The Skilled Seduction (42 page)

“That is Mrs. Margaret Meriwether.”

“So she possesses no title?” Victoria asked.

Lord Crowley shook his head in response.

“I see.” A satisfied smiled swept across Victoria’s features, her dimples deeply etched as she surveyed the crowd that had formed around her. Though she had released his hand, Tristan stood next to her, remaining close enough to offer support yet giving her the space she had requested.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, her tone clear and confident. “I understand from Mrs. Meriwether that my husband and I have been a popular topic of conversation this evening.”

The whispers began again, quickly rising to a crescendo. Victoria raised her hand. In response, the noise decreased upon her command, as if she were leading an orchestra. “I understand completely. Truly I do. As does Lord Abbott,” Victoria motioned to the stuffy old man to her right. “He remembers the gossip that surrounded his wife’s affair all too well, do you not, Lord Abbott?”

It was all Tristan could do not to laugh. Instead, he cleared his throat in an attempt to suppress his amusement. He was so damn proud of her he thought his heart would burst.

There she was, in the
lion’s den
as she called it, radiant in her custom sapphire gown accentuated with spectacular feathers, defying all who dared to gossip about them.
 

Independent, courageous, magnificent … and she was his.

“Then there is Lady Dutton. Did gossip not spread about you when your son married your maid? Not to mention Lord Spencer, London was buzzing when you returned from abroad with malaria. Poor dear, I am relieved that you have recovered.”

“What is your point?” a man called out from the back of the room.

Victoria smiled. “My point is that many of us have experienced some sort of scandal, have been the subjects of some form of gossip. Those who have not must beware, for you may be next.” She winked at an elderly man in the front row before adding, “We are adults. It is absolutely reprehensible, as Mrs. Meriwether just discovered, to disparage an innocent child.”

Now Tristan understood. He stared at the vile woman, relishing in the fact that her cheeks were now a bright crimson from embarrassment, visible even through the thick layer of powder she was still attempting to wipe away.

Victoria took several steps closer to her. “As I explained to Mrs. Meriwether, the child that resides with me and my husband,
our
daughter, is under our protection. Anyone who speaks ill of her risks our wrath as Mrs. Meriwether discovered firsthand this evening.”

Some in the crowd nodded, a few whispered feverishly, while others remained silent. “I understand that my speech here tonight is unconventional but, seeing how Mrs. Meriwether and so many of you defied propriety by speaking ill of an innocent child this evening, I didn’t think you would mind my candor. I did want to mention one more note of importance. In addition to being under our protection, our daughter is under the protection of my brother, the Duke of Davenport, and my husband’s grandfather, the Viscount of Cavendish.”

Victoria walked over towards Tristan, her smile contagious. “There is quite a bit of noble blood in our families, is there not?”
     

“Yes, darling, there is,” he drawled.

Victoria again scanned the crowd. “I trust that each of you understands the ramifications and will refrain from gossiping about our daughter henceforth?”

Several people muttered, “Yes,” while others studied the floor or gaped at Mrs. Meriwether.

Victoria adjusted her skirts as if she were about to take her leave from the crowd, then stopped and instead surveyed them. “I would be remiss if I failed to note your fascination with ladies’ powder rooms. Between all of the wealth and titles in this room, the
haut ton
can undoubtedly come up with a more secluded place to spread rumors and revel in others’ misfortunes?”

Though she had just trounced each and every member of polite society attending this gala, a gentleman actually rapped his walking stick against the marble floor and called out, “Here, here.” Tristan thought the voice resembled Lord Archer though he was too enamored with his wife to investigate.

Instead, he watched as Victoria returned to his side, the personification of grace and composure, her feathers gently swaying in unison with the gold earrings dangling from her earlobes.

“You are magnificent,” Tristan smiled as he reached for her hand only to discover that Victoria was shaking.

“Please, take me home,” she entreated in a hushed whisper.

It was the first time that Victoria had referred to his townhouse as
home
, he noted with a palpable surge of delight.

Placing his free hand on the small of her back, Tristan guided her away from the crowd, concern laced with an urgent desire to comfort her, pulsating through his veins. He released her only briefly, to drape her cape over her shoulders.

As soon as they exited the stuffy confines of the party, Victoria leaned against the cool brick and limestone structure, deeply inhaling the crisp night air. “I wish I could apologize for embarrassing you, Tristan, but I’m glad I did so.” She paused for a moment before adding, “No offense.”

“None taken … I think,” he quipped, leading her by the hand to their carriage.

Victoria paused mid-step. “I’d like to walk for a little while, if you don’t mind.”

Tristan instructed his driver before he and Victoria set off.
 

Caring not for propriety, he took his wife’s hand as they sauntered down the cobblestoned avenue towards their home.

Home.

Without warning, Tristan’s appreciation of that one simple word surged within his soul. Who knew that four little letters could mean so much? Like
love
… such a tiny word for such a vast and all-encompassing emotion.

“My God, Tristan! That foul weather woman said such horrendous things about Sophie,” Victoria ranted, her expression animated. She was more vibrant than he had seen her in a long while. “I assure you that the powder was the nicest course of action I could have taken. I wanted to rip her hair out by the roots.”

“I’m glad you controlled that particular impulse,” he teased.

“How dare she attack a child,” Victoria’s tirade continued, “any child, but especially that innocent little girl – it was utterly reprehensible.”

Tristan’s smile widened. “I dare say she will never again make such a monumental error in judgment.”

