The Skilled Seduction (11 page)

Has he reconciled himself to this?

Sebastian took Gwen’s free hand and rubbed it between his palms. From the corner of his eye, Tristan watched as the doctor walked to the door, slipping out of view until the faint
click
of the latch could be heard upon closing.
 

Why was it that Sebastian appeared so composed when Tristan wanted to shout and break every object in the room?

Victoria’s hand remained on his arm and she continued to caress it in a gentle, and what would, under most circumstances, be a calming motion. Not on this night, though, for fury simmered just below the surface, like the fires of hell about to unleash their wrath.
 

Tristan would be damned before he allowed his sister to slip silently into oblivion.
 

Sebastian interrupted the heavy hush. “Dr. Danbury thinks we should say our goodbyes, in case—”

“Stop!” A ferocity like none he’d ever experienced erupted within Tristan. “Do not speak of it! I refuse to believe that Gwen will never wake up.”
 

Tristan wanted a fight. His brother-in-law refused to engage him. “No one will compel you to say goodbye,” Sebastian’s voice was unusually raspy. “It is your choice, Tristan.”

“I choose for my sister to live,” Tristan insisted. “Do you hear that, Gwen?”

There was no reply. Even though Tristan expected none, it further enraged him that his sister remained unconscious.
Wake up
, his inner voice demanded.
 

The silence that ensued was far too much to endure.

Everyone else could say goodbye to her, but Tristan refused to surrender his sister to the sinister clutches of death – at least not without a fight. He’d
 

fought for her his entire life and wouldn’t stop now.

“I will not say goodbye to you,” he squeezed her hand, raising his voice. “Do you hear me, Gwen? I refuse to let you go.”

“That is enough!” Sebastian growled.

Tristan refused to heed his brother-in-law’s warning. “I will not let you go, Gwen. You wake up, do you hear me? Wake up.”

His sister remained still.

“We entered this world together and I will never forgive you if you don’t return to me,” the words tumbled from his lips.

“Tristan, please don’t say something you will regret,” Victoria implored him.

Little did she know that he was full of regrets, the latest of which being that he’d argued with his sister moments before her collapse.
 

What had he said? That he didn’t need her? That Gwen didn’t know him? Would those be the last words his sister would ever hear him utter to her?

Tristan couldn’t stand the possibility. He had to get his sister back by any means necessary. If nothing else worked, perhaps this would.

It must.

“Come back to us Gwen or I will never forgive you,” although he knew his tone to be more harsh than he would have liked, he had to get through to her. “I will curse you, I will haunt you. I won’t allow you to rest in peace.”

“Please don’t say such things, Tristan. Gwen is your sister and you love her.” Victoria squeezed his hand. She was shaking, he realized. “You will never forgive yourself if these are your last words to her.”

Victoria’s tone, in stark contrast to her words, didn’t chastise him. Instead, Tristan suspected that she was voicing her concerns for his benefit. It was the first time anyone other than his sister had tried to protect him from himself. As he met her over bright eyes, now the color of forget-me-nots in the dim light, Tristan’s resolve began to falter. Victoria silently beseeched him to think of his future but he knew something of which she remained unaware.

Tristan didn’t want a future without his sister.

“I mean every word I have said,” Tristan replied.

He didn’t count on Victoria’s wounded expression. Nor could he have predicted how much her tears would affect him, stabbing at his conscience like a thousand sharp daggers.

Tristan jerked free from Victoria, breaking her hold over him. She wasn’t his family. Nor was she his lover. So why did she look at him like … like what? Like she expected more from him than from anyone else? Like she cared about him more than she should? Or was it that she believed in him when most others did not?

On most occasions, Tristan relished seeing his reflection in Victoria’s eyes far more than his actual likeness in a mirror and it terrified him because he would never live up to the man Victoria thought him to be. Tonight, it heightened his anger.

Because nothing would stop him from fighting for his sister.

Tristan returned his attention to Gwen once more. “I give you no choice but to awaken, Gwen. I will never forgive you if you do not.”

With that final challenge to his sister, Tristan rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The loud
bang
resonated through the suffocating silence that engulfed the room.

Victoria studied the rosewood door for several seconds. It was as if in one swift motion, all air had followed in Tristan’s wake, making it difficult for her to catch her breath.

Her gaze shifted towards her brother.

Sebastian sat stock-still beside his wife, his handsome face now marred with deep worry lines, the dark shadows beneath his eyes more prominent than before. Victoria had never seen her brother like this. Her blood turned to ice at the startling sight.

“Sebastian?” Tori whispered.

He didn’t turn. Still staring at his wife, he spoke softly, as if not to break the hush that had befallen them after Tristan’s outburst. “Would you please give us a moment alone, Tori? There are things I wish to say to Gwen in private.”

Though she had reservations about leaving her brother when he needed her most, Victoria complied. Rising on weak legs, she leaned over her dear friend and smoothed Gwen’s hair away from her face. “You are the sister that I always wanted and I love you dearly, Gwen,” she said, pressing a kiss against her sister-in-law’s forehead. “Please fight your way back to us.”

Victoria then kissed her brother on his cheek, noticing for the first time that it was moist from his own tears. Sebastian was strong and stoic. She had only witnessed him cry once, when Mama died.
 

Fear gripped her chest, coiling into a tight knot, depriving her lungs of oxygen. She hugged her brother before exiting the room then leaned against the wall outside Gwen’s bedchamber. She left the door slightly ajar in the event that Sebastian needed her. Her brother didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he gently caressed his wife’s cheek.

“If you think I’ll be easier on you than your brother, you are mistaken,” he whispered, his usually smooth baritone now raw with emotion. “I won’t let you slip away any more than he will.”

