They’d nearly reached the winter lodgings in Battersea that Milosh had taken for his family when his lordship asked, “Given your dire history with Hucker, does it bother you that Zoe is probably his daughter?”
Zoe had seemed to think that it should. How odd that it didn’t.
“No.” He smiled at the earl. “Zoe may have Hucker’s blood, but she’s your daughter in character. And that’s all that matters.”
When his lordship’s face lit up he was glad he’d said it, not only because it was true, but because the earl so clearly wanted it to be true.
A few moments later, Tristan was climbing down from the coach to knock on the door to the Corries’ temporary residence. It took some time to roust anyone, but when he did, it wasn’t Milosh who opened the door, but Milosh’s wife.
“You!” she spat as soon as she saw him.
She tried to close the door, but Tristan blocked it with his foot. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Mrs. Corrie,” Tristan said in English, for his lordship’s benefit, “but I wish to speak to your husband.”
Her gaze flicked to the well-appointed coach-and-four and her agitation became more palpable as his lordship stepped down to stand behind Tristan. The Romany did not have a good history with fine lords.
Tristan moved to block her sight of Lord Olivier. “Mrs. Corrie? Your husband?”
At last she returned her attention to Tristan. “He’s not here,” she said in Romany. “Thanks to you, he’s gone.”
“Gone!” Tristan exclaimed. “At this hour?”
“Gone where?” Lord Olivier demanded.
Tensing, she switched to a heavily accented English. “To the north.”
Tristan’s heart dropped into his stomach. “He went after Hucker anyway.”
“Aye. He said he had to ‘avenge’ his sister. That he would beat the beng until Hucker tells the truth.”
“Hell and thunder.” Tristan sympathized with Milosh, but beating the “devil” would only make matters worse. “He promised he wouldn’t.”
“Aye.” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “He promised me the same. For a short while. But the idea of his sister being hurt by that man preyed and preyed on his mind until he could not bear it.”
Lord Olivier released a breath. “How long has he been gone?”
“Since midnight,” she said. “He took our best horse and rode off in a temper.”
“We have to stop him,” his lordship murmured. “If he goes blundering into this, who knows what will happen?”
“I agree.” Pasting a smile on his face for Mrs. Corrie, Tristan dug one of Dom’s calling cards out of his coat pocket. “If he should happen to return soon, please ask him to come to this address.” He handed it to her, along with a gold sovereign. “For your trouble.”
Her eyes widened, and her stance became a trifle less defensive. “He took the Great North Road.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Parrakro.”
She nodded in response to his thanks. “Latcho drom. Baksheesh! ”
After she disappeared into the house, his lordship climbed back into the coach. “What did she say?”
“She wished us good fortune and a safe journey.” Tristan leapt in and ordered the coachman to drive on. “I daresay she wants us to catch her husband as much as we want to. She has to know what Hucker is capable of.”
They headed back toward Mayfair.
“So, you’ll be going on a trip up north, I assume,” his lordship said.
Tristan nodded. “If I take Dom’s carriage, I shouldn’t have any trouble catching up to Milosh. He’ll assume we won’t know of his absence, so he won’t be traveling at breakneck speed. And the Romany don’t go by post; they don’t trust their horses to innkeepers. So he’ll have to travel more slowly, thank God.”
“Take my carriage and my rig,” Lord Olivier said. “They’ve got to be faster than anything your brother owns.”
“I can certainly attest to that.”
“And you’ll pass near Winborough on your way, so you can stop in there to change horses. I’ll write a letter for you to give to my estate manager.”
“Thank you.” Tristan hesitated before broaching a delicate subject. “But there won’t be a need for the letter. Because I mean to have Zoe with me.”
“Why?” The sharp word bit into the darkness.
“Milosh will listen to her, if he won’t listen to me. He only initially promised to keep quiet because she begged him. He has a soft spot for her—he says she’s the very picture of his sister. Assuming we catch up to him before he reaches Rathmoor Park, she will be most able to sway him.”
His lordship pondered that in silence, then thrust out his hoary chin. “Then I will be going with you as well.”
“My lord, this will be a long, hard journey.” When Lord Olivier glared at him, Tristan added hastily, “And if you’re worried about a chaperone, I also mean to take Dom. His status as Father’s younger son still has weight up there. Besides, he knows those roads better than I, having spent more years traveling them. Surely you will feel safe having both of us with her.”
“An excellent idea, but that doesn’t change my decision. You are not taking my daughter off with you unless I go, too.” He set his shoulders. “You’re not married to her yet, lad.”
Lad? He nearly laughed. No one had called him “lad” in some years. But given his lordship’s advanced age, it wasn’t that surprising. And much as Tristan disliked the idea of dragging both Keanes along, he also understood the man’s reasoning. This past hour or two wouldn’t have undone the years of rumor and innuendo that had probably biased Lord Olivier against him.
“Very well, the four of us will go together.” Tristan shot the man a warning glance. “But there’s no time to waste.”
“I agree. You should go on to your brother’s once we reach home, while I prepare for the trip. As soon as you return with him, we’ll set off.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan.”
This time their silence was less fraught with tension. They reached Mayfair, and his lordship said, “I have one more question for you. We will speak of it once and never again.”
Tristan suppressed a groan. What could the man possibly want to know now? “All right.”
“Was tonight your first . . . that is . . . have you and my daughter been . . .” He uttered a pained sigh. “Is there any reason I should rush the wedding?”
