The Skilled Seduction (40 page)

Yanking an opulent gown of sapphire silks, Victoria strode across the room. Eve designed it, like so many of Victoria’s gowns. At the time, Fiona had insisted upon adding peacock feathers to accentuate the collar and waist. Victoria had painted delicate peacock feathers on the rich silk in shades of teal and gold until the garment had transformed into a work of art. Fiona’s intention at the time had been to ward off unwanted suitors by convincing them upon first sight that Victoria was high maintenance.

The gown would make a different statement on this particular evening. Victoria held the concoction against her tall frame, studying her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes flashing with anger.

Many years ago, she had vowed never to be a victim again. Tonight, on this night, she was renewing that pledge. Whatever happened to her from this moment forward, it wouldn’t be from her failure to fight.

You are no victim.
She stared at her reflection.
You will never be a victim again
.

Victoria tossed the luxurious gown atop her bed then rang for Meg. Everyone expected her to be the perfect wife, to speak only when spoken to and pretend that her husband didn’t sire his mistress’s child and send her to an orphanage while everyone spoke about him and his wife behind their backs. Yes, they wanted her to act as if no one else knew of their scandals, all the while knowing full well that the
ton
was reveling in her husband’s secrets – at her expense.

Well, Victoria had blown the
ton’s
intentions straight to hell by publically accepting the little girl and she wasn’t inclined to stop there.

She also held her own secret now, one that would affect Tristan dearly. Victoria planned to use it to her advantage to garner the truth about Sophie’s parentage from him. Victoria could be just as conniving as her husband and planned to prove it this very evening.

Snapping her monogrammed sterling silver jewelry box open, she first reached for the gaudy ruby Tristan had given her. His sentimentality when he had given her the flawless flower shaped ring on their wedding night had since faded. The ostentatious ruby would make far more of a declaration than the unique ring that meant so much to her. Next she scanned the contents for gold chandelier earrings and a matching gold locket her mother had bequeathed her. They would infuse Victoria with the strength she needed to conquer what lay ahead this evening.
 

Victoria was the Dowager Duchess of Davenport’s daughter and survived much worse than a social function with a bunch of narrow-minded hypocrites and a husband who doesn’t love her. No, she’d play the part of Tristan’s wife all right.
 

The wife he deserved.
 

The wife his reputation called for.

Lady Markham once remarked that the
ton
believed Victoria to be
naïve and unsuspecting
. On this night, Victoria planned to prove to everyone in attendance how inaccurate their assumptions had been.

Victoria would be making her London debut with Tristan tonight as a confident, controlled woman who cares not what anyone else thinks or says about her.
 

If they wanted scandal, she would oblige.

Grabbing the shiny gold locket, she clasped the cool metal in her palm.

Please, Mama, give me strength for tonight.
 

Never again would Victoria allow anyone to control her. She would enter that function tonight as Tristan MacAlistair’s wife, the daughter of the eighth Duke of Davenport. Though her father had taught her many things she’d tried to forget, tonight, her secrets would propel her forward. She had once thought that she’d freed herself of her past, but Victoria now realized that nothing could be further from the truth.
 

Lady Victoria MacAlistair was prepared for battle. God help the person that hurts her or her little girl because, from this day forward, Victoria would retaliate.

The
ton
was in for a rude awakening.

So was her husband.

* * *

Tristan leaned back against the plush velvet squabs of his coach, his jaw clenched so tightly that a vein began to pulsate in his neck. He stared through the glass, into what would have been a moonless abyss had they remained in the country. Instead, gas lamps lined the familiar London streets though the scenery failed to impress him, for his thoughts remained fixed upon the beauty sitting beside him.

Turning to face his wife, he studied her profile in silence. She was spectacular. And with every day that passed, regret rooted itself deeper within his gut. Why hadn’t he seen it before he had messed everything up so royally? She loved him once, and would have loved him until the end of time.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking but he doubted it, choosing instead to believe that Victoria would have loved him indefinitely had he allowed her, had he encouraged her, had he loved her in return. The fact that he’d admitted his feelings for her at last only to have his wife fail to believe him thrashed his pride.

“The more you stare, the more I shall ignore you,” his wife said in a sing-song voice, either so captivated by the illuminated brownstones outside her window or simply determined not to meet his gaze.

Victoria was testing him, he suspected. Tristan teetered on the edge of losing his temper and, in turn, losing her … that is, if she ever belonged to him.

He rubbed his chin, still smooth from shaving. “You are ignoring me a great deal tonight.”

“Um-hum,” for the first time since they left his townhome, Victoria turned to face him, her eyes locking with his. “That is how I’m becoming so proficient at it. Practice, you see.”

It was her brand of sarcasm. The trait that he’d always admired in her, yet her quip hadn’t met her eyes, which remained flat.

Did I do that to her?
He wondered.
Have I taken the light from her eyes?
Tristan’s conscience told him that he had indeed done just that, causing his throat to become dry, excessively so, like he was dying of thirst.

Thirsting for her,
he thought.

God, he missed her. He had no idea what a strong influence she’d been in his life …

Until he had driven her away.

Imagine that! Marrying a woman as special as Victoria drove her further from him than he ever thought possible. Desperate to make amends, Tristan blurted the first thing, the only thing that came to his mind. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered in open admiration.

