The Skilled Seduction (27 page)

“Don’t ever speak of yourself in such a way again,” his tone was shaky and almost unrecognizable to her, tinged with an emotion she’d never heard –
 

Could it be regret?

His mahogany eyes deepened to a smoky black as he continued, “You are no whore nor do I consider you to be a prostitute. I wanted to impress
you
, not my colleagues. I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of us. You are all I care about.”

He was entering dangerous territory, opening his heart too much to her yet Tristan couldn’t stop himself. Hearing Victoria utter the words
whore
and
prostitute
in relation to herself had made him wanted to vomit. Instead, he swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat.

 
“Congratulations, Tristan,” she said, her flat tone contradicting her merry words. “You’re getting everything you hoped for.”

But he wasn’t.

Far from it, in fact.
   

Tristan released her face before leaning against the plush squabs, the thick silence that hovered within the carriage stifling. Victoria was furious with him. He was now more convinced than ever that the sooner she married him the better. One question remained – how many more times would they argue between now and then?

It was a bet he was unwilling to place.

If Tristan knew anything about his betrothed, it was that she would not readily capitulate. No, Victoria was already plotting to find a way to reclaim her control over their present situation.

Tristan steeled himself for the battle ahead.

Little did his bride realize that he was even more determined than she. While Tori may have forged their relationship into existence, he would now protect it with all his might.

Yes, Lady Victoria Montgomery had met her equal and by this time on the morrow, she would be wed to him.

It was Tristan’s turn to orchestrate their match.

Chapter 11

By the time Tristan’s carriage swayed to a halt in front of his London brownstone, Victoria was beyond livid. She twirled the extravagant ring Tristan had given her, contemplating her dwindling choices, unwilling to relent without one final attempt at escape.
 

Where could she go?

Oliver had a home in London, but was he in town? It was worth a try. She had to get there, though, and Tristan’s driver would be of no use to her. She’d have to bide her time and wait for the right moment to flee. It must be soon, before witnesses uncovered that she was staying with Tristan
sans chaperone
, before she further disgraced her brother and his family.
 

The thought of her beloved brother, Sebastian, caused Victoria’s hands to shake ever so slightly. What would Sebastian think of her once he learned that she had run off with Tristan without one word to him? If he thought her a wanton before, Victoria trembled at what he must think of her now.

“I know you’re angry with me,” Tristan interrupted her inner turmoil, his voice rich with emotion. “But this is the right course of action. Someday you will see it.”

Like hell she would.

He helped her alight from the carriage. Though Tori took his hand out of necessity as she descended the carriage steps, she tossed it aside as soon as her feet touched the ground.

Appearing unaffected by their arrival, Tristan’s butler led them inside his townhome, straight into a study on the first floor. A fire was glowing within the grate and a tray was waiting on the center table complete with a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches.

It was obvious that Tristan had sent word that they would be arriving. He’d planned this whole elaborate ruse and she’d walked right into his trap, just as he predicted she would. Victoria’s unadulterated rage reached a fever pitch both at Tristan and herself, for being so gullible.

“Who else knows I’m here?” Victoria demanded in her most haughty tone once they were alone, vehemently tossing her gloves on top of a mahogany Rococo table on the far wall, accentuated with scrolls and a fruit motif. “Aside from your barbaric driver and butler, that is.”

Tristan leaned against the desk, “My grandfather.”

“Your grandfather?” she hadn’t expected that.

“He’s coming to town for the ceremony. As is your maid—”

“Meg knows I’m here?” her every muscle tensed. If Meg was cognizant, she would tell Sebastian or at the very least Colin. Victoria would soon be saved.

Tristan must have sensed her train of thought, for he added, “Your brothers do not know where you are, nor will Meg tell them. She is unaware of her destination as of yet.”

Victoria was back to square one. “But Sebastian knows where you live. He will come looking for me.”

“I sent your brother a note explaining that you and I are eloping. I mentioned taking you to Gretna Green so, if he does look for you, he will travel in the wrong direction.”

“You sent Sebastian on some fruitless search?”

He nodded. “I’m not proud of it but, yes, I did. It was—”

“If you say that this was the right course of action one more time, Tristan, I swear I will slap you.” Victoria’s hand twitched, yearning for him to provoke her into action. The man she once loved was now a stranger to her. She couldn’t even speak his name without it leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. It didn’t feel the same, nor did it sound the same.
 

It was as if she had never known him.
 

“What are your plans for me?”

“You and I will marry tomorrow, in the presence of my grandfather and your maid, who will act as your chaperone. We shall then write Sebastian and Gwen, announcing our union.”

 
Victoria assessed her dire situation. She had one night to flee and she’d do just that.

“Eat something, you must be famished,” he said, his rich timbre sincere. That was twice in the same day that Tristan’s tone was more heartfelt than she had heard it in a long time. If she weren’t so angry and so anxious, the realization might have caused her to consider the reasons behind it. But not now because Victoria was currently in self-preservation mode and in desperate need of some time alone.

“I’d rather dine in my room. I’d like to retire for the evening.”

“Very well,” Tristan said, lifting the tray and escorting her up a staircase carpeted in crimson and gold threads.

This was new territory since she’d never before entered this section of his townhome. Tori memorized the floor plan for her departure as Tristan led her to the third floor, to a door at the far end of the hall. He crossed the large room before placing the tray on a Queen Anne table near the window beside an overstuffed leather chaise.
 

