Page 24 of The Viscount's Promise
Tristan grinned and indicated the pocket in the tail of his coat, where no doubt a flask was concealed. “Never think I am without resources. I thought you knew me better than that. But I won’t have you skirting around my question. You were a long time returning from the church, and I’ve been told by the best possible source that you were in company with Lady Emily, and Lady Emily alone.”
Damn, but his friend was much too perceptive today. Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “You are no better than Lady Tarryton. Are you turning into a gossip in your old age?”
But Tristan merely chuckled low and leaned in closer. “You forget, Morley, I know you almost as well as I know myself. You are attempting to deflect me, m’boy. But I will not be waylaid, so have out with it, man.”
Malcolm gave Tristan a long, searching look. Despite the alcohol that he nursed, the man looked disgustingly sober. No, there would be no distracting him. Blowing out a breath, he pressed his lips together in annoyance. He supposed it had been a matter of time before Tristan began noticing that he was paying more than the normal, polite attention to Lady Emily. Malcolm had never been one to cater to the unmarried young women in social events, after all. He supposed he should be grateful it had taken his friend this long.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “There’s still time before we’re to eat. Walk with me and I’ll tell you all.” He turned for the glass double doors, not waiting for Tristan’s acquiescence.
The courtyard was open and blessedly empty, aside from several tall, meticulously trimmed topiaries bordering the sanded paths. They walked slowly, Malcolm all the while attempting to put into words what his purpose was in sticking so close to Lady Emily. He didn’t think Willbridge would want him telling Tristan what the reason was. The request had been made in confidence, after all. Though what other reason could he give to explain his sudden interest in the girl?
But while Tristan had been patient in allowing Malcolm to lead him from the ballroom, he was not so patient that he was going to let the tense silence go on for longer than necessary.
“You don’t have to beat about the bush, you know. I’ve seen the way you’ve stayed close to her side. You think I could be blind to such a thing?” Suddenly the man’s eyes widened in horror. “Never tell me you’re courting the chit!”
Instead of quickly and loudly disabusing his friend of the notion—for hadn’t the thought of it been repugnant to him when he’d first discussed the thing with Willbridge?—a slither of hot anger worked its way up his back. “Would that be so terrible?” he asked stiffly.
“Yes!” his friend nearly shouted. “You cannot possibly be thinking of marrying the girl.”
“Quiet, you idiot, or someone will hear you,” Malcolm hissed. He pushed Tristan behind a meticulously trained bush, partially obscuring them from the ballroom’s many windows. “What could possibly be wrong with someone wishing to court Lady Emily? She is sweet, and lovely, and would make any man a fine wife.”
Tristan looked at him as if he’d grown another head. For his own part, Malcolm was nearly as stunned at the vehemence of his own reaction. What the devil was wrong with him? If anyone heard, they would assume he truly did want to marry her.
“What the hell is going on, Morley?”
Malcolm’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. He sighed and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Forgive me. This whole thing has me on edge.”
Tristan eyed him for a moment before downing the rest of his drink. “Perhaps you’d best explain from the beginning.”
“Yes, you’re right,” he mumbled. “It was foolish for Willbridge to expect me to keep this from you. I’m sure he never meant that, for you would see right through any pretense, anyway.” He took a steadying breath before forging on. “The truth of the matter is, Willbridge asked me to stay close to Lady Emily.”
Tristan blinked several times in incomprehension. “Willbridge asked you to pay court to his sister?”
“No, not that. He asked me to stick close to her, to watch over her.”
His friend looked at him blankly for a long moment. “I don’t understand.”
Malcolm growled low. “You have met the girl, I presume?”
“Yes.” The answer was slow and confused. Then it was as if the sun came out, so much did comprehension change his expression. “Ah, I see now. It’s that scar.”
What could he say to that? Without a doubt it was because of the scar. Everything she had suffered, every slight, every lack of confidence, was all due to that scar. “Yes.”
“So you have to play nursemaid to the girl?”
Again, what could he say but the truth? “Yes.”
Tristan let out a low whistle. “That hardly seems a fair thing for Willbridge to ask of you.”
“So I thought. But it’s not as much of a chore as I’d first thought it would be.”
His friend chuckled. “Please. A man like you, having to act as chaperone to an awkward girl who has trouble talking even to those she’s closest to? It’s not a job I envy you for. I’m glad he didn’t ask it of me.”
Anger pounded at Malcolm’s temples. “Don’t talk of her that way,” he intoned darkly.
Tristan shot him a dismissing look. “Please, don’t tell me you didn’t wish him to the devil when he first asked it of you.”
“That was before I knew her.”
