The Skilled Seduction

by Tracy Goodwin

  Or was there?

  His kisses with Victoria left him confused, doubting all he held true.

  Sighing heavily, he exited the safe confines of his carriage, prepared to face the wolves that comprised his family. Kind and loving, they were still a pack of predators, each pushing him to revert to the person he would never be again.

  The man he refused to be for it, too, had become a choice. Tristan had chosen darkness. It was his only option since protecting what was left of his scarred heart and wounded pride had become a matter of self-preservation.

  As he marched up the steps leading to the massive front door, Tristan mentally prepared himself for the barrage of questions that awaited him. Before he could knock, it opened for him, the duke’s stoic butler greeting him.

  “Good day, sir. Your sister has been expecting you,” Winston, ever conscientious, bowed stiffly before motioning to the French doors that led to the terrace. “She is outside.”

  “Thank you, Winston.” Tristan handed the waiting footman his hat and gloves then ventured out to see his sister, all the while reminding himself to feign happiness.

  You are happy.

  Yours is a charmed life.

  Although he wasn’t convinced, Tristan hoped his sister would be, especially after their last few unpleasant conversations.

  Upon reaching the terrace, he found the party was indeed over. His sister sat at the table, now cleared of the usual food and decorations.

  “Don’t tell me I missed the entire party,” he walked over to Gwen, kissing her cheek. “I am sorry I’m late, Gwen.”

  She turned towards him, her familiar visage wan. “No, you’re not.”

  Tristan studied his sister, her deep topaz eyes beseeching him for a denial, one that he couldn’t give her. He would pretend to be happy. That was his mission, as if he were an actor playing a role. But to lie to her – to deceive his sister about this – when she obviously comprehended the truth? No, he would not do that to the one constant in his life.

  “Oh, Tristan,” she sighed, disappointment etched in deep lines around her eyes. “Why do you refuse to confide in me? I can help you, if you would allow me to.”

  She stared at him, her intense scrutiny searing through to the depths of his very soul. Tristan felt exposed, positive that his sister would see the vacant man he had become.

  “I am sorry, Gwen,” was all he could offer.

  It wasn’t enough.

  His sister shrugged. “We saved you a piece of cake,” she said, her tone gentle.

  Gwen hadn’t chastised him. To the contrary, she took great pains to sound neutral. She was the one playing a role now, he realized. Pretending not to be disheartened was her part.

  His sister had become proficient at it.

  Tristan’s conscience flooded with guilt because he had reduced her to pretending.

  “The twins are near the lake with Tori if you would like to wish them a happy birthday,” she said, rising from the table.

  As he watched his sister walk towards the house, his conscience silently berated him for his selfishness.

  “I am sorry, Gwen,” he repeated.

  His twin leaned against the French doors that led into the vestibule. He studied her, waiting to see if she’d turn towards him and offer one of her sweet smiles.

  She did neither.

  “We shall speak tomorrow,” Gwen said over her shoulder. “You are staying here, are you not?”

  Bridging the distance between them in three swift strides, Tristan hugged her from behind. “There is no place I’d rather be.”

  Gwen turned to face him. Though she grinned, her eyes remained devoid of emotion. “Winston will instruct your valet to bring your things to your suite,” she said, leaning into him. “The twins have missed you. We all have.”

  He swallowed hard against the lump that formed in his throat.

  I have failed her.

  The knowledge made him want to crawl under the nearest rock. His sister was the one person he could always count on and the last person Tristan ever wanted to disillusion.

  “Oh,” she added as an afterthought. “Your gift for Nicholas arrived and is waiting for you in the stables. I thought you should present it to him.”

  “Thank you.”

  He had so much to thank her for.

  Thank you for always loving me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for wanting the best for me.

  Instead of voicing the depths of his gratitude, he allowed two simple words to express his innermost feelings.

  Once his sister disappeared into the house, Tristan set off in search of Victoria and the twins, taking a quick detour to retrieve the sleek, black pony he had procured for his nephew from his stables.

