How the Scoundrel Seduces (19 page)

“Careful now,” his sister said archly. “This child will be your niece or nephew, so you should be nicer to me.”

That practically knocked his feet out from under him. He’d been thinking of the baby as Lisette’s child, not as
his
niece or nephew. This would be the first baby born to the three siblings. Hell, the first baby born to all four of them, since George hadn’t managed to spawn any children with his wife, either.

Why did the thought of having a niece or nephew bother him? He liked children well enough when he had dealings with them, which wasn’t often. But a baby who looked up to him as an uncle, who might turn to him for advice or comfort or . . . or anything . . . That was another matter entirely.

“Well?” Zoe asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He glanced over at her, still wrestling with the idea that he would soon be an uncle. “Well what?”

She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Why haven’t you mentioned Milosh before? Why didn’t you say you had a friend who was a Yorkshire Romany who might shed light on my case?”

Damn, but the woman never let anything go. “Because I didn’t know he was in London, all right? I didn’t know
where
he was.” That was true, at least.

“But that Gypsy boy said that you’d asked about Milosh before we even arrived, so you clearly came here intending to look for him.”

They’d nearly reached the coach. Just a few more feet. “Honestly, you’re making far too much of this.”

“Am I? Your sister mentioned George. Does this have anything to do with the rumors that you stole a horse from your half brother years ago?”

Christ in heaven. How had he managed to forget her mentioning that earlier? And what the hell was he supposed to tell her? He had to tell her something.

Both women looked expectantly at him. Meanwhile, a pack of boys and girls were descending on them, waving neckerchiefs and clamoring to be heard. He’d forgotten about his bargain with them, too.

That tore it.

“Quiet!” he shouted, cowing even the Romany children. He scowled at his sister. “Since you’re ‘famished,’ I suggest you go to that cookshop nearby and get something to assuage your hunger. Stay as long as you please. Zoe and I have a few things to discuss, and we need time alone to do so.”

“But—” Lisette began.

“I’m not arguing this with you, damn it! Give us an hour to talk, and I swear you can have her back.”

“It’s fine, Lisette,” Zoe put in. “And he’s right—I do need to talk to him in private, if you don’t mind.”

Lisette looked wary. “Well, if you’re sure . . .”

“I’m sure. Come back in an hour, all right?” Zoe’s gaze dropped to Lisette’s belly, and a wistful look crossed her face. “Go feed that child.”

With a nod, Lisette headed for the coach. As soon as it drove off, the children began waving strips of fabric at Zoe.

Tristan growled, “Choose a damn neckerchief, so we can be done with them.”

“You don’t have to curse at me.” After scanning the array, she picked one with pink spots. “For Lisette’s baby,” she explained as the ruby-cheeked girl on the other end of it beamed at her and chattered madly to Tristan.

Mention of the baby made his gut knot, and he wasn’t even sure why. Ignoring that disturbing reaction, he gave the girl a large handful of coins. The others started clamoring again, but he told them he had no more money. That did the trick and they wandered off.

Except for the boy who’d sent them packing from the old Gypsy woman’s house. Tristan hadn’t seen him join the group. “Have you got any more news for us?” Tristan asked. “Did your aunt tell you anything about Drina?”

“Forgive me, no. But about Milosh, I found this . . .” The lad handed over a crumpled piece of paper. Tristan
opened it to find a sketch of a tilted cart much like one Milosh’s family used to travel in.

The boy pointed to a stylized picture of a saddle painted on one side. “This is for the Corrie family. If you go to Lambeth, look for this, and you will find Milosh.”

“Thank you,” Tristan said. “That will help immensely.”

“Yes, thank you,” Zoe said. A cold wind swept them, and she shivered.

“One more thing, lad,” Tristan said. “Is there somewhere my lady and I can go to warm up? A place with a fire, and perhaps some food?”

The boy cast Zoe an uncertain glance, then nodded. “This way.” He began walking back to the row of houses.

“Whose house is this?” Tristan asked as the lad opened the door and ushered them into an empty parlor of sorts, furnished much the same as the other one. “And where are the residents?”

“It’s my family’s. Father leased it from the owner of this field for three months. All the women are next door just now, and the men went to another town for work, so you and your lady may use it if you please.”

The lad pointed to a basket near the hearth, then held out his hand. “For a shilling, you may have bread and cheese.”

“We’ll take it, thank you,” Tristan said, handing him the coin.

While the boy made up the fire in the hearth, Tristan removed his hat and gloves and tossed them
onto a cushion. Following his lead, Zoe did the same, but with the prim little motions of any princess.

As soon as the fire was roaring, the lad headed for the door. “I must see to my auntie.”

“Thank you,” Tristan said.

The boy paused in the doorway. “You and your wife may stay as long as you need.”

“Oh, but I’m—” Zoe began.

“We won’t be long,” Tristan said hastily. “Thank you again.”

With a nod, the lad left. As soon as he was gone, Tristan said, “You mustn’t tell him we aren’t married. The Romany are stricter than the English when it comes to men and women. They would never allow us to be alone together if they knew you were unmarried. Understood?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

Fetching the basket of food, he fished out hunks of bread and cheese and handed them to her. She began to devour them as if she hadn’t seen food in days.

Tristan had never watched her eat before, and she did it with such lusty enjoyment that he couldn’t tear his gaze from the surprisingly erotic sight. God only knew what else she would do lustily.

When that errant thought made him harden, he stifled an oath. That was
not
why they’d come in here.

He got right to the point. “I need to know where you heard the rumor about my being a horse thief.”

She concentrated on tearing more bread off the loaf. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s not widely known, and certainly not in London. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“So it’s true, then?”

