The Dowager's Wager (15 page)

Tristan drummed his fingers on the table. “Anything else,
Sommes?”

“He moved gracefully, as if he might be a fine dancer, my
lord,” Sommes offered hesitantly. “He had a way about him
that made me think he might be an aristocrat.”

Tristan nodded. Halsey had already told him that much. It
bothered him that the man knew precisely where to look for
the vases. The man had entered by the study window and yet
hadn’t stopped to look through the study for other secrets or
telling correspondence. He had gone straight to the vases,
taken the cards and tried to leave by the front door. Tristan
supposed that made sense. Going back to the study required
backtracking into the depths of the house and posed more
chance of being discovered. There were risks, too with
going out the front door. Perhaps no one on the inside would
notice, but someone on the outside may be suspicious of such a character exiting the home of a wealthy nobleman.
Unless that person was someone others would take no notice
of if they were passing by because they would expect to see
him at Tristan’s residence.

“Sommes, tell me again how this man was dressed.”
Tristan asked, his mind whirling with suppositions. “Do you
remember what style or cut? Could you tell the fabric?”

Sommes looked thoughtful. “Evening clothes, I am fairly
certain, my lord. The jacket was cut nicely, I think, welltailored. It didn’t rip when we brawled. Good material,
maybe a fine wool.”

A cold clenching took up residence in Tristan’s stomach.
All the intruder would have to do was simply take off the
obscuring kerchief and blend into the evening with other party
goers. “Is there anything else?” Tristan asked.

Somme spoke up again. “I am sorry about the cards. I
don’t know why someone would want them, but they’re
obviously of value. Thank goodness the intruder didn’t get
them all.”

Tristan startled at that. “What do you mean he didn’t get
them all?”

“Why, your friend, Baron Wickham was here earlier tonight. He asked if you were at home but you’d already left
for the club. He took a few of the cards with him. I didn’t
think you’d mind seeing as how the two of you are fast
friends.”

Tristan rose, not sure what to make of the revelation. Had
Alain taken the cards as a sampling and then decided they
were legitimate and come back for the rest, knowing he was
gone? He didn’t like the confirmation that the burglar was
tall and blond, dressed in evening clothes. The description
could fit Alain. Although, he reminded himself sternly, the
description could fit any number of men. The fly in the ointment was Alain’s appearance at the town house that night
and the fact that Alain had shown marked interest in the
cards earlier.

Tristan took a bag of coins from his jacket. “Mrs.
Stanton, see that everyone is compensated for their discomfort this evening. I thank you all. I think it is time we were
abed” He nodded at his valet. “Jackson, I will not require
your services tonight. Get yourself some rest”

Tristan sat up in his chamber, filled with restlessness. He
needed to sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day. He would
have to report discreetly to Halsey that the bait had been
taken. He had to make the rounds to the clubs and see if anyone was sporting a facer. The description of the burglar had
unnerved him. Although the description fit Alain more than
adequately, he cautioned himself not to overreact. The
description was minimal at best and could be used to
describe a hundred other men of the ton, even the impeccable Lord Driscoll.

Well, he knew without a doubt the intruder wasn’t Lord
Driscoll since he’d returned from his liaison and spied
Isabella and Driscoll in a cozy conversation. The sight of the
two of them had infuriated him. Mostly, Driscoll infuriated
him because Driscoll was so likeable. There was nothing
wrong with him other than his being besotted with Isabella.
A gut wrenching thought crossed Tristan’s mind. Did
Isabella return Driscoll’s affections?

Tristan reached up to his neck and pulled his hair loose of
the cord that held it back. He massaged his neck with his
right hand and flexed his left, exercising away some of the
stiffness.

Tristan walked to the window casement and looked out on
the deceptively peaceful city. Cities were never peaceful.
Evil roiled about at all hours of the day. He knew. He’d been
a part of it. All for a good cause, of course. Tristan snorted
at the naive argument he’d made to himself countless times
on other evenings just like this. When had things become so
complicated? Halsey had been wrong when he’d said this
last assignment would be simple.

There was nothing simple about it. His best friend was a
potential suspect, an unknown woman was parading about as
his secret admirer, Beatrix’s presence complicated matters
with Isabella, his home had been violated and the longer he
took to catch the double agent, the greater his chances were
that Isabella would be won by another. And why not? Why
would she prefer a man who could not tell her the truth and
exposed her to danger when she could have the imminently
suitable Lord Driscoll?

Suddenly, Tristan laughed out loud. “Buck up, Gresham,
you nodcock. Isabella doesn’t know you love her.” Well, that
was one thing he could remedy. He’d have to tell her and
soon despite his earlier resolution to put his declaration
aside until the assignment was complete. He saw now that he
could not risk waiting further.

Isabella sat amidst her guests at her late morning athome, hard pressed to keep her thoughts on the conversation
swirling about her. Thankfully, most of her guests were regulars and knew each other well. Today, her guests’ inclinations to seek each other out for good company was a boon.
Her mind was still overwhelmed by the events of the last
evening. Between Avery’s near proposal and Tristan’s outrageous behavior, it was little wonder she didn’t detect the
arrival of her latest guest.

George Condon, fourth earl of Middleton, stood in the
doorway of the salon and surveyed the room, his keen
shooter’s eye serving him well in quartering the room and
taking notice of who was present. He was not disappointed
in the attendance. As a fellow horse lover and general
sportsman, he’d guessed correctly. Lady Westbrooke had
drawn to her all the riders and horse breeders of any
account who needed an oasis in the dead of winter where
they could talk at will about their mutual passion. Men as
well as women peopled the event, as he’d hoped. They were
the perfect audience for his topic of discussion, the nearly wild stallion, Hellion, he was scheduled to auction at
Tattersall’s.