  Upon tethering the reins to a tree out of the children’s line of sight, he trekked to the lake where he found them playing with a net, chasing after what he discerned to be a butterfly as their laughter floated amidst the warm breeze.

  Scanning the scene further, his eyes caught sight of Victoria sitting underneath a large, leafy tree with her sketchpad in hand, deep in thought as she studied the children, her hand moving across the page.

  His heart skipped a beat at the mere sight of her. Garbed in a gown of deep azure, Victoria was a vision of serenity as she paused in the act of drawing to watch the children playing, her lips curved into a sweet smile.

  Completely unaware that he was studying her, Victoria tucked a stray curl behind her ear then looked down once again at the sketchpad on her lap, her auburn tresses glowing under the early autumn sunshine as several stray curls floated in the gentle breeze.

  Forget those monstrosities at Almack’s, he thought. This is the scene that should be depicted on a canvas.

  “Uncle Tristy!” Emma called to him, her use of his pet name drawing Tristan’s attention from Victoria as his niece ran in his direction with her brother, Nicholas, close on her heels.

  “Hello, my darling,” he said, bending down and hugging the little girl dressed in a ruffled lavender dress. “Happy birthday.”

  He then turned to Nicholas. “Pardon me, I am looking for my nephew. Have you seen him?”

  “I am Nicholas,” the little boy asserted behind a bright smile.

  “No, my nephew can’t be this mature,” Tristan mused, clapping the boy on his shoulders and surveying him, his expression animated. “Are you certain this young man is one and the same?”

  “Yes!” both children shrieked in unison.

  “You’re growing so big, I can hardly believe it!” Tristan pretended to further scrutinize his nephew. “Very well then, it must be so. Happy birthday to you, as well.”

  “Presents please?” In complete contrast to her request, Emma’s tone was sweet.

  “Emma,” Victoria chuckled as she walked towards them. “Remember your manners, darling.”

  Since first meeting her, Victoria had become Tristan’s friend, her sharp wit and boundless energy engaging him from the start. Once a refined young lady, she had evolved.

  Her alteration was especially stark in this light.

  Though she was indeed a lady in manner and in costume, Victoria’s resemblance to every lady of the ton that Tristan had ever met ceased there. Her complexion was not fair but instead bronzed from the outdoors. Her once mahogany hair was overrun with auburn highlights, shimmering to perfection in the sunshine as her thick curls cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Her sapphire eyes shone brighter than he’d ever seen and, for the first time, Tristan noted the unusual beauty mark above her upper lip. It was so small, a perfect dot, yet drew his attention to lips far more full and luscious than he remembered.

  Far from the petite and delicate English ladies abounding in London, Victoria’s long legs and voluptuous curves along with her dark features and bright sapphire eyes made her appear exotic. Hers was a dangerous beauty, the type that caused kings to wage wars and lose ancient civilizations.

  She was studying him with t
he most alluring smile he’d ever set eyes upon. “I fear Emma has not mastered patience as of yet,” Victoria patted the little girl on the head.

  “So I have observed,” Tristan teased, reaching into his vest pocked and removing a velvet box tied with a red satin ribbon. “This is for you, darling girl.” He offered the gift to his niece with a wink.

  “Thank you!” she bellowed, snatching it before turning towards Victoria. Her aunt bent down, offering to help her niece open the present, however the excited little girl was already tugging at the ribbon.

  Tristan tore his eyes away from them, turning his attention to his nephew. He removed a small, wooden pony from his vest pocket. “Your gift, kind sir.”

  Nicholas accepted his gift then turned it with his fingers. “Thank you,” he said with a smile.

  Damn the boy had manners!

  Emma glanced at her brother as she held out her hand, displaying the heart-shaped gold locket Tristan had given her. “Nikki, look!”

  Her brother, ever the gentleman, smiled. “Very pretty.”

