Chapter 4

Tristan jumped up into the hack, his brain hazy with exhaustion and his hand throbbing. It served as a painful reminder—watch your hands when working the printing press.

"We need new machines," he snapped, settling into a seat.

"I agree." Ben Bailey, his business partner, sat across from him, his hand free from injury and running through his shaggy blond hair, pulling at his too-long beard. "Wood frame or iron doesn't matter, though, if you're as distracted as you've been all week. You'll still end up mangled." His American accent made the reality of Tristan's distraction all the harsher.

Tristan grunted. Distracted by a single kiss. He'd not thought it would last in his mind past a single afternoon. But seven days later, he could still smell her. Like the salt of the sea on unwashed clothes after returning to land, it dug in and held on. So, too, did she. Lady Andromeda.

He'd barely seen Lady Charlotte after her sister had fled the room. She'd stood there, composed, beautiful, and polite—and a duke's sister, the perfect woman to become the perfect wife.

And as unavailable as her sister. Perhaps more so because Lady Andromeda did seem attached to her suitor, and Lady Charlotte's heart resided in another man's chest. She'd told him about her heart but not the man's name and had asked him to keep her secret.

How could he not? And how could he force a courtship on a woman in love with another man? He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Besides, she was wrong for Alex. Her expression admitted no nonsense. She would not put up with Alex's nonsense. She'd scowl the precocious roguishness out of him. But Alex might not need scowling. He received enough of that from Tristan. Likely, he needed softness to counter Tristan's hard edges.

Lady Andromeda, though… she'd been brimming with dreamy softness, an unexpectedly alluring quality. As soon as he'd had her yes, what he'd thought had been a yes, he'd needed his lips against hers. It had seemed the most natural next step in the world.

A misstep.

One he'd thoroughly enjoyed.

He was likely damned to hell for enjoying it, for taking it. He'd acted the rogue, acted like his father, taking a lady whenever he wished, no matter what they wanted, no matter who they belonged to. Guilt weighed on him like the frame of the old press had earlier weighed on his fingers. He needed to be better, do better. For Alex.

If they'd been caught, they'd be engaged. It had only been a kiss, but kisses, especially when they were with innocent, unmarried ladies, mattered to these people. And Alex was one of them by birth and by title.

Why in hell must the ton be so difficult to navigate? Surviving squalls at sea was easier than navigating the peerage sometimes. Especially when you were a part of them. But not. Like him.

"Coming to Frederick's?" Ben asked as the hack slowed.

"No. Back to Wimpole Street for me. Alex is alone but for his tutor, and I begin to think the man handles Latin better than deviant young boys. Give Clearford and Noble my regards. Perhaps next week."

Ben laughed, stepping onto the street before their favorite coffeehouse and closing the hack door before the conveyance rumbled off toward Tristan's home. Soon, he pushed through the front door of his townhouse and… was that yelling from the drawing room? He took off, sliding on the polished wood flooring as he rounded the corner and skidded to a stop in the doorway. "Lady Eldridge?"

Alex's aunt stood in the middle of the room, cheeks red with rage, hands fisted at her sides. Gray, trembling curls at the side of her face gave way to hair a pale brown at the chignon, the same shade Katherine's hair had been before her death. Her eyes were the same pale brown as Katherine's, too. They lacked, however, the warmth and humor Tristan's stepmother's eyes had always possessed. So similar in appearance, the sisters were so different in spirit.

Lady Eldridge pointed a gloved finger at Alex. "That is unacceptable!"

Alex stood like a statue near the window, what appeared to be shredded paper clutched in his hands.

Tristan strode across the room, wanting to snap the paper up, but hesitating when he saw the boy's glassy eyes. He shook out his fists and held out a palm. "May I see? What's happened?"

"She tore it." He handed the bits of paper over.

Tristan fit them together at the ripped edge, an unnecessary action. He knew what image the paper held before the edges were fit together. "Alex, where did you get this?"

"Drew it myself." And he fluffed up with pride, even though he flashed a wary glance at his aunt.

"Have I never told you not to draw naked ladies?" He'd clearly drawn a woman, though the proportions were off. Either he simply had no skill for drawing, or he had never seen a naked woman in life. Likely both were true. The breasts were more where her shoulders should be, and there seemed to be a … a cat between her legs, which were of disparate lengths?

"You haven't," Alex chirped.

"Well, ahem, consider that a new rule. No drawing naked ladies."

Lady Eldridge shuffled their way. "I asked him what he was learning, and that's what he showed me. Is that the kind of tutor you've hired?"

