Tristan held her tighter, as if he could protect her now, as if it weren’t already too late. “I am sorry, Victoria.”
“I can’t speak any more tonight,” her ragged cadence warned him that her steely façade was beginning to crack.
His wife had fought for him, for what she believed to be right, for so long. She had remained strong through all of their battles, all of their challenges yet, on this night, her brave persona threatened to crumble.
They stood, bathed in moonlight, as Victoria squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to silence her mind, which had been recalling Lady Markham’s shrill admissions ever since she had heard them.
Tristan held her, kissing the top of her head, promising her that everything would be all right.
She found little solace in his reassurances.
Victoria knew what she must do next, of course, having come to the realization several hours ago though she couldn’t confide in her husband yet. No, he would find out soon enough, once they returned to London.
Wrapping her hands around her arms, she shivered. Whether from the cold or the confrontation that would assuredly follow her actions, she knew not.
“Let us go inside,” Tristan led her into their suite.
Victoria longed for a quick resolution but was well aware that none existed, the realization leaving her weak. Tristan must have read her thoughts because he again kissed her head. “It will be all right,” he assured her as Victoria climbed onto the bed. He then lifted the cool sheets over her shoulders, tucking her underneath the heavy coverlet.
His actions were so tender, the expression in his rich gaze brimming with understanding. How could this man who showed her so much compassion be capable of abandoning his own child? Confusion muddled her train of thought. It was as if she were walking through a thick fog, powerless to discern what shadows were real or imaginary in the heavy mist.
None of what she heard tonight made any sense. A man who would protect his sister wouldn’t discard his own child no matter how scandalous. Nor would he abandon his career when he had successfully helped his grandfather turn around his dwindling estates and make a large fortune.
A part of her didn’t believe the accusations, yet Tristan refused to refute them. Where did that leave her?
Victoria might have cried at any other time but not now, for she no longer possessed any tears to shed. Instead, a surprising numbness had settled within the deep crevices of her core.
Since Tristan had sent his valet away this evening, he crossed to his side of the four-poster, removing his vest before tossing it onto a nearby chaise. He then removed his shoes and climbed under the covers with her.
“Come here,” he whispered, holding out his arm.
Victoria complied, resting her head in the crook of his neck as he again wrapped his arms around her.
Her hand rested against his chest and she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, through the fine fabric of his shirt. She concentrated on the rhythm, hoping it would steady her turbulent emotions.
“What would have happened if you loved me first?”
Tristan caressed her shoulder in a smooth, circular motion as he replied in a husky whisper, “I would have been the luckiest man in the world.”
He had fought his feelings for too long, always rebuffing the possibility that he did love Victoria until tonight.
He could no longer deny it, no longer run from it. It was terrifying beyond belief but it was the truth and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would lose his wife if he didn’t confess his feelings.
“I love you, now,” his heartfelt admission hovered in the silence that engulfed them.
Victoria remained still. “Thank you for saying so but enough lies and secrets have been revealed tonight. I don’t want to add another half-truth to the mix nor do I possess the energy to pretend.”
The realization that his wife didn’t believe him hit Tristan like a blunt object. Unable to convince her with words, he was determined to express his love in his embrace, in his every caress.
He continued to hold his wife long after Victoria had succumbed to slumber. All the while, he considered their future.
Tristan had much work to do. He must repair his marriage, make Victoria believe in him again. Then there were his career and his reputation, both of which were in tatters. He would salvage both for his wife. Because he wanted nothing more than to be the man she once believed him to be, the man he once was.
I love you – three little words that meant so much and couldn’t be more heartfelt. I love you – a truth he would no longer deny. I love you – his soul’s dearest gift.
I love you.
And I won’t rest until you believe me.
* * *
Victoria and Tristan returned to London the following morning, their carriage shrouded in silence.
It was a bright autumn day yet, in stark contrast to the clear sky, her heart lay battered, her mood shrouded by the heavy cloud of truths she had learned the evening prior.
Upon arrival at his townhome, Tristan departed to attend a meeting and Victoria seized upon the opportunity to take the carriage, setting her plan in motion. It had taken her several hours to accomplish her goal. She then spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for the little girl that Tristan refused to claim as his own, exuding as much effort as possible to ensure that all who witnessed her shopping spree were well aware for whom she was making such purchases.
Tori would give Tristan no choice but to accept the little girl. Consider it retribution for forcing her into this farce in the first place.
The clock struck seven before Tristan returned home. Victoria had already fed the little girl and put her to bed in one of the vacant guest rooms on the second floor. As there was still much to prepare, Tori and Meg were arranging what would soon be the child’s room, a couple of doors down the hall from where Victoria’s own newly renovated suite joined Tristan’s.
When she heard Tristan’s heavy footfalls bounding up the stairs, Victoria bid Meg goodnight. Her maid curtsied in response, her expression making it quite clear that she wished to avoid the ensuing confrontation.
