Enticing Eve: Scandalous Secrets, Book 2 (16 page)

For the first time in a very long time, hope spread wings within Colin’s chest, taking flight.
 

Perhaps Eve did love him enough to forgive him.

The memory of her kiss seized his thoughts. Even after Tristan knew the truth and her world had imploded, she still kissed him. That must be significant.

Colin couldn’t quiet his inner voice, nor did he want to. It asserted that Eve did indeed love him. Even if his suppositions were wrong, she certainly shared a passion with him, one that could grow with time.
 

It would grow with time.
 

He’d make sure of it.
 

Yes, Eve would love him once more. It was his solemn vow. Colin was once willing to sacrifice his own happiness for that of his youngest brother.
 

Not any longer.
 

Colin had decided to pursue his happiness, and it was time for him to follow through. If he is to be damned for taking the life and the wife meant for his younger brother, then so be it. He would rather be damned with Eve than without her.

Hell was a life without Eve. He’d once lived it and survived it. He refused to go back.

No, Colin was once again fighting for his life. He wouldn’t rest until Eve Weston loved him again.

Chapter 6

“I thought I’d find you here,” Victoria’s cheerful voice drifted through the walls of her cozy little art chalet that Sebastian erected for her on Kellington Manor’s grounds.

Tristan sat cloaked in shadow, in a room jutting off the foyer. As the clouds scudded away, the skylight above offered just enough glimpses of moonlight to bathe his reflection in a bluish hue.
 

He met her arrival with a scowl. “How in God’s name did you find me?” Tristan asked, seated on the settee across from a cold grate. “I was certain that this was the one place no one would look.”

Victoria proceeded through the shadows to a dresser upon which sat several tallow candles. She reached into the top drawer, fumbling for the matchbox before striking a flame. She then illuminated the candles, noting with a grin the cozy glow that now warmed the once-dark room.
 

“Let there be light,” she announced, ignoring his question.

Tristan noted with a sigh of relief that the windows faced the grounds. Therefore the warm glow of the candles wouldn’t be visible to the main house or its inhabitants. “How did you find me?”

“I know your sister all too well,” she quipped, reaching into the cabinet and withdrawing a bottle. “Kellington Manor may possess a hundred rooms, but you would be unable to hide from Gwen under its roof. On the other hand, she would never think to look for you here.”

“But you did?” He concluded.

She offered him a wry grin before joining him on the settee. “Have a sip. You look like you could use it.” Victoria extended her arms, placing the decorative bottle within his reach.

“Is this claret?” Tristan scoffed, scrutinizing the liquid before him. “What in bloody hell do you do out here when your brother thinks you’re painting?”

“I paint,” she laughed. “And sketch.”

Tristan arched his brow.

“Don’t glare at me with that sense of skepticism and superiority,” she added with mock indignation. “I am an artist. I work at all hours of the day and night. When inspiration strikes, I don’t always remember to stoke the fire within the grate. Occasionally, claret is my only source of warmth and I’ll have you know that it gets quite nippy in here.”

He smirked as if unconvinced.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she grabbed the hand-painted bottle from him, yanking the stopper free before tracing the lilies and leaves painted upon the transparent glass. “As proof that I do indeed paint, I extend to you this bottle. It is one of my creations. Now drink. I assume I don’t need to offer you a glass. If your foul mood is any indication, the bottle will be more than sufficient, and we needn’t rest on formalities.”

She then thrust the bottle at him once more.
 

Tristan shook his head as he accepted her offering and took a hearty swig. “If I were your brother—”

“Well, thankfully you are not, as your mood leaves much to be desired,” she teased him. “Besides, the role of my brother is presently being played with aplomb by my brother, Sebastian. Instead you are my friend, and I am concerned about you.”

“Did you know?” he asked, before taking another robust swig. “Did Eve confide in you about Colin?”

“No,” Victoria assured him. “I had no idea until this evening.”

“Why keep it a secret from her friends? We were friends, Eve and I, before our betrothal. You’d think that would be part of the natural course of conversation.”

Victoria tipped her head to the side, a frown marring her flawless visage. “One would think but I suppose Eve had her reasons.”

“Yes,” Tristan grimaced. “There are always reasons to lie.”

He referred to his father.
 

“I don’t think Eve’s intentions were malicious, Tristan. I knew your father, remember? You can’t compare the two.”
 

Though Victoria knew him too well, he remained unconvinced.

“No?” Tristan’s voice shook, and he took great pains to censure his mounting anger. “A lie is a lie, Victoria. Our families have suffered more so than most because of the machinations of those closest to us.”

She nodded in agreement.

“Don’t you ever get angry? That your father cheated on your mother? That he used her?” Tristan took another swig.

“Of course I do,” her tone was gentle. “I just don’t allow it to consume me.”

“How is that possible when everyone we trusted has lied to us?” his eyes searched hers.

“I remind myself that there are those dear to us who have not. Sebastian and Gwen, for instance. They are our constants, are they not? The fact that we can trust them means that not all is lost, Tristan.”
 

He didn’t trust his voice. Instead, Tristan reached for a stray curl noting as he brushed it in place behind Victoria’s ear that it was soft and was quick to spring into place.
 

When had she become such an indispensable friend to him?
 

He couldn’t pinpoint the specific moment but somehow he knew that Victoria had become a constant in his life, just as his sister had always been.

“May I voice my opinion in regards to this whole Eve and Colin debacle?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
 

“No,” he murmured then added, “no offense.”

