The Skilled Seduction (9 page)

Initially, Tristan thought he would master his mistrust of women, his loathing for the institution of marriage. But he couldn’t. Marriage was an institution, after all, and most who ventured forth deserved to be institutionalized, in his opinion. At times like this, when he witnessed his sister and brother-in-law happily married, Tristan missed what he could have had … the family, the love, the happiness.

In spite of his assertions to the contrary, Tristan failed to convince himself that the life he had chosen for himself, the poor reputation he had carefully crafted, was enough. Far from it, he found his life to be lonely, though he would never admit it to anyone, not even Gwen.
   

Regardless of his charade, coming home was still incredibly painful because, hidden deep within the crevices of his very being, Tristan wanted nothing more than for time to move backwards, allowing him to relive his choice to love Eve above anyone else. But that was impossible and the ugly truth remained that the events that followed were his way to ensure that he would never entrust his heart to anyone.
 

His choices rendered falling in love impossible. Through them, he had erected walls that couldn’t be eradicated.
 

So the happiness his siblings enjoyed, complete with their families and children, their puppies and teddy bears, bedtime stories and wide smiles, was smothering him. Tristan despised himself for it, knowing all the while that he should be happy for Gwen and Colin. A part of him was, though the jealous monster within him reared its ugly head more often than he would like.

Tristan tossed his towel against the marble sink, disgusted by his most recent excursion to the land of
never
. Never will he do this, never will he have that.
 

For God’s sake man, toughen up! You survived much worse. You survived your father.

Yes, he survived his father. There was only one person who knew a portion of the price Tristan had paid and what the man had done to him – his brother, Colin. No one else would ever know as Tristan planned to take that secret to his grave. True to MacAlistair family history, Tristan hid many secrets.
 

Once dressed, Tristan exited his suite reminding himself that this, too, shall pass though the anxiety and restlessness warring within his veins forced him to question his assertion.
 

Not a promising way to begin his morning.

When he reached the breakfast room, Tristan found Gwen standing by the sideboard, dishing eggs onto two plates.

“Feeling better?” she asked as she piled bacon onto one of the plates, then some fruit.

“I’m fine, dearest sister, and you?” he feigned nonchalance as he kissed her on the cheek.

Gwen handed him a plate then carried hers to the table, set with two place settings. “That flippant answer would work if I believed you,” she said softly, picking up her fork. “We both know that you are far from happy, Tristan.”

“Had I known that I would be subjected to an inquisition this early in the morning, I would have taken my meal with the teddy bear upstairs.” Though he tried to keep his tone light, his impatience was evident.

The crisp scent of fresh air drifted through an open bank of windows, drawing his attention to the grounds that lay behind them. He found it much easier to lie to his sister when he wasn’t facing her. “I am fine, Gwen. You needn’t worry.”

“Look at me,” she ordered, her tone brooking no argument.

He complied at once, meeting her concerned gaze.

“You have always been my best friend and I am worried about you,” Gwen placed her fork on her plate with a soft
clink
before reaching for his hand. “You never write me, rarely come home to visit and you barely speak to me when you do. I don’t know how to help you.”

Nice speech. Even he had to give his sister credit for her attempt. “I don’t need your help,” Tristan managed, surprised at how calm his voice sounded when inside he was ready to scream.

“Yes, you most certainly do. Just because one woman lied to you—”

“It was more than one woman, Gwen,” he reminded her. “It was also more than enough to convince me not to trust another ever again.”

“Tristan, this life that you have fashioned for yourself doesn’t suit you,” she continued, stubborn to a fault.
 

Gwen never gave up, not even on lost causes and he most definitely qualified as such.

“Don’t talk to me about who you believe me to be, Gwen,” he pulled his hand free of her grasp. “Don’t fool yourself. I am not the same man I once was.”

She stared at him, “Then tell me that you are happy.”

Her eyes bore into the depths of being and Tristan knew lying would be fruitless. His sister already sensed the truth, it was part of their bond as twins. She knew him far better than he would have liked.

“Have you ever considered the possibility that perhaps I was never meant to be happy?” Tristan shoved his plate to the side.

“You mustn’t say such—”

“Honestly, Gwen, be realistic.” He folded his linen napkin in an attempt to control of his mounting temper. “You have your fairy tale, so does Colin. Don’t you think three joyful siblings are too much to ask for one family, especially when that clan’s history is rich with MacAlistair machinations?”

“You deserve your own happiness,” Gwen whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Please don’t cry,
he silently pleaded. The last thing Tristan wished to contend with at present was his sister’s heartbreak.

“You have always protected me and put my needs above your own,” she continued. “I know the amount of pain and disappointment you underwent when Eve chose Colin over you.”
 

“You needn’t remind me, Gwen. I lived it, remember?” He turned again towards the luminous day beaming on the other side of the windows, in stark contrast to his blackened heart.

Although Gwen remained silent, he suspected she was studying him intently. He refused to make eye contact with her, instead concentrating on the gauzy curtains that swayed back and forth from the gentle breeze.
 

Peals of laughter floated throughout the air in a whimsical refrain causing Tristan to squint, his eyes scanning the scene until he found his nephew sprinting towards the house chasing a bright red ball. To Tristan’s great surprise, Victoria sprinted after him dressed in breeches, a crisp white shirt, and her hair tied back with what appeared to be a thick red ribbon. She looked youthful, vibrant, and more alluring than he’d ever seen her.

“You are a cheater, Nicholas Montgomery,” Victoria teased, as she scooped him up from behind and swung him into the air, tickling the little boy. “It was my turn.”