He’d brought Hellion up to town in the hopes of instigating a bidding war by showing him off. It was a potentially costly gamble. Keeping any horse in town was a
pricey luxury and Hellion was an expense he could ill
afford these days. But he understood implicitly that appearances were everything. He’d never get top dollar for
Hellion if anyone guessed the true dire nature of his financial circumstances.

If he could last the month none of it would matter. In a
few weeks, his one outstanding business transaction would
be complete. His funds would be flush again and no one
would be the wiser to his deceits. Unfortunately, Hellion
would have to be sacrificed in the meantime to plump his
pockets. Hellion was a magnificent animal but there would
be other horses, finer horses, available to him later. He could
not dwell on his temporary monetary set backs.

He had come to Lady Westbrooke’s with a mission in
mind. It was time to go to work, starting with his hostess.
George Condon tugged on the lapels of his olive morning
coat, knowing that he looked his best. His best was still quite
handsome at forty-two, his blond hair hid well any signs of
gray and his sporting appetites had kept his figure trim.
Confidently, he strode over to greet his hostess.

“Lady Westbrooke, you have achieved quite a turn out,”
he complimented suavely, taking her hand.

She smiled blandly. “Where else are such like-minded
people to gather and wait out the days until spring?”

“My thoughts, precisely,” he replied easily, helping himself to the recently vacated chair next to her.

“I hear you’ve brought Hellion up” The marchioness’s
eyes sparkled in anticipation, like a child waiting for a
treat.

“I thought it would give my more interested buyers a
chance to look him over before the auction,” Middleton offered mildly, as if he hadn’t anything on the line with the
upcoming sale.

They spoke about horses and then Middleton stood up,
preparing to mingle. He introduced his second point of business as benignly as the first, casting a casual glance around
the room. “I don’t see Gresham. Is he expected?”

“Gresham is his own man,” Lady Westbrooke replied
vaguely in a tone that surprised him since he knew she and
her brother had been friends with the man for years.

It was an unfortunate piece of luck that Gresham was
absent and that Lady Westbrooke did not know his plans.
When she offered nothing more regarding Gresham,
Middleton took his leave. “I shall just have to track him
down then. Again, thank you for your invitation.”

Isabella watched Middleton retreat into the crowd. She
knew why he was here. It was a prime place to promote his
stallion. She scanned the room, doing an efficient check to
make sure her guests had all they needed. She caught her
butler, Regis’s, eye and subtly beckoned him. “What is it,
Regis?”

“This note arrived for you, my lady.” He held out the silver salver and presented Isabella with an ivory envelope.

“Thank you, Regis. Wait a moment for my reply.”
Isabella turned the envelope over and recognized the seal as
Tristan’s. A burst of excitement sped through her and her
fingers trembled as she broke the seal. She was giddy like a
schoolroom miss and for no good reason. His note had nothing to do with the encounter in the conservatory, how could
it? She read the polite but short note twice. Tristan wanted
her to drive with him in the park that afternoon at three
o’clock. He had something important to tell her. She
thought of Driscoll’s “important news” the prior evening.
She didn’t know how much more “important news” she
could take.

“What shall I tell the gentleman?” Regis inquired after it
was clear she was finished reading the note.

“Tell him yes” Whatever Tristan wanted to share with
her, she did not have to worry about it being a marriage proposal. But instead of feeling relieved, Isabella felt strangely
disconsolate.

ccWhat gorgeous horses! They look like prime goers.
Where did you get this rig?” Isabella exclaimed with a mixture of delight and trepidation as Tristan handed her up into
the canary-colored high-perch phaeton pulled by a pair of
matching grays ten minutes after three o’clock. Whatever
anxiety she’d felt about encountering Tristan after the disturbing meeting in the conservatory fled in the wake of her
appreciation for the rig and horses waiting outside her town
house.

“I have it on loan from a carriage manufacturer who sent
it on the train from Manchester. I am thinking of buying it.
Such a fancy rig isn’t much use to me in the country, but I
will need something to drive around town whenever I come
up” Tristan saw her settled in the high leather seat and
bounded around to the left side, springing into the space
next to her in one impressive movement. “What do you think
of it, Bella?” he asked, excitement evident in his voice as he
clucked to the horses.

“It’s very high up,” Isabella said uneasily once she realized the precarious nature of the bench seat. She pulled her
Lyons’ shawl about her as Tristan turned the horses into traffic. “I will need some time to get used to it.”

“Ha, Isabella, you’re full of contradictions!” Tristan
laughed. “You think nothing of riding hell bent for leather
but find yourself squeamish over a carriage ride.”

Isabella let go of her grip on the small rail next to her seat
long enough to playfully swat at Tristan. “That’s entirely
different. When I am on a horse, I am in complete control.
The horse and I know exactly what to expect from each
other.”

Tristan expertly tooled the phaeton towards the entrance
to Hyde Park. “Well, you know what to expect from me. I
am as tame to your hand as any horse in your stable. I would
not let you fall, Bella, if that’s what you fear.”

Isabella felt his eyes on her briefly as he spoke the last
words and she heard the wealth of unspoken meaning in the
words. There was much she wanted explained in that last
statement but the park at that crowded hour was no time to
broach such an intimate subject. Instead, she steered the
conversation back to the phaeton. “I own there is an excellent view from up here. Is the carriage why you’re in such
good spirits? I assume it must be the important news you
mentioned in your note this morning.”

“No, the carriage is only part of it. I knew you’d like seeing it and trying out the horses, but it isn’t why I requested
your company. I am in high spirits because I have made
some decisions. I want to share them with you, with your
permission, of course. I thought we’d drive down by
Rutledge’s Pond and shake off some of this crowd”