  “Shall we see how it looks?” Victoria asked before reaching for the chain and placing it around Emma’s neck, fumbling, albeit briefly, with the tiny clasp. “There now, let’s see.”

  Emma pirouetted in response, proud of her new trinket.

  “That is beautiful, Emma. I dare say that your uncle has excellent taste.” Victoria winked at Tristan and his mouth went dry. He swallowed hard in an attempt to rid himself of from the strange sensation.

  “Thank you,” Emma said, her tone light and breezy. Seeing that one of his gifts had been a success, it was time to enlighten his nephew as to his real gift.

  Tristan returned his attention to the young man. “Do you like your present, Nicholas?”

  The young man nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me until you’ve met him.” Tristan studied his nephew as his words registered.

  The boy’s face brightened, his eyes searching his uncle’s for another clue. Tristan took the boy’s hand, “Come now.”

  As they marched towards the tree where Tristan had tied the sleek, black pony, Nicholas howled with excitement. He then began sprinting towards the horse that was now nibbling on the grass.

  The animal whinnied in greeting as the young boy patted his glossy mane. Nicholas’s expression was one of awe.

  “Nicholas, meet your new pony,” Tristan said, mussing the boy’s hair.

  “Ride him?” Nicholas asked, his eyes wide. “Please?”

  Tristan smiled, amused by the boy’s excitement. He too, now, petted the horse’s silky mane. “Not quite yet. First you must ask your mother.”

  Victoria coughed and Tristan turned to her. She shot him one of her you shouldn’t have said that looks.

  Tristan arched his brow. “What?” he mouthed.

  “Mama,” Nicholas shouted as he turned towards the residence. Before he could gain any ground, Tori walked in front of him.

  “Not so fast, young man,” she said in a motherly tone. Her speedy transformation was quite amazing – one moment smiling and carefree, the next parental and serious. All the while she had this air about her, as if she was telling a tale.

  What a tall tale it turned out to be.

  “Your pony is famished. You must give him time to eat and rest from his long journey. Why don’t you take him to the lake and let him graze there for a bit?”

  Crestfallen, Nicholas stood firm. “He’s not hungry.”

  Victoria leaned closer to the small beast, patting its head as the animal scratched his hooves into the browning earth.

  “Pardon?” she asked, bending her head. As if right on cue, the horse whinnied.

  “Yes, I understand,” she answered the animal then turned towards Nicholas. “Your pony has just explained that he is indeed hungry. He also reminded me you have yet to name him. That must come first as it is of the utmost importance to him.”

  Nicholas shrugged and walked towards his aunt. She reached for him, tugging him closer to her then began tickling the young boy. “Is that agreeable to you, my dear?”

  “Yes,” he squealed, his laughter contagious. As if in agreement, the horse threw back his head with a whimsical whinny.

  “Why don’t you tie him over there and think of a name for him while he grazes?” Victoria suggested, pointing to a large, leafy tree nearby.

  Victoria’s argument was so compelling that Nicholas immediately grabbed the reins and ran ahead, his pony following suit as Emma shadowed them.

  Hell, at that precise moment, Tristan would have allowed Victoria to tie him to a tree. He turned towards Tori and studied her once more. Her posture was perfect, her head held high, looking more aristocratic than he had ever seen her.

  When did she cease being the fun-loving nymph he met so long ago and why did she keep Gwen’s children from her?

  Was she aware of something Tristan was not?

  “Would you mind explaining to me why you stopped Nicholas from seeking his mother?” he asked.

  Her gaze was fixed upon the children. “The pony was a wonderful gift, Tristan. Nicholas is happier than I have ever seen him.”

  “Victoria, I’m waiting for an answer,” Tristan placed his hand on his hip. “Unlike my nephew, I’m not naïve enough to believe that horse, as intelligent as it may be, spoke to you.”

  “Gwen is fatigued and I promised to keep Emma and Nicholas occupied so she could rest,” Victoria began walking towards the children.

  “Is Gwen all right?” he asked, following close behind her.

