How the Scoundrel Seduces (32 page)

At last his lordship broke the silence again. “Tell me about this John Hucker.”

Tristan seized eagerly on the change of topic. “John Hucker does all the dirty work for my half brother. If George told him to cover himself in paint, he would ask what color.”

“So he’s a toady.”

Tristan thought a moment. “I suppose you could say that.” Apart from what Hucker seemed to have done to Drina, he’d never set out to commit any villainy on his own, to the best of Tristan’s knowledge. It had always been at George’s behest. Odd how Tristan had never thought of it that way.

“Regardless,” Tristan went on, “he’s a nasty piece of work.”

“Would he beat a woman bearing his child, though? That’s the question.”

“Perhaps. Honestly, I’m not sure. He was a decent fellow once, before George molded him in his own image.”

“Ah.”

Tristan spent the rest of the trip telling Lord Olivier everything he could remember about Hucker. And the more he talked, the more he realized how firmly George had put his stamp on the man. That didn’t bode well for any chance of talking Hucker into keeping silent. They would
have
to convince Milosh to do so.

They’d nearly reached the winter lodgings in Battersea that Milosh had taken for his family when his lordship asked, “Given your dire history with Hucker, does it bother you that Zoe is probably his daughter?”

Zoe had seemed to think that it should. How odd that it didn’t.

“No.” He smiled at the earl. “Zoe may have Hucker’s blood, but she’s
your
daughter in character. And that’s all that matters.”

When his lordship’s face lit up he was glad he’d said it, not only because it was true, but because the earl so clearly wanted it to be true.

A few moments later, Tristan was climbing down from the coach to knock on the door to the Corries’ temporary residence. It took some time to roust anyone, but when he did, it wasn’t Milosh who opened the door, but Milosh’s wife.

“You!” she spat as soon as she saw him.

She tried to close the door, but Tristan blocked it with his foot. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Mrs. Corrie,” Tristan said in English, for his lordship’s benefit, “but I wish to speak to your husband.”

Her gaze flicked to the well-appointed coach-and-four and her agitation became more palpable as his lordship stepped down to stand behind Tristan. The Romany did not have a good history with fine lords.

Tristan moved to block her sight of Lord Olivier. “Mrs. Corrie? Your husband?”

At last she returned her attention to Tristan. “He’s not here,” she said in Romany. “Thanks to you, he’s gone.”

“Gone!” Tristan exclaimed. “At this hour?”

“Gone where?” Lord Olivier demanded.

Tensing, she switched to a heavily accented English. “To the north.”

Tristan’s heart dropped into his stomach. “He went after Hucker anyway.”

“Aye. He said he had to ‘avenge’ his sister. That he would beat the
beng
until Hucker tells the truth.”

“Hell and thunder.” Tristan sympathized with Milosh, but beating the “devil” would only make matters worse. “He promised he wouldn’t.”

“Aye.” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “He promised me the same. For a short while. But the idea of his sister being hurt by that man preyed and preyed on his mind until he could not bear it.”

Lord Olivier released a breath. “How long has he been gone?”

“Since midnight,” she said. “He took our best horse and rode off in a temper.”

“We have to stop him,” his lordship murmured. “If he goes blundering into this, who knows what will happen?”

“I agree.” Pasting a smile on his face for Mrs. Corrie, Tristan dug one of Dom’s calling cards out of his coat pocket. “If he should happen to return soon, please ask him to come to this address.” He handed it to her, along with a gold sovereign. “For your trouble.”

Her eyes widened, and her stance became a trifle less defensive. “He took the Great North Road.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.
Parrakro
.”

She nodded in response to his thanks. “
Latcho drom. Baksheesh! 
”

After she disappeared into the house, his lordship climbed back into the coach. “What did she say?”

“She wished us good fortune and a safe journey.” Tristan leapt in and ordered the coachman to drive on. “I daresay she wants us to catch her husband as much as we want to. She has to know what Hucker is capable of.”

They headed back toward Mayfair.

“So, you’ll be going on a trip up north, I assume,” his lordship said.

Tristan nodded. “If I take Dom’s carriage, I shouldn’t have any trouble catching up to Milosh. He’ll assume we won’t know of his absence, so he won’t be traveling at breakneck speed. And the Romany don’t go by post; they don’t trust their horses to innkeepers. So he’ll have to travel more slowly, thank God.”

“Take my carriage and my rig,” Lord Olivier said. “They’ve got to be faster than anything your brother owns.”

“I can certainly attest to that.”

“And you’ll pass near Winborough on your way, so you can stop in there to change horses. I’ll write a letter for you to give to my estate manager.”

“Thank you.” Tristan hesitated before broaching a delicate subject. “But there won’t be a need for the letter. Because I mean to have Zoe with me.”

“Why?” The sharp word bit into the darkness.

“Milosh will listen to her, if he won’t listen to me. He only initially promised to keep quiet because she begged him. He has a soft spot for her—he says she’s the very picture of his sister. Assuming we catch up to him before he reaches Rathmoor Park, she will be most able to sway him.”

His lordship pondered that in silence, then thrust out his hoary chin. “Then I will be going with you as well.”

“My lord, this will be a long, hard journey.” When
Lord Olivier glared at him, Tristan added hastily, “And if you’re worried about a chaperone, I also mean to take Dom. His status as Father’s younger son still has weight up there. Besides, he knows those roads better than I, having spent more years traveling them. Surely you will feel safe having both of us with her.”

“An excellent idea, but that doesn’t change my decision. You are not taking my daughter off with you unless I go, too.” He set his shoulders. “You’re not married to her yet, lad.”

