The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,123
scent of honeysuckle always reminded him of…
Sophia.
Tristan opened his eyes to find her leaning over him, brushing soft, teasing kisses over his lips. Ah. Not butterflies or fields of honeysuckle, then, but his lovely wife. Tristan closed his eyes again as he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Are you waking me with kisses, Lady Gray?”
Sophia laughed softly. “Certainly not, my lord. Go back to sleep. I’m conducting an investigation, and it doesn’t concern you.”
“No? How curious. It feels as if it does concern me, and rather intimately.” Tristan’s smile widened as the tip of her tongue grazed the scar on his upper lip.
“The tip of a riding crop might have made such a scar,” she murmured, drawing back to study his lips. “Did you accidentally strike yourself in the face with your crop?”
Tristan did his best to look outraged. “How dare you, madam? I’ll have you know I’m an accomplished horseman.”
Sophia’s brow furrowed. “An encounter with a sharp tree branch, perhaps?”
“No. This may surprise you, Lady Gray, but I’m perfectly able to manage London’s trees.”
“Hmmm.” Sophia brushed her fingertip over the scar. “I know! You were drinking tea from a cracked teacup. It fell to pieces in your hand, and one of the shards sliced your lip.”
“That’s a shocking allegation, Lady Gray.” Tristan regarded her with mock horror, then added in virtuous tones, “I will do you the favor of not disclosing to Mrs. Beeson the viciousness with which you’ve maligned her teacups.”
“Very well. Keep your secrets, then.” Sophia lifted her chin and glared down her nose at him. “But I don’t wish to hear another word from you, Lord Gray, unless it’s a confession.”
With one final quelling glance she wriggled away from him and tried to scramble over to her side of the bed, but she didn’t get far before Tristan caught her by her waist and rolled her underneath him.
“That’s a fetching pout, Lady Gray.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, his blood heating at the hint of damp warmth he found there. “How can I resist teasing you when you pout so prettily?”
Sophia snorted. “You won’t find the edge of my teeth quite so pretty, I assure you. Your confession, my lord, or I may be tempted to give you a matching scar on your bottom lip.”
“I warned you before it’s a dull story, but since you insist on knowing it…” Tristan paused to press a kiss to that pouting mouth. “I fell up a flight of stairs.”
“Up a flight of stairs?” Sophia blinked at him. “Don’t you mean down a flight of stairs?”
“No, I mean up. There’s nothing ridiculous about falling down the stairs. If I’d fallen down them, I would have confessed it at once.”
“But how does one fall up a flight of stairs?” Sophia was trying to smother the grin tugging at the corners of her lips.
Tristan’s own lips twitched. “When one is six years old, one stumbles while chasing their brother up a flight of stairs and smacks their face into the edge of a stair above them. It’s easier than you’d think.”
“Oh, dear.” Sophia had lost the battle with her grin, which had chased the pout from her lips. “You’re right, my lord, that is a dull story. Did it bleed much?”
Tristan fingered the scar. “Gushed everywhere, from my nose and mouth. I even lost a tooth. My mother was in fits over all that blood on her polished staircase.”
“The staircase, and not your precious face?” Sophia reached up and stroked her finger tenderly over the scar, her smile fading. “I’m afraid that doesn’t surprise me.”
After a hasty marriage ceremony in London, Tristan had dutifully brought his new bride to Oxfordshire to present her to his mother. The Dowager Countess of Gray, upon finding her one remaining son had married a commoner, had fallen into hysterics and taken immediately to her bed. She’d remained there in fits until it became clear Tristan was unmoved by her dramatics, whereupon she’d swept back down the stairs in great state, and announced her intention to retire to the dower house.
Neither Sophia nor Tristan offered any objection to this plan, though in the end, it might have been just as well for the Dowager Countess to have remained where she was. Tristan and Sophia left Oxfordshire after only two weeks, and between themselves decided not to spend much time there in the future.
Sophia couldn’t bear to be separated from her friends for long, and Tristan couldn’t bear for Sophia to