The Skilled Seduction (29 page)

Winning his wife’s heart, her trust, would be difficult work but he knew something that Victoria did not – that Tristan was going to fight for her, the way she had fought for him for the past two years. She wouldn’t expect it, of course, but on this he was resolute.

Yes, Tristan MacAlistair would fight for his wife and, though he expected a monumental battle of wills in his near future, he wouldn’t relent. Victoria, his wife, as he would refer to her from the next day onward, was worth it.

He took another swig of ice water, before switching to something stronger, in desperate need to fortify his strength. His inner voice warned that, in spite of how difficult he expected this upcoming clash would be, Tristan didn’t know the half of it. He would face it, though, because he and Victoria were fated to share their lives together.

If the events of the past several days were any indication, bridges would be burned.

His wife was worth any price, no matter how high.

Such were his thoughts as he moved on to bourbon. This would indeed be a very long night. Unfortunately, Tristan anticipated that it was simply the beginning of a long arduous battle.

Chapter 12

Victoria awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache. She’d been awake most of the night, enraged at herself for succumbing to Tristan’s sinuous act of seduction.

Shoving her hair away from her face, Victoria remembered promising her mother that she would never allow a man to control her and what had the dutiful daughter done? She had handed her life to Tristan MacAlistair. The insufferable man not only controlled her fate by absconding with her and insisting they marry, but he also commanded her body by awakening sensations in her that would cause her to easily betray her conscience.

She didn’t want Tristan to know how much he affected her, yet feared he was well aware from the force with which her body reacted to his touch.
 

Damn her for being weak!

Victoria tiptoed toward the windows, peering behind the heavy damask curtains then squinting in immediate response to the dazzling sunlight illuminating the scene. It was a beautiful day in London and the traffic bustling below told her it was early morning.

The bright day and lively London routine was deliberately mocking her misery.

A faint rap at the door caused her to release the window coverings and stare at the locked door. Though she may be resigned to her fate, she didn’t have to like it, Victoria thought as she stood in defiance with her shoulders straight and her posture proud.

“My Lady?” a faint female voice Victoria would recognize anywhere came from behind the door as the key turned in the hole.

“Meg,” Tori sighed, her attention immediately drawn to the tiny shards of the crystal bowl that she threw at the door during Tristan’s exit the night before.

“Please take care. There are shards of glass in front of the door,” Victoria instructed.

Meg entered the room, gingerly stepping over the broken glass. Victoria ran to her, hugging the kind woman, grateful that she was no longer alone.

“I am so relieved to see you,” Victoria whispered. “Please tell me that Gwen is well. And how is Sebastian, Meg? He didn’t travel to Scotland, did he?”

“Her Grace is fine and no, His Grace did not go to Gretna Green,” Meg assuaged her mistress’s fears. “I have it on good authority that the note Mr. MacAlistair sent was sufficient for His Grace to halt in his pursuit of you.”

Victoria’s brow furrowed. “What authority?”

“I thought you’d ask,” Meg pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Tori.

Victoria unfolded the missive with care. The writing was in Tristan’s hand. “You stole his note?”
 

“I thought you might be curious,” Meg shrugged her shoulders.

“You should be in military intelligence,” Victoria admired her maid’s stealth as she read the missive:

Gwen and Sebastian,

I’m truly sorry that I betrayed you. Victoria is with me. Please don’t worry. She is well and is being chaperoned to Gretna Green. To all appearances, ours is a proper elopement, if you can call it such. I promise you that I’ve done all I can to minimize scandal.

Someday, I hope you will accept our marriage. Not for my sake as I behaved atrociously and deserve to be ostracized by you. Victoria deserves anything but your censure. She loves you both so much. Please blame me, not Victoria. It is my fault, not hers.

Meg will be tending to Victoria. We will send for Molly after our nuptials.

Please try not to worry. I promise I will give Victoria a good life and will take care of her.

Tristan

Meg laid her cape on the bed. “Your betrothed plans on marrying you this morning then sending word to them with the truth.”
 

“How did he manage this so quickly?”

“He has a special license, my Lady, and a chaperone in the form of myself,” Meg curtsied, before raking her eyes over Victoria from head to toe. Her gaze widened at her mistress’s disheveled hair before traveling downward, her lips pursing upon surveying Victoria’s rumpled, mud-caked gown and bare feet.
 

Victoria was relieved that she refused to don Tristan’s robe the night before. What would Meg have thought of her appearance if she had been wearing
it
during this inspection?

Meg turned her attention at last to the masculine four-poster bed, the pillows and covers in a state of disarray.

“Shortly after I retrieved that note, I was instructed by Mr. MacAlistair’s valet to hastily prepare trunks with your essentials and meet his carriage at the servants’ entrance as quickly as possible. Our trip took longer than expected and I snuck in through the back servants’ entrance sometime before dawn. I have been instructed that I chaperoned you the entire evening.” Meg’s tone was strained, as if she were trying very hard not to disclose her own censure of the scene she had happened upon.

“Kindly stop glaring at me with disapproval. The barbarian locked me in here, alone, all night.” Victoria explained, her tone more defensive than she intended. When that didn’t seem to alleviate her maid’s scrutiny, Victoria added, “We didn’t do anything.”

“So your betrothed insisted,” Meg returned her attention to Victoria. “He looks much less disheveled than you do this morning, I might add.”

A knock, this one louder than before, caused Victoria to jump. She thought her friend’s arrival would be a comfort. Instead, Meg was examining her with such concentration that Victoria felt like an exhibit at the museum.
 

Meg strode over to the door, opening it only a fraction.
Trying to protect me
, Victoria realized as her maid took a large silver tray from someone then instructed, “Send Lady Victoria’s trunks up straight away along with some warm towels. I must run her bath.”

