The Skilled Seduction (30 page)

Her maid cowered by the door. “I was afraid of that,” Meg sighed before turning on her heels and heading into the other room.

Victoria studied her wan reflection in the mirror, a wave of rejuvenation washing over her.

Tristan MacAlistair would gain a bride today and Victoria planned to play her part with aplomb. But no one could take away her flair for the dramatic.

She would ensure this day was one her groom would never forget.

* * *

“Tristan?” Malcolm MacAlistair, the Viscount of Cavendish prodded his grandson. “Good heavens, son. Gather your wits.”

Tristan turned to his grandfather. “My apologies. What were you saying?”

“Staring at that open door won’t make her come downstairs any faster,” his grandfather’s tone was gentle as he crossed the room before sitting on the ottoman in front of his grandson.
   

“Yes, but at least I could catch her sprinting towards the nearest exit,” Tristan said cynically, now studying the kind man’s comforting features – from his gray hair, which was in stark contrast to his dark brown eyes, his chiseled face, tall frame and his sincere smile. Malcolm was Tristan’s family, even though he first met the man about four years ago, he’d grown close to him, especially in the past two years. The Viscount of Cavendish was the single family member Tristan had allowed into his dark world, who knew all of his secrets and supported him all the while.

His grandfather’s eyes conveyed concern tempered with tenderness, two traits that Tristan’s own father had never shown him. “What aren’t you telling me, Tristan?”

I’m a cold-hearted bastard.
Yes, that summed him up. He had absconded with her for Christ’s sake – locked her in his suite like some fair maiden secured in a tower, and hadn’t spoken to her since last night. Tristan didn’t know what to expect from Victoria today though he knew her well enough to expect that she would come out swinging.

Aware that his grandfather’s silence meant that the man was still awaiting an answer, Tristan chose his words with care. “These aren’t ideal circumstances for a wedding.”
What an understatement,
he thought before clarifying, “Victoria doesn’t know the truth about me … doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into.”

Though Tristan failed to explain, his grandfather would understand.

“You thrive on challenges,” his grandfather offered him with a wry grin before adding, “and I suspect you are getting just that.”

“And then some,” Tristan concurred with an arched brow.

“Did someone mention a challenge? I dare say that is my cue.” Victoria announced from the doorway.

Tristan glanced over his grandfather’s shoulder to find his bride leaning against the doorframe, swinging her indigo and gold reticule from side to side.
 

His pulse raced at the sight of her. Far from the more traditional gown that he had expected, the form fitting garment Victoria chose was meant to be beguiling with a neckline that dipped just above her bodice, revealing a hint of cleavage. His body warmed in response as he recalled exploring her full breasts with his hands and mouth just days before.

Victoria wore her hair down, a small sapphire and pearl encrusted comb accentuating the auburn waves and curls that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Tristan yearned to again rake his hands through her soft tresses, reminding himself how she would look lying next to him each night forward.

An unfamiliar contentment swelled within his heart, a pride if you will that Victoria would soon be his. It stemmed from the enigmatic presence that was Victoria – bold, brave, and vivacious. Possessing a beauty that radiated from within, Victoria was the definition of bewitching.

He stood, his gaze unswerving as his grandfather strode towards her.

“It’s good to see you, Victoria,” Malcolm bowed his head then bent forward to kiss her hand.

“Though I am pleased to see you, I dare say your grandson could have taken less drastic measures to reacquaint us,” she replied with a sly grin, toying with the three rows of pearls that she wore as a choker at her neck, the same creamy flesh that Tristan longed to kiss again and again.
 

It was a hunger he doubted would ever abate.

Victoria turned to face Tristan at last, offering him a seductive smile as she crossed the room, bridging the gap between them.

“You have been a busy boy,” she tapped him with her reticule. “My maid tells me that you have asked both she and your grandfather to lie for us.”

“Victoria,” Tristan’s baritone betrayed an unspoken warning.

“Worry not. I am resigned to our fate.” She tossed her hat, reticule and matching gloves upon the sofa before leaning against the mahogany desk.
 
She offered the elder MacAlistair a sincere smile. “Thank you for helping us, Malcolm.”

All things considered, Victoria’s teasing tone and humility with his grandfather was a good start.
 

The Viscount beamed at her. “You look lovely, my dear. There is a superstition, you know, about the color dress a bride wears to her wedding.
Blue means love will be true
.”

She turned to Tristan, winking at him. “This color was the closest I could get to mourning without being obvious.”

For years, Tristan vowed he would never marry, not after the debacle that had been his previous betrothal to Eve. Now he was doing so, with a sarcastic bride to boot. His life had turned into a production worthy of the London stage, he realized.

“May we have a few moments alone, Grandfather?” Tristan asked, his eyes still locked with Victoria’s.

He could hear the relief in the kind man’s voice, “Of course. I’ll wait for you both in the morning room.” As soon as the words escaped his lips, it became obvious that he wished to retract them. “Not that
I
am in mourning, of course.”

Victoria laughed, clasping her hands together,
“Well done
. I am determined that there will be much laughter today and predict you will be the perfect cohort.”

“As you wish, my dear,” Malcolm bowed his head before offering his grandson an arched brow. He then exited the room, closing the door behind him.
     

“You are rather amiable this morning,” Tristan joined her at his desk.

Victoria turned. “Does that surprise you?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Yes.”

“I am resigned to our nuptials and recognize that I am as much to blame as you are for our current predicament.”

Relief washed over him like a refreshing spring shower. If only she had ended there. But Victoria dashed his brief moment of euphoria with her next statement.