Victoria stood stock-still in the doorway as she noticed the intricate details. The room was masculine and ornately adorned, far too much for a guest room in a bachelor’s home. Rich rosewood paneling accentuated the walls while matching hardwood flooring could be seen beneath a large Persian rug upon which rested a massive four poster bed swathed with a deep hunter green and gold coverlet and matching pillows. Her eyes continued their quick assessment, noting matching rosewood furniture, heavy damask curtains hanging against what she assumed was a bank of windows at the far wall, and two large leather chairs on either side of the massive fireplace.
 

The walls were aglow with several wall sconces, giving the room a warm feeling, resembling what she always suspected a men’s club would look like.
 

It was undoubtedly Tristan’s suite of rooms.

He wouldn’t dare expect her to stay here tonight, would he? She suspected the answer long before Tristan instructed her, over his shoulder, “Come in and close the door behind you.”

“I am not staying in the same room with you,” she insisted, anxiety rising within her chest.
 

Tristan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Please enter the room, Victoria.”

“No,” she shook her head with vehemence. “I will not stay in your suite tonight. That is not negotiable.”

“It is my turn to read you, Lady Victoria. You wish to stay elsewhere so you can flee tonight. I suspect that you’re planning on running straight to Wainright,” he studied her. “And I see by the expression on your beautiful but enraged countenance that I am correct.”

He continued to stare at her, scrutinizing her long and hard. The realization that she would rather be with Wainright than him ignited something within Tristan. It was as if he was witnessing what few hopes he dared to allow himself smolder into an inferno, reducing his heart to bitter ashes.

In an instant, he saw the dramatic change within her, the spark of fear in her eyes … fear of being trapped, fear of being discovered. She wasn’t the only one who knew the other too well and it was time Victoria realized it. He was far too familiar with just how jarring that could be for Victoria had done so to him repeatedly.

 
“It’s not easy being an open book, is it?” he said, all but defeated. “To come to the realization that another soul understands you, perhaps even better than you think you know yourself.”

Victoria’s eyes locked with his for a long moment. She then turned on her heel and started to run down the hallway, her cape billowing behind her.

“Damn it!” Tristan muttered, catching up to her in several brisk strides.
   

“Stop,” he grabbed her elbow, swinging her around to face him. “You’re not traveling anywhere tonight.”

“Please, Tristan, let me go,” she beseeched him. “I promise I won’t leave.”

“You promise?” he asked, staring into the depths of her frightened gaze, more than ready for this hellish night to end.

She swallowed hard. “I promise.”

With a great deal of effort, he managed one of his most dazzling smiles and Victoria’s taut frame seemed to relax, ever so slightly, in response. There was even a flicker of relief in her eyes.

“Well, when you promise,” he caressed her cheek, lulling her further into a false sense of security before reaching for her and heaving her up and over his shoulder like a sack.

“Tristan! Release me,” Victoria pleaded, punching his back with her fists, her legs flailing as she tried to kick him.

Managing to deflect most of her kicks, Tristan carried her back to his suite then thrust the door closed with his boot before managing to turn the key in its lock. Only after he had secured the key by slipping it into his inner vest pocket did he set her down with care upon the mattress.

“What in bloody hell has gotten into you?” she demanded, shoving her wild curls out of her face. She then knelt on his bed, scooting to the far side before clutching one of the posts.
 

In spite of the fact that her cape and skirts were caked with mud and that her tresses were an unruly mass of tangled curls, even with her eyes flashing with fury, she still looked magnificent. The mere sight caused Tristan’s conscience to hiss in silent protest.
 

He truly despised what he was about to put her through tonight but he knew it was the only way to ensure their future, and he was willing to do anything to guarantee that Victoria would indeed marry him on the morrow – even if she detested him for it.

Striding around the massive bed to where she still hugged one of the four posters for support, Tristan leaned in closer. When he was less than a foot away, he reached for the indigo ribbon at her neck, gently tugging at the knot to remove her mud encrusted cape.

“You were lying to me, Victoria,” he said, his tone dull and foreign to even his own ears.
 

Deception did that to him, he supposed.

Her anger emanated in the form of a blistering stare. It convinced him that he was indeed correct in his assumption. “What were we discussing before you attempted to flee? That I appear to know you all too well,” he added, in the same tone of voice that she had once used with him.

“So you plan to what? Imprison me until tomorrow?”

Once he had untied her cape, he then removed it
 

from her shoulders before tossing it onto the overstuffed leather chaise on the opposite side of the room. “That sums it up, yes.”

Victoria stared at him, her cheeks flushed from exertion.
She resembles an exotic goddess
, he thought.

“You are insane,” she countered, raking her eyes over him from head to toe with fury. “My brothers will more than likely kill you for this. If they do, I will happily help them bury your body in a ditch.”

Not something one expects an exotic goddess to say, mind you. “Quite possibly. If so, you will become a very wealthy widow, won’t you? After all, my properties aren’t entailed.” he said with a smirk, pointing to the tray. “Would you care for your refreshments now?”

She remained on his bed, mouth gaping open, in utter disbelief. “You cannot be serious?”

Reaching for the pot of tea, Tristan poured two cups. “Quite serious. I can’t have you traipsing all over London to find that fop you call a friend.”

“Oliver is no fop,” she insisted, confirming that she was indeed planning on finding the man. That, coupled with her defense of Wainright, sent a surge of primitive jealousy coursing through Tristan’s veins.