The Dowager's Wager (13 page)

Tristan fingered the silver watch chain with its discreet
emeralds placed every fifth link. Although the waistcoat was
stunning enough for evening wear, Tristan had been compelled to wear the garment regardless of his personal inclination. The card accompanying it had been succinct in its
demands. It had read, “If you are willing to meet, wear the
waistcoat. I’ll be among the guests this evening at the
Briarton Winter Fete.”

Even so, his own code of honor allowed him no alternative. He had no choice but to meet with her tonight and warn
her off. It wouldn’t do to have an innocent accidentally
involved in the Home Office’s plots. Tristan was certain a
woman had sent it-a daring woman who knew she was not
the admirer and who knew him. She knew him very well to
order such a tailored waistcoat with the surety that it would
fit him. She had to have known the waistcoat’s late arrival
would not leave time for alterations before the ball.

His thoughts turned to Beatrix. She had the means, the
taste and the knowledge of him to have selected the vest so
accurately. But she had no motive. She had public access to
him. Already the town buzz gave out that he and Beatrix had
resumed their continental affair. Besides, she would not risk
any action that would compromise the mission. Beatrix was
a professional in all things related to love and war.

He understood the need for Beatrix’s presence in this last
game, but he did not welcome it. Beatrix’s appearance had
single-handedly wrecked his progress with Isabella. Whatever he’d gained back in terms of her trust the night of the
Burtons’ soiree would be sorely hindered by the escalating
tattle surrounding him and Beatrix.

Tristan sighed. He was not making progress where
Isabella was concerned, unless he counted driving himself
mad with the wanting of her. He had not seen her since the
incident at Burton House. Since then, he’d been plagued by
his growing dilemma. What was the best way to protect
Isabella? Should he keep her close so he’d be able to bodily
protect her should the double agent attempt to target her as
a warning to him? Or should he put her as far from him as
possible and protect her through his absence?

At the sound of heightened gaiety, Tristan’s dark gaze
turned to survey the entrance to the ballroom. His eyes narrowed at the sight filling the archway. Isabella and her
entourage had arrived. Tonight she was accompanied by her
brother Alain, Chatham, Giles and the everpresent Avery
Driscoll, who was classically dressed in evening black
relieved only by a cream satin patterned waistcoat and looking undeservedly elegant.

Giles caught sight of him and Tristan watched him steer
the group in his direction. With a stab of envy, he studied
Isabella with Driscoll. They made a striking pair with their
graceful physiques as they walked in the center of the group.
But Isabella was unmistakably the bright, shining core.
Driscoll was merely a foil for her brilliance.

For the ball, she was dressed in an oyster-colored gown of ivory crepe over a velvet slip of matching ivory. She was
bejeweled simply in pearls. The gown swished luxuriously
as she moved. The deep folds of the skirt emphasized the
soft, expensive richness of the gown, giving Isabella the
look of an ethereal goddess. The only hint of color in the
ensemble was the red rose she wore tucked behind one ear,
matching the deep red gros grain ribbon that trimmed the
high waist and sleeves. For a moment, he was struck by the
peculiarity of the rose. It wasn’t like her to wear flowers in
her hair. Usually, Isabella preferred to weave strands of
pearls through her coiffure.

Tristan bowed as the group approached. He greeted everyone, but he was eager to get Isabella alone. The orchestra
began to play again after their short break from the first set.
The second set began with a waltz. He could not have asked
for a better number. “Isabella, would you care to dance with
me?” He asked hastily, aware that Driscoll might try to claim
the honor. His instincts were not wrong. A glance at the
other man indicated his surprise. Isabella quickly looked
between the two men. She murmured something placating to
Driscoll before turning her attention to him.

“I would love to dance, Gresham”

Tristan savored the feel of her lithe form in his arms as he
swung them through the first turn. He wanted nothing more
but to enjoy dancing with her. It had been ages since he’d
danced with her at her debut, back when the world was rosy
and his path had seemed so clear. But he knew the dance
would not last forever. He would not get another chance to
have her alone before his unwanted assignation with the
“secret admirer.”

