The Skilled Seduction (34 page)

“Half of the
ton
will suspect that he did so out of obligation, nothing more.” Tori stood and walked back to the table, grabbing the bottle of champagne again.
   

“No more, darling,” Eve ran to her, reaching for the bottle. “No good comes from imbibing too much champagne. Trust me, I speak from experience. Besides, I believe you are wrong about Tristan’s motives.”

Victoria tipped her head to the side. “The
ton
will assume he compromised me and married me because he felt obligated to do so. They will be correct in their assessments – you and I both know it.”

“What is this nonsense about Tristan marrying you because he felt obligated? I know for a fact that he was desperate to marry you.” Eve’s serene features were a mask of confusion.

“Yes, he was desperate, all right – desperate for an heir, desperate to get what he wanted at all costs and desperate to make amends to his twin sister for seducing her sister-in-law.” Tori collapsed onto the bed now strewn with fabrics as a rather large spray of silk flowers poked her in the back. She flinched, a throaty “ouch” escaping her lips as she adjusted her weight.

Though she and Tristan were on much more solid ground than before their union, Victoria still couldn’t forget how it all began.
 

The
ton
would put the pieces together.
 

“Regardless, he married you,” Eve clearly remained unconvinced. “Trust me when I say that most men wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. You know it to be true. So why are you so anxious when, for as long as I’ve known you, you have never been insecure?”

Victoria considered her friend’s question.
 

Tristan was her husband and assured her that he wanted her, he insinuated that he cared, and he made love to Victoria like he couldn’t get enough of her. Yes, in private, he was the most attentive husband. But this would be the first time that they appeared in public, in front of polite society for them to study and dissect. Her greatest fear was that in one instant, the gossips would latch on to the fact that he married her out of duty.
   

Eve cleared her throat, as if to say
I am still waiting for an answer.

How could Victoria make her friend understand? “I want Tristan to look at me tonight as if I am the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid eyes upon and I want everyone in attendance to see it. Let’s not forget that all of our guests are well aware that you chucked him out for his brother. They will scrutinize me, comparing me to you and I want those bloody hypocrites to realize that you were the biggest mistake of his life.” Tori raised her head before adding, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Eve muttered before pouring herself a glass of champagne and taking a large gulp. “I think we need to start from the beginning.”

“You’ll need a larger glass,” Tori warned, staring up at her vaulted ceiling, feeling remarkably numb.
   

By the time Victoria was done filling Eve in on the events of the past couple of weeks, Eve was drinking straight from the bottle.

“This is entirely unladylike,” Eve said as she took another swig.

Tori grabbed it from her, placing the bottle upon her bedside table. Or at least what used to be hers. “I believe you resemble that remark,” she quipped, collapsing onto her bed, apprehension hanging heavy within her heart. “I keep thinking of Abigail Archer.”

“Who?” Eve asked, nonplussed.

“You must remember Abby,” Tori propped herself up on her elbow then began to trace the threading of the bedding with her fingertips. “Lord Archer’s wife – they married shortly after he inherited his title. Abby was a petite, mousy thing with large hazel eyes.”

“Ah, I remember her now,” Eve bent her head as if imparting a secret. “She moved to France, you know.”

Tori began to wind a piece of ribbon from one of the garments around her fingers. “It was during their first official function as husband and wife that the gossip began. The
ton
questioned, rather openly and viciously, why Lord Archer would marry such a plain woman. I keep thinking of how humiliating it must have been for her.”

Eve remained silent, as if she predicted the direction of their conversation.

“Not soon after, Lord Archer took a mistress. Some Italian soprano, wasn’t she?” Victoria asked. Unspooling the ribbon then repeating the motion.

“Yes,” Eve said grimly. “A breathtaking blonde as I recall.”

“I always pitied Abby.” Now Victoria felt some thread of commonality with the poor creature. “I fear that tonight I will become Abigail Archer, that the moment I enter that ballroom people will wonder what Tristan is doing married to me and that he will eventually wonder the same thing.”

Victoria’s friend squeezed her hand possessively. “You sell yourself short. Honestly, Tori, you are one of the most attractive females in all of England. Forgive me for being blunt, but Tristan must have already come to that conclusion, otherwise he wouldn’t have compromised you in the first place.”

“Eve MacAlistair,” Tori gasped, feigning affront. “You are shameless! Not to mention absolutely foxed.”

“Yes, well, it needed to be referenced regardless,” Eve shrugged her shoulders then lifted a crimson gown made of silk and lace. “This gown is quite lovely.”

Tori fingered the opulent fabric. “I am partial to that one myself because you designed it for me.”
 

“Ah, I knew there was a reason I liked it. I have exquisite taste.” Eve hiccupped then placed her champagne flute on the table beside her. “I think I can do something with this gown.”

“Pardon?” Victoria sat upright.

“Why didn’t I consider it earlier?” Eve held the dress up towards the ceiling, muttering aloud. “It isn’t too late. I will need shears, of course, along with a needle and some thread.”

Victoria rose to her feet in immediate response then hurried across the room, stumbling over some fabric in the process of reaching for the bell pull. “What do you have in mind?”

Eve glanced up at her friend, wearing a downright devilish grin. “Oh, Victoria, Tristan won’t know what hit him and every one of those vipers who chased away Abigail Archer will be green with envy.”

Armed with a fierce determination, Victoria would play the role of Tristan’s beguiling wife to perfection. In doing so, she would silence the vicious gossips that were waiting for the chance to rip her to shreds.

* * *

“What is taking them so bloody long?” Tristan asked, his sense of dread heightening with every second Victoria failed to join him.