Tristan must have witnessed Meg’s unease, for his voice was thick with trepidation as he entered the room. “What are you doing in here?”
Victoria closed the door to what would soon be the little girl’s play room, a small sitting room off the bedchamber.
“I am preparing for our guest, silly,” she lied in an attempt to lull him into a false sense of security.
Tristan surveyed the room, as if looking for evidence of a guest. Perhaps he feared that she was moving out of her own suite, the one that adjoined his since the renovations had been completed during their brief stay at Ainsley.
“Rest assured, I am not moving into this suite,” she said with conviction. “However, you may wish that were the case once you discover who is now residing with us. Did I say guest. No, I meant our family.”
Warning bells began to clang violently within his ears.
What had his wife done?
Tristan yanked the wardrobe doors open and noted with dread the numerous tiny dresses hanging within. He then marched to the door of the sitting room, the same one Victoria had closed upon his arrival. Toys were neatly placed upon the carpeted floor as was a large doll house. He picked up a small teddy bear and carried it over to his wife.
“I forbid you from bringing that child into my home,” his baritone was thunderous.
“Surprising, isn’t it, how many facts we don’t know about one another?” Victoria proceeded to the dresser where she placed a tray with a tiny silver brush and comb set resting atop of it. “I have conversed with you about my charities but fear I wasn’t specific. For instance, I visit several London orphanages on the third Thursday of every month. I teach the children how to draw while making sizable donations in my brother’s name.”
Tristan exhaled a deep breath before clenching his jaw.
“I see from your expression
that you have come to the realization that the child in question resided in one of those orphanages.” Victoria grinned, clearly satisfied that she caught her husband off guard.
“It amazes me what an exchange of currency can secure. Granted, I am not legally permitted to vote, but I can purchase a child from an orphanage with a sizeable amount of currency and your name. You are aware that you are listed as the child’s father, yes?” she tilted her head to the side.
Of course he was aware.
“This will not stand, Victoria,” he warned her.
“I assure you it will, Tristan. On this matter, I refuse to relent. It was a horrible place when I first came across it. Though much improved thanks to my brother’s generosity, it is no place for that little girl. If I could have, I would have brought each and every one of those poor children home with me. But instead I took the child I could save, Sophie, and I refuse to renounce her.”
Sophie.
It was the first time he had heard the child’s name spoken aloud in his home. It made the situation even more urgent, as if that were possible. The child couldn’t reside with him. He had long since promised not to involve himself any more than he already had.
“We can’t shelter her, Victoria,” Tristan feared that, in spite of his best efforts, he had long since lost this particular battle.
Victoria grabbed his arm and ushered him downstairs to the guest room where the little girl with a curly mop of raven colored hair was sleeping atop a large mattress surrounded by pillows. Meg sat by her bedside, silently knitting in the dim light of a wall sconce.
“Look at her,” Victoria demanded in a hushed tone. “Look at that innocent child, and tell me that you are sending her back to an orphanage.”
Tristan couldn’t do it, no matter how much he knew he must. “Do you have any idea how much scandal will ensue from this one act of kindness?” he asked.
“No more than your indiscretion with her mother.” Though her voice was calm, Victoria’s eyes emanated sparks of defiance in his direction as she added, “or your indiscretion with me.”
Touché … his intelligent wife was correct. If he weren’t so bloody concerned for her, he would be downright proud.
“You’re placing all of us, including that child in danger, Victoria.”
“How could I possibly know that since you refuse to confide in me?” Her azure gaze implored him for an explanation. When he remained silent, Victoria again asked, “Is she your child or not?”
Though her tone was more gentle than he had expected, he still refused to answer because it no longer mattered, did it? The child was in his home, under the protection of his wife and there was no turning back now.
“Why won’t you confide in me?” Victoria asked in a hushed whisper. “I am a part of this now. I am in your life because you insisted upon it. Please tell me the truth.”
Tristan leaned against the doorway for support. “I can’t.” His simple statement tinged with regret hung heavy in the air and in his heart.
In a split second, Victoria’s fiery countenance was replaced by a cold mask of detached reserve. “Then there is nothing left for us to discuss,” she stepped inside the dimly lit room then rounded on him, her tone calm yet determined, “Sophie will reside with us and we will raise her as our daughter. You have no choice but to accept that. Do you understand?”
Tristan nodded as his wife shut the door, albeit gently, in his face. He remained in the hallway for several minutes, flattening his palm against the smooth mahogany that separated him and his wife.
His wife would never know how difficult it was for him to remain seemingly aloof and hardened to the plight of that innocent little girl. Or how damned tempted he was to admit everything to his wife. No, all Victoria would suspect was that he was a monster for abandoning his child.
Little did she know that her husband was living proof that looks could be deceiving.
