How the Scoundrel Seduces (22 page)

Like her.

Somehow she must find a way to talk to him again. She couldn’t let him go on thinking she distrusted him because of his bastardy or anything else.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Lisette patted Zoe’s hand.

“I will be.” As soon as she could speak to Tristan.

There must be a way to sneak out of the house and get to Tristan before he went off to see Milosh. She didn’t know what his purpose was in meeting up with his old cohort, but it couldn’t be good. She had to warn him about everything Lisette had said.

And she had to tell him that she understood. That she didn’t blame him for any of it. That she trusted him.

Until she did, she couldn’t rest easy.

♦ ♦ ♦

“A
RE YOU SURE
you won’t need me for anything this evening, Mr. Bonnaud?”

Taking the kettle off the hob, Tristan carried it over to the kitchen table and sat down to dismantle his pistol. “I’ll be fine, Shaw, thank you.”

Skrimshaw cast the pistol a pointed look. “When
Mr. Manton left this evening, he did not tell me you were on a case.”

“I’m not. This is personal.”

“Ah. And dangerous, I take it?”

Tristan began to clean the gun’s parts with boiling water. “Didn’t Shakespeare say, ‘To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace’?”

Skrimshaw’s already florid features turned positively scarlet. “No, sir, he did not. That was said by that American colonial named George Washington.”

Tristan barely smothered his laugh. Tormenting the man was such great fun. “How odd. I could have sworn it was Shakespeare. Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Shaw rolled his eyes. “The only reference to war from the Bard that I remember is ‘He is come to open / The purple testament of bleeding war.’ ” Skrimshaw watched as Tristan poured sand in the pistol barrel and shook it. “I hope that you do not intend to open any such thing while your brother is away.”

“Me? Never.”

That wasn’t entirely true. If Tristan found out anything from Milosh tonight about George, he would happily open a “bleeding war” with his damned half brother. Because he meant to make George rue the day he’d burned that codicil and cast them out of their homes.

Tristan rinsed sand from the barrel with hot water, then set about rubbing dry all the cleaned parts.

Skrimshaw eyed him uncertainly. “Perhaps I should not go to rehearsal.”

“Nonsense.” Tristan glanced at the butler’s worried expression and forced a laugh. “I am merely preparing myself to venture into Lambeth. You know how rough it can be in that part of town. Truly, it’s nothing more than that.”

Skrimshaw’s face cleared. “Ah. Well, in that case, I shall be off. If you have need of me, I’ll be at the theater.”

With a nod, Tristan waved him on his way. He took out the trotter oil to rub down the barrel. The more he rubbed, the more the motion reminded him of his hand guiding Zoe’s this afternoon as she stroked him to—

He broke off with a curse. Damn the wench. Thanks to her, he was getting hard just cleaning a gun.

But he couldn’t help himself. Closing his eyes, he remembered her as she’d looked half-naked, her skirts pulled up, her bodice open . . . and him with his hands all over her. God, how beautifully she’d come apart at his touch. It had been the most erotic experience of his life. He would give anything to repeat it, to hear her soft, mewling cries, feel the sweet, wet silk of her—

The barrel clattered on the table, rousing him from his waking dream.

Scowling, he reached for the pistol lock so he could work trotter oil into it. Yes, she’d come apart . . . and moments later had accused him of using her. Of not doing his job.

Of destroying her hopes for a comfortable marriage to Keane.

So now I get to know what I’ll be missing, and be even more miserable marrying the only choice of husband open to me.

Jaw clenched, he oiled the other pistol parts. All right, perhaps he
had
set out to prove that she deserved better, but he couldn’t regret that.

I can’t marry the man whom I
do
desire, can I? He doesn’t want a wife—and even if he did, it wouldn’t help my situation.

Tristan groaned. She’d meant
him.
And she was right.

The last thing he needed was some female sitting up waiting for him when he was late. Worrying about him. And caring about him and needing him and
wanting
him with that all-consuming hunger that made a man’s breath catch in his throat and his body harden and his soul finally feel at home . . .