“I was awake all night mulling this over. Sebastian will never forgive us and I suspect that Gwen is of the same mind. Your grandfather may be offering his support but the rest of our families are in a shambles. How can any good possibly come from such wreckage?”

He had wondered the same thing.

“Before we proceed, please answer one question. Why were you so insistent upon our union?” She placed her head on his shoulder.

Tristan leaned his head against Victoria’s, her warmth causing the hair on his neck to stand on end. “For the first time in my life, I wanted someone so badly that I would risk anything and everything, consequences be damned.”

He honestly couldn’t let Victoria go, convinced that if he did so the sun would refuse to shine ever again.

She didn’t understand but how could she? He barely comprehended the maelstrom of emotions that had encompassed him since their night together.

At long last Victoria turned towards him, her azure eyes brimming with tenderness. “The person I am today is who you are marrying, not the besotted young woman you made love to.”

Reaching for him, Victoria pressed her palm against his cheek. “I know what it is like to chase someone who no longer exists and to desire what will never be. Are you certain you want that for yourself?”

Tori referred to him, Tristan realized, as he pulled her closer. He then leaned forward, bending down until he rested his forehead against hers. “I want you.”

Between now until the end of time, Victoria would be the only woman he would ever want.
 

They stood in silence for several moments, her sweet breath fanning his face before she tilted his chin up. Her lips were petal soft as she brushed them against his. In response, his lips parted, his heart soaring with the knowledge that she was kissing him.

Their kiss, this kiss, was slow and sensual sending shock waves throughout his entire body. Her tongue, warm and moist, brushed against his and it was almost his undoing.

Gently, Victoria’s lips lingered against his until she pulled away, resting her head against his chin. “Is that what you want? My heart?”

His response was nothing more than a husky, “Yes.”

Victoria straightened, “I offer you my sincerest apologies, Mr. MacAlistair, but my heart is the one thing you will never have.”

She traced his jaw line with her soft fingertips, the intimate gesture meant to what? Show him that she, too, mourned what they could have had? Or perhaps she did so to draw Tristan’s attention to his bruise, a visible reminder of his fight with Sebastian and their fractured families.

“Before we recite our vows, I have a confession to make. I am, in part, responsible for Eve choosing Colin. I witnessed an intimate moment between them and encouraged Colin to discover her feelings for him, though he didn’t require much convincing.” She looked Tristan square in the eye. “I thought I was saving you from heartache. Instead, I unintentionally helped you become the man you are today.”

She smiled, though it never met her eyes. “Ironic, is it not? How you and I are responsible for the other’s transformation?”

The clock on the mantel tolled, announcing that the hour had arrived, stirring Victoria from her previous thoughts.

“We have a ceremony to attend,” she announced as she gathered her accessories from the sofa. Victoria then paused with her hand on the brass door knob. Her eyes met his, causing his chest to ache as he noted that melancholy and disillusionment replaced her usual radiance. “Shall we make this official?”

Tristan nodded, unable to trust his voice. Instead, he watched his bride exit the room, studying her curvaceous form as she sauntered down the hallway before disappearing from view.

It was at that very moment, standing alone in his study, that Tristan felt the full impact of what he had done, remorse weighing his every limb like an anchor.

Would this relationship with Victoria ever survive the past and all of their heartaches?

He feared the answer though his one solace was their kiss, filled with emotion, fused with sensual passion.

That was real. It could be enough, couldn’t it?

Only time would tell.

As he straightened his cravat, Tristan took a deep, fortifying breath. His bride was determined to make today light and jovial. He would honor her wishes and perhaps remind her of how effortless their relationship had once been. It could be again, if she was open to it.

He must convince her to take the leap of faith with him, starting today.

Tristan MacAlistair would get the girl this time.

He wouldn’t rest until he did.

Chapter 13

The wedding ceremony took place without a hitch. Luminous sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, accentuating the comfortable church in colorful brushstrokes as if it were a scene depicted on one of Victoria’s murals. The bride was beguiling, the groom charming. To any onlooker, theirs was a happy and respectable union.

“Dare I ask how you accomplished our nuptials without lightning striking the hallowed cathedral?” Victoria asked, leaning against one of her husband’s four posters, the simple act revealing more of the creamy flesh above the bodice of her gown.

“I wondered that very same thing,” Tristan quipped, as he poured two glasses of brandy into crystal snifters from a matching decanter.

A wide grin swept across his features, because Victoria was his wife, at last. He couldn’t wait to undress her, make love to her again. This time, he would go slowly, heightening each sensation for her.

He offered his bride one of the snifters, and Victoria lifted hers in a toast. “To our families forgiving us.”

She clinked her glass against his before taking several hefty gulps. “Today has been exhausting. Little did I know how difficult a task it is to feign happiness. I think I shall need more of your delicious brandy. Perhaps we should stock a bride’s reserve for future necessity?”

Shrugging as she handed her empty glass to Tristan, Victoria then leapt onto his fluffy mattress, lying on her back as she stared at the vaulted ceiling.

He took a sip of the fruity liquid, surveying his bride’s sensual form. Her auburn waves fanned her face and what a divine face it was. Azure eyes sparkling, accentuated by her rosy cheeks and heart-shaped lips. She was the epitome of perfection, he thought as he placed the snifters on the dresser then joined his wife, his hand gently brushing hers as they lay side by side, eyes fixed upon the ceiling above.

“I had a messenger deliver our good news to our families,” he said. “No doubt they are blissfully happy for us.”