The Dowager's Wager (18 page)

The devil fly away with it! Tristan cursed, swallowing the
remaining brandy in his snifter. He was tired of secrets and
conjecture. The sooner he got Isabella to the country, the
sooner he could have his answers. The Meadows was only
fifteen miles outside of London, a half day’s trip on good
roads. If they left by early afternoon, they could make the
estate by evening. He would press her on an early departure
tomorrow morning.

Isabella stared blankly at the empty stationery in front of
her. She’d been trying in vain to compose a simple letter to
a friend in Devon for the past hour. She couldn’t get past the
salutation without her thoughts being taken up by the events
of the prior evening.

She had been a fool for thinking she could control Tristan.
At the Fillmore’s he had done as exactly as he wished and
she had put up no opposition to participating in his decadent
games. What did that make her? She pressed her fingers to her temples, refusing to contemplate the names that sprang
to mind. What would she have done if he’d kissed her again
as he had in the conservatory? Worse, what would she have
done if he’d guessed her name?

Amy had been right. This game of secret admirer was
too dangerous. She wondered if Amy had anticipated this
type of danger. She desperately wanted to talk to someone,
to lay her troubles on other shoulders, but this was one
thing that could not be shared. She was in this alone. She
could not tell Amy about the ravaging kiss they’d shared or
that she hadn’t found it distasteful.

Everything about Tristan was as fascinating to her now
as it had been in the throes of her youthful infatuation for
him. With Tristan, the most mundane activity became
extraordinary. She had not experienced such a phenomenon with anyone else, not even Westbrooke, who was all
that a good husband should have been. Isabella acknowledged that Westbrooke had been a kind and doting husband to his young wife. She had told herself during the
years of her marriage that the lack of affection beyond
mutual respect was due to the disparity in their ages, but it
was the same lack of deep fondness she felt for Avery
Driscoll, a man who was her age, handsome and intelligent. Her long-harbored notions had ripened to fruition
with Driscoll’s courtship and Tristan’s return. Tristan,
with his sleek dark mane and soulful eyes, had ruined her
for other men.

She gave up on the letter and penned a quick note to Amy.
Maybe some shopping would help clear her mind.

“How are events progressing with your ill-begotten
adventure?” Lady Briarton inquired wryly as she and
Isabella strolled down Bond Street, arm in arm. Amy had
accepted Isabella’s invitation to shop with alacrity. In less
than the space of an hour, Isabella had met her friend in
front of her favorite milliner’s.

“I think the game is progressing,” Isabella said resolute ly, not sure how to ask her friend for pointers on advancing
the game. She couldn’t afford to tip her hand or Amy would
have the entire sordid story out of her. She wasn’t ready for
that. Her emotions were still in a state of confusion this
morning. She wasn’t certain she understood all the twists
and turns involved in the convoluted plot, let alone be able
to explain them to another.

“Don’t be a gudgeon, Isabella. You know such a vague
response won’t fadge with me. I want details. What have you
learned?” Amy nudged her friend, pointing to a bow-fronted
window showcasing dress materials. “Let’s turn in there.
That striped poplin is just the thing!”

The bell jangled as they stepped inside the draper’s, thankfully diverting Amy’s attention momentarily. She returned to
the topic while fingering the ells of poplin brought out by the
shopkeeper. “You’ve been far too close-mouthed since the
ball for me to believe that nothing exceptional has happened
and yet everything is going smoothly. I deserve some details,
at least. After all, I let you practice your deceit in my house”
Amy reminded her in a teasing tone.

Isabella sighed heavily. “I think the game has reached a
plateau. I will learn nothing more unless I escalate the stakes”

“You will not consider it!” Amy whispered in outrage.
“You’ve learned all you can, Isabella. If you have to escalate
the stakes than he is most definitely a rake and the rumors
are well warranted.”

“That’s the problem. I am not exactly sure that the way he
behaves with the secret admirer is the truth at all. He’s so
very different, more like his old self, when we’re together
during the day.” Isabella winced. She’d said too much.
Amy’s sly look confirmed it.

“I didn’t know you’d been seeing him outside of natural
social encounters at larger events” Amy looked at the
watch attached to her pelisse. “Ah, perfect. Time for luncheon. I think we’d better discuss this development of yours
over food. I know a corner cafe that makes delicious sandwiches not far from here.”

Amy beckoned to the shopkeeper and quickly arranged
for her purchase to be sent to Briarton House. Then she led
a wary Isabella to the cafe. The two women settled themselves at a small table near the window and ordered sandwiches and tea.

When the sandwiches arrived, Isabella tried a diversionary tactic. “These are delicious. I can’t believe I didn’t know
about this place.”

Amy grinned and waved her finger in scolding. “No, no,
no, Bella. You won’t distract me from my purpose. We’ll talk
about sandwiches later.”

“Tristan took me driving yesterday.”

“In the park? Where everyone could see you?” Amy
rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

Isabella tried to pass off the event as commonplace. “It
was just to try out his new rig and horses. I am sure if Alain
had been home, he’d have asked Alain.”

“Men don’t ask other men to ride in the park with them in
their carriages,” Amy pointed out bluntly. “What else happened? What did you talk about?”

“He asked me to come to The Meadows and act as hostess for his house party.”

“House party? I haven’t heard about it.”

“We haven’t planned it yet” A familiar voice interrupted her.

“Lord Gresham, how good to see you again.” Amy
offered her hand, a smile plastered on her face. Isabella
felt her face go red. She had been caught talking about
him!

“I have had the devil’s own time tracking you ladies
down. I called at Westbrooke House earlier and must have
just missed you. Your butler was kind enough to give me
your direction and I tracked you from there” He looked at
Amy while he spoke, but Isabella had no doubt the words
were for her alone.