“No,” he pealed with laughter. “Mine.”

Tori fell to her knees, still tickling the squirming little boy on the lawn.

Emma busied herself by plucking fistfuls of grass before sneaking up on Victoria from behind. The little girl then pulled the collar of her aunt’s shirt and shoved the blades under the fabric.

Victoria squealed, shaking the fabric in an attempt to shed herself of the grass. Once satisfied, she turned her attention to Emma.

“You little scamp!” Victoria reached for the child and pulled her onto the grass as Nicholas grabbed his own fistful, this time containing a thicket of green leaves from a nearby bush.

“See what you’ve started?” Victoria teased her
 

niece. “Go on Nicholas, defend Auntie Tori’s honor.”

Instead of doing as he was bid, Nicholas tossed the leaves upwards, sprinkling them in Victoria’s face and hair. Tristan could no longer tell where the children’s laughter ended and Victoria’s began, all now intermingled in perfect harmony.
 

He smiled. How could he not? Victoria was wonderful with the twins and there was no doubt in his mind that they loved her to no end. Of course, Gwen had to catch his small, insignificant reaction.

“You want that, don’t you?” she asked.

I want Victoria.
 

The thought struck him, louder than a thunderclap, causing his ears to ring and every nerve ending to stand on end. What in bloody hell was wrong with him? He’d been asking himself that question a great deal of late and always in regards to Victoria and her affect upon him.

“You want a family,” Gwen persisted. It was a statement, not a question.

Turning his attention from Victoria and the children, Tristan glanced at his sister for the first time in minutes. Tears were now pooling in her eyes as she offered her brother a look of understanding.

“Never forget, Tristan, that I know you far better than you know yourself.” The truth of her statement made him return his attention to Victoria and the twins.

The children, now laughing harder than ever, wriggled away from their aunt before racing inside, with Victoria following close on their heels. Nicholas was the first to scurry through the doors leading into the breakfast room.

“Auntie Tori cheats,” he exclaimed, his bright smile contradicting his serious accusation.

“I do not,” Victoria feigned indignation, leaning against the doorway and pausing just long enough to catch her breath. She then approached the little boy from behind, “I’ll have you know, young Nicholas, that no one said tickling was off limits.”

Victoria then began doing just that. Even in her present disheveled state, wearing grass-stained breeches, a shirt with leaves and blades of grass clinging to it, and several stray leaves in her hair she looked captivating.

Why had it taken Tristan so long to see how beguiling she was? To see how intelligent, witty, and independent she was?
 

Had Victoria possessed these qualities all along?
 

Nicholas’s peals of laughter reverberated throughout the small room, echoed by those of his sister who had just now caught up to him. He fidgeted before freeing himself from his aunt’s grasp. The little boy then grabbed his sister’s hand and ran out of the room. “Hide and seek,” he shouted over his shoulder as their footsteps thundered down the marble hallway.

“We played hide and seek earlier.” Victoria released an exaggerated sigh.

If Tristan didn’t know better he’d swear she was whining.
 

He chuckled behind his hand.

“Precisely what is it that you find so amusing, Mr. MacAlistair?” she asked, snagging a strawberry from his plate before taking a bite as she waited for his answer.

Tristan motioned for her to come closer. Victoria squinted, her wary attention moving from him to Gwen before she crept closer.

“What?” she asked, her tone laced with trepidation.

Tristan motioned again for her to come nearer. She complied and when Victoria leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of a pale pink bow adorning her corset, visible through the buttons of her white shirt. Though merely a tease of what lay beneath her layers of clothing, it was still enough to make his blood pump faster.

He reached for her hair, his hand grazing her neck before pulling one of several leaves out of Victoria’s hair. Offering it to her in the palm of his hand, he chided, “I’m sorry. What was your question?”

Tristan himself didn’t remember the question but he would have said anything to take his mind off how captivating Victoria appeared in her blouse and how incredible she might look out of it.

“Harrumph,” she straightened before placing her hand on her hip in a gesture of defiance. “At least I didn’t fall asleep earlier than my three-year-old niece. You are aging, old man. What’s next? A quizzing glass and walking stick?”

“I’ll have you know, Lady Victoria,” Tristan emphasized her title, pausing long enough to pluck another leaf from her blouse. “Or should I address you as Mother Earth?”

“Oh, that is quite amusing,” she retorted, her expression animated.

“Thank you” he winked at her. “I’ll have you know, bedtime stories are tough work.”

Victoria smirked, drawing his attention to her full, pink lips. They reminded Tristan of their almost kiss the day prior.
 

He didn’t require reminders, having thought of that kiss, or lack thereof, for most of the previous day. Somewhere between returning to the main house and reading his niece bedtime stories, regret had washed over him.
 

Tristan wished he had kissed her.
 

Hell, he wanted to kiss her even now.

“What is it that you find so exhausting about bedtime stories?” she began, her eyes dancing as she spoke, indicating that she wasn’t through taunting him yet.
 

He remained silent and, as he predicted, she continued. “Could it be the illustrations or perhaps the advanced vocabulary?” She held a finger in the air, “No, don’t tell me. You are frightened by the villains! Rest assured, my niece would defend you if necessary. We Montgomery woman are a sturdy lot,” she gave Gwen a conspiratorial wink.

“All of the voices must be different,” Tristan mumbled.

“Pardon?” Victoria shook her head in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”

“Oh, all right,” Tristan sighed audibly, garnering her full attention. “All of the voices must be different.”