“Are you well, Bella?” He searched her face for anything
she might be hiding.

“Yes. You are well? Did everything get sorted out after
the accident at the Burtons? I was sorry to leave you to manage it on your own” She turned her warm gaze on him
intently. It seemed that she was searching for signs of hidden meaning as well.

“I am fine. Thank you for your concern” How long had it
been since someone had genuinely cared for his safety with
no other ulterior motive?

“Tristan, you must tell me what is going on. I know the
incident was no accident. Someone tried to harm you”

“Dear Bella, I cannot tell you and you are safer for not
knowing. In a few weeks, it will not even signify.” He smiled
as kindly as he could, hoping to convey how sincerely he
meant the words. He knew Bella’s tender heart would be
hurt by the rejection. He was surprised that the tenacious
Bella simply nodded and accepted his statement.

The waltz ended and he returned Bella to the group, or
what remained of it. Chatham and Alain had sauntered off
somewhere, most likely the card rooms. He pulled out his
pocket watch and ascertained the time.

“An appointment, Gresham?” Driscoll asked pointedly.

Tristan glared at him. The man wanted to call Bella’s
attention to his departure. No doubt, Driscoll wanted to
make something sordid out of his need to leave. “I promised
to meet someone” He met Driscoll’s gaze with an even stare
of his own. He’d learned long ago that the best way to manage difficult situations was with the truth. Ironically, no one
expected him to come out with the truth so they were usually stunned into silence. He was pleased to note that the righteous Driscoll was no different. He pulled out his silver
watch once more and made a show of checking the time
again. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Tristan knew he was early for the rendezvous as he strode
out to the quiet conservatory. Experience taught him it paid
to be early, to have a chance to become aware of all the
entrances and exits possible from a location. He’d have preferred having a witness secreted away behind the potted
plants too, just in case, but there had been no viable candidate, so he had come alone to survey the conservatory and
wait.

Tristan smiled appreciatively in the darkness as he closed
the French doors behind him. The conservatory was the ideal meeting place for his admirer. The room was fragrant
and fresh, offering a cacophony of scents mingled with the
discreet trickle of fountains placed around the large room.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Tristan made
out a rattan sofa set near one of the putti-spilling-waterfrom-a-jug fountains. There were only two ways in and out:
the door he’d used from the hallway and another door leading in from the yard. Satisfied with his efforts, Tristan sat
down on the sofa to wait. The soft sounds of water tempted
him to relax and give into this sensory paradise, but his training demanded vigilance, so he stayed alert, one hand ready
to draw his hidden blade at the first sign of disaster. Tristan
felt his muscles tense as the French doors opened and a
darkly clad figure swept in. With an ease that discomfited
him, Tristan slipped into the role he’d become so well
known for in his covert circles-the dangerous seducer.
Whoever this person was, woman, assassin or both, he was
ready on all accounts.

“Be at ease, milord,” the figure said in a low feminine
tone. “It is I with whom you are expecting to meet” She
came forward, all veil and cloaking, to stand in front of him,
full of her own confidence. “I am pleased you have come”

Tristan’s other senses were primed since his sight was
limited. He could smell her as she stood in front of him.
Her perfume was a rosy floral scent cut with vanilla. He
thought fleetingly of the fragrance of Isabella’s rose this
evening as they’d danced. His heart leapt strangely in his
chest before he discarded the notion. No, he had left Isabella fuming in the ballroom. Besides, there was vanilla in
this scent, too.

He could feel the expensive weight of her cloak folds
against his leg. She was bold. He knew that already. No
woman ever sent a man a piece of apparel. No woman dared
to meet with a man alone at her own instigation. No woman
dared to play imposter. This woman knew she wasn’t the
secret admirer of whom he’d been bragging about all over
town. But this woman dared all of these things. Now she radiated a mysterious sensuality by keeping herself covered
from him in all her veiled trappings while letting him know
her through his other senses, an erotic bit of irony.

In his own low, seductive tone, Tristan asked, “For what
have we come?” He reached a hand up to caress her cheek
through the veil. She grasped his wrist and waylaid his hand.