Halting in mid-step, Victoria turned towards him, her fingers still entwined with his. “You do realize that I made an absolute fool of myself this evening.”

“You did no such thing. In fact, you were brave and fierce and completely justified.” Tristan studied his wife, pride swelling within his chest as he caressed her silken cheek with his thumb. “Sophie is fortunate to have such a formidable champion.”

Yes, Sophie was fortunate. As was he, Tristan knew, and vowed to never again disappoint his wife. “I am incredibly proud of you,” he added with a grin.

“Who knew all it would take would be an altercation with a vain woman beneath my station?” she asked with mock severity, arching her brow.

Her pulse quickened under his touch and Victoria could feel her heart thawing towards him. How could it not? The man supported her, buffered her from the gossips, offered her protection both prior to and after she made a public spectacle of herself.

How could this man be capable of forsaking his own child?

Victoria knew the answer in her heart. Now, she needed to hear her husband admit the truth. She leaned into him, a thrill of excitement prickling beneath her flesh as she noted his sharp intake of breath.
 

That one simple response changed everything.
 

It reminded Victoria that she held the power and she was going to use her hard fought control for the sole purpose of learning the truth about Sophie’s parentage tonight.

“I’m tired of fighting you, Tristan,” she admitted, tracing the cleft of his chin with her gloved thumb.

Tristan was, too. Exhausted in fact, but words never seemed sufficient. Words always came between them. No, he didn’t want to break the spell she was weaving, one of hooded desire and heartfelt declarations. Instead, he kissed her. Right there, on the street, for all to see. It was a gentle kiss, one filled with emotion. He hoped it would convey his unspoken love, his passion, his pride.

It was Victoria who lessened the kiss. “Did you really send our driver away?”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “No, he’s waiting for us around the corner.”

“I’ll race you,” she issued the challenge.

It didn’t take long to reach their carriage. No sooner did Tristan ascend the steps and hear the door close than Victoria pulled him against her chest.
 

She kissed him with an urgent hunger that thrilled him. The carriage lurched forward, the familiar sound of the horses’ hooves matching his rapid heartbeat as she slid his jacket off his shoulders. She’d already removed her gloves, he noted as Victoria then untied his cravat, tracing a path with her fingertips down to his crisp white shirt, unfastening each of the tiny pearl buttons with dexterity.

His skin prickled under her soft fingertips as she explored his chest, her mouth devouring his. A barrage of passionate kisses followed.
 

Her touch was intoxicating, her kisses sweet as sin.

Burying his hands in her hair, he reveled in her sweet scent. Her hand then slid to his waist, tracing his waistband as his manhood throbbed for her. Victoria’s fingers inched lower, to the buttons of his trousers. Slowly, she unfastened each then trailed her soft fingertips down his length.

The sensation sent a shock through his body. His desire building to a crescendo, Tristan slid his hands down her back then fumbled for her skirts, lifting them before sliding her onto his lap. He found the folds of her petticoats, peeling them apart, seeking her womanhood then lifting her up over his length. He sought release as the carriage swayed gently underneath them.

“Do you want me?” she asked breathlessly, straddling him.

“Yes,” it was a guttural response and more primal than he anticipated.

She began to rock back and forth in tempo with the gentle sway of the carriage. Slowly, methodically, she heightened his desire until he thought he would combust.

“Tell me,” she prompted.

Tristan thrust into her. “I want you.”

Victoria arched her back, her nails digging into his shoulders as she kissed him again, this kiss more passionate than her last.

They rocked back and forth in unison, his shaft probing deeper with each thrust. His desire building, Tristan reveled in her touch as her feminine core tightened around his shaft, bringing him closer to ecstasy.

She was driving him mad with desire.

“Do you want this?” she teased, raising her hips, then thrusting down again, the slow, repetitive motion all but killing him. She was using his own seduction skills against him, he realized. Victoria had learned much from him since their first encounter.

Tristan crushed his mouth against hers, thrusting his tongue, probing deeper, harder as he came closer to his climax.

In response, Victoria lifted herself up once again. This time, however, she raised herself off his manhood. He groaned in disappointment as she bent forward. Victoria sighed, her sweet breath fanning his face, sending his surging desire to an all-time high.

“Sophie isn’t yours, is she?” Victoria asked in a husky whisper, her words slowly slicing through his haze of passion.

Tristan struggled to process her question as she slid down once again over his shaft. As if suspecting that he had no intention of answering her, Victoria added, “I need the truth and you need release. This is torture, is it not?”

Her game was indeed torturing him.

“You want me to love you,” Victoria purred, her tone smooth as silk as she slid on top of him again, her wet warmth encircling his throbbing shaft. “I simply need the truth.”

He swallowed hard against the words forming in spite of his best efforts to remain silent. Tristan knew he shouldn’t relent, yet he was desperate for release, his shaft now beyond the painful state. “Please don’t do this, Victoria.”

“What?” she whispered, raising herself off of his manhood once again.
 

It had been much too long since they had last been intimate and Tristan thought he would die of longing.

“All I desire is the truth,” she nipped his earlobe.
 

Victoria made it sound so simple.

Overcome with an insatiable desire for his wife, an unrelenting hunger for her, Tristan thrust himself into her womanhood.

“Please,” she implored, her throaty whisper conveying her desperation as she slid onto his manhood again. “Please, Tristan, grant me the truth.”

Tristan unpinned her hair, raking his hands through her thick tresses in an attempt to control his mounting desire but it was too late. He couldn’t deny her, not now.
 

Before he knew it, before he could stop them, the words tumbled from his lips.