The Skilled Seduction (45 page)

Her heart breaking for the woman with the somber eyes standing before her, Victoria changed the subject. “What happened?”

“I took care of Preston,” Dominique admitted, her voice devoid of emotion. “He will never again be a threat to our little girl.”

Victoria turned to Tristan, who now approached them. “You—”

“It was my battle, not Tristan’s,” Dominique shot Tristan a knowing glance. “You both have sacrificed enough for my benefit.”

Tristan handed her the money. “You must go, now. It is a matter of time before the authorities arrive.”

Dominique placed Tristan’s offering in her reticule. “Thank you for sacrificing so much to protect my daughter,” she said to Tristan, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She then turned to Victoria. “I knew when he married you that you were something special. That was well before you made that public spectacle. It was then that I knew that my daughter would be the most blessed little girl.”

Victoria reached behind her neck, unclasping the gold locket her mother had given her so long ago. She then placed it in Dominique’s hand. “Take this. In it, you’ll find a sketch of Sophie.”

Dominique studied the woman standing across from her. “You married one hell of a classy woman, Mr. MacAlistair.”

“I know,” Tristan’s rich baritone was thick with emotion as he placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back.

Their guest turned towards the door. It was then that Victoria hugged the woman who had given birth to Sophie.

“Thank you for allowing me to love your daughter.”

Dominique choked back a sob. “You have been more of a mother to her than I have ever been. But I have always loved her.”

With that, Sophie’s mother walked out of the little girl’s life.

Victoria turned to Tristan, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It shames me to admit this, but I am relieved that she killed him. I was terrified for you.”

Tristan exhaled a deep breath. His wife would never learn what really transpired this evening.

It would be the last secret he would ever keep from her.

* * *

Through the course of the next few days, the investigation of Lord Preston Newbury’s death proved to be futile. There were no witnesses, only a missing Madame who, by leaving a monogramed handkerchief on the floor of his townhome and fleeing from authorities, had wordlessly taken responsibility for the crime.

It was on a crisp, cool Thursday afternoon the following week that Victoria lost their baby. Tristan sent for Dr. Danbury immediately once the bleeding began since the kind man was presently residing in London. However, Victoria knew it was already too late.

Their little one was gone.
 

Not only was the kind doctor loyal to the family, but he was especially fond of Victoria and did everything possible to help her through her loss.

“It is my fault we lost our baby,” she sobbed, shortly before the he sedated her.

Dr. Danbury voiced his concerns to Tristan. “Lady Victoria will be confined to bed rest for several days as blood poisoning is always a concern in such cases.” He clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “I think it is wise to keep her sedated, at least for now, in her present state. I will visit again every few hours or so. Call for me if her condition worsens between now and my next visit. I’m terribly sorry, Mr. MacAlistair.”

Tristan swallowed hard against the lump of despair that lodged in his throat. “Is she in danger of ...?” he couldn’t even voice such a thing.

“If she suffers from blood poisoning there is a risk. There is a future risk, as well,” the good doctor paused before continuing, “a risk of Lady Victoria miscarrying again. I won’t lie to you, Mr. MacAlistair, miscarriages are dangerous business.”
   

Tristan threaded his hands behind his neck.
   

“I am sorry. I wish my news were better,” Dr. Danbury said, his tone gentle, as Tristan walked towards his wife then placed her hand in his.
   

He heard the faint
click
as the door closed behind him, leaving him alone with his wife. He then rested his head upon Victoria’s abdomen and wept. For the child they had lost and because once again the Lord threatened to take the life of a woman whom Tristan loved – first his sister, now his wife.

Dear God, please don’t take Victoria.

It was the second time in as many weeks that Tristan had spoken to the God whom he had renounced so many years ago.

He heard a faint rap on the door, but it barely registered. When he didn’t respond, Meg poked her head in the room.

“Mr. MacAlistair?” she said tentatively. “May I inquire as to Lady Victoria’s state?”

Tristan’s shoulders began to wrack with sobs. “I’m afraid this is my fault,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
   

Meg patted him on the back. “Of course it isn’t. The good Lord has a plan, is all. We may not always understand it, but we must have faith in it.”

Faith
… once such a foreign concept but now Tristan knew what he must do. “Would you please stay with her until I return, Meg?” he asked, wiping his eyes.

“But surely your business can wait?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“No, He has waited long enough.” Tristan had rejected the good Lord for far too long and now understood that he must make amends … for his wife and for the child they lost.

He kissed Victoria on the forehead. “I’ll be back shortly,” he whispered. “I’m going to pray for our miracle, darling.” She had once suggested they pray for Gwen’s miracle and Tristan had selfishly refused.
 

Not this time.

Once outside, he adjusted the collar of his great coat. Not even the blustery weather would deter him from his mission. He strode to the church where he and Victoria wed, pausing only when he had reached the heavy oak doors. Tristan remembered Victoria’s comment on their wedding night, about lightning failing to strike the hallowed cathedral.

After tugging the massive door open, Tristan took one step inside noting with relief that no bolt of lightning struck him this time, either.

God must be on his side.

He walked down the aisle, his footfalls silent atop the crimson colored carpet. The church was empty, he noted with a tinge of relief as he dropped to his knees at a pew in the front of the church, his eyes affixed on the stained glass window high above him.

What did one say to a Lord he had cast aside so long ago?

“Dear God, forgive me my sins …” Tristan clasped his hands in prayer. “And please bless my wife.”