Damn her! Now she was getting inside his bloody thoughts and twisting them all around. This was madness. He hadn’t meant for things to go this far with her. He hadn’t meant to start caring about her or, for that matter, what she thought of him.

Yet he did. It bothered him how ready she was to believe he was a conscienceless thief. It annoyed him to have her accusing him of taking her case for ulterior motives.

He sighed. That shouldn’t annoy him, since it was mostly true. He did wish to “hide the truth” and follow his “own plan.” And he supposed he was somewhat guilty of ignoring her search for her Romany mother so he could focus on his own search for Milosh.

But bloody hell, he’d had good reason! Not that he would ever say that to
her
. There was no telling how she would react if he confirmed her suspicions that he’d actually stolen that horse. She, who grew outraged whenever he suggested that her father might have had a mistress!

He was probably right to have told her he’d give her case to Dom. Dom wouldn’t try to seduce her. Dom would be methodical and careful.

Dom didn’t speak Romany.

Gritting his teeth, he reassembled his pistol and filled his powder flask. It didn’t matter. After talking to Milosh tonight, Tristan would speak to every Northern Romany he could find. The least he could do for Zoe was track down Drina. If he had no success, then he and Dom would work together until her mother was found.

He just wouldn’t go anywhere near Zoe in the meantime.

A knock came at the front door.

“Shaw!” he shouted, then remembered the man had left for the theater.

Grumbling, he laid down his pistol and headed for the door. It was 7:00
P.M
., late for someone to be appearing on their doorstep but not entirely unheard of.

He swung the door open, then gave a start to find a hooded figure in an all-enveloping cloak. Beyond the fellow, Tristan could see a tethered mare with what looked like a sidesaddle on her back.

A
sidesaddle
? His gaze shot back to the “fellow,” who
lifted his . . .
her
head just enough for him to see her face. God, it was Zoe. Here. And without Lisette or even that pup Ralph for company.

Jerking her inside, he shut the door. “Have you gone utterly mad? This neighborhood is no place for a lady alone.”

She pushed the hood off her head, and he saw her reddened eyes and nose.

His heart dropped into his belly. “What’s happened?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Is it Keane? Is it your father?”

“No! Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been crying!”

“Oh. That.” She wouldn’t look at him. “That’s only because . . . well . . . I feel dreadful about this afternoon. I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was wrong of me.”

She’d come all this way for that? “Not a bit. You were mostly right. I shouldn’t have pushed you, and I certainly shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation to pursue my own purposes.”

“But now that I understand why you did, I feel awful about the things I said to you. I had no right to accuse you without knowing all the facts.”

His pulse stopped. “What facts?”

“About
why
you stole the horse.” Her gaze met his. “Lisette told me who Milosh is to you. And what your half brother did to you. All of it.”

He gaped at her. Then he exploded. “Bloody, bloody
hell
.” Releasing her, he turned to pace the foyer. “I swear I will take my sister over my knee next time I see her!”

She eyed him warily. “Do you make a habit of such nonsense?”

“Of course not,” he grudgingly admitted. “But I’m sorely tempted to try it. Perhaps then she wouldn’t betray my confidences to clients.”

“Clients. I see.” She hugged herself. “Is that all I am to you then? A client?”

God in heaven, how was he to answer that? He scrubbed one hand over his face. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Her tone grew arch. “I know I’m unfamiliar with general business practices, but I don’t imagine they include kissing and fondling one’s clients.”

“Especially since most of my clients are men,” he quipped.

“Don’t joke,” she said in an aching voice. “Not about that.”

He closed his eyes to blot out the hurt in her face. Damn. Clearly, he’d made a real hash of things this afternoon. He’d made her think he wanted more, and he couldn’t even regret it. He could still feel her convulsing around his finger, hear her wonderful gasps of pleasure . . .

Ruthlessly he fought to regain control over his foolish lust for her, which was rapidly becoming an equally foolish yearning. “Why are you here, Zoe?” he asked sharply. “
How
are you here? Does your family know where you’ve gone?”