Tristan would allow Victoria to believe that he was the villain in this bloody scandal. Not simply because of obligation but because he understood that vile monsters lurked, hidden behind the fresh faces of seemingly respectable members of society – loathsome creatures that prey on the innocent, who would even take a little girl’s life in their lust for power.
Tristan didn’t want Victoria to ever learn of such malevolence. Her safety and the safety of the child were all that mattered now.
Tristan had protected the little girl from afar for so long. His wife’s selfless action now caused him to amend his plans.
He must warn the others. They, too, would need to be aware of the sudden turn of events. Their deceptions must remain hidden before evil hunts them and Tristan was certain it was indeed watching, waiting for them to slip up.
Yes, evil did exist and Tristan would protect his new family from it at all costs.
* * *
The next week was spent in relative silence. Husband and wife spoke only when Sophie was in the room, pretending that they were one happy family, or when Molly was present, causing some sort of canine commotion.
It had been ages since Tristan had been intimate with his wife or slept in the same bed, since their last night at Ainsley to be exact, when he cradled her in his protective embrace all night.
The knowledge weighed Victoria’s muscles – her whole body – down, each time she watched Tristan leave his brownstone, cloaked in the shadow of night. Though fatigued, she failed to sleep. Instead, she and Molly sat by the window, waiting during the first few nights though Tristan failed to return until sometime before dawn. Then Victoria refused to wait, opting instead to lie awake, staring at her ceiling, until she heard the sound of his muffled footfalls in his suite next door.
According to the clock on her bedside table, Tristan arrived home this morning sometime around four. Where had he gone? Who was he with each night? She had searched for a clue, some hint that never materialized.
Tristan remained guarded at all times.
All Victoria knew was that Tristan had wanted her to bear his children until she brought Sophie into his home. Then their intimacies ceased. The knowledge caused her stomach to churn with the powerful might of a thousand stormy seas.
He must spend the evenings with his Madame. That had been her first reaction and it was a powerful one. A force to be reckoned with, her suspicions caused her to choke on her own grief. Then the anger set in, stabbing her heart like a sharp dagger, slicing it until it was tattered and unrecognizable.
In this light, Victoria’s own indiscretion with Tristan seemed even more despicable. She knew she wasn’t his first partner, but now suspected that she wasn’t his last.
Bile rose in her throat as that very pattern of thought made her want to retch. Had he already broken his promise to be faithful to her? What other reason could there be for him to stay out all night?
Would he have done so if Victoria hadn’t brought the child into his home? Didn’t Tori first break their bargain by knowingly doing the one thing that would anger him the most? Possibly, but Victoria would do so again a hundred times over because that sweet little girl deserved a better life than to be the child no one wanted, abandoned and left with strangers in some orphanage.
Even though the woman who gave birth to Sophie left the child to fend for herself, Victoria would not. She had been blessed with a mother who loved her and would do anything to protect her. Victoria would be same sort of mother to Sophie. Tristan’s approval mattered not.
Victoria studied the note that Meg delivered from Tristan this morning, advising Victoria of this evening’s event. Apparently, he couldn’t face his wife after spending the night God knows where with Victoria knew not whom.
Again her stomach lurched, as if she were drifting at sea during a rough tide. Tristan had kept two promises – he married her but doesn’t love her.
Though he had once told Victoria that he admired her tenacity, that he wouldn’t want her to change or conform, his wife now understood that to be a lie since Tristan knew not what to do wi
th her since she defied him and brought Sophie home.
She reread his note. Tristan wanted her to attend a social function tonight. Perhaps because he required his bride to save his reputation, just as Lady Markham had predicted, Victoria thought with a wave of disgust.
Well, to hell with that.
Such was her unspoken oath as she yanked open her wardrobe door, leaving an imprint in the cream and pale gold colored jacquard striped wall behind it.
Good. She wanted to leave a mark. She wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her for whether knowingly or not, Tristan had indeed hurt her.
After the horrible act her father had committed, it had taken her years to escape from her shell, until she had been able to get past her pain and anger. Then she allowed herself to believe that Tristan was different … that he wasn’t like her father.
It had been her first mistake, but not her last. On the night that she offered herself to him, body and soul, she loved him and wanted to comfort him when he needed her most. Hoping that he returned her love had been her second mistake. Her third mistake had come in the form of marrying a man like her father – a man capable of affairs and illegitimate children. Her fourth mistake rested in the fact that she allowed the ton to pounce upon her gullibility.
Like Lady Abigail Archer.
Little did the ton realize that, unlike Lady Archer, Victoria refused to be their latest victim. The ton expected a naïve young bride to accompany Tristan this evening.
They were sorely mistaken.
She reached into her closest, shoving gowns aside, looking for the perfect one. She would be making a statement this evening.
One for Tristan’s benefit as well as the ton’s.
Victoria now suspected the type of wife her husband wanted and she refused to conform.
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 Skilled Seduction Page 28