Page 50 of A Duke But No Gentleman
Uncertain, Imogene accepted the rest of the items he pressed into her hands.“You are welcome to call again, Norgrave.”
“I shall return, Imogene.Perhaps I can help you cross a few suitors off your long list,” he said, the smile on his face never reaching his eyes.
“I would appreciate any help.”
Norgrave kissed her hand and turned away.It was not until he had returned to his coach that he allowed his fury to surface.His dark thoughts were consumed with Blackbern and Imogene.
He had sorely underestimated his friend.
And Imogene.
Had the two of them laughed at his failed attempts to seduce her?
Norgrave slammed his fist against the glass window until it fractured into a delicate web of sharp splinters.The pain focused his thoughts and a plan of revenge began to form in his head.
When he was finished, Blackbern would rue the day he had betrayed their friendship.And Imogene—the duplicitous lady needed to be punished.
He was the perfect man for the task.
Chapter Fifteen
Imogene used her key to unlock the front door, and slipped into the house.She was confident that she was alone.Servants were hired to keep the town house clean and tidy, but the staff was gone by dusk since Tristan preferred his privacy.She shut the door, trying not to contemplate how many women had entered this dwelling at Tristan’s invitation.Her chest tightened at the thought.How many of them had believed she alone had captured her handsome lover’s elusive heart?How many had departed the house in tears, grieving that the passion they had shared with Tristan had burned itself out?
Am I doomed to a similar fate?
Until she had received Tristan’s brief summons for her to join him at his mother’s house, she had been unaware of his return to London.Imogene believed he genuinely cared for her, and perhaps he did in his own way.However, had she not been warned by numerous people that she should not trust the duke’s fickle affection?He had loved countless ladies—many who were lovelier and richer than her—and none of them had kept his devotion for long.Perhaps that explained why she had felt a touch of unease at his summons.She had retained his interest longer than most, and a part of her had been waiting for him to grow bored with her.To tell her that it was time for her to let him go.
The warm light of several oil lamps greeted her in the front hall.Hours had passed since she had sent a response to his terse note, but she did not expect him to be waiting for her.His duties often delayed him, and he once told her that he liked entering the house, knowing that she was waiting for him.
What was so important that it had driven him to wait for her?
“Tristan?”she called out.
He did not respond.There was only the high-pitched wail of the wind as it gusted and blew through unseen crevices in the house, causing it to creak and shudder.She started at the sound of someone stepping on a loose floorboard overhead.
Tristan.
Perhaps the approaching storm had masked her arrival.Or he was simply waiting for her to join him.Imogene shook her head, unsurprised by his arrogance.She set down her reticule on the table.Tristan was too used to getting his way.Imogene opened a small drawer in the table and withdrew a candle.She pushed it into the empty socket of a candleholder, and used the flame from the nearby lamp to ignite it.
With the candle to light her way, she slowly climbed the grand staircase.She opened the door to the drawing room, but it was dark and empty.
“What sort of game are we playing this evening, Tristan?”she called out, keenly listening for any sound that might reveal his whereabouts.
Unafraid, she moved through the house, opening and closing doors as she passed them.She expected to find him in the bedchamber to which he had brought her on several occasions, but to her chagrin, it was also empty.
With each step her annoyance was increasing.Imogene turned left to search the eastern wing of the house.She had yet to explore this portion of the house, since Tristan had other activities in mind when they met here.The door to the chamber at the end of the corridor was open and soft candlelight was a warm beacon in the darkness.
Imogene hurried down the passageway and crossed the threshold.The décor within the chamber was distinctly feminine, leading her to believe that this was the wing that Tristan’s mother had occupied when she was alive.
“This was the last place I would have thought to search for you,” Imogene said as she glimpsed his movements through the partially drawn curtains of the bed.“I left the house as soon as I could.Is something amiss?”
Imogene set her candle down on the nearest table and followed him to the other side of the bed.Her hand fluttered to her mouth to smother her gasp.
It wasn’t Tristan who had summoned her.Lord Norgrave straightened as he stood to greet her.“No, my dear.Nothing is amiss.In fact, everything has worked out quite perfectly.”
Confused, she stepped closer and peered at the bed.She half expected to find Tristan reclining against the pillows.“I do not understand.I thought—”
He nodded, his eyes filled with kindness.“You believed that Tristan sent the note.I regret that I resorted to a little trickery to gain a private audience with you.Tristan has distinctive handwriting, but I learned to imitate it many years ago.People who have known him longer than you have been fooled by my skills.”