A blush stained her cheeks. “Not exactly. They went to Suffolk Street for the premier viewing of my cousin’s work. I convinced them I felt ill from a long day of
shopping in damp weather, so they left me at home with my maid.”

“And you sneaked out of the house.”

Zoe shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. She thought I was asleep. She was downstairs with the other servants, having supper. I’d already told her I didn’t wish to be disturbed, so she won’t go in my room, I assure you.”

He snorted, skeptical that any servant would leave her ill mistress entirely alone.

“So I slipped out,” she went on, “saddled my horse while the grooms were eating, and came here.”

“You rode here. Alone. Halfway across town. With only your cloak for protection from every damned cutthroat who roams the roads.” The image of her being assaulted by some low villain fairly strangled his breath in his throat.

She tipped up her chin. “They’re not roaming at this time of night, not while everyone’s out and about, going to the theater and balls and dinners. I merely joined the rest of the crowd on the streets. I daresay they took me for some servant headed home.”

“Servants do not wear kid gloves.” He bore down on her. “Servants do not ride first-quality mares on fine sidesaddles. Hell, they don’t ride at all. They walk.” When she paled, he bit back an oath. “What was so bloody important that you would risk being murdered for it? And don’t tell me it’s any damned apology, because—”

“I came to stop you from talking to Milosh.”

That was
not
what he’d expected. When he saw that she was serious, he stiffened. “Not a chance in hell.”

She seized his arm. “Please, Tristan, I don’t want to see you hanged just because you want . . . Well, I don’t know what you want with him, but whatever it is, it isn’t worth putting yourself into Lord Rathmoor’s clutches again!”

“Don’t call him that. Lord Rathmoor was my father. George is just the arse who came after him.” Then her words registered fully. “And what in God’s name do you mean about not wanting to see me hanged?”

“Lisette says that Lord Rathmoor’s—George’s—man of affairs, some fellow named Hucker, has been lurking about of late to report everything to his employer. That if you meet up with Milosh and your half brother finds out, he might go after Milosh just to force you into revealing your part in the theft, so you can save your friend.”

“Hell and thunder,” he drawled, “you and Lisette must have had quite the little conversation this afternoon.”

“She’s worried about you!” Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “
I’m
worried about you.”

And she’d come all this way because of it. He didn’t want that to sway him. He didn’t want that to thaw his heart—but it did. How could it not?

He forced a smile. “First of all, Hucker is no longer lurking about. Dom sent him packing days ago.”

“But—”

“Second of all, George has no idea that Milosh was involved.”

“You can’t be sure of that!”

“No, but even if Hucker were here, and even if he tried to follow me, I would know it and I’d get him off my trail. I’ve been eluding men like him for years, sweetheart. And Hucker himself for the past few months. The man is
not
that careful.”

He covered her hand where it still gripped his arm. “Besides, he’s not here, so your worrying is for naught.”

“Tristan, please—”

“I swear I’m not just seeking out Milosh for my own reasons. I mean to find out about Drina, too. You want that, don’t you?”

“Not at the risk to you.”

“I’ll be fine.” He chucked her under the chin. “I have plenty of experience in this. So let me take you home, or as near it as I dare go, and then I’ll head on to Lambeth. Tomorrow, if you can shake off your cousin, I will meet you at Rotten Row and let you know what I learned.”

Her gaze, still clearly anxious, warmed him. “Let me go with you tonight.”

“So you can protect me from the big bad Hucker if he emerges from out of the mist?”

She didn’t smile. “You told me earlier that I couldn’t go because you couldn’t sneak me out of the house. But I already did that. So why
not
take me?”

“Because it will require a few hours, and you’re liable not to arrive home in time to be there before your family returns.”

“Trust me, sneaking into my house is far easier than sneaking out, and no one will know I’ve been gone,
anyway. So even if they do come home, they won’t bother me.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure I would count on that. But even so, Lambeth isn’t the sort of place for a woman at night.”

“Really? You said the Romany were there to sell items to theatergoers. Are none of those theatergoers women?”

“Probably, but—”

“And aren’t you perfectly capable of protecting me?”