His vision again blurred, from tears that flowed freely. He’d shed no tears for so long, not since his father’s beatings began. Now, it seemed like since Gwen’s illness, he couldn’t stop himself. So overwhelmed was he by his intense emotions for those he loved.
 

It was Victoria’s influence.

Now, when faced with the loss of the woman he loved beyond reason, Tristan couldn’t choke back his emotions. No, he wouldn’t because his love and devotion, his raw and uncensored sentiments, were the least that Victoria deserved.

“I love her,” he said it aloud. “I love Victoria with everything I am, with my whole heart. She is the best of me. I can’t survive without her, Lord.”
 

Dear God, it was true.

“She makes me strive to be worthy of her and she is such a loving mother. For Sophie, if not for me, please God, save my wife. Please, dear Lord, bless our child, the child we lost today. Let our child know how much he or she is loved.”

For the first time in a very long time, Tristan MacAlistair believed in a higher power. He also believed in miracles.

When his wife recovered, they would have much to be grateful for.
   

Chapter 19

Victoria had been strong for far too long, so much so that she contemplated when she would break. As it turned out, all she needed was her good friend opening his own front door.

“What on earth?” Oliver gasped.

It was as if a dam had broken. Tears spilled from her eyes as she admonished him. “Why are you answering your own front door?”

“I saw your procession walking from your carriage and was concerned,” Oliver paused long enough to glance from Victoria’s face down to that of the child she cradled.

“Oliver, this is my daughter, Sophie,” Victoria thrust the little girl into his arms. “I can’t let her see me like this. I’m sorry.”

She knew this estate as well as her own and rushed into the study, a stuffy room with ornate paintings adorning the walls, gilded sofas, and gargoyles above the stone fireplace. She had often chided Oliver about this room, how its personality didn’t match his one bit.

It was now her sanctuary.

“What in bloody hell has happened to you?” he stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him.

Victoria stared out the window, the vast, ominous sky swirling above a foreshadowing of her own emotions. “Where is Sophie?”

“With my maid, Mrs. Firth – someone far more suitable to care for her than me, I can assure you.” He approached her from behind, “You are aware that I do not know one thing about children. I would have read her something frightening at bedtime or offered her whiskey for breakfast.”

Succumbing to her friend’s attempt at humor, Victoria managed a slight grin.
 

For the first time since her trip began, Tori realized how inappropriate her visit truly was since she was married and Oliver was a bachelor.
 

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Tori,” Oliver’s stern tone sliced through the air. “What the hell did he do to you and who is that child?”

“Tristan did nothing to me and the child is his illegitimate daughter, at least everyone believes her to be, though she isn’t. Tristan and I are raising her as our own.” Victoria shook her head, “Did you not know this? Everyone in London has been gossiping about it for weeks.”

“No, I did not.” Oliver released a long breath. “Hence your daughter … ah, I see. For a moment, I thought you had gone stark raving mad and abducted some unsuspecting cherub from Hyde Park.”

A nervous laugh escaped her throat. Then, somehow, her laughter turned to choked sobs.
 

Oliver enveloped her in a tight hug. “Cry it all out.”

Victoria did so. She wept for the loss of her unborn child, for the husband who wanted their child so desperately, and for the child she thought she was rescuing. For the first time, Victoria wondered if Sophie would have been better off without her.

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Ollie,” she sobbed onto his now wet vest.

Oliver patted her back in a soothing gesture, “We all have. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

“What is wrong?” she asked, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked back tears.

Her friend tipped her chin up with his thumb. “I will not allow you to change the subject. Why are you here? And why these tears? As long as I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you cry once and that was after your mother’s death.”

How Victoria wished her mother was still with them. She needed her now more than ever.

“Talk to me, Tori,” Oliver urged. “Does your husband know you are here?”

Victoria shook her head. “Nor do I want him to. I need some time to myself, Oliver. Please promise not to tell Tristan—”

“Shush,” Oliver placed his finger over his lips. “Your secret is safe with me. Why are you here?”

“I lost our child,” she wrung her hands in an attempt to get them to stop shaking.

Oliver seemed confused. “But she’s down the hall,” he paused, comprehension dawning. “Oh, Tori.”

“I’m an absolute mess, Ollie. My emotions are all over the place. I’ve been kept sedated over the course of the past few days yet every time I have awakened, Tristan hasn’t been there.” The realization had all but killed her. She lost his child, and she feared that he couldn’t forgive her for it.

“It is all my fault, Oliver,” Victoria paced the room. “I had one responsibility, to keep our child safe, and my own body failed me.”

“None of this was your fault. As for your husband, I would be happy to shoot him if you so desire.”

A laugh lodged in her throat. “You sound like my maid, before she fell for my husband’s charms.”
   

Oliver grinned. “Unlike Meg, I will make good on my threat. All you have to do is ask.”

Tori pulled away from him, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. “Thank you, but no. He doesn’t deserve to be shot,” she managed a slight smile.

“Don’t say I never offered.” Oliver shrugged.
   

Her eyes scanned the room, choosing to follow his lead of levity. “You’ve done absolutely nothing with this place.”

“Why should I when it attracts so many damsels in distress?” He reached for her shoulders. “Take off your cape and sit. You have had a long journey and I require a stiff drink. I’ll ring for tea for you and instruct that your rooms be prepared.”

Victoria shrugged out of her cape and collapsed on the velvet sofa. “I was heading to Sebastian and Gwen but Sophie and I were just too exhausted to travel any farther tonight. I apologize for the intrusion, Ollie, but I am so relieved that you are here, instead of in London.”