She carried the large tray inside, kicking the door closed behind her. Setting the tray down on the table, Meg raised a silver lid to reveal a steaming plate of eggs. “Eat something. This will be a trying day and we haven’t much time.”

“How many hours of freedom do I have left?” Victoria sank into the overstuffed, masculine chair made of dark leather before reaching for the fork, although she wasn’t sure if she could stomach any eggs.

Meg paused in the process of pouring a cup of tea. “Your wedding begins in two hours. We must get you bathed and dressed.”

A tight knot formed in Victoria’s abdomen and she closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the day ahead.

“You don’t expect to leave here unwed?” Meg placed the teapot down on the tray with a
cluck
of her tongue. “Judging by the pink tinge that crept up your cheeks when I surveyed that bed, something did occur between you and Mr. MacAlistair. I don’t know the details but I do know that you marrying that man today is your only option.”

Victoria dropped her fork onto the china plate, with a high-pitched
clink
. “I am fully aware that I have no other choice but to marry Tristan, Meg. His locking me in his bedroom suite sealed my fate last night. The fact remains that no one, not even you, can compel me to spend my last hours of independence cheerfully, no matter how badly you chastise me.”

Meg’s tone became gentle. “If it’s any consolation, Mr. MacAlistair is downstairs, wracked with guilt over abducting you and locking you in here overnight.” She paused, again surveying the bed linens before adding, “I suspect he is also troubled by whatever did not happen here last evening.”
 

“What makes you think that Tristan has a conscience?” Tori sipped her tea from the delicate porcelain cup before setting it back upon its matching saucer.

“I overheard him speaking with his grandfather,” Meg lifted the plate and held it out to Victoria. “Here, eat something.”

Victoria toyed with her food, pushing the fork about her plate. “You spied on him?” she asked, wondering if Tristan could ever be truly repentant. Or was it another ploy of his, to get what he wanted at any cost?

Answering a gentle knock at the door, Meg instructed the footman as to where to place her mistress’s trunks. Once they were alone again, she continued.

“Mr. MacAlistair was grateful that his grandfather came so quickly, you see,” Meg said, pulling a pale pink gown from one of Victoria’s trunks and tossing it upon the bed. “His grandfather arrived not an hour after you did. Tristan reminded his grandfather that it was imperative for your reputation that he remains discreet.”

“Odd, since Tristan didn’t seem concerned for my reputation when he tricked me into his coach at Kellington Manor,” Victoria gave up on the idea of eating, instead studying her maid.

“Oh, but he was,” Meg removed an aquamarine colored satin gown from the trunk.

“You cannot be serious,” Victoria scowled.

Meg turned, a wounded expression filling her eyes. “I think this gown is lovely.”

Exasperated, Victoria rose from her chair with such force that it almost fell backwards. “I am referring to your remark that Tristan was concerned for my reputation when he abducted me yesterday.”

Meg straightened her posture. “Well, Mr. MacAlistair kept up appearances. His grandfather was in the house, with him, downstairs the entire night. All the while I was upstairs with you.” A devilish grin swept across Meg’s face.

For someone who despised deception as much as Tristan, he was certainly weaving a thick web of lies, Victoria considered with disgust. Now, her maid was spinning them without hesitation, all but relishing in the intrigue. What happened to all that Victoria once believed in?
 

Was anyone the same?

“What do you think?” Meg asked, shaking a gown of lilac silk and lace, as if hoping to remove some of the wrinkles.

“Pardon?” Victoria focused on the pastel gown that Meg held in her outstretched arms.

“Of your wedding gown—”

“Oh, no,” Victoria laughed, crossing the room in several brisk strides. “I’m not wearing that.”

“But you would look beautiful in it, Lady Victoria,” Meg placed the gown atop the bed. “Granted, it wouldn’t be my first choice but seeing as we haven’t had time to properly prepare, it is one of the most bridal-appropriate gowns that you own.”

“No, thank you,” Victoria knelt over one of her trunks, rifling through the contents. She may be marrying Tristan today, but she would be damned if she would she play the role of his obedient betrothed.
 

She was in the mood to be rebellious.

When the first trunk failed to conjure the gown Victoria sought, she searched the second. On this attempt, she caught a glimpse of midnight blue fabric at the bottom of the trunk and yanked it until she feared it would rip. Instead, it tumbled out of the trunk along with most of the other contents as well.

“This should suffice,” she said in a sing-song voice, rushing to a door at the far side of the room and shoving it open.

Victoria held the gown in front of her as she strode towards the mirror then surveyed her reflection. The garment was somewhat modern, designed by Eve after she had returned from a trip to France. How appropriate, the bride wearing a gown designed by the groom’s first betrothed.

Perfect symmetry indeed.

Made of a finely ribbed silk with gauze netting over the bodice that beautifully accentuated the square neckline and long sleeves, in this dress her figure would appear voluptuous. The gown also complemented Victoria’s eyes to perfection. Yes, she wanted an unconventional gown, one that would drive her groom slowly insane with yearning for her. After his antics the night before, it was Victoria’s turn to set him ablaze with desire.
 

It was the least he deserved.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she winked at her maid.

“Are you positive, my Lady?” Meg’s shaky voice asked, hesitation etching her familiar features. “I hoped you’d wear something more—”

“Demure?” Victoria tilted her head to the side.
 

“Bridal,” Meg blurted out. “You are attending your own wedding ceremony, after all.”

“What fun would it be to don pastels, Meg?” Victoria waved the gown in the air with an elegant flourish. “Mr. MacAlistair knows what he’s getting himself into. As a matter of fact, he is insisting upon it.”