“I could not stay away. It was no longer enough to admire
you from afar and honor you with gifts.” Her tone was sultry as she turned over his captive right hand and began to
trace his palm with her gloved finger.

Oh she was bold! Claiming the roses were from her when
she knew no such thing was possible. Tristan smiled in the
dark at her audacity. He knew how to play this game. A few
fine words and he would have her veil off and who knew
what else. “I have enjoyed your attentions. The flowers are
exquisite and the waistcoat is of the finest. I am honored and
flattered by your desires.” He paused for good effect. “Let us
have no more secrets between us. Let me see your face” His
voice was near her ear, his breath feathering the veil. There
was no longer any distance between them. He expected
compliance after his sweet words and he made to gently
raise the veil only to be forestalled once more by her hand.
Did he imagine that she trembled? He was struck by the odd
mixture of knowing womanhood and virtue in her behavior.
Her words were practiced and coy. Yet her actions belied the
confidence with which they were spoken.

“I think the game has been enjoyable for us both, sirrah.
Perhaps we should prolong our game by altering the rules.
Truly, I am no longer a phantom to you. You smell me. I feel
your body as it touches me, learning me bit by bit without
actual sight. I am no longer a stranger. I think that is revelation enough for one evening.”

“How shall this game be played, then?” Tristan asked in
a near whisper. He was not without his wits or weapons
when it came to seduction. He captured the hand she had
used to stroke his palm and placed his lips in its silken center. He moved his fingers to the pearl-buttoned length of the glove and deftly began flicking the buttons open, offering
kisses along the newly bared expanse of her arm.

When she resisted and drew back, Tristan held her hand
tightly. “My dark lady, you should know that too much resistance spoils the game. I must have some compensation,
some show of favor if I am to be encouraged to continue.”
He brought his head up from its ministrations at her hand, a
twinkle of charm in his eye if anyone could see it. “Besides,
my dark angel, there is no fear of revelation from a simple
arm being bared. I can hardly see it. I sincerely doubt I
would be able to note any telltale marks or signs that would
give away your identity.” With that, Tristan pulled the glove
off and proceeded to draw small, tantalizing circles on her
bare palm.

He smiled as he pressed a thumb to the base of her wrist
and felt the speed of her pulse. She was more affected than
she let on. He was pleased. He would hate to disappoint her
after her “admiration from afar.” Lowering his head, he
offered her wrist a gentle kiss. “I do not disappoint you, I
think,” he flirted boldly.

She replied with equal bluntness. “No, my lord, you do
not. I am pleased.” Then she grasped his hand and held him
away from her, stepping back, putting distance between
them. “I must go now, before I am missed. We will meet
again.”
“

Coolness stole into Tristan’s voice. “If there is a next
time, what shall we do? Shall I see your face?” He did not
like being played with, and she was playing now. Once she
had stepped away from him, he had lost his power to equalize their roles. He saw clearly that she was using her departure to set the rules to her advantage.

I do not think you shall see my face yet,” she said coyly,
turning to leave and cut off the conversation. “We shall talk
and get to know each other.”

Tristan closed the distance between them in two rapid
steps. “Be warned, this game of secret identity is a danger ous one. You do not know with whom you play.” He growled.
If she’d listened to the rumors about him, she would expect
something more from him. He couldn’t afford to expose his
cover just yet. It would not suit for this woman to spread
rumors that she had bested the notorious viscount. “I will
have my due for this night’s work”

Lightening quick, Tristan reached for her and pressed her
against him, one hand about her waist, another at the back of
her neck as he brought her lips to his, the veil between them.
His kiss was ferocious and demanding. With satisfaction, he
felt her respond to his force, nipping at his lower lip as best
she could with the filmy material as a barrier. He had meant
to show her his power, but her hungry response had leveled
the playing field.

She broke the kiss first with a flirting lilt. “We shall have
a grand passion between us in time, my impatient one” But
there was a slight tremor to her voice as she spoke before she
turned and fled.