"My lady, I am more likely to be run over by a stampeding herd of unicorns before Mr. Clasky would draw something like that. I'm not sure he knows women's clothes come off."

Lady Eldridge gasped. As if the fact were new to her, too. "You must control him better."

Alex leaned in and whispered, "Are you going to give that back?" He nodded at the paper.

"No."

"Rats." But then his brow cleared of storm clouds. Likely because he'd realized if he'd drawn the one in Tristan's hand, he could simply draw another.

Tristan shoved a hand through his hair. "I cannot control his actions when I'm working, madam."

"Where is his tutor?"

Excellent question. "Alex, where is your tutor?"

"I don't need Mr. Clasky anymore. I, ah, pay him to leave me alone. Every day."

"You what?" Tristan and Lady Eldridge said together.

"He's horrid company, King," Alex whined. "Please don't make me scrub the floors."

"Scrub the floors?" Lady Eldridge screeched. "He's an earl!"

"He's thirteen, and he needs to learn some discipline. And I only did that once. And he'd messed the floors to begin with."

Alex chuckled. "Butter is an excellent way to slick a surface."

"And why would you need to slick the floors?" Lady Eldridge asked.

"Don't ask him that." Tristan groaned.

"Bare bums slide better that way." Alex grinned. "Only took five seconds to get from the back of the hallway to the front.

Tristan prayed for the floor to open up and swallow him, or a strong wind to whip open the windows and scoop Lady Eldridge up, so he didn't have to watch her sputter with righteous indignation anymore.

"We made a rule against sliding about the floors with butter," Tristan assured her. "You don't know what rules you need to make until you… need to make them."

The lady's sputtering stopped with a snap of her teeth. "This is insupportable. I knew when you were named guardian that it was a mistake. Your father made one mistake after another. First in tupping an Italian whore when he was married to my sister. Then in letting you in the house and raising you alongside his heir. Then in naming a bastard as Avelford's guardian. But I'll not stand for it. My family has been insulted one too many times, and this boy needs a proper upbringing."

The air thickened like putrid pudding, and Tristan's leg turned heavy as stone. But he lifted them anyway, dragging each lumpy, thick pull of air into his lungs as he approached the dragon spewing acid fire in his drawing room.

"Lady Eldridge, there is no need for this. Things have been difficult for Alex, and I have been too busy to keep a proper eye on him. I recently bought a new paper, and it's a shambles. But…" His heart felt squeezed tight as if in a vice, and he dared not look at the curiously silent Alex.

"No buts. You should not be guardian!" She stamped her foot and stabbed the tip of her parasol into the floor, and the entire house seemed to shake.

"King…" Alex stood right next to him no, his head almost reaching to Tristan's shoulder. "What does she mean?"

Alex's eyes swam. He'd not seen the boy cry once since their father's death. The man had been a wastrel, but he'd never hurt them. Left them to each other and their own devices. The best good thing that had ever happened to Tristan. He'd been eighteen when Alex had been born and three and twenty when Katherine had passed away. He'd tried from that moment to be home as much as he could, to keep Alex safe, and to make sure he knew he wasn't alone. No matter how little his father took notice of him, and no matter how alone he might feel at times. With mothers dead and his father useless, they only had each other.

Alex looked lonely now. Worse than that. Terrified.

Tristan shook his head, tried to say without words that no one would take Alex away, and then he said the first thing he could think of to convince Lady Eldridge she was wrong.

"I plan to marry."

Alex swiped at his eyes, blinked a few times, and then curiosity replaced the gleam of tears. "Truly? Marry?"

"Another newspaperman's daughter?" Lady Eldridge asked.

"A duke's sister," Tristan said. Without wincing. A miracle, that. "Once I'm wed, there will be someone home to monitor Alex and his studies until he's ready to return to school."

Lady Eldridge barked a laugh. "A duke's sister? You? My, but you think highly of yourself."

"He should!" Alex's voice echoed sharp about the room, a tiny dagger slicing his aunt's laughter in two.

Tristan clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Thank you, Alex, for your faith in me. Lady Eldridge, I am Alex's legal guardian, and even if you sue through the Chancery, when they see whose family I've aligned myself with through marriage, you'll be highly unlikely to win."

Lady Eldridge's cheeks puffed; she huffed. If she had feathers, they'd be ruffled and fluffing out. He expected her to cluck, but she stormed out instead. Thank God.

After several breaths in which Tristan wished to collapse onto the floor, he wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him out of the drawing room. "Come on, then."

"Where are we going?"