Victoria smiled. “None taken, though you know me well enough to predict that I shall speak my mind regardless.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Tristan adjusted, leaning his elbow against the back of the settee and faced his friend. He then traced the paint strokes that delicately adorned the bottle of claret with his fingertips.

“Eve should have told you about her relationship with Colin. That is obvious. I say that as your friend as well as hers.”

He nodded.

“Still, she did keep the truth from you,” Victoria’s tone was soothing in spite of her words. “Given those circumstances, would you rather not have known? Lived your life with her all the while kept in the dark?”

Tristan studied the brush strokes on the bottle, the lilies and leaves that wrapped around the glass with variations of light and shadow. He was reminded of Victoria’s talent, as well as her insight.
 

“Never,” he admitted. “I can’t fathom being made a fool of.”

In truth, his stomach lurched at the mere thought.

“Tristan, you’re angry and hurt. Rightly so, if you ask me.” She studied him. “But I do not believe that you are heartbroken.”

“Perhaps I hide it well,” he scoffed.

“Is your heart wounded or is your pride?” Victoria asked.

His brows furrowed in confusion.
 

“Do you love Eve?” Victoria paused as if gauging his reaction. “I ask because you’re not fighting for her.”

He shrugged. “My father was incapable of love. Maybe I am, too.”

“I don’t believe that for one moment,” Victoria’s tone turned thunderous in an instant. “Tristan MacAlistair, you are not your father. You defied his wishes and joined the legal profession in spite of the reputation it would garner you among the aristocracy. You chose that path so you could rail against social injustice, the same way you fought for your sister’s happiness and fought for Eve when she and her grandmother needed help. A man like that, a man who wins over nobility with determination and a fierce sense of morality in no way resembles your father.”

“When did you become so intelligent?” he winked at his companion, certain that his pride in her was evident in his expression.

How was he able to smile on this night, after the events that transpired?

Inhaling deeply, the scent of lavender lingering throughout the room filled his senses. Candlelight flickered, and Tristan’s attention was drawn to a vase of dried lavender on a hutch at the far side of the room. The vase was painted in a similar fashion to the bottle of claret, only this time with lavender blooms in varying shades of violet, long green stems and what appeared to be a violet colored ribbon. He stood, walking towards the hutch to find that the scene traveled to the tabletop and down the sides, where it blossomed into a field of thriving lavender bushes.

“This is extraordinary,” he remarked aloud.

“I admire your ability to change the subject,” Victoria answered with a wry grin.

He turned to face her. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” She stood, walking towards him before reaching for the bottle of claret and placing the stopper back into it. Her azure eyes appeared violet in this light, cast in shadow and the flickering flame of the candles.

“While I appreciate your compliment, I won’t be deterred,” Victoria placed the bottle back in the hutch before she continued. “You must not allow this one event with Eve to dictate your future happiness. I know you. Your first reaction will be to run and close yourself off from those who love you.”

Victoria was either psychic or did indeed know him too well, for that was his plan when he hid in her art chalet.

When Tristan failed to contradict her assertions, she continued. “Next you will allow your anger to overtake you. It will protect you from heartache at first but you must take care, Tristan, because it will only protect you for so long. Eventually, you will regret shutting those you love out of your life.”

Tristan released an exasperated sigh. “When the hell did you become so bloody omnipotent?”

“I suppose it was when you weren’t looking,” she quipped before her tone grew serious once more. “Don’t allow Eve’s act of deception to define you, Tristan. It is the coward’s way out, and you are no coward.”
 

“Perhaps my father was correct about one thing,” Tristan mused. “Harden your heart so you won’t feel disappointment in those you love – in those you trust.”

Victoria reached for his arm. “Now I am fearful for you. Are you truly citing your father’s illogical reasoning? Your anger is your prop, Tristan, just as it was for your father. Don’t succumb to such thoughts. Your sister loves and supports you. I support you as well—”

“I will never forget witnessing my brother kissing my betrothed – the same brother who withheld the truth about our father and left me and my sister to fend for ourselves with a lunatic.” Tristan clutched the hutch, his fingernails digging into the wood until pain radiated through his hand.
 
“How much heartache could the information that Colin withheld have saved us? The more I remember, the more angry and bitter I become.”

Victoria placed her hand on the small of his back in a reassuring gesture that caused his nerves to stand at attention.
 

“As long as I’ve known you, you retreat into yourself when you become angry or when a situation spirals out of your control. I witnessed it first-hand during your father’s hold over Gwen before her betrothal to Sebastian. Don’t get me wrong, you protected your sister, but you had a habit of leaving when you were helpless to prevent a certain chain of events.”
 

Tristan frowned. It wasn’t easy to be an open book on full display. “I’d be lying if I attempted to convince you that I’m not sorely tempted to flee from this place as fast as I can.”

“You may be tempted, but you can choose not to turn away from Gwen. She needs you just as much as you need her. Allow those who love you to help you through this—”

“You know me well enough to concede that remaining here to watch Colin marry my former betrothed isn’t an option.”
 

“Then promise me that you will fight the anger and the darkness that is threatening to consume you,” Victoria beseeched him, her grip tightening on Tristan’s arm.

He studied her familiar face now contorted with concern. “I can’t make such a promise. It is in my bloodline, after all.”

“You must rail against it, Tristan, like you would do for any of your causes and clients. Fight this battle before you lose more than Eve.” As if realizing that she was still gripping his arm, Victoria released it with care.