“I never thought of you as the kind twin.”
“Because I’m not. Now off with you. You don’t want to be seen with me in the shadows.” Then because she seemed reluctant to leave, he leapt over the railing with the ease of a man who had climbed sail rigging during the height of a tempest at sea and lived to tell the tale of it. Glancing back, he saw that she’d moved on. He breathed a bit easier. He didn’t want to be the one responsible for ruining her good name. They owed her, should ensure that she was happy. He wondered if she would be so with Fitzwilliam. He seemed rather like a stick-in-the-mud. But then Tristan was discovering that most of the men he’d met tonight were boring beyond measure. They lived sheltered lives lacking in adventure.
The same certainly couldn’t be said of him and his brothers. He knew Rafe had gone on his merry way. Sebastian may have as well.
He passed one couple and another strolling back toward the house—a guilty air about them. In the shadows off the path, he heard a giggle and a soft reprimand for quiet. Ah, the dangers. He imagined hearts were racing at the thought of being caught. He couldn’t imagine that had not fate intervened the most exciting part of his life might have been enticing a lady into an illicit kiss.
The dangers he had faced made all this subterfuge in the garden seem trivial, and certainly held no appeal.
He slowed his step when he noticed a gentleman on the path hesitate before continuing toward him. “Fitzwilliam.”
“My lord.”
He wondered what he was doing out here alone, wondered if he’d happened across Sebastian and Mary earlier. Surely not, for if he had he’d have confronted them.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my brother out here,” Tristan asked laconically.
“Which one? The one who cheats at cards or the one who airs his dirty laundry in public?”
“Take care with your accusations, my lord,” Tristan said with a voice that mimicked the calm before a storm.
“Are you threatening me?”
“For a moment there I feared you weren’t a perceptive fellow. So relieved you proved me wrong.”
“You and your brothers do not belong here. You are barbarians.”
“On the contrary, my lord. I asked a simple question. You are the one who responded by disparaging the character of my brothers.”
“I haven’t seen them. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
He walked past without waiting for an answer. Tristan patted himself on the back for not tripping him. Arrogant cad.
Tristan strode into the darker confines of the garden. He despised the notion that other lords were not giving Sebastian the respect with which he was due. He fought in a bloody war, for God’s sake. Was still fighting to reclaim his birthright. As far as Tristan was concerned it wasn’t enough to cut off their uncle’s financial resources. They needed proof of his intended actions where they were concerned. Even Mary’s words wouldn’t be strong enough to dispel his claims that they’d merely run away, as young lads were wont to do. And if he had killed their father as they suspected—
Someone rammed into him, causing him to stagger back. Tristan had his own knife in hand before he fell beneath the weight.
“Tristan?” his brother croaked.
Tristan was too familiar with the warm stickiness soaking his clothes not to know what it was. “What the devil, Sebastian?”
“Mary. Have to make sure she’s all right.”
Sebastian was clutching at Tristan’s arm, striving to right himself.
“She’s unharmed. I just saw her on the terrace only a few moments ago,” he reassured his brother.
Sebastian sank back down. “Then just get me the hell out of here.”
Chapter 14
“You were most fortunate, Your Grace,” the physician said, as he finished wrapping a bandage around Sebastian’s midsection. “The knife didn’t slice into any organs.”
If the pain in his side was that of a fortunate man, then Sebastian would hate to experience the pain of an unfortunate one.
“Not a professional assassin then,” Rafe said. He was leaning against one of the posters at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Once Tristan had gotten Sebastian home, he’d sent word to Rafe who had come posthaste, physician in tow. William Graves seemed not much older than them, but he knew well the business of healing.
“Or a soldier,” Tristan said, holding the drapery slightly aside and peering into the night. “Otherwise he’d have known where to strike.”