She wore indigo tonight and feathers. A great deal of feathers. No other woman could have pulled off such an outlandish gown but somehow, on Victoria, it was regal and she looked magnificent.

He suspected that she was making a statement with her choice in clothing, though whether she wanted to defy him or the
ton
, he knew not. The color of her gown and matching cape enhanced her auburn tresses, which were pinned in a tight chignon with a sapphire and emerald encrusted comb in the shape of a single peacock feather.
 

His wife was the most alluring seductress he’d ever laid eyes upon.

Victoria tore her gaze from his as if uncomfortable. She studied the scene outside her window once again. “I had difficulty deciding what to wear tonight. I feel like I’m entering the lion’s den.”

Smoothing her skirts, she added, “It is my first official function since Lady Markham’s revelation about your former mistress. Or is she your current mistress?” Victoria countered, turning to face him once more. “I can’t be certain since you’ve been disappearing a great deal of late. Perhaps you go to her each evening?”

His blood turned cold as ice. He should have predicted that his wife would presume the worst of him. “I promised to be faithful, Victoria. It is a promise I have kept, one that I will always keep.”

“Yet you’ve led me to believe that you have allowed your daughter to be abandoned in an orphanage,” she said, her eyes ablaze. “What would stop someone that heartless from being unfaithful?”

She had a valid point.
 

How could he make her see?

“I am committed to you,” it was the truth. He hoped she believed him.

“Regardless,” she arched her brow, “I suspect that your colleagues in attendance tonight will be well armed with the truth. They seem to know much more about you than I ever did.”

“Victoria—”

“Don’t fear,” she patted his leg, “I am braced for battle – or an ambush, as I never know what to expect.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a raspy whisper as he clasped her gloved hand within his, noting with regret that she was wearing her large ruby instead of the cherished ring he’d bestowed upon her on their wedding night.

Tristan began idly caressing her hand in a gesture so tender, with an expression so sincere, that Victoria almost believed him. At one time, she would have believed him, but no longer. Not since the last time she discovered that Tristan wasn’t the man she thought him to be. No, on that night, she erected a barrier around her hardened heart. It was the only way she would survive the anguish of learning that the man she loved was a soulless, selfish bastard.

How could she have been so wrong about him?

Anger at her own naïveté fortified the barrier she had erected. It kept her sane, and kept her free from his charms. She was no longer naïve. No, she would never again be that.

Of course, Victoria knew that he wanted her to care for him. She recognized his thirst for power over her, remembering all too well her father’s need to control her mother. But she wouldn’t relent.
 

Not now.
 

Not ever.

It was her silent oath as she stared at her ethereal reflection in the glass, attempting to ignore the warmth emanating from his gentle touch through the fabric of her gloves.

Beginning on this night, she must take charge. She held the power now, possessed everything Tristan once proclaimed that he wanted, and she would use her own secret against him to garner the truth from him later.

Swallowing hard against the lump of emotion forming in her throat, Victoria again caught sight of her reflection in the glass. She looked pale, almost ghostly. God, had she truly transformed that much? Her own likeness was now all but unrecognizable.

Though she possessed the same features as before, the one exception was her eyes. They were now devoid of warmth, as if she were a shell of her former self.

Tristan continued to caress her hand. “What can I say to make amends?”

“Tell me the truth,” she said, still staring out the window. “Is Sophie your daughter?”

His gaze followed hers and the sight caused his hand to tremble. Her expression, devoid of the passion he had always admired, was now flat, humorless.
 

It was as if she’d given up on him.

His suspicions were almost too much to bear.

“Please look at me,” he commanded, his gentle tone belying his intense anxiety. He waited, still rubbing her hand, the gentle friction warming his cold fingertips.

She exhaled before complying.
 

“That is the one thing I can’t do for you,” he leaned forward then reached for her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. Her skin was smooth as silk and so were her lips, he knew. He longed to kiss her. To make her forget all that had transpired between them. Knowing she wouldn’t allow it, he did the only other thing he could think of – wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.

He held on to his wife for dear life, refusing to release her. They could bow out of this damned fiasco. Hell, they could leave London all together. What did he care what polite society thought of him? Honestly, what was scandal to a man who had experienced so much of it at the hands of his parents, people he once loved and trusted?

If it were up to him, Tristan would never look back on this wretched society but his wife deserved better. He would do right by her and he would be damned if he let anyone shame her again.

Tristan was attending this evening for the sole purpose of protecting his wife from scandal that she didn’t invite and showing each and every one in attendance that he married Victoria because he wanted to. He refused to allow anyone to disrespect her ever again. He was long past caring what the
ton
thought of him but Victoria was another story. He wouldn’t rest until the
ton
was proven wrong about all of their ugly accusations towards his wife.

They remained still for several minutes, the only sounds that enveloped them being the
clip-clop
of the horses’ hooves and the gentle creaks of the carriage as it traveled towards their destination.

Enveloped in his warm embrace, soothed by the familiar scent of his cologne, Victoria had to resist the urge to melt in her husband’s arms. She still loved him. It was evident in her rapid heartbeat pounding within her chest, in the fluttering like butterfly wings that soared in her abdomen every time he touched her. But she must never forget that she couldn’t trust him, at least not until she knew the truth.

The realization made her secret even more difficult to digest. She couldn’t keep the news from him forever, which is why she had planned tonight with precision.