Lord Trent: Love's Price Part 42

The other prisoners constantly asked: Was there no justice in the world?

Well, for Harriet at least, no, there wasn't.

She shut her eyes and distracted herself by envisioning the pretty residence Harcourt might have purchased for her. It was a soothing reverie, and a smile lifted the corner of her mouth. She saw herself attired in a beautiful dress, going out for a stroll on Harcourt's arm.

"It's about b.l.o.o.d.y time you showed up," a nearby prisoner muttered.

"Was you gonna leave her here forever?" another demanded.

"You scoundrel!" a third sneered. "What kind of man are you?"

"Not a very good one, I'm ashamed to say."

A male had replied to them in a voice that was extremely familiar, and Harriet frowned as the crowd began to t.i.tter with excitement. As she peeked over to see what had caused the commotion, she blanched with shock.

Tristan seemed to be proceeding directly toward her. A group of men flanked him, and they appeared to be guards.

Harriet blinked and blinked, certain she was hallucinating. Had misery and poverty finally driven her insane?

He kept coming until he was right in front of her, and though she continued to blink, he was still there. She could smell the wool of his trousers, the starch in his s.h.i.+rt. He seemed very, very real.

"Harriet Stewart," he said, "where the h.e.l.l have you been?"

"Tristan?"

"Yes, Tristan. Do I look like a ghost?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"What happened to your face? Why is your eye black and blue?"

"Why do you think? Someone hit me."

"Bentley Struthers?"

"How did you guess?"

He chuckled in a dangerous way. "Ooh...he is going to be so sorry."

He reached out his hand, and he dangled it there, urging her to clasp hold, but she was too terrified. If she grabbed for him, but found he was an apparition, she was afraid her mind might snap.

"Why are you here?" she asked instead.

"I've come to take you home."

"I don't have a home."

"You do now."

Harriet studied him, and she shook her head with dismay. Did he suppose he could just pop in after so much time had pa.s.sed, that he could speak a few chatty words and wipe the slate clean?

She had loved him. More than her life! Yet he'd blithely cast her aside. She couldn't rely on him. What if she went with him, and he abandoned her again?

"Take my hand, Harriet," he coaxed.

"No. Go away."

"Take it."

"No. You're not real. You can't be."

She rested her chin on her chest, wanting him to be a ghost. It would be easier if he was.

He sighed. "I can see that nothing has changed."

"What do you mean?"

She glanced up, mesmerized by his blue, blue eyes. She'd never been able to resist being drawn in by them.

"I mean," he stated, "that you're as contrary as ever."

"I am not."

"Why must you do everything the hard way? I simply want to get you out of here. You're the only person in the world who would refuse to go."

"You never came for me!" The angry accusation of hurt and betrayal bubbled up from deep inside. "On Bramwell's s.h.i.+p, when I was sick and alone and scared, you never came!"

"No, I didn't."

"And when we docked in London, you didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm an a.s.s. I admit it."

"A woman was waiting for you on the pier! You kissed her while I was watching. You have a sweetheart, and you lied to me about it."

"Yes, I did."

"Then my cousin gave me to Bentley Struthers for the reward, and Bentley pummeled me and had Mr. Radley bring me to this horrid spot. They're going to hang me, and no one even cares."

"I care."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"I plan to mend my behavior. Starting now."

He knelt down and took her hands in his. He looked magnificent, contrite and splendid at the same time.

"Harriet, I am so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

Suddenly, the prison yard was very quiet. It was like a dramatic scene you'd see in a theater. The bystanders were on tenterhooks, eagerly antic.i.p.ating her answer.

"I loved you," she petulantly complained. "I loved you, and you let this happen to me."

At the declaration, he grinned. "You loved me, Harriet?"

"Yes."

"You say so as if it was in the past. How about now and in the future? Could you learn to love me again?"

"You'd have to be nicer to me than you have been."

The oaf laughed and laughed. "Oh, my dearest, Harriet, I love you, too." He brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

"You're probably not serious."

"I am, and I swear to you that no one will ever harm you again. From this moment on, with all these people as witnesses"-he gestured to the hovering crowd-"I vow that you will always be safe. I will protect you with my life. Will you marry me?"

"Marry you!"

"Yes."

"But who was that woman with you at the dock? Aren't you already married?"

"Engaged, but only temporarily."

"It doesn't sound temporary."

He stood and tugged her to her feet, but she was so hungry that the abrupt movement made her dizzy. She swayed and nearly collapsed, and he swept her into his arms.

"We're leaving," he said. "Don't argue."

"But...but..."

He drew her close and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth.

"Don't argue!"

They walked out, and the prisoners behind them began to clap and cheer.

"Where are we?" Harriet asked, pulling at the curtain to gaze out the carriage window. "Is this your home?"

"No," Tristan replied, "but it will be a good spot for you-for the time being."

"What are you saying?"

"I live with my brother, but for now, I can't take you there."

"Why?"

"I have some...ah...arrangements to make first."

Specifically: a betrothal to end and a fiancee to send back to the country. The next few days would be extremely unpleasant. Miranda would put up a fight, but Tristan was determined to win it.

He'd be relinquis.h.i.+ng her dowry, but he didn't care. He and James wouldn't starve. It would simply take them longer to get their finances in order. Tristan would have to purchase a new s.h.i.+p and start working, and he was even thinking that perhaps Harriet could travel with him.

It was intriguing to imagine coming into his cabin every night and finding her asleep in his bunk. "So," she mused, looking very glum, "you're already getting rid of me? Why am I positive I'll never see you again?"

"You'll see me all right. In fact, from this point on, I'm going to be such a pest that I can guarantee you'll grow sick of me."

"A likely story."

"Do you know who your father is?"

She studied him, and he could sense that she was dithering over what tale to tell. The silly woman was more furtive than a palm reader at a fair.

"No secrets, Harriet," he said. "Not anymore."

"I was always told," she hedged, "that he was a gentleman farmer."

"But?"

"I might have once heard a different version."

"That he's Lord Trent?"

She debated, then admitted, "Yes."

"It's true, and you have a half-brother named Phillip Sinclair."

"I do?"

"Yes. This is his house, and I need you to stay here for a week or two."

"But I don't even know him!"

"It doesn't matter. He'll be delighted to have you as a guest."

"No. This is wrong. It would be rude of me to impose."

"It's not wrong. It's absolutely right. You'll remain here while I straighten out my personal affairs."

"What affairs?"

He cleared his throat, his cheeks flus.h.i.+ng with chagrin.

"I have to break off my engagement."

"Your fiancee-what's her name?"