her gown –- it barely clung to her bosom, the upper blush of her areolas visible against the edge of black lace.
“You didn’t tell us there’d be another to join our party, Wimberley. She’s not quite the usual, but she does show promise. I always did like even numbers.”
The slurred voice came from behind Marguerite, and she turned.
On the couch beside the door sat two more gentlemen, another woman between them. Her clothing was mussed, and one of the gentlemen had his hand far up her thigh. If there had been a drop of blood left in her body, Marguerite would have blushed like a beet.
Instead she could only stare.
Tristan watched the pale goddess before him. She conjured memories, but he could not place her. He’d seen that hair glimmer golden in the moonlight, but could not imagine when. He sat up, steadied himself, and removed his leg from Violet’s lap.
Who was this lady, and why was she here? She had interrupted the evening he’d planned so precisely. Was it coincidence? Did somebody know his plan? He perused her delicate curves, taking in the worn, dirty gown and muddy half boots. Her hair was drawn back tight. He saw the slight indent left by her fallen bonnet. His fingers twitched with the urge to brush it smooth.
She stared back at him, and her eyes were shadowed with weariness. They should have been laughing with mischief, not tired with drooping lids. His impulse was to rise and offer her his seat, but glancing at his companions he knew such gallantry would not play well.
“May I help you?” he drawled.
She didn’t answer for a moment. She continued to stare, her skin growing almost translucent.
“Tristan.” She breathed his name so softly, so sweetly.
Damn. He did remember her, it would have been impossible to truly forget her. He’d spent long enough trying – only the tired eyes and dusty dress had misled him. “You’re Marguerite Wilkes, Rose Huntington’s sister.”
“Yes.”
He had to lean forward to hear her reply.
He reclined again and closed his eyes. She was that pretty young chit, Rose’s sister, with whom he’d flirted the summer before. In the midst of blackness and worry, she’d been a spot of light. Her unawakened innocence had called him, refreshed him, and made him remember what it was like to be young. He’d seen her again at his friend Wulf’s wedding to Rose. He tried to remember the details of the encounter. Had he done anything he shouldn’t? He didn’t think so. Wulf had been his comrade for years and he would never have risked that friendship. Besides, he had always respected innocence, resisted its allure, and she had shone with it, a young Diana rising new made.
So, what was she doing here, alone?
He opened his eyes and examined her again, seeking an answer. She shivered under his scrutiny but didn’t look away.
The silence in the room grew intense. His guests, wolves on the prowl. He could hear the rapid fall of her breath. He made no effort to intervene.
Finally she spoke, “You told me to come, said that if I ever needed anything, you would help.”
Had he really said that? He probably had. Hell, it was all coming back to him. Bloody fool. Didn’t he know that innocents took those things seriously? She probably thought he’d proposed when he requested only that she call him by his Christian name.
He looked around the room, considered his reply. He should send her on her way. Besides, there was no place for her here in this company – an innocent child in his bachelor quarters. This could ruin what little remained of his reputation – not to mention hers. What was her sister thinking to let her loose?
But, she looked so tired, so worn . . . so ill? She was a good stone thinner than when last he’d seen her.
With a crook of his finger he gestured for Winters, who hovered in the doorway. “Take Miss Wilkes upstairs and let her make herself comfortable. I’ll speak with her in my study. I’ve matters to finish here, first.”
He ran a finger down Violet’s arm. She turned, gazing up at him with languid eyes. He repressed a smile at her theatrical talents. Unfortunately, not even the beautiful Violet could get him where he needed to be, nor could anyone else in this company. He considered each of his companions.
He pressed his lips tight.
Turning back, he saw Miss Wilkes obediently following Winters from the room like a scolded schoolgirl. He