Lad? He nearly laughed. No one had called him “lad” in some years. But given his lordship’s advanced age, it wasn’t that surprising. And much as Tristan disliked the idea of dragging both Keanes along, he also understood the man’s reasoning. This past hour or two wouldn’t have undone the years of rumor and innuendo that had probably biased Lord Olivier against him.

“Very well, the four of us will go together.” Tristan shot the man a warning glance. “But there’s no time to waste.”

“I agree. You should go on to your brother’s once we reach home, while I prepare for the trip. As soon as you return with him, we’ll set off.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan.”

This time their silence was less fraught with tension. They reached Mayfair, and his lordship said, “I have one more question for you. We will speak of it once and never again.”

Tristan suppressed a groan. What could the man possibly want to know now? “All right.”

“Was tonight your first . . . that is . . . have you and my daughter been . . .” He uttered a pained sigh. “Is there any reason I should rush the wedding?”

God, what a question. “It was our first . . . encounter of that kind.” He could feel the heat rising in his face. He’d never thought he’d need to have such a conversation with a woman’s father. “So I should think we could wait, say, a month or so for the wedding.”

Her father’s stiff demeanor softened a fraction. “Good, that’s good. I hadn’t really given the matter of her actual wedding any thought before. She’s never shown much interest in marrying anyone.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that.”

Indeed, it was the one thing that worried him. What was the real reason she was willing to marry him?

22

I
T WAS BARELY
dawn and Zoe had joined her father in his study only twenty minutes ago. But it felt as if she’d been waiting for Tristan and Mr. Manton
forever
, and she couldn’t keep still.

Thank heaven Aunt Flo and Jeremy were abed and had no inkling of what was going on. At the moment, she couldn’t deal with the questions and concerns they were bound to have, or with parrying her cousin’s quips. She’d left a long note for both of them. That should suffice.

She paced to the window to look out yet again. “You don’t think Mr. Manton and Tristan went on without us, do you?”

“I doubt it.” Papa packed some papers into a satchel. “After all, it was your fiancé who insisted that you go along.”

Her fiancé. What a lovely word. She’d never expected to like it quite so well.

“You’ve packed everything you need?” Papa asked.

“Yes.” She strained to see through the morning fog. Were there two men on horseback over there?

No. Only a dustman with a cart. She sighed.

“Tell me something, girl,” Papa said. “Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”

“Of course! Uncle Milosh is—” She winced. “I mean, Mr. Corrie—”

“It’s all right,” Papa said in a surprisingly calm voice. “He
is
your uncle.”

“Whom I can never acknowledge as such publicly.”

“Not if you want to continue as my heir.” Papa came over to her. “But the quest for Mr. Corrie was not what I was referring to.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to marry Bonnaud?”

She eyed him askance. “It’s not as if I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. I meant it earlier when I said I wanted you to choose your husband free of worry. I don’t wish to see you forced into marriage to a man you don’t love.”

Sudden tears stung her eyes. She turned her head to keep him from seeing them. “I
want
to marry Tristan. Truly, I do.”

“But do you love him?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” After Tristan and Papa had ridden off to visit Milosh, she’d had plenty of time to think about it. And she knew now without question that she loved Tristan.

She loved his flirting . . . and his taunting. She loved how he called her “princess.” She loved that he had dreams of a future beyond his expectation. Most
of all, she loved that he understood her—from her ambivalence about being a bastard to her love of the land.

How could she not love him?

She wasn’t sure when it had begun, but her feelings had solidified when he’d stood with her against her family, trying to calm Papa’s anger, demanding answers on her behalf, behaving exactly how she’d always hoped her husband might.

Now her feelings were as firm as the cobblestones of the street below.

“Have you told him?” Papa asked.

She wrapped her arms about her waist. “No. And I don’t intend to anytime soon.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I don’t know if he loves
me.
He once said love was an impossible dream, and if he still believes that, I don’t think I can bear to hear it. I’d rather just go on praying that he will come around someday.”

“It’s not like you to be a coward.”

She ventured a smile. “It’s not like me to sneak around behind my father’s back, either, but I did.”

For a second, she saw a flash of the Major, all stiff upper lip and bristly manner. Then he sighed, and his gaze transformed to that of a worried parent. “My dear girl, can you bear marrying the man without knowing if he loves you?”

“I can bear that better than living without him,” she said truthfully.

Papa looked as if he might say something more,
but then a pair of horses came into view, being ridden neck-or-nothing down Berkeley Street, and they realized Tristan and Mr. Manton were approaching.

Quickly, Papa turned from the window, strode back to his desk, and pulled out some sort of case, which he shoved into his satchel.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“My pistols. We may need them.”

“Lord, I hope not,” she muttered as she followed him out of the room. Shooting people could get even an earl into serious trouble.

A short while later, the four of them headed off in Papa’s spacious traveling coach, which wasn’t quite so spacious with three tall and sturdily built men taking up all the room. This was going to be a very long trip indeed. Especially with what hung over them.

Determined to take her mind off what might happen if they didn’t get to Milosh in time, she dragged the latest copy of the
Gardener’s Magazine
out of her bag and tried to read.

“You might like the article about using goats to keep down weeds,” Tristan said.

Having already dog-eared that page, she could only gape at him. She wasn’t the only one—his brother and Papa both eyed him with amazement.

“What?” With a scowl, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I occasionally like a bit of light reading.”

“About agriculture?” Mr. Manton said.

“That and treatises on weapons are the only sorts of literature you keep around Manton’s Investigations.”
Clearly peeved, Tristan stared out at the sunrise. “Sometimes I get bored.”