Courting the Country Miss by Donna Hatch

Author:Donna Hatch [Hatch, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romance, historical, regency
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2017-01-10T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Tristan awoke, disoriented. His head throbbed. How much had he had to drink last night? He hadn’t been this jug-bitten in…how long?

No, wait; he lay in his old room at Averston House in London. He’d know those bed curtains anywhere. Mother always liked fleur-de-lis. What had he drunk last night? He felt like a horse had trampled him.

Not a horse. A race. An accident. A fall.

The death of a friend.

He closed his eyes, willing himself back into oblivion, but remained awake. Heavy breathing next to him caught his attention. To his right, Richard lay curled up next to him, almost touching Tristan’s shoulder. Funny, how he always thought Richard would sleep on his back like some kind of monarch, not curled up like a child. Elizabeth slept on a chair next to the bed.

Off to the left, someone sighed. Tristan turned to that side. Pain spiked at the motion. Leticia sat in a chair scooted up to the bed, the upper half of her body resting on the mattress next to him, her head lying on her arm, her hand resting on his stomach. Her relaxed face reminded him of a painting of an angel. Her perfect rosebud lips parted as if she awaited a kiss.

He relived their kiss, shocking in its sweetness. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to repeat that act. The next time, he wouldn’t surprise her with it. He’d woo her and kiss her when he was sure she wanted it. She may not want it now, but he’d pursue her until she did. And he’d do a proper job of it next time.

She said she’d had better kisses. Well, he’d make sure she got better—from him.

Whom had she kissed? The thought nagged at him but he shut it down. It didn’t matter. He’d make sure their next would convince her she never wanted one from another man.

The old Tristan waited for beautiful, experienced widows to pursue him and offer themselves to him. The new Tristan would do the pursuing. He would court Leticia. He’d be proper and persistent until she said yes.

A bolt of alarm shot through him. Say yes to what? More than a kiss, surely. But what? Marriage? Good heavens, did he truly contemplate marriage? He stumbled over that thought.

If he ever were to marry, Leticia would be the one he’d want for a wife. She had been the one constant in his life, next to Richard. Tristan liked Leticia. He trusted her. She’d be a faithful and loving companion.

With one finger, he traced the curve of her cheek, admiring the perfection of her ivory skin like a finely-crafted porcelain figurine created to portray an angel. He ached to encircle her with his arms, to guide her head in the hollow of his shoulder, feel the length of her body against him, love her as a man loves a woman.

He loved her. He loved Leticia.

All those other women had been small, pencil sketches compared to the real, larger-than-life, living color of Leticia.

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