Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation (12 page)

Lily’s mind immediately spun back to the dance floor. The kiss. Had he not been himself then either? How embarrassing.

‘Me either,’ she lied.

He nodded, as if that solved everything, and Lily’s heart sank a little. ‘Was there something else?’

He shook his head and then glanced towards her bed.

‘Actually, yes.’ He pointed to the bed. ‘I’m sorry to say that your premonition about the photos has come true.’

Lily rose and walked over to the bed. ‘Oh.’

‘I said a little more than that myself,’ he acknowledged ruefully.

‘I did too.’ She glanced up briefly. ‘Internally…’

She thought a momentary smile curved his mouth, but it might easily have been a trick of the light given how stiff and remote he seemed.

‘I should go.’

‘Yes,’ Lily agreed, following him with her eyes as he walked to the door. Then he stopped abruptly.

‘Are you…okay this morning?’ His voice was rough and slightly aggressive and she knew what he was asking.

‘I thought we’d just agreed to forget last night?’

‘I’m allowed to check how you are, dammit. And don’t say
fine
.’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘Will great do?’ she asked lightly.

His nostrils flared and she thought that maybe now was not a good time to aggravate him.

Tristan’s mouth tightened. This situation was intolerable. He couldn’t be in the same room with her and not want to touch her, but it was obvious by the proud tilt of her head that she wouldn’t welcome his advances. He didn’t know what he had expected from her this morning, but her suggestion that they forget last night had surprised him. And annoyed him. Because he wasn’t sure he
could
forget it!

The phone in his pocket rang and he checked the caller ID before answering. Bert had been caught in a six-car pile-up on Rosslyn Hill. He didn’t want another car. He’d call a cab—it would be quicker.

‘What happened?’

‘Bert’s been caught in an accident.’

‘Is he okay?’ Her concern was genuine, and he was reminded of how yesterday she had given Bert unsolicited signed promotional pictures of herself when she found out his daughters were fans.

‘It was minor, but he’s wedged between two other cars. I’ll arrange someone to help him out and call a cab.’

‘I’ll get dressed.’

Tristan’s eyes drifted down over the dove-grey silk wrap she wore and he noted the delicate pink that swept into her face. Even with the shadows beneath her eyes she was quite simply the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

‘Good idea.’

Twenty minutes later Lily joined Tristan on a rear terrace that looked out over a sizable manicured garden flanked by a glassed-in pool and gymnasium, absently noting that it was hard to believe she was in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world.

Tristan wore his suit jacket now, and she felt like a tourist in her simple jeans, white T-shirt and faithful black cardigan. She noticed him glance at her cardigan as he watched her approach, a bemused expression flitting across his face.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘I would offer you tea, but I’d like to get going and check that Bert is okay.’

‘Sure.’ Lily followed him back through the house towards the front door.

‘It seems traffic is particularly bad this morning. The cab driver has had to park up the road a way.’

‘That’s okay.’ Lily smiled. ‘I like walking. It’s a New York pastime.’

‘I suppose it is,’ Tristan agreed, feeling awkward and out of sorts after her disclosures in her bedroom. His instincts warned him to keep his distance from her. After last night she was more
dangerous to his emotional well-being than she had ever been, and in hindsight having sex with her had been a terrible idea.

Lily waited for him to open the front door and stepped out ahead of him—straight into the view of at least twenty members of the press, who had breached his security gates and were filling the normally pristine space of his forecourt, trampling grass and flowerbeds as they jostled for position.

They shouted an endless list of questions as camera flashes momentarily blinded them both.

It was like a scene from a bad movie, and after a split second of shocked inertia Tristan grabbed Lily around the waist and hauled her back inside.

‘Oh, my gosh!’

‘I’ll call the police,’ he stated grimly, slamming the door shut before he turned to her and grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Are you okay?’ His eyes scanned her face for signs of distress, wondering if perhaps she might have a panic attack.

‘I’m fine,’ she confirmed. ‘I told you, I rarely have attacks any more—and, anyway, you grabbed me so quickly I barely had time to register they were even there.’

She smiled and he trailed a finger down her cheek, noting the way her eyes widened and darkened. Tristan felt his body harden and tamped down on the response. He was supposed to be forgetting last night and keeping his distance.

He dropped his hand and stalked through the house until he reached the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry. I should have expected this…’ she said.

Tristan shook his head. Not sure if he was more agitated at himself, her, or the hyenas filling his front garden. ‘I don’t know how you live like this.’

She swallowed. ‘It’s not normally this bad. In New York you get followed sometimes, but it’s different here.’

‘It’s disgusting.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He swore, and Lily flinched.

‘Stop apologising. It’s not your fault,’ he bit out. ‘If anything it’s mine.’ He raked a hand through his hair and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. ‘Make a coffee, or something. We might be a while.’

