The Dowager's Wager (20 page)

“Gresham darling, I’d have been your hostess if you’d but
asked,” Beatrix Smallwood gushed, boldly linking her arm
through Tristan’s.

Isabella was furious. How dare Tristan bring his former
mistress out here to flaunt! She wanted to scratch the
woman’s eyes out. Then a cold smile flitted across her lips.
“Mrs. Smallwood, how good to see you again. I hope you
ride? It will be nice to have another woman on the hunt. So
few women truly ride these days”

Beatrix matched Isabella’s smile. “I can hold my own,”
Beatrix replied to the veiled challenge, patting Tristan’s arm
possessively.

“Are you certain?” Isabella responded coolly, unfazed by
Beatrix’s innuendo.

“Quite certain, Lady Westbrooke,” Beatrix said coyly, looking up at Tristan from under her dark lashes. “I am told
I have an excellent seat”

Isabella ignored the woman’s outrageous comment and
strode over to see Hellion.

Isabella surveyed the gathering as they played charades
and cards in the drawing room after supper. The party was
off to a good start. The guests were mingling amiably, even
those guests whose arrivals had taken her by surprise; there
had been two.

Obviously, neither she nor Tristan had anticipated
Beatrix’s arrival. But Mrs. Smallwood was on her best
behavior so far, as were the other guests.

The only fly in the ointment so far was that Beatrix had
managed to dominate Tristan’s attention all evening with sly
glances and meaningful touches as she passed him. Isabella
had wanted Tristan to put Beatrix in her place, to tell her that
he had proposed to Isabella. But it was unfair to expect
Tristan to put himself out so far when he had other concerns
on his mind. And of course it wouldn’t do to have such news
get out without first talking with Avery.

At the moment, Avery was entertaining the lovely young
Caroline Danvers while her ambitious mother looked on with
beaming approval. Lady Danvers was an old friend of her
mother’s who lived close by. Isabella walked over to speak
with him. Avery smiled at her and Isabella knew he was thinking she’d crossed the room to speak with him. Perhaps walking over to the group had been a mistake. She didn’t want to
suddenly be left alone with Avery. Caroline saved her.

“Lady Westbrooke, thank you so much for inviting me!”
Caroline was genuinely grateful. She was young and had
only been out one year, but she was pretty with blond
ringlets and blue eyes.

“It is my pleasure to have you, Caroline. Have you met
Viscount Gresham yet?” Isabella inquired, aware of the
predatory gleam igniting in Lady Danvers’s eye at the mention of their host.

“Not yet. We arrived late and he was already engaged
with the gentlemen.”

“Come with me, I will introduce you now,” Isabella
offered, knowing it would keep her from being alone with
Avery and a potentially awkward conversation.

When the clock struck eleven, Isabella rose to signal that
it would be appropriate to retire for the evening. She saw to
the guests and their comforts before taking her own candle
and heading upstairs for bed. The exhausting day had been a
success. At the foot of the stairs, Tristan waited for her, chatting glibly with Giles and Alain.

“Here’s my hostess now,” he said when she neared.
“You’ve done a splendid job, Bella. I feel like a guest at my
own party. There’s nothing for me to do”

“You were the perfect host,” Isabella returned. “Thank
you for taking time with Caroline. She wanted to meet you
so very much”

“She’s a nice girl. I enjoyed talking with her. I have wanted to meet her ever since I traded names with Alain at the
Valentine’s party.” Tristan crooked his arm. “Let’s go up.
Tomorrow will be busy with the hunt and the ball. If I know
you, Isabella, you’ll be up early and in the stables before
anyone else.”

The morning dawned gray but dry. The overcast weather
would be perfect for hunting, Isabella noted, pulling back the
curtains at her window. She dressed quickly in a dark green
riding habit with breeches underneath and headed for the stables. Last night, Middleton had consented to let her ride the
stallion. She was in alt.