"You are going to the library to read something educational, and I'm going to fire your tutor. And then see about hiring someone more difficult to bribe. Perhaps I should send you back to school."

"No! I want to stay here with you."

Tristan swung them both to a stop and held his brother's gaze. He wanted the boy to stay, too. "Then you need to consider each of your actions carefully. Because your aunt is not the type of woman to lie about her intentions. If she says she'll challenge my position as your guardian, she will. Do you understand?"

Alex rolled his lips between his teeth and nodded as he broke the hold Tristan had on him. "I understand. But you're marrying! That will help. When can I meet her? Who is she? Is she pretty?" He waggled his eyebrows. "She has to be if you've got your eye on her. Does she have big—"

"Alex!" Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'll meet her soon, and whatever you were about to say, do not even think it. Do you understand?"

"Do you understand?" the boy mimicked. "Why do you always ask me that?"

"Because your good sense seems to be lacking."

Alex poked his tongue out at him.

"Go to my study." No liquor in there. No drawing implements. No cheroots because Tristan did not smoke. Unless Alex climbed out the window—a distinct possibility—he'd be safe from juvenile vice for a little bit at least.

Alex disappeared down the hall and into the study, and Tristan took the stairs to the room on the first floor where Mr. Clasky conducted his lessons. Was supposed to conduct his lessons.

Tristan threw open the door, and the man, his wispy hair sticking up around his ears, ripped his feet off the table and onto the floor. He sat up straight, blinking like an owl and trying to hide the book. Tristan waited while the book failed to fit in the man's waistcoat, behind his back, under his arm, and he finally gave up and sat on it.

"Mr. Clasky," Tristan said. "You are released from your duties. I think you know why."

The tutor sighed, snapped his fingers. "Curse it. I do. I'll pack my things." He stood cracking his back. "Can I keep the blunt he gave me?"

"Why the hell not? You did what you were paid to do, after all. And you won't be getting a reference."

Mr. Clasky scowled, but Tristan wouldn't argue further. He found his chamber and collapsed onto the bed. Curse it was right. He'd told Clearford in no uncertain terms that he could not court Lady Charlotte. He'd have to now, though, because Lady Eldridge believed he planned to marry a duke's sister. Alex depended on him to fulfill that promise.

The chit loved another man. He shivered. Couldn't imagine kissing her for that reason and others. She just didn't appeal, despite her obvious beauty.

Not like Lady Andromeda did. If Lady Andromeda were available…

Strange, but she felt available. When she'd spoken of her betrothed, she'd not spoken of emotions but of traits. Vague traits at that, as if she had no intimate knowledge of Lord Bashton's person.

Perhaps she didn't. Clearford had said the relationship had taken place entirely through the mail. Tristan sat up and found the ledger, the Guide that Clearford had shoved into his hands before Tristan had left his study the day of the kiss. Inside was a loose sheet of paper with an agenda—date and times Lady Charlotte would be accepting suitors. Clearford clearly expected Tristan to change his mind.

And he had. No choice now.

But not Lady Charlotte.

None of the marriageable sisters, either. Too young. He'd not even shared a single word with any of them.

Besides, some things just felt right, unavoidable, like when the weather shifted at sea, and you knew a storm approached. Or when the battle turned, and you understood who would win. Some things could be predicted in the bones. Business propositions he'd known would make him wealthy.

Lady Andromeda claimed to be as unavailable as Lady Charlotte. But there in his bones—a prediction. She would make him a wealthy man. Not in pounds. Who cared about her dowry? She'd make him wealthy in gentle softness toward his brother, in practical attitudes toward bastards, and in kisses.

A man could not argue with a kiss like the one he'd shared with Lady Andromeda. Sweet perfection. Tristan desired Andromeda. Had they not kissed, perhaps he would feel differently. He'd kissed her, and a gentleman did not share such intimacies with women he did not plan to wed. In a way, he'd ruined her—some very prudish people were bound to think so at least—and he must have her now.

And Alex needed her.

Clearford had told him not to court her, but he'd also lectured him on making sure to woo the right woman.

Lady Andromeda was the right woman.

Tristan perused the schedule Clearford had given him. The sisters, it seemed, would be at home to callers tomorrow. Excellent. Once he'd decided to take action, waiting became torture. He'd start tomorrow, then. No. The guide felt heavy in his hands. He'd start today. Studying, planning, at least. He flipped its pages until he reached the scarcely marked title page for what appeared to be the second chapter. It read:

Lesson Two:

Comparison is necessary, and competition is good.

Competition. With a man who lived in Cornwall? Nothing easier.