“I was unaware we had an appointment. Am I mistaken?”
she said coolly, trying to hide her chagrin at his forward manner. Without being asked, Tristan had drawn a third
chair up to their table. He made it plain he was not passing
by for a moment of chit chat.

“No, we did not have an appointment. However, I was
struck by a sudden need to see you” His words were a caress
that brought a blush to Isabella’s hot cheeks. She bristled at
the idea that he could reduce her so easily to the status of an
insipid schoolroom miss. Thankfully, he turned the conversation to the table at large.

“Lady Briarton, I am throwing a house party at month’s
end. Lady Westbrooke has graciously agreed to serve as my
hostess since her brother and I are such close friends. I
haven’t got another female relative to turn to. I had thought
going down to The Meadows next week would give us sufficient time to open up the place and lay our plans. However,
I have discovered there is an urgent need to go sooner. I
hope you will help convince her to depart with me at once
this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” Isabella gaped at him. “I couldn’t possibly be ready. I need two days at least.”

He gave her an indulgent look mixed with gentlemanly
naivete. “Lady Westbrooke, how long could it possibly take
to pack a few gowns? You can send the rest by post chaise
later. I daresay we could be gone in three quarters of an
hour.”

Isabella stared at Tristan in horror. His proposition had
garnered the attention of the surrounding tables. Whispers
were starting behind napkins and painted fans. She was mortified. How dare he ask her to go away with him in a public
place? By nightfall, Tristan’s latest flaunting of convention
would be common knowledge among the ton. She felt the
pressure of his boot on her foot. She glared at him. He leaned
forward.

“Bella, forgive me. I must ask you to come with me at
once. I have been followed. Do you see that man across the
street? He’s followed me since I left my house. My phaeton
is parked in an alley out back. I want to get us to safety.”

The man Tristan indicated started to cross the street.
Isabella gasped. “What shall I do?”

“Pretend you’re looking for a ladies retiring area. Go
through the kitchen and out the back. My tiger is there with
the grays”

“We could take my covered coach,” Isabella countered.

“It’s too far away. Don’t argue with me. Just go”

Isabella’s pulse raced with excitement and fear. The man
was nearly to the cafe door, all the incentive she needed to rise
and make her way to the kitchen. Tristan lounged carelessly
in his chair, looking relaxed in the company of Lady Briarton.
She tried to emulate his calm as she wended through the little
tables. The door opened, its copper bell tinkling. Isabella
didn’t need to look back to know the man had entered the
cafe.

At the kitchen door, the crashing of dishware and glass
drew her attention back to the front table where she’d
recently sat. Her breath caught at the sight of Tristan and the
stranger grappling amid the ruins of lunch. Isabella briefly
looked for Amy, relieved to see that Amy had wisely scooted anonymously to the side, falling in with the terrified
onlookers. Something glinted in the man’s hand: a knife.
Tristan countered with a long blade of his own, flashing into
his right hand from nowhere. Isabella was riveted. Where
had he kept such a weapon? Did he carry it at all times?
Tristan slashed at the man, but Isabella could see his efforts
were aimed at survival, not at killing the man.

Tristan thrust the man aside and upended two more
tables to block the man’s progress. Swiftly, he came
towards Isabella. “I told you to go!” He pushed her fiercely before him through the kitchen and hauled her up into
the waiting rig. He vaulted up behind her and cracked the
reins, shouting to the grays. They pelted down the narrow
lane. Turning out into a quiet side street, Isabella glimpsed
a man bursting into the alley, too far away to pursue them
further.

She gave up gripping the seat rail and opted for gripping
Tristan’s firm arm. He drove possessed, weaving in and out
of traffic with no intention to stop until he was well away
from the city. At last the horses slowed to a trot. The city was
behind them.

“So much for packing,” Isabella commented dryly when
she could breathe evenly again. “Do you mind telling me
what is going on?”

“I am being followed. Perhaps the burglar wasn’t satisfied
with what he took from my home and wishes to perpetrate a
crime upon my person.”

“Why implicate me?”

“Because I feared this criminal may try to get to me by
using you as leverage. You were on the balcony with me the
night the planter was thrown. Maybe he worries you might
have seen him.”

“You’re hamming me, Tristan,” Isabella said bluntly. “I
wish you’d stop it and tell me the truth. The truth had better
be worth it. You do realize you propositioned me in public
place. This will put paid to any chances you had for making
a decent marriage.”

“I suppose it also scotches your chances for winning the
wager and the horse.” Tristan’s penitent tone put Isabella on
guard. She was ready when the caveat came. “Of course, you
can still salvage the wager and marry me yourself.”

The absurdity of such a comment after their harrowing
dash brought a wide smile to Isabella’s mouth. Laughter
bubbled up and she gave herself over to it. “Tristan! How
can you think of such a thing at a time like this?”

He turned to look at her, the grin on his face as wide as
her own. “How can I not? I have thought of little else since
the night I kissed you seven years ago”

“Back when you were reckless and honorable.”

“Oh, Isabella, I still am.” He winked once and clucked to
the horses. She thought he made the phaeton lurch on purpose just so she’d grab for his arm again, the wicked man.

The road ahead was flat and clear. He gave the horses
their heads. “Hold on tight love,” he crooned to Isabella.
“I’ll give you the ride of your life.” And Isabella did. There’d
be the piper to pay. Tristan Moreland was reckless. But was
he still honorable?

The Meadows was a rambling homey affair of a manor that
admirably suited their desire for solace and peace. They
arrived at the onset of evening, dusty and tired but in good
spirits. They were both pleased to see that the manor had
received excellent care from the steward in Tristan’s absence.
Holland covers carefully blanketed the furniture, but effort
had been taken to keep the place dusted and polished.