Isabella stopped inside the stable door and inhaled the
fragrance of horseflesh. Hay and horse were comforting
smells to her. She proceeded to Hellion’s stall and fished a
slice of apple from her pocket. She held it on her flat palm
and offered it to the horse. He whickered and then ate. She
petted him and spoke to him in reassuring tones before lead ing him out to curry and saddle. She hummed as she worked,
so absorbed in her task that she didn’t notice anyone enter
the stables until a pair of boots caught her eye while she
picked Hellion’s hooves. Hellion’s nostril’s flared.

“Alain is right, Isabella, that horse is half-wild,” Tristan
said in greeting.

“Good morning.” Isabella looked up from grooming
Hellion. She critically surveyed Tristan. Did the man have to
look so good all the time? He cut a superb figure, as he well
knew, in his riding attire and polished boots, swinging a crop
at his side.

“I assume you’re riding him today. I think it’s folly to try
and handle such an animal from a side saddle,” Tristan
advised.

“I agree. I am not using a side saddle.” Isabella smiled
and lifted her skirts to her knees. “I’ll be riding astride. I
have it on good authority that you appreciate a rider with a
fine seat. I wanted to make sure mine was amply on display.”

“About Beatrix, I didn’t know she was going to be here,”
Tristan began. “I hope this doesn’t alter our plans to
announce the betrothal tonight?”

“You must catch the informant, Tristan. That is our foremost concern. I must know that you’re safe,” Isabella
reminded him, worry evident in her eyes.

“I agree, but I am not sure that he’s here. He should have
a scar, just a faint one on his cheek where I nicked him. I
know everyone here and none of them bear the mark. I don’t
want to waste our ball because he didn’t show up.” Tristan
grinned wickedly and stepped closer. Isabella knew he
would have kissed her if other hunters hadn’t appeared in
the stable at that moment to claim their mounts. Reluctantly,
she drew back and made a great show of grooming Hellion.

Within a few moments, the stable was the scene of orderly chaos as grooms hurried to saddle horses. When all was
ready, Isabella mounted Hellion next to Tristan in the yard
as everyone assembled to drink from the hunt cup and to
hear the master of the hunt blow his horn. Then they were off with Hellion leading the way. She was in high spirits.
Tristan was safe for the moment. The informant hadn’t
shown up. Beatrix made a bid early in the hunt to ride in the
front of the pack with Isabella and the other neck-or-nothing
riders but soon found Hellion out of her league and dropped
back to ride with Middleton, much to Isabella’s gratification.

By the time the hunt ball commenced that evening,
Isabella felt her world had finally started to right itself.
There was little chance of danger tonight. She could revel in
the moment. She looked down the staircase before she
descended. Tristan stood in the hall chatting with Caroline
Danvers. He was wearing the celery waistcoat with silver
buttons that Isabella had gamely sent him, under a black
evening coat with black trousers.

He turned and smiled up at her. His eyes raked her appreciatively. Isabella knew she’d chosen her gown of dark green
velvet wisely. Tristan beckoned for her to join him and she
sailed down the stairs to his side. She didn’t leave his side
until eleven o’clock when he quietly whispered he had to go.
She looked at him strangely. He had not said where he was
going or what he was doing, but she nodded her consent, her
eyes following him until he was out of sight. When he did
not return in fifteen minutes, she went looking for him.

Isabella glanced around in the hall for some clue as to
where Tristan had gone. A crack of light coming from
underneath the estate office drew her attention. As she
neared, muted voices reached her ears. Tristan was not
alone. She pushed open the door and halted at the sight of
Beatrix, Middleton and Tristan. Middleton sat behind the
massive desk. Beatrix perched on the arm of Tristan’s chair
at an awkward angle. Tristan’s back was to her. Beatrix
turned and Isabella gasped. Beatrix held a naked blade in her
hand. She must have had it held against Tristan’s neck. It
would explain her awkward angle. She realized Tristan’s
hands were tied.