Had she changed her mind about announcing their union? Decided upon a divorce? Hell, had she fled the country? Tristan knew his imagination was running wild, knew for a fact that Victoria was still in her suite but, without warning, his imagination knew no bounds.
 

This was uncharted territory for him. He was a barrister for Christ’s sake. Usually logical, his decisions were based upon law and reason. This newfound irrationality was completely unnerving.

“Please sit, Tristan. You’re about to pace a hole through that expensive Persian rug beneath your feet,” Colin said with mock severity. “Besides, Victoria is with Eve. What could possibly go wrong?”

Tristan grimaced. “My wife is with my former betrothed while a hundred members of polite society are currently arriving in the downstairs ballroom. Thank you, brother dear. You instill such confidence within me.”

Wife.
It sounded so official, so perfect that his heart swelled with pride every time Tristan referred to Victoria as his wife.

“Care for a drink then?” Colin said as he poured whiskey into two tumblers then offered one to Tristan.

After accepting his brother’s offering, Tristan raised it to his lips then paused, instead choosing to sniff the amber colored liquid.

“What?” Colin asked. “Do you think I poisoned it?”

Tristan shrugged. “The thought had crossed my mind. I did elope with Victoria after you forbade me from marrying her.”

“
Forbade
is a strong word,” Colin noted as he swished the liquid in his glass. “Besides, it was always Victoria’s decision, not mine.”

“Now you tell me,” Tristan muttered before taking a large gulp from his tumbler.

“Oh, no, not you, too,” a shrill voice called from the doorway.

Tristan recognized the reprimanding tone long before he turned to face his wife’s maid. “Good evening, Meg.”

“A good evening this most certainly is not,” she announced, marching across the room.

Colin shot Tristan a look that conveyed
who is this raving lunatic?

“Colin, this is Victoria’s maid, Meg,” Tristan said with a conspiratorial wink. “Meg, this is my brother, Colin.”

Meg turned her attention from Tristan to Colin. “So you’re the other one! Do either of you know how difficult it has been to sober your wives?” She pointed to Colin, “Yours much more so than his but still, I have plied them each with enough coffee to keep them awake for days.”

Colin’s furrowed brow and intense grimace made it obvious that he wasn’t impressed. “I beg your pardon?”

“As well you should. Miss MacAlistair had a pair of shears – as if any inebriated female should ever carry a sharp object.”
 

With a deep sigh, Meg placed her hand on her forehead and for one brief moment, Tristan expected her to swoon. The tough maid rallied, though. “I came to warn you both that at least one of your wives is still in her cups. Oh, and you …”

Meg rounded on Tristan, her nostrils flaring as she pointed her index finger at his chest with every word she uttered. “You will keep Victoria where she can be seen at all times. You’ve taken great pains to salvage her reputation. Do not undermine that tonight. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tristan held his arms high in the air as a gesture of surrender.

“If His Grace learns about this he’ll be furious – Miss Eve MacAlistair attempting to get Lady Victoria foxed at her wedding ball.” Meg paced back and forth. “This after the duke battled his sister’s husband via fisticuffs? Then there is the matter of the elopement—”

“I think you’ve recounted enough Meg,” Tristan warned.

Victoria’s maid didn’t seem to notice Tristan’s mounting frustration. “It is a good thing her ladyship isn’t alive to see this – her smart, beautiful girl guzzling champagne just days after she eloped with some
barrister
.”

Meg emphasized her last word with such disdain that Tristan wondered if, in her opinion, his profession was considered much more scandalous than an elopement.

“The Dowager Duchess would have shot you, you know,” she said, interrupting his silent analysis, a savage glint in her eye.

Colin coughed.

Meg advanced a few more steps, until she was less than a foot away from Tristan. “I can still shoot you. I know where His Grace keeps the key to the gun cabinet.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Tristan quipped, unable to suppress the wide grin that swept across his face as he added, “Thank you for your service, Meg. Surely no bridal celebration is complete without the Lady’s maid threatening bodily harm to her husband.”

There it was again. That fluttering feeling every time Tristan referenced Victoria as his wife. He doubted that he’d ever tire of it.

“I have done all I can,” Meg raised her hands to the heavens as if seeking divine intervention before storming from the room in a flourish of rustling skirts, slamming the door behind her.

“I take it that she is residing with you and Victoria now that you’re wed?” Colin asked, wearing a broad smirk.

“Gloat all you want. Need I remind you that it was your wife who provoked that mad woman’s ire by threatening her with a pair of shears?”

Colin sniggered then quickly cleared his throat, as if thinking better of such a response. “That isn’t funny.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Tristan arched his brow.

“No, it is not.” Colin paused, managing to keep a straight face for several seconds before a hearty laugh escaped him.

“What is so amusing?” Eve asked as she entered the room, carrying a champagne flute.

“Darling,” Colin said, reaching for her glass as she came close to him, “I hear you’ve been threatening the staff with a pair of shears.”

Eve stumbled for a moment before regaining her composure. “That woman is a dictator! I was simply improving Victoria’s wardrobe.”

“Where is my wife?” Tristan asked, rising from his chaise.

Eve turned, narrowing her eyes, “Your wife?”

“Victoria, your stunning auburn haired sister-in-law,” Tristan prompted before raising his hand in the air. “About this tall with piercing blue eyes?”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled, as if recollection had just dawned on her.
 
“You are an arse.”

Tristan studied his sister-in-law. “And
you
are inebriated but thank you all the same, Eve,” he managed with a sly grin.

“You are, Tristan,” Eve continued, bridging the distance between Tristan and herself. “You care for Victoria, I know you do. You wouldn’t have married her otherwise.”

Deciding it was past time for him to excuse himself and escape the current topic of conversation, Tristan ignored Eve’s comment, instead addressing his brother. “I must find my wife.”