  Victoria turned on her heel, studying him for several seconds. Tristan was distant, even now when he was concerned for his sister. Or was he? He kept his emotions so concealed that she wasn’t even assured of his concern anymore.

  “Gwen is the mother of twins. She has a massive estate to manage and, in addition to hosting a birthday celebration for her children, she feels it is her lone responsibility to save you from yourself.”

  Tristan halted mid-step. She knew he understood her meaning though he remained silent.

  Deciding not to irritate him, Victoria tried a different tact … sarcasm.

  “It is a losing proposition if you ask me,” she drawled.

  His retort was quick, “Then it is good that I didn’t ask you.”

  “All joking aside, I dare say, Tristan, you can’t avoid your life forever,” she paused long enough to pluck a withered leaf from the large tree she had sat beneath earlier. Twirling it between her fingers, she chose her words with great care. “I understand why you would want to. The past few years haven’t been kind to you.”

  He arched his brow. “Do you suppose?”

  “You didn’t deserve what Eve did to you, nor did you deserve to learn those terrible truths about your mother and father.” She referred to his parents’ secrets. No need to elaborate. Tristan would understand.

  She leaned against the wide tree trunk, “If I were you, I too would have a difficult time trusting others.”

  Tristan remained silent, a twig snapping beneath his boots as he advanced closer, until he stood a mere foot or so away from her. Victoria inhaled a deep, fortifying breath and was assailed by the warming scent of his cologne – mahogany with a mixture of spices.

  “You think you know me so well.” It was a statement, not a question, his rich baritone smooth, like a fine port.

  Tori sensed that he was endeavoring to persuade her from her present topic though she stayed the course. Her eyes locked with his. “You can’t hide forever. If you did, you would miss out on far too much.”

  “I’m not hiding,” Tristan leaned even closer to her, his hand resting against the tree trunk behind her. “See, I’m right here.”

  Yes he was, close enough that her skin prickled from his nearness. He was also close enough to remind her of their first kiss, when he had gently pinned her against the wall of his London study.

  She stood her ground then and would do so now, determined not to let him charm
her into changing the subject.

  “Your niece and nephew turn three once in their lifetimes,” she explained. “You missed most of their special day because you were hiding from your family.”

  He flinched, as if surprised that she discerned his true intentions.

  “I see through your pretenses,” Victoria assured him.

  Tristan averted his eyes, choosing instead to scan the grass, desperate to change the subject, she suspected. He then bent down and reached for one of the sketchpads scattered about the lush grass.

  He stared at the intertwined lines and circles drawn with charcoal on the top page. “Lady Victoria, I suggest you keep to your lessons,” he smirked. “If you’re not taking lessons, I’d be happy to arrange some for you.”

  “Amusing,” she arched her brow, reaching for the sketchpad.

  Tristan wouldn’t release it from his grip. “Now, now, don’t take offense.”

  “I’ll have you know that your niece drew this. She is quite the artiste,” Victoria assured him, tugging the book closer to her.

  Tristan’s wry expression conveyed that he remained skeptical.

  “Look at her use of light and shadow,” Victoria pointed to several swirls in the child’s artwork. “Mark my words, she will be the next great master. Give or take a couple of decades.”

  Tristan smiled and Victoria thought her heart might sing in response. Both stood stock still, grasping the sketchpad. Tristan held her gaze for several seconds then blinked, as if he was attempting to break their unspoken bond before prying Victoria’s hand from the sketchpad.

  His warm flesh sent shock waves up her spine as he began to massage her fingers, which were smudged with charcoal. Tori could swear by the heat in her cheeks that they must have turned a brilliant shade of crimson.

  The intimate moment between them was brief for, as quickly as he took her hand, Tristan released it causing a wave of disappointment to surge through her.

  “What is this a depiction of, specifically?” Tristan asked as he tilted his head then turned the artwork upside down.

  Blinking in an attempt to focus, Victoria again stared at the little girl’s drawing, this time with feigned indignation. “It is a bird.”