Sebastian kissed his wife’s hand. “I can’t live without you, Duchess, I’m telling you that right now. I will be the worst possible father without you, the worst person imaginable. Like Tristan, I won’t give you any peace. I will haunt you my every waking hour. Where would that leave our children?”

He laid his head on her abdomen. “Gwendolyn Montgomery, I am giving you no choice but to survive this – for your children, for me, for your brothers, for Victoria – don’t you dare leave us.”

At long last, Victoria closed the heavy door taking great care to do so in silence. She barely heard the faint
click
above her own rapid heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She knew her brother loved Gwen but, witnessing his affection uncensored … Victoria managed to walk a few feet down the corridor before collapsing, releasing a silent torrent of tears.
 

Sebastian’s love for Gwen was strong and steadfast. Until tonight, Victoria had no idea how powerful love could truly be. Surely, her brother’s love for his wife would be enough to garner Gwen a miracle?

After briefly allowing her grief to overtake her, Victoria brushed her tears aside with her sleeve, deciding in an instant what she must do next. It took her mere minutes to reach Tristan’s wing of the estate. Victoria could discern the ear-splitting sound of shattering glass emanating from his suite of rooms long before she approached his door.

Victoria knocked. Nothing but a thick silence greeted her. Without a second thought, she reached for the cool brass knob, relieved to find it unlocked. Upon opening the door, she immediately noticed that no sconces or candles were lit, nor was the fireplace.

Her attention was drawn to the bank of windows on the far side of the room. The heavy curtains were open, allowing the cloud-covered moon in the sky beyond to sheath the room in a dim, purplish hue. Storm clouds swirled, she noted. It would be a matter of time before rain began to fall.

She scanned the shadows for Tristan, glass crunching beneath her slippers as she took several steps inside. Victoria was familiar with this wing from her childhood since she used to explore it on rainy days. She would even bring a book when she wanted to be alone or sneak away from her father, often hiding unnoticed in one of the numerous guest rooms. She knew the layout of Tristan’s suite from those childhood excursions. Several rooms jutted off of the main bedchamber including a sitting room and changing room.

“Tristan?” she asked. Enveloped by thick silence, Tori made a second attempt. “Where are you?”

A loud thunderclap shattered the calm, causing her pulse to quicken as heavy sheets of rain began to lash against the window panes.

“I’m not in the mood for visitors, Victoria.” Tristan’s harsh tone was meant to convey a warning.
 

One that Victoria ignored.
 

Instead, once she discerned the direction from which his voice emanated, Victoria closed the door behind her then proceeded with caution over fragmented glass and strewn objects.
 

After crossing his suite, Victoria stopped in front of the mantelpiece, fumbling first for the silver match box then for one of the candles and lit the wick. It radiated enough light to cast the room in dim shadows. Since she assumed Tristan wouldn’t abide more light, it would have to suffice.

Victoria turned, squinting in the semi-darkness until she located Tristan’s broad silhouette. Sitting upon the floor, he held his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, while his back leaned against the imposing four-poster bed behind him.

A strong, proud man was reduced to sitting in the dark waiting for his twin sister to die?
 

This couldn’t be God’s plan!

Resisting the overwhelming urge to rail against the injustice of it all, Victoria instead chose to kneel on the floor in front of him. When Tristan failed to acknowledge her, she placed her hands on his thighs. He grabbed her wrists and made eye contact with her at once.

Even shrouded in shadow, she could discern a vein pulsating in his neck. She expected to see undiluted ire emanating from his gaze, yet what she found was the complete opposite. In stark contrast to his angry posture, his eyes were distant and wet from his tears. The realization caused her body to feel heavy, as if weighted down with an anchor.

“I am so sorry, Tristan,” Tori whispered, wrestling one wrist free then wiping his cheeks with the pads of her fingertips. Of course there was nothing that would ease his grief yet she needed to try nevertheless.

He softened his grip on her other wrist. “You shouldn’t be here.”

In stark contrast to his words, his coarse baritone and anguished expression confirmed that here with Tristan was exactly where she should be. At least that is what Victoria chose to believe as she explained, “Sebastian asked for time with Gwen and I was concerned for you. I thought you might like to take the carriage down to the chapel and say a prayer for Gwen’s recovery.”

“What makes you think I would want to pray?” His icy tone caused her to cringe. “Why would I ever pray to a God who would harm someone as loving and unselfish as my sister? Why would I pray to a deity who believes it is just to deprive the twins of their mother?”

His renouncement sent chills up her spine. Or perhaps it was because the room was damp? Victoria wasn’t certain as she met his intense stare with one that she hoped would convey compassion. “God grants miracles, Tristan.”

Tristan studied her for several moments. “Where was that miracle when my mother died, leaving three children with an abusive, maniacal man? Miracles don’t exist.”

“I refuse to accept that,” she replied softly.

“Do not defend a God who has forsaken my sister,” Tristan glared at Victoria, squeezing his hand into a tight fist in an attempt to control his mounting anguish and overwhelming panic.

“This is your grief talking,” Victoria whispered. “You don’t mean what you’re saying.”

“So now you know me better than I know myself?” His statement was meant to be more an accusation than a question as Tristan’s eyes raked over her with contempt. Tori showed no signs of fear, though. Instead, her expression was gentle, causing molten anger to bubble within his veins.
 

How
dare
she be so calm!

Victoria again reached for his cheek, smoothing it with her soft fingertips. “You are a good man, Tristan—”
 

“You don’t know me,” he stared at her, silently daring her to dispute him. Hoping she would, in fact, for the burning desire to feel something other than intense sorrow and self-reproach assailed him, robbing him of all reason.