‘Do you want one?’

‘No, thanks.’

After a brief interlude in his study, Tristan strode out into his rear garden and found Lily sipping tea on a stone bench, studying one of the statues that dotted his garden.

‘Plans have changed,’ he said brusquely, not enjoying the way she seemed to fit so seamlessly into his home.

‘Oh?’ Lily replied, confused.

‘We leave for Hillesden Abbey in an hour.’

‘How?’

‘Helicopter.’

‘Helicop…? But I have a dress fitting today with Jo.’

‘You
had
a dress fitting. The seamstress will travel to the Abbey during the week to meet with you.’

‘But surely Chanel don’t…?’

‘Yeah, they do. Now, stop arguing. A car will be pulling up in ten minutes to take us onto the Heath.’

‘Helicopters leave from the Heath?’

‘Not as a general rule.’

Ten minutes later two police motorcycles escorted a stretch limousine along Hampstead Lane and pulled up near Kenwood House, where a bright red helicopter was waiting. A few curious onlookers watched as they alighted from the car—but no paparazzi, Tristan was pleased to note.

‘Are you okay to fly in one of these?’ Tristan raised his voice above the whir of the rotors.

‘I don’t know,’ Lily yelled back. ‘I never have.’

He helped her secure the safety harness and stowed their overnight bags behind her seat.

‘I’m co-piloting today, but let me know if you feel sick.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ She smiled tentatively and he realised she probably
would be. She was a survivor, and quick to adapt to the circumstances around her.

He handed her a set of headphones and took his seat beside the pilot, not wanting to think about how that was just one more thing to admire about her.

He was looking forward to going home. His father was away on business until Friday, when Jordana would arrive to commence her wedding activities, but Tristan always felt rejuvenated in the country. And most importantly of all, the Abbey was
huge
. It had two hundred and twenty rooms, which should be more than enough space to put some physical distance between himself and Lily and still remain within the constraints of the custody order. He felt sure that if he didn’t have her underfoot the chemistry between them would abate. Normalise. She’d just be another pretty face in a cast of thousands.

His chest felt tight as the ground fell away, and he berated himself for not thinking of the Abbey sooner.

L
ILY
closed the last page of the play and stared vacantly into the open fire Thomas, the family butler, had lit for her earlier that night. The writer had captured a side of her parents she hadn’t known about. He had focused on their struggles and their hunger for fame and what had driven it, rather than just the consequence of it.

The result was an aspect of their lives Lily knew about from her mother’s diaries but which the press rarely focused on. It was an aspect that always caused Lily to regret who they had become. She had expected that reading the play would imbue her with a renewed sense of disgust at their wasted lives—and it had, sort of—but what she hadn’t expected was that it would fill her with a sense of yearning for them still to be around. For a chance to get to know them.

A log split in the grate and Lily rose to her feet and prodded at it with the cast-iron poker. Then she turned and wandered over to the carved wooden bookcases that lined the Abbey’s vast library.

She had been in Tristan’s ancestral home—a palatial three-storey stone Palladian mansion set amidst eleven thousand acres of parkland resplendent with manicured gardens, a deer forest, a polo field and a lake with swans and other birdlife—for four days now.

She’d taken long walks every day, as she and Jordana had done as teens, petted the horses in the stables, helped Jamie the gardener tend the manicured roses along the canopied stone
arbour, and caught up with Mrs Cole, the housekeeper, who looked as if she’d stepped straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

In fact the whole experience of wandering around on her own and not being bothered by the busyness of her everyday life was like stepping back into another era, and the only thing that would have made her stay here better was if she’d been able to see Tristan more than just at the evening meal, where he was always unfailingly polite, and nothing more. It was as if they were complete strangers.

For four days he had studiously locked himself away in his study and, from what Lily could tell, rarely ventured out.

Lily paused beside the antique chessboard that was always set up in the library and sank into one of the bottle-green club chairs worn from years of use.

At first she had thought Tristan had flown them to the Abbey to avoid the constant threat of paparazzi, but it had soon become depressingly apparent that he’d relocated them so that he could avoid
her
as well!

And she couldn’t deny that hurt. After his apology back in his London home she had thought maybe they could build a friendship, but clearly he didn’t feel the same way. Clearly the chemistry he had felt for her had been laid to rest after just one time together. She only wished she felt the same way.

Unfortunately, consummating her desire for him that night had resurrected an inner sexuality only he seemed to bring out in her. And now that she had experienced the full force of his possession she craved it even more.

‘Want a game?’ a deep voice said softly from behind her chair, and Lily swung around to find Tristan regarding her from just inside the doorway. She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t heard him come in.

