Page 28 of A Duke But No Gentleman (Masters of Seduction #1)

Chapter Sixteen

A trickle of unease went through Tristan when he discovered the front door unlocked. One of the servants could have been careless, but he dismissed the idea. His thoughts shifted back to Imogene’s message.

You have not given me much notice. I will slip out of the house when it is safe to do so. I will try not to be late. Imogene

There was nothing alarming in her message except for one important fact. Imogene was responding to a message Tristan had not sent her. She had left the safety of her family to seek him out, and if this was one of Norgrave’s pranks, he vowed to seek retribution for the man’s mischief.

“Imogene?”

She didn’t respond. Someone had lit the lamps in the front hall.

Tristan walked to the table where he noticed her reticule.

On top was the key he had given her. He picked up the key and frowned.

She had no inkling of the true meaning behind his gesture.

It was a sign of trust. The old house belonged to him, and by giving her the key, he was granting her access to a part of himself.

She had been free to explore the treasures within, and to his surprise she had unlocked hidden doors within his mind and heart that he had not been aware existed.

He was not a careless fellow, and had not handed out keys to every female who had caught his eye. There was only one other person who had a key, and that was his closest friend.

Norgrave.

Tristan slipped the key into a pocket and he picked up the lamp.

He had no idea how long Imogene had waited alone in the house.

Perhaps she had fallen asleep in the bed they had shared.

Even now, she could be dreaming of their lovemaking.

The notion of waking her from her slumber and slowly loving her with his body quickened his stride as he climbed the stairs.

The rest of the house was cast in shadows so he headed for the bedchamber. A brief glance revealed it was empty.

Where the devil is she?

Concerned, he pushed away his lustful thoughts and began shouting her name.

He heard a soft whimper when he checked the wing that once belonged to his mother.

He rarely used this portion of the house.

Even in his darkest moments of depravity, he had been incapable of desecrating his mother’s possessions.

The door to his mother’s bedchamber was ajar, and the glow of candlelight revealed he had found his errant lover. Relieved by his discovery, a trickle of annoyance crept into his voice when he entered the room.

“Imogene, did you not hear me call your name? The door is unlocked and I thought the worst—” His throat dried when he saw the disheveled state of the room.

There were several overturned chairs and broken glass on the floor.

The bedcovers had been pulled back as if someone had been searching for something.

Careful of the glass, he circled around to the other side of the room where a single lamp burned.

It was then that he saw her huddled on the floor next to the bed.

She had her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands covered her face as she silently sobbed.

“Dear God. Imogene!” He rushed to her side and dropped to his knees.

Imogene had been unaware of his presence until he touched her. He regretted his actions the moment she pulled her hands away from her face and started screaming. She struck out blindly as she shrank away from his hand.

“Imogene, it’s me!” he shouted at her, willing her to look at him. Her dark blue eyes were unfocused and wild. Her scream faded into soft mewling sounds. When he caught her chin to gain her attention, he noticed the ugly bruises on her face. The dried blood at the corners of her mouth.

Someone had hurt her. He blamed himself for not getting to the house quicker. Ignoring her attempts to push him away, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Hush, I’m here,” he whispered over and over as he rocked her like she was a child.

Her body was stiff as he held her. He stroked her back, and took note of every detail.

Imogene had been struck in the face. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her had him seething with the urge to return the favor.

She had been crying, but the swelling near her eyes had nothing to do with her tears.

Her hair looked as if she had pulled out all of the hairpins in haste.

The front of her dress was torn and there were smudges and stains on the fabric that looked like drying blood.

“Did someone break into the house?” he murmured into her tangled hair. She shook her head and continued sobbing. “How badly are you hurt? I need to know, darling. Should I summon a physician to examine you?”

Imogene shuddered in his arms. “No!” she cried. “Just leave me here.”

“Someone must have addled your wits if you think I will abandon you.” She flinched when he kissed the side of her head. “I regret that I am too late to confront your attacker. I came as soon as I saw your message.”

