The Skilled Seduction (36 page)

“Since you’re in such an amiable mood, dare I ask if you’ve forgiven me for locking you in my suite the night before our London elopement?”

A hearty, downright sinister chuckle escaped Victoria’s throat. “Heavens, no. You have your work cut out for you on that front.”

Like his sister’s statement minutes before, this too sounded like a threat. Both of his women had him in a vulnerable position, and Tristan’s pulse accelerated at the realization.
 

As he entwined his fingers with his wife’s, he vowed not to lose control. Not now. Not ever again. It was his solemn oath as he escorted his bride downstairs.

Tristan feared it was also wishful thinking.

Chapter 16

“Oliver!” Victoria called to her dear friend.
   

The Earl of Fairfax placed his empty glass of champagne on the tray of a passing footman.

“I’m so glad you could attend.” Tori smiled as she offered him her hand.
 

“Please tell me I’m not the only one who needed a drink to steel myself for the evening ahead,” Oliver whispered before kissing her gloved hand.

“Amusing,” she replied with her familiar brand of sarcasm. “You are a funny man, indeed.”

“At least I’m not funny looking,” he teased. “Dare I ask where your groom might be?”

“By her side, where I belong,” Tristan approached from behind, resting his hand on the small of her back. A possessive gesture that was so subtle no one could have possibly noticed with the exception of his bride and perhaps Wainright.

He hoped Wainright had noticed.
 

Wainright tore his eyes from Victoria, peering at Tristan with what could best be described as disdain. “Pity you’re here. This evening was beginning to look rather promising.”

“Behave yourselves, boys,” Victoria scolded. “This is my ball and I will not tolerate two of my best men behaving like brutes.”

“Say that five times fast,” Oliver muttered.

Tristan nearly choked on his mouthful of champagne.

“Please be kind to each other,” Victoria paused, placing her hand on Tristan’s arm.

“I will if he will,” Tristan studied her, skin aglow, eyes dancing. The temptress he would share his life with, create a family with, grow old with.

With sudden clarity he realized that what happened before this one moment no longer mattered. Or it did matter, but only as it related to him spending the rest of his life with Victoria.

All the bad led him to this woman, this moment.

Victoria grinned. “You are staring at me again.”

“What is wrong with that?” Tristan adjusted the rose in her curls, allowing his fingertips to trail down the soft hollow of her neck.

“I need another drink,” Oliver nearly knocked over a passing footman in an attempt to grab a fresh glass. Victoria didn’t seem to notice, her gaze still fixed with Tristan’s.

One win for the good guy
, Tristan thought. Although far from noble, he was, at this very moment, the luckiest man in all of England.

“Here you are,” Gwen said in a sing-song tone as she grabbed Tori’s arm, embracing her in a hug. “You are both too close,” she whispered to Victoria before adding, “I will speak with you later, Tristan.”

Tristan was officially in trouble. In more ways than one because when his wife flirted with him like she had tonight, he realized just how much he had to lose if his secrets ever got back to Victoria before he himself could confess.

Never had he been so vulnerable and a sinking suspicion nagged at him. He should have told her the truth upstairs. Tristan had contemplated it at least a dozen times. Upon further examination, he decided it was indeed time to open his past to his wife.
 

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

* * *

“What were you thinking, Victoria?” Gwen whispered as she escorted her sister-in-law to the powder room. “You know the rules of propriety. You were further endangering your reputation and Tristan’s.”

“It won’t happen again,” Tori promised before rounding the corner and bumping into a potted fern. “Excuse me,” she muttered absentmindedly.
   

Gwen sighed, deep and audible.

“For the last time, I’m not inebriated. I am nervous,” Victoria admitted to her sister-in-law. “I’m not used to being under such public scrutiny and the only time I feel completely comfortable in that ballroom is when Tristan is by my side.”

“I understand. But you have more than one protector. You have me, Sebastian, and Colin. All of us are here for you.”

Tori gave her sister-in-law a jaunty grin, “I dare say that Colin has his hands full with Eve.”

“Duly noted, but you still must be careful,” Gwen’s tone was motherly.

By the time they reached the powder room, Tori’s initial happiness was again replaced with apprehension as they passed two rather haughty looking women Victoria had never before seen.

“I dare say he made a splendid match,” a high pitched voice said from behind the changing panel in the powder room. “She is the daughter of a duke, after all.”

Victoria smiled in spite of herself.
 

“I never questioned the lady’s suitability, I questioned his,” a woman replied. Her tone, nasal and bitter, was immediately recognizable to Tori as Lady Markham.

Gwen opened her mouth to protest but Victoria placed her finger to her own lips.

“Whatever do you mean?” said the other woman, her interest in the latest gossip quite evident.

“I can’t say much, mind you. I wouldn’t want to disparage the bride or her noble roots.”

Lady Markham paused, for dramatic effect, Victoria suspected.

“But Mr. MacAlistair has a dreadful reputation in London. Rumor has it that he married the naïve, unsuspecting girl to save his reputation not to mention his career.” Victoria’s head snapped towards Gwen. She had expected to see an expression of anger etched in the regal woman’s features. But, instead of indignation, Victoria recognized her own feelings of disappointment and disillusionment reflected in her friend’s topaz eyes.

Could it be true?

“It’s a shame, too. His sister is so sweet. No one wants to tell her, you see. Then there is the question of the illegitimate child.”

“What illegitimate child?” the mousy woman gasped.

Victoria’s heart pounded against her temples, her mouth widening with shock. How could they have learned of Colin’s paternity?

Her gaze met Gwen’s and she was certain that Gwen was wondering the same thing.