Her heart kicked against her ribs at the sight of him in black jeans and a pale green cashmere sweater the exact shade of his eyes. He looked casually elegant, while she was conscious that she had changed into old sweatpants and a top before coming downstairs to read.

‘I…If you like,’ Lily found herself answering, not sure that saying yes was the sanest answer, all things considered. The man hadn’t said boo to her for four days and now he wanted to play chess…?

‘Can I fix you a drink?’

‘Sure,’ she said, not sure that was the sanest idea either.

‘I know you’re not fond of Scotch, but my father has an excellent sherry.’

‘Sure,’ she parroted, ordering her brain to come online. Her body quickened as he walked slowly towards her, and she straightened the pawns on their squares to avoid having him see how pathetic she was.

‘You start,’ he offered.

Lily tilted her head. ‘Is that because you’re so sure you can win?’

He smiled a wolfish grin. ‘Visitor’s rules.’

‘Oh.’

‘But, yes, I’m sure I can win.’ He flopped into a chair and chuckled at her sharp look.

He had no idea
.

She regarded him with a poker face. ‘Is that a challenge, Lord Garrett?’

‘It certainly is, Miss Wild.’

‘Then prepare to be defeated.’ She smiled, knowing that she was actually a pretty good chess-player. It was one of the things she liked to do while sitting around waiting for scenes to be set up on location.

She leaned forward, her ponytail swinging over one shoulder, and rested her hands on her knees, concentrating on the chess instead of on him. Given his overriding confidence she guessed he’d be a master player—and she’d need all her wits about her.

‘You’re good,’ Tristan complimented her an hour later, as she chewed on her lip and considered her next move.

So far he had countered every one of her attacks and she was fast running out of manoeuvres.

‘Did you enjoy your swim this morning?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair, his long legs sprawled out on either side of the low table.

His question made her glance at him sharply. ‘How do you know I went swimming this morning?’

‘I saw you.’

‘But you weren’t there.’

‘Yes, I was.’

Something heavy curled between them and Lily cleared her throat. ‘So why didn’t you swim?’

‘It’s your move.’

Lily looked down at the board. Had he really been at the pool? And if so why hadn’t he joined her? Mulling it over, she carefully moved her bishop across the board—and then watched as Tristan immediately confiscated it with his marauding rook.

‘Oh!’ Lily looked up to see a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Not fair! You were trying to distract me!’

‘It worked.’

‘That’s cheating.’

‘Not really. I did turn up for a swim.’ His voice was low, deep, and an unexpected burst of warmth stole through her.

‘Then I repeat: Why didn’t you have one?’ She lifted her chin challengingly, sure that he was just playing with her.

‘Because I didn’t trust myself to join you,’ he said dulcetly.

Was he flirting with her?

Lily’s heart raced and she quickly averted her eyes, not sure she wanted an answer. Her stomach fluttered alarmingly and she looked at the chessboard without really seeing it.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’ he murmured.

Lily looked up and, seeing the competitive glint in his eyes, realised what he was doing. ‘No,’ she said a little crossly, ‘because you’re only trying to put me off my game.’ And she
wasn’t
going to be disappointed by that.

He laughed softly and the deep sound trickled through her like melted chocolate.

They played for a short time more, and finally Lily threw up her hands when he cornered her king.

‘Okay, you win.’ She smiled, not totally surprised at the outcome. After the swimming comment she’d lost all concentration.

She wondered if now wouldn’t be a good time to go to bed. A cosy ambience seemed to have descended, and with the crackling fire behind them it would be all too easy to forget that he was here, with her, under duress.

Tristan tried to ignore the heat in his groin as his eyes automatically dropped to that lethal smile of hers, before sliding lower to the tempting swell of her pert breasts beneath the loose T-shirt. Did the woman even
own
a bra?

Oh yeah, he remembered. A pink one…He felt his body grow even harder at the image of her standing before him in matching delicate lace underwear. He loved the thought of her in matching underwear—not that she was wearing any at the moment…

He got up to top up his drink and give his hands something to do.

He’d been avoiding her all week, only seeing her at mealtimes, where she’d been so coolly remote they’d barely spoken to each other.

But he’d seen her. Watched her take long walks in the park, listened to her musical laugh as she’d helped Jamie choose which roses would be cut for the house in preparation for Jordana’s wedding in two days’ time.

Before, he’d been honest about not trusting himself to join her in the pool that morning, but he could see she hadn’t believed him. Which was probably just as well.

Because distance had not done a damn thing to dampen the need he had to touch her, or just to be with her—which in some ways was scarier than the other.

Emotions he’d never had any trouble keeping at bay threatened to take him by the bit and make him forget all his good
intentions to avoid relationships of any sort. She was dangerous, he knew it, but he couldn’t deny he was drawn to her flame. Some primal desire was overriding his superficial instincts to keep away.

