"Damn right, and that's why he would never ask." He fixed her with a piercing green gaze. "The man's been accused of murder."
SEVEN
"MURDER?" Alexandra's elbows gave out, and her energy seemed to drain on the spot. With some effort, she straightened. She couldn't have heard Griffin right. "Murder?"
"Murder. His uncle—the last Marquess of Hawkridge—died under very suspicious circumstances."
Slowly Alexandra backed toward her chair. "What circumstances?"
"The man went to bed with a mild fever and failed to awaken the next morning. Poison, it was whispered, and Tristan was with him at Hawkridge at the time. Since his father had recently drunk himself to death and left him in heavy debt, penniless and well nigh desperate, there are those who believe his timely inheritance of his uncle's title, property, and massive fortune proved rather too convenient."
"Poison." She lowered herself gingerly to the leather. "I don't believe it for a moment."
"Neither do I," Griffin said with a sigh. "He was never convicted—there was no solid evidence—but many still think him guilty of the deed. What we personally do or don't believe has no bearing on the fact that Tristan is unsuitable as a husband."
Alexandra smoothed her dress over her knees while she tried to remember to breathe. If what Griffin said was true, she had to agree that wedding Tris was out of the question. Although she could live without the social whirl, if her family aligned themselves with him by any bond so strong as marriage, their own good name would be ruined. Juliana and Corinna would find it impossible to make good matches for themselves…and despite Alexandra's new resolve to be less blindly obedient and traditional, she wasn't selfish enough to doom her sisters to bleak futures as a consequence of her own marriage.
If what Griffin said was true.
"I don't believe it," she repeated. "I don't believe any of it. How did I never hear of this? It must have been an enormous scandal."
"It was. So major a scandal that Tristan has remained cut off from the polite world. He never claimed his seat in the House of Lords. He abandoned his friends rather than subject us to society's criticism. Didn't you wonder why he ceased coming around for visits?"
"You were in Spain, Griffin. He could hardly have come around to visit me."
"I came home for short periods over the years."
She shrugged, though even that small movement seemed exhausting. "The last time I saw him, he was headed to Jamaica."
"For two or three years, not seven. Did you never hear the murmurings, the nasty rumors? Well, of course you didn't," he answered himself. "You were hidden away here in the countryside wearing black." Pushing himself up from the desk, he moved closer to lean down and wrap her in a hug. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But you cannot marry Tristan."
When he pulled back, she took a big breath and nodded up at him. She'd never been one for tears, but she couldn't remember feeling closer to shedding some. "I don't want to marry Lord Shelton."
He sat in the chair beside hers. "You wanted to this morning."
"Well, I've changed my mind. I realize now that I cannot be happy with him. Please don't make me—"
"I would never make you marry anyone. Anyone in particular, that is." Something akin to panic flooded his eyes. "You do still want to marry? In general, I mean."
Under different circumstances, she might have laughed. "Yes, I still want to marry." She couldn't imagine what she would do with herself if she didn't. From birth, her mother had trained her to oversee a household and its accounts, to care for an estate, to raise children of her own.
She didn't have a passion like Corinna's painting, or, like Juliana, a compulsion to meddle in other people's lives. She just wanted to live her own. "I only wish…"
Though her wish remained unspoken, her brother knew what she wanted to say. "Wishing won't buy you anything," he said and then added, "He shouldn't have kissed you," looking totally disgusted. "I'll send him away. Immediately. You won't have to face him at breakfast."
"No. Please don't. Juliana said you need his help."
"Yes, I do need his help." With an agitated motion, he unstoppered the crystal brandy decanter that sat on the small table between them. "But I don't need him seducing my sister."
"He didn't. I swear it." She watched him pour two glasses, one much fuller than the other. "Honestly, Griffin, it was only a kiss. I'm sorry I even mentioned it."
"There's nothing only about a kiss. At the very least, I will have a serious talk with him." He handed her the glass with less brandy.
She stared at it stupidly. "I've never had brandy."
"Then it's about time you did. Drink up, little sister. You need it right now."
This was certainly a day for firsts. She swallowed a gulp and coughed.
Griffin laughed. "You're supposed to sip it." Cupping the glass, he took an appreciative sniff, then a small sip. "Like that."
Cradling her glass in imitation, she drew deep of the heady scent. She sipped carefully, feeling the spirits' heat trail down her throat and warm her inside.
"Nice?" he asked.
"Very nice." She took another taste. "Go easy on Tris. Please. I asked for that kiss."
His eyes widened. "Did you?"
Not in the way he was assuming, of course, but she knew Tris wouldn't have kissed her of his own accord. Knew now, in hindsight, that he'd agreed to walk with her because he'd wanted to tell her about the scandal, wanted to explain why he couldn't ask her to be his wife.
But she hadn't let him talk. Instead, in her desperation to win him, she'd touched him, linked her fingers with his, skimmed his hair from his forehead. What had happened afterward was natural, not a seduction on Tris's part.
Or at least not a planned one.
She sipped again, feeling
