Page 46 of A Match Made in London
“No, I have not.”
Frustration tightened his mouth. “Rosalind,” he growled.
The sound of her name on his lips, said in that animalistic way, stole the breath from her body. Furious at herself for her reaction, she went on the attack. “You wish to know why I watched you? You truly wish to know?”
He seemed uncertain in the face of her ire. But he gave a sharp nod, thus unknowingly sealing his fate.
She stalked forward, pointing a finger into his chest. “I know you’re up to no good with that young lady. And I won’t stand for it.”
“Miss Weeton?” He let loose a surprised bark of laughter. “What the devil do you think I’m about?”
“Please,” she scoffed. “I know of men like you.”
Anger flared, erasing the stunned look in his eyes. “Once again you imply such. I am getting heartily sick of being lumped in with the despicable creatures you liken me to.”
“Are you saying you do not have ulterior motives in mind with Miss Weeton?”
He faltered. Triumph—and a surprising amount of disappointment—filled her. “Just as I thought.”
He held up a hand. “You have the wrong idea about it all.”
“Ha!”
The sound was surprisingly loud. Rosalind glanced around furtively. It was then she noticed how close they were to the open doors of the balcony. And in full view of the glittering throng within.
Grabbing his sleeve, she dragged him farther into the shadows, down the steps leading into the garden, along the side of the house. When she was certain they would not be seen, she rounded on him again.
Only he had followed incredibly close to her. And his body was much too warm, much too large, much too…Tristan…in the darkness.
She gasped and stepped back. But her mind was in a tangle now. What had they been talking about?Ah yes, Miss Weeton.
“I don’t trust you, Sir Tristan. I won’t stand by and see that girl ruined.”
“I seem to recall you saying something similar about Miss Gladstow.”
She ignored the slightly strangled tone of his voice, instead focusing on her outrage. “Yes, I did.”
“And what happened with Miss Gladstow? I don’t seem to recall any ruination that took place. The opposite, in fact.”
It was her turn to falter. Had she forgotten so quickly that Miss Gladstow and Mr. Marlow had become engaged? Tristan had not ruined the girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. For he seemed to have had some part in their engagement coming about.
She stilled. An idea had come to her, but she could not countenance it. No. Surely not. He could not be…matchmaking?
In the faint moonlight Tristan’s eyes glittered, shock making him transparent. It was then she realized she had spoken aloud.
And that she was right.
“You are a matchmaker?” she asked, stunned.
He did not answer. But the sudden defensive angle of his chin told her all she needed to know.
Her jaw dropped. “You are. You’re playing matchmaker.”
His brows lowered. “You make it sound dirty.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No!” He growled low in his throat. “I swear, you are so stubborn and misguided you would make even a saint’s actions seem nefarious.”