“Come in, we’ve been expecting you.” Beatrix waved the
blade, gesturing to the empty chair next to Tristan.

“What is going on in here?” Isabella demanded with all
the authority she could muster while her mind grappled with
the situation.

“Sit down.” Beatrix returned the blade to Tristan’s neck
and pressed. A small bead of blood shone red. “I mean business tonight, my lady.”

Isabella sat. Her worry for Tristan overrode any fear she
might have for herself. “Are you hurt?” she asked Tristan.

Beatrix exploded. “This is not a garden party, Lady Westbrooke. I am the hostess here. You will not speak unless
I instruct you to do so. Failure to follow my instructions will
cause things to go poorly for your man, although I doubt
you’ll be so willing to claim him when we’re finished tonight.”

“You will not kill us,” Isabella challenged haughtily. If
she’d learned anything in her years as the marchioness it was
to not show fear. She’d been a young hostess who’d had to
prove herself. She’d stared down more than one supercilious
matron in her day. This coarse, coldhearted woman who
dressed herself in finery and masqueraded as acceptable
Society would not cow her.

“There’s more than one way to kill, my lady.” Middleton
rose from the chair behind the desk and came around to lean
on the corner of the massive structure. “Knives and pistols
are sometimes too easy.”

Isabella would give a monkey to know what Middleton
was doing in the center of all this drama. He was a singleminded sportsman who spent his time in the country to hunt
and ride. When he wasn’t in the country, he was traveling to
exotic locales for the hunting there. Supposedly. With a flash
of insight, she thought he might as well have been in France.
No one truly knew if he’d actually gone on to Germany or
wherever else he purported to go.

Beatrix chimed in. “Yes, there’s more than one way to
kill. One doesn’t have to die to be dead. One can go through
the motions of living and still be dead inside. That is indeed
a great torture, to know you have year after endless year to
live with your empty self. Isn’t that right, Tristan? It’s what
you did to me, and now I’ll return the favor.”

She kicked him hard in the leg for good measure. Tristan
winced. That was when Isabella noticed his legs were tied as
well. However did they manage to get Tristan trussed up like
a goose?

Beatrix read her thoughts. “We knocked him out, my
dear Lady Westbrooke. Middleton lured him away from the ballroom and I coshed him on the head from behind. We’d
have never subdued him otherwise. You do know he’s
famous for his fighting abilities in our dark circles?”
Beatrix stood up and began to walk the carpet that lay in
front of the desk, content that she had Isabella’s compliance
for the moment.

“You see, Lady Westbrooke, the good viscount is a private
agent for the Crown. He performs all kinds of nasty deeds
under the cover of being a social buffoon, who is only good at
wooing ladies and giving fabulous parties.”

Isabella felt triumphant. “I know that. Tristan has discussed his military career with me” She was aware of their
game now. They wanted to turn her from Tristan. When
Tristan had said he worried about the informant using her as
leverage, she had thought only of a kidnapping. But now she
knew what Beatrix and Middleton meant when they’d said
there was more than one way to kill. If this was to be a game
of wits, Isabella was well armed.

Beatrix gave a cold smile. “Ah, so you know. Do you
know everything? Do you know that he killed my brother?”

Isabella cast a brief look at Tristan. He too was surprised
by the news. It was the first time he’d spoken since she’d
entered the room. “Don’t tell lies, Beatrix. I don’t even know
your brother or that you have one.”

Beatrix’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The man on the
docks in Paris was my brother. Tall, golden haired and
young. You sent him home bleeding. He died three days
later.”

“He ambushed me with two others. He knew the risks.
Treason is not a game played for cheap stakes.”

“Nonetheless, I loved him,” Beatrix spat back. She turned
her cold blue eyes on Isabella. “You love your brother as
well. We have something in common. Perhaps I will have
done you a favor by the end of the evening. Moreland killed
my brother, and he came here to hunt yours. When Tristan
was busy confessing his many sins to you did he mention that one of his leading suspects was your brother, Baron
Wickham?”