“Yes, it appears that the mighty Tristan MacAlistair took on a mistress after his broken betrothal to that Weston girl … a Madame, as it turns out.”

“Scandalous,” the mousy woman hissed.

Lady Markham agreed, “Indeed. Rumor has it that once she became pregnant, he discarded her – denouncing both mother and child. A little girl.”

Victoria leaned against the wall for support.

Lady Markham seemed to be giving her audience a good show for the high pitched woman giggled. “You are terrible,” she shrieked before adding “is it factual?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Markham asserted.

The sound of rustling fabric grew louder and Tori feared she and Gwen were about to come face-to-face with the two women. Instead, she grabbed Gwen’s hand and led her quickly back into the hall, their footsteps echoing on the marble as they fled as fast as they could. By the time they found the empty conservatory, Victoria was visibly trembling. Gwen turned the brass key as soon as she closed the door and both women leaned against the wall for support.

“Oh my God, what has Tristan done?” Victoria placed her hand over her lips.

Is it possible that Tristan has an illegitimate daughter? Did he only marry me to save his damaged reputation? Is that all he wants from me?

Victoria relived Tristan’s actions in her mind … his sudden change of heart, his desire to marry her and his newfound eagerness to show her off to the
ton
. He had played the role of a dutiful husband to perfection. Had he been pretending, all the while concealing his real motives?

She leaned forward, bile rising in her throat.

“Come and sit, Tori. You look unwell.” Gwen touched her arm.

Feeling as if the ground were quaking beneath her feet, Tori studied her surroundings. Even though the conservatory looked the same, was still accentuated with ornate furnishings including gilded music stands, vibrant artwork and potted plants, surely the earth was indeed shifting. Just when she’d dared to believe Tristan could open his heart to her at last, her world now crumbled around her.

Gwen led her to the piano bench where Victoria slumped onto the cushioned seat, the weight of her elbows causing the keys to resound with several sour notes. Her sister-in-law settled beside her, the ensuing minutes passing in a heady silence.

“I remember the day I became ill,” Gwen’s words were not much louder than a whisper, as if she were in confession. “I remember the conversation you shared with Tristan while he and I were seated for breakfast. It was the first time I’d witnessed my brother’s unguarded self in years. The way he looked at you, openly flirted with you, gave me hope that I’d long since believed impossible.”

Victoria remained silent. She too had seen the possibility in Tristan then.

How could they have been so wrong?

“Even when Sebastian told me everything that occurred between you and Tristan, I was still convinced my brother loved you. I told Sebastian so.” Gwen admitted, failing to surprise Victoria even one iota because Sebastian and Gwen were a match made in heaven. Such a love match comprised complete honesty.

“I wish you were right, Gwen,” Victoria closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of polished wood. Even tonight, she found herself believing once again that Tristan cared for her.
 

Was it all an act?

“Are you with child?” Gwen’s voice was now a faint whisper.

The question jarred Victoria as did her sister-in-law’s penetrating gaze. “I don’t know.”

Gwen placed her arm around Tori’s shoulder and pulled her closer. Though she didn’t deserve Gwen’s compassion, Victoria thanked God for it all the same.

“Why did you marry Tristan?” Gwen asked.

Refusing to further disappoint her sister-in-law, to further taint the woman’s view of her twin brother, Victoria withheld the particulars that brought about the elopement.
   

“I have been in love with Tristan for a very long time, Gwen.” Victoria reached for the ebony and ivory keys of the pianoforte, her beloved flower-shaped ring sparkling in the resplendent amber glow of the gas lamps as she tapped a few, the tinkling notes piercing the still silence that had enveloped them. Tristan seemed to be so sincere when he gave her this ring.
 

Could Lady Markham be correct in her accusations? Had Tristan been fooling her this entire time?
   

One thing was correct.

“Lady Markham was accurate in her assessment of
naïve
little me.” How transparent had Victoria been? “I willed all of this into motion, thinking that if I pressed him hard enough, made him jealous enough, that he would acknowledge his feelings for me.”

“You honestly don’t believe Tristan loves you?” Gwen asked.

Victoria’s fingers twitched and she slammed her hand against several keys, the cacophonous sound reverberating throughout the room. “He once told me so. Lady Markham was right and now everyone knows just how pitiable I am. My fears have come to pass, have they not? I was so besotted that I never considered that Tristan could ever possess such a sinister agenda as Lady Markham described.”

A deep, exasperated sigh escaped Gwen’s lips. “I fear Lady Markham was correct in regards to Tristan’s reputation. I do not, however, believe she is correct about his reasons for marrying you.”

“Pardon, but are you delusional?” Victoria countered.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen explained, “My brother looks at you like there is no other woman in the world whom he’d rather see.”

“You are biased on this particular subject,” Tori said, managing a grin her heart didn’t quite feel.

Gwen nudged Tori’s shoulder. “Biased I may be. But I am also rational and I do believe he cares for you. To be honest, I believe that he loves you but doesn’t know how to express it.”

 
“Here I thought Colin was the hopeless romantic in our family.” Tori said, turning to face her sister-in-law.

“Oh, I don’t understand any of this,” Gwen stood then paced the room, her heels tapping across the marble like a drum. “This makes no sense.”

“You’ve never seen his scars, have you?” Victoria asked, noting her friend’s sharp intake of breath.

“What scars?” Gwen halted in mid-step, turning to face Victoria, fear etched in her usually serene visage.

“Your father beat him. By the looks of Tristan’s scars, it appears as if your father used a whip, though he won’t confirm it.”

Gwen strode back to the piano stool, slumping next to Victoria. “How did I fail to notice?”