And now, against his better judgement, he returned to her side, holding the decanter of sherry in his hand. ‘Here, let me pour you another drink.’

‘No, I should…go to bed.’

The words hung between them but he ignored her hesitancy until she raised her near-empty glass.

‘One more won’t hurt.’

He replaced the stopper and sat the decanter beside his chair. He wasn’t sure what he was doing; he only knew he didn’t want her to go yet.

‘Mmmm, this is nice,’ she murmured, sipping at her glass.

He leaned back and studied her. She looked beautiful, with her hair in a messy ponytail, no make-up and her legs tucked up under her. The space between them crackled like the logs in the fireplace and he knew from the high colour on her cheeks that she felt it too. At this moment she had never seemed more beautiful to him. Or more nervous. He wondered whether she would bolt if he described the scene playing out in his mind.

‘I’ve noticed you going for walks every day,’ he said, in an attempt to distract himself.

‘Oh, yes.’ Lily’s enthusiasm lit up her face. ‘It’s such a beautiful space here. You’re so lucky to have it.’

‘What do you like about it?’ he asked, curious despite himself.

‘It’s rejuvenating, peaceful—and so quiet. And I love that your family has left the forest untouched.’

All the things
he
loved!

‘They used to hunt there, that’s why.’

‘Oh, don’t spoil it.’ Her mouth made a moue of disappointment and he laughed.

‘Never fear, Bambi is safe from this generation of Garretts.’

She smiled and the almost shy look she cast from under her lashes caught him in the solar plexus.

‘That’s nice.’

‘That’s only because I’m not here all that often,’ he teased.

‘I don’t believe you. And you’re spoiling it again,’ she scolded, picking up on the falseness behind his words.

‘Come over by the fire?’ he murmured, mentally rolling his eyes at the stupidity of that suggestion.

But she did, and he poked at the fire while she found a comfortable position on the Persian rug.

‘What was it like growing up in your world?’ she asked, watching him carefully as he sat down opposite her, his drink dangled over one knee.

Tristan didn’t like talking about himself as a general rule, but he’d invited her to sit by the fire and couldn’t very well ignore her question.

‘Privileged. Boring at times. Not that much different from any other life, I expect, apart from the opportunities that come with the title—although that also comes with a duty of care.’

‘What do you mean?’

He glanced at her, and then back at the fire. ‘I take the view that being born into the nobility is about being a custodian of history. All this is grand and awe-inspiring, but it’s not mine and it never will be. I’m fortunate enough to look after it, yes, but this house is a part of something much bigger and it belongs to everyone, really.’

‘Is that why you open your home to the public?’

‘Partly. People are naturally curious about the country’s history, and my ancestors have accumulated a lot of important artefacts that deserve to be viewed by more than just a privileged few. Especially if those privileged few don’t understand the importance of what they have.’

‘Do you mean people who don’t care about their heritage?’

Her softly voiced question brought his attention back to her, and he wondered at the looseness of his tongue and the need he suddenly felt to unburden himself of the weight of the less
salubrious aspects of his history. He suspected, given Lily’s dislike of the press, that she wouldn’t run off and disclose his secrets—and really they weren’t all that secret anyway.

‘My grandfather was a heavy drinker and gambler, and he ran the property into quite a severe state of disrepair. My father had to work two jobs for a while to try and rebuild it, and while he was off working my mother thought a good little money-earner might be to sell off some of my father’s most prized heirlooms.’ He couldn’t stop the note of bitterness from creeping into his voice.

‘Oh, how terrible!’ Lily cried. ‘She must have been so unhappy to try and reach out that way.’

Tristan cut her a hard glance.
‘Reach out?’

‘Yes. My mother did terrible things to get my father’s attention, and—’

‘My mother wasn’t trying to get my father’s attention,’ he bit out. ‘She was trying to get more money to fund her lifestyle.’

Something she’d talked about endlessly.

‘I’m sorry.’ Lily touched his arm and then drew her hand back when he looked at her sharply. ‘And was your father able to recover them? The heirlooms?’

‘No.’ His tone was brittle even to his own ears. ‘But I did.’

Lily paused and then said softly. ‘You don’t like her very much, do you?’

Tristan put another log on the fire and ran an agitated hand through his hair, realising too late that he’d said too much. How should he respond to that? Tell her that he would probably have forgiven his mother anything if she’d shown him a modicum of genuine affection as he’d been growing up? But she had, hadn’t she? Sometimes.

‘My mother wasn’t the most maternal creature in the world, and as I matured I lost a lot of respect for her.’ He spied the bound folio next to the stone hearth and realised it was the play Lily had been carrying around with her. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked, reaching for it.