“Why?” She lifted her head and it was then that he noticed the bruises around her neck. “Were you eager to watch him at work or did you expect to find my body?”

The sorrowful shadows in her dark blue eyes revealed the depth of her suffering.

A part of him was desperate to believe Imogene had surprised a thief, but her presence here this evening had been planned.

Her abuser had tricked her and lured her with a message that had not been written by Tristan’s hand.

“Who would I be watching, Imogene? Norgrave or someone else?” he demanded. “I have already deduced he was the reason why you are here. Did you and Norgrave surprise a small band of thieves? Where the devil is he? Is he summoning the watch? Is that why he left you alone?”

His friend had some rough edges, but Tristan could not believe Norgrave was responsible for Imogene’s battered condition. And, if he was innocent, then why had he abandoned her? The watch could have been summoned later. There was nothing in the house that could not be replaced.

Instead of replying, she wiped her eyes with her fingers.

Her hands were bare, but he noticed there was dried blood on them.

He captured her hand and pried open her fingers.

There was a nasty cut on the palm of her hand.

The bleeding had slowed. He retrieved a handkerchief from his waistcoat and placed it over the wound.

“We need to clean it or you will get an infection.”

Imogene shook her head, but she held the handkerchief in place by making a fist.

“I need you to talk to me, darling,” he said, striving for a soothing tone that he didn’t feel.

He was determined to hear the entire ordeal from her lips, even if it took the rest of the night to coax it out of her.

“When I read your note, I knew something was wrong because I didn’t send you a message.

The one you received wasn’t written by my hand.

I could think of only one man who was capable of duplicating my handwriting, but I don’t know the reason behind it. ”

“He told me it was a prank,” she said after a few minutes of silence.

“Who?” She was in his arms, but she might as well have been miles away. “Was it Norgrave?”

Imogene glanced away. “Did you send him? He told me that he was here on your behalf. That… that you sent him because you were finished with me.”

Damn Norgrave’s black soul to perdition!

Tristan’s arms tightened around her. Finished with her?

How could she believe such a lie when she was all he thought about when they were apart?

“Norgrave lied to you, Imogene. I started this affair between us. I damn well would have had the courage to face you if I wanted to end it.”

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement at his anger. He was offended that she thought so little of him.

“The things he said… I thought… I believed…” The color drained from her face.

Imogene was making very little sense. “What did you believe?”

“I let him ruin everything,” she said, more to herself than him. Her face crumpled as she sobbed into her fist. “I did not tell him that I sent a note to your house. If what he told me was true, I did not think it mattered. Is that why you came? You believed his lies, too?”

What lies?

He did not understand exactly what had transpired before his arrival, but the pain and confusion in her voice was breaking his heart.

He picked her up and held her close to his chest as he stood.

“Imogene, love, I have not spoken to Norgrave. How could I? I left town. Remember? You need to be resting on a bed, not—”

Imogene practically strangled him as she wound her arms around his neck. “No! I cannot, please, I cannot.”

Tristan thoughtfully glanced at the bed and the bedchamber.

His initial impression had been that a robbery had taken place and the chamber had been ransacked.

When he imagined his friend alone in the room with Imogene, the confrontation became more intimate and sinister.

His intense gaze lingered on the bedcovers that had been pulled back and were twisted.

The linens were soiled with smudges of blood and other stains he could not identify.

Her bloody gloves had been discarded at the edge of the bed.

Dear God.

“He’s a dead man,” Tristan said. The fury simmering in his gut rose as it threatened to consume him. Imogene had her face nestled against his shoulder as she attempted to hide from him and the devastation of Norgrave’s attack.

Without asking her permission, Tristan carried her out of the bedchamber. He did not need a lamp to find his way to the bedchamber he had shared with Imogene. Grimly, he understood what she was trying to tell him—that she was ruined because of what Norgrave had done to her.

The immoral lice-ridden bastard.

He placed her gently on the bed. When he tried to step away to light a candle, she clung to him.

“Do not leave me!” she begged.