The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) Read Free Page B

haven’t met Lord Randall?”
    “ Lord Randall?” one of the girls repeated.
    “Yes. My friend happens to be a viscount. Does it surprise you?” Andrew made a gesture toward the ladies. “Randall, meet Miss Gibson, Miss Gibson, Miss Tierney and Miss Whitaker.”
    He wasn’t supposed to remember all that, was he? He had hardly been paying attention until he heard Andrew say his name. Introductions and false niceties were of no interest to him. “Hello… ladies.”
    “You’ll have to forgive my friend if he seems antisocial,” Andrew lamented. “Carrying on a conversation with strangers is one of his weak points. Now…” He turned to the redhead with uncontrollably fluttering eyes. “Miss Tierney, I believe we have a dance lined up?”
    Miss Tierney squeaked with delight and grabbed Andrew’s arm. “Of course, Mr. Lamb!” She glanced over her shoulder as he led her away, as if to gloat to her companions.
    With Andrew gone, Lord Randall was left with Misses Gibsons and… what was the other young lady’s name? Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried to recall it. He would have to give Andrew a verbal thrashing for leaving him with three girls, who were obviously very silly. And they were far too young for him. As he glanced at each of them, he decided that none of them could be any older than nineteen. He had no interest in wooing a child.
    Or wooing anyone. He had no talent for flirting.
    “I wish I had someone to dance with,” said one of the Miss Gibsons. “There are never enough young men to dance with.”
    Tristan hoped she wasn’t eyeing him as a prospective partner. He didn’t know why he let Andrew talk him into making an appearance at this dreadful ball. There wasn’t anything he enjoyed about a social gathering like this.
    “What about you, my lord?” the other Miss Gibson tried to bait him. “Do you dance?”
    His stomach was in knots at the thought of leading a girl to the dance floor. “I, um… I’m afraid not, Miss Gibson. As I can hardly walk on my own two feet without stumbling, I would be a very poor partner.”
    “Surely you jest!” Miss Whitaker exclaimed, swatting his arm with her fan. “I’ve never met anyone as clumsy as that.”
    “Until now,” Tristan completed her thought. “Besides, Miss Gibson was asking for young men to dance with, and I’m hardly young.”
    The Gibson girls simultaneously shook their precious blonde heads. He had to admit, they were adorable. As cantankerous as he seemed, Lord Randall wasn’t immune to beauty. “No, my lord! You aren’t old at all!” one of them protested.
    “No! You’re very young!” the other Miss Gibson added. “I’ve danced with men who are much older than you!”
    “Somehow…” he said with a chuckle, “that doesn’t make me feel better.”
    And with that, Lord Randall’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground.

Chapter Three

    “You’re… dying, I’m afraid.”
    As he listened to Andrew utter those words, Tristan wondered why he didn’t see it coming. He had been spending more and more time in his bed, but he didn’t think anything of it. He thought his problem was lethargy, not something lethal. He didn’t think anything like this could happen to him.
    Dying. Him? Himself!
    “Dying,” Tristan repeated the word. “As in… putting me in a box and lowering me to the ground sort of dying?” When he saw Andrew’s quivering lip, he knew it had to be true. “Hmm.”
    Tristan thought about all the signs he somehow managed to ignore. The weakness. The shortness of breath. The dizziness. The palpitations of his heart. He should have guessed something awful was bound to happen to him. “So,” Tristan spoke again, “what exactly is my infirmity?”
    When he spoke, Andrew’s voice was very soft. “I-I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you this. The doctor should be returning shortly. He should be the one to tell you…”
    “You’ve told me enough already,