roads clear enough. Does the cold bother you, after your years in the Peninsula?”

“People have this strange idea that Spain is a hot country,” Charles mused. “When in fact, it’s an
extreme
country. Madrid and the northern part of the region get
much
colder in winter. And of course that’s where we were, mostly. On the other hand, when it’s hot….” He laughed. “
Madre de Dios!
”

“I suppose you speak Spanish fluently,” Tristan said. Was that a wistful note in his voice? Charles cocked his head and studied his companion.

“Well enough to be understood,” he conceded, “but I speak German much better. As does Lottie, of course.”

Tristan blinked. “Lottie speaks German?”

“You didn’t know? Our mother was German, and she brought her own nanny with her when she married. Between the two of them, we all grew quite fluent in it. Daniel lost his facility with the language when he went off to school, but Lottie and I always spoke it to each other, and when I went off to Eton we wrote to each other. And of course spoke it on holiday.” He chuckled. “I don’t know how she’s managed to keep hers up, but I’ve used it quite a bit dealing with the Prussians and Austrians the Army has had contact with. They speak two quite different dialects, but I can manage in both.”

“I can read Latin and Greek, a little, but don’t have any modern languages,” Tristan said, then he shook his head. “I’m not a scholar—never have been. Too busy, and never bright enough.” His voice was careless. “Well—cold enough yet? I’m ready for breakfast.”

“Lead on,” Charles invited, and he followed Brat from the park.

Tristan
might have been ready for breakfast, but to Charles’s surprise, ate only a few pieces of toast and a spoonful of eggs. He did drink a large mug of ale, followed by several cups of coffee. Charles thought about the glimpse he’d had of Tristan last night, before Reston had enveloped him in the nightshirt. The man was too thin for his height, despite the broad shoulders. “Is that all you’re eating?” he asked curiously.

“I never eat much breakfast,” Tristan said, again in that careless voice.

“Does Charlotte eat at this time too?”

“No, she has a tray in her room, usually. I suppose with you here, that may change,” Tristan said. He poured himself another cup of coffee. “We usually lunch together.”

Charles helped himself to more ham. “This is delicious. I thought your cook did a fine dinner last evening, but she’s outdone herself with breakfast.”

“Mm,” Tristan said. He opened the newspaper and began reading.

Snubbed, Charles grinned faintly and set to work on the ham.

A few minutes later, Tristan glanced up from the paper and said, “Are you interested in joining any of the clubs? I’ve memberships at Boodle’s and White’s. Well, and Brooks’s, but Prinny and his brothers frequent that place, so I’m rarely there.”

“You dislike the Regent?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “I had understood that he had a certain charm about him. Was I misinformed?”

“Not at all,” Tristan said. “He is quite pleasant-natured, usually. I don’t care for his hangers-on, however. I don’t think they’re a good influence. At any rate, my question is whether or not you’re a member of any of the clubs, and if not, if you’d care for my sponsorship? I believe your Duke is a member of Boodle’s.”

“He is, and I’m not. I’ve spent very little time in London as an adult; think of me as a foreigner with an excellent accent and you’ll be spot on.”

“A babe in the woods, eh?”

Charles laughed. “Quite. So I must trust you not to lead me astray.” He let his eyes hold Tristan’s a moment too long and was rewarded with that charming blush again. So. Interesting. His sophisticated brother-in-law wasn’t immune to a bit of flirting—and despite Lottie’s warnings, Charles thought he was, after all, attracted to Charles.

Interesting.