Hell and thunder. “It’s not that simple. And it has naught to do with you. Or this case.”

Her face clouded over. Walking to the fire, she threw the remainder of her bread and cheese into it. “That’s not entirely accurate, is it?” She dusted off her hands. “It has to do with Milosh, and you keep saying Milosh is part of this case.”

He could cheerfully have throttled his sister for making the connection between Milosh and Blue Blazes. “Who told you about the horse, Zoe?”

“I’m not even sure that—”

“
Who told you,
damn it?”

She turned from the fire to stare at him. “My cousin.” When Tristan let out a low oath, she added hastily, “He got it from Papa, who said he heard it years ago. Winborough and Rathmoor Park aren’t that far apart, after all.”

True, but Dom had said there was no indication that Tristan’s desperate act was bandied about in Yorkshire. Supposedly George had used his influence to keep the theft quiet to avoid a family scandal. But the arse had damned well kept the arrest warrant in place, until Max had forced him to relinquish it.

And he probably hadn’t bothered to squelch the servant gossip, which might explain how her father had learned of it.

“What
exactly
did your father say?”

“I don’t know.” When Tristan snorted, she said,
“Honestly, I don’t! I haven’t had a chance to talk to Papa about it yet. He was still sleeping when I left this morning. So I only know what Jeremy related while we were dancing last night.”

“Jeremy?” The unfamiliar tightness in his chest fired his temper. “Now you’re calling your cousin
Jeremy
? How cozy.”

She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “He’s my cousin. We’re allowed to be cozy.”

“Yes, indeed you are.” Dropping the basket, he came toward her. “Has it occurred to you that he has good reason to be saying nasty things about me?” And why the devil hadn’t the man mentioned it to
him
in all their drunken wanderings last night?

“It wasn’t like that,” she protested. “My cousin merely said that Papa had warned him not to be chummy with you because of your . . . past.”

“Which included stealing a horse.”

“Yes.” She stared him down.

“And you, of course, weren’t a bit surprised to hear tales of my career as a thief,” he snapped, his stomach roiling.

“Actually, I
was
surprised. I found it highly unlikely that either the French secret police or your brother would have hired a thief to do investigations.”

He breathed a little easier. A very little easier. “So why mention it?”

“Because I wanted to know the truth, of course. After seeing you pretend to be a thief for a case once before, I assumed that . . . perhaps this was the same.”

The fact that she’d given him the benefit of the
doubt set him back on his heels. Until something occurred to him.

Coming up to her, he said, “I would almost believe that, if not for how you threw the words at me so accusingly.”

“What do you expect, when you provoke me at every turn?” Her eyes glittered at him. “When I call you a rogue, you take it as a compliment, and when I call you a seducer, you freely acknowledge it. It’s . . . It’s . . .”

“Annoying?”

“Unseemly.”

Startled, he let out a laugh. “
Unseemly?
I don’t believe I’ve ever been insulted with such a milksop word before. It’s a bit like the opposite of ‘damning with faint praise’—you’re praising with faint damnation.”

He circled her slowly. “And I notice that you have no such damning words for your cousin, who talks freely of brothels and gaming hells before a lady and who is still abed after his exertions last night. While
I,
the ‘unseemly’ rogue and seducer, am here, trying to help you.”

His temper was starting to ebb, replaced by a fierce awareness of the fact that they were alone. That she was darting uncertain looks at him even as her cheeks grew pink beneath his stare.

Something decidedly wicked roared to life inside him.

She must have sensed it, for she rubbed her arms nervously. “It’s not the same with Jeremy. He’s American.
He doesn’t know any better.” Her gaze met his. “You do. And you’re the one who took him to the brothel in the first place.”

“Because he asked me to.” He halted mere inches from her. All the air seemed to have been sucked from the room, for he could hardly breathe with her this close. “But I didn’t stay.”

Rank suspicion showed in her lovely features. “Of course not.” Turning away, she headed for the door. “You would never go to a brothel, never consort with whores—”

“I swear I didn’t last night.” When she reached for the door handle, he strode up behind her to draw her back against him until her fine arse was anchored against his rapidly thickening flesh. “Do you want to know why?”

“No,” she whispered, though she didn’t pull away when he started kissing her neck.

“Because when I saw the women ranged in the windows, when I saw their calculating looks, assessing my purse . . . and other things, I realized I didn’t want any of them in my bed.”

Her breath quickened, and suddenly he couldn’t be cautious anymore. Not with her. Not when her violet scent swamped him and her soft body was curving into his, hardening him to stone.

“That’s why I left, princess,” he rasped. “Because I realized it was you I wanted in my bed. Only you.”

12

Z
OE
’
S PULSE JUMPED
into a gallop. He wanted “only her”—in his bed. Not in his life, or as his wife, or anything acceptable. Oh no. In his
bed
.

As if to emphasize that, he pulled her back against him, let her feel the thick rod between his legs, and she gasped. She knew how men joined with women, because she’d seen the beasts in heat on her estate—the rams with their ewes and the stallions mounting their mares.

But this was different. Feeling his flesh harden against her fed her vanity, oddly enough. All those beautiful women he’d been with . . . yet he wanted this with her?

No matter how much she reminded herself he was only satisfying a physical need, she still exulted that he wanted to satisfy it with
her.
At least he was honest about it. He wasn’t pretending to want marriage.

What else could she expect from an unrepentant rogue, anyway? “It doesn’t matter what you want,” she lied. “It doesn’t even matter what
I
want.”

“It matters to me.” He splayed his hand over her belly, startling a hot rush of need through her, and she thought she would evaporate into steam right there. “Don’t,” she whispered, the word more a desperate request than a command. “Please, Tristan, don’t . . .”