God, what a question. “It was our first . . . encounter of that kind.” He could feel the heat rising in his face. He’d never thought he’d need to have such a conversation with a woman’s father. “So I should think we could wait, say, a month or so for the wedding.”
Her father’s stiff demeanor softened a fraction. “Good, that’s good. I hadn’t really given the matter of her actual wedding any thought before. She’s never shown much interest in marrying anyone.”
“Yes, I’m well aware of that.”
Indeed, it was the one thing that worried him. What was the real reason she was willing to marry him?
22
IT WAS BARELY dawn and Zoe had joined her father in his study only twenty minutes ago. But it felt as if she’d been waiting for Tristan and Mr. Manton forever, and she couldn’t keep still.
Thank heaven Aunt Flo and Jeremy were abed and had no inkling of what was going on. At the moment, she couldn’t deal with the questions and concerns they were bound to have, or with parrying her cousin’s quips. She’d left a long note for both of them. That should suffice.
She paced to the window to look out yet again. “You don’t think Mr. Manton and Tristan went on without us, do you?”
“I doubt it.” Papa packed some papers into a satchel. “After all, it was your fiancé who insisted that you go along.”
Her fiancé. What a lovely word. She’d never expected to like it quite so well.
“You’ve packed everything you need?” Papa asked.
“Yes.” She strained to see through the morning fog
. Were there two men on horseback over there?
No. Only a dustman with a cart. She sighed.
“Tell me something, girl,” Papa said. “Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”
“Of course! Uncle Milosh is—” She winced. “I mean, Mr. Corrie—”
“It’s all right,” Papa said in a surprisingly calm voice. “He is your uncle.”
“Whom I can never acknowledge as such publicly.”
“Not if you want to continue as my heir.” Papa came over to her. “But the quest for Mr. Corrie was not what I was referring to.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to marry Bonnaud?”
She eyed him askance. “It’s not as if I have a choice.”
“You always have a choice. I meant it earlier when I said I wanted you to choose your husband free of worry. I don’t wish to see you forced into marriage to a man you don’t love.”
Sudden tears stung her eyes. She turned her head to keep him from seeing them. “I want to marry Tristan. Truly, I do.”
“But do you love him?” he asked softly.
“Yes.” After Tristan and Papa had ridden off to visit Milosh, she’d had plenty of time to think about it. And she knew now without question that she loved Tristan.
She loved his flirting . . . and his taunting. She loved how he called her “princess.” She loved that he had dreams of a future beyond his expectation. Most of all, she loved that he understood her—from her ambivalence about being a bastard to her love of the land.
How could she not love him?
She wasn’t sure when it had begun, but her feelings had solidified when he’d stood with her against her family, trying to calm Papa’s anger, demanding answers on her behalf, behaving exactly how she’d always hoped her husband might.
Now her feelings were as firm as the cobblestones of the street below.
“Have you told him?” Papa asked.
She wrapped her arms about her waist. “No. And I don’t intend to anytime soon.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . I don’t know if he loves me. He once said love was an impossible dream, and if he still believes that, I don’t think I can bear to hear it. I’d rather just go on praying that he will come around someday.”
“It’s not like you to be a coward.”
She ventured a smile. “It’s not like me to sneak around behind my father’s back, either, but I did.”
For a second, she saw a flash of the Major, all stiff upper lip and bristly manner. Then he sighed, and his gaze transformed to that of a worried parent. “My dear girl, can you bear marrying the man without knowing if he loves you?”
“I can bear that better than living without him,” she said truthfully.
Papa looked as if he might say something more, but then a pair of horses came into view, being ridden neck-or-nothing down Berkeley Street, and they realized Tristan and Mr. Manton were approaching.
Quickly, Papa turned from the window, strode back to his desk, and pulled out some sort of case, which he shoved into his satchel.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“My pistols. We may need them.”
“Lord, I hope not,” she muttered as she followed him out of the room. Shooting people could get even an earl into serious trouble.
A short while later, the four of them headed off in Papa’s spacious traveling coach, which wasn’t quite so spacious with three tall and sturdily built men taking up all the room. This was going to be a very long trip indeed. Especially with what hung over them.
Determined to take her mind off what might happen if they didn’t get to Milosh in time, she dragged the latest copy of the Gardener’s Magazine out of her bag and tried to read.
“You might like the article about using goats to keep down weeds,” Tristan said.
Having already dog-eared that page, she could only gape at him. She wasn’t the only one—his brother and Papa both eyed him with amazement.
“What?” With a scowl, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I occasionally like a bit of light reading.”
“About agriculture?” Mr. Manton said.
“That and treatises on weapons are the only sorts of literature you keep around Manton’s Investigations.” Clearly peeved, Tristan stared out at the sunrise. “Sometimes I get bored.”
Coupled with what he’d told her last night, it broke her heart. “I’m not surprised you would find goats fascinating. They’re critical to land management in Yorkshire. And as a former resident of Rathmoor Park, you would have to be aware of that. Did you read what he said about which poisonous plants they devour?”
Tristan swung his gaze to her and something flickered deep in his eyes that made her mouth go dry. Then he settled back against the squabs with a smile. “Hard to believe that they will ingest hemlock with no ill effects.”
“I know! Isn’t it astonishing? Then there’s the . . .”
For the next few hours, the four of them discussed gardening. And animal husbandry. And enclosures. She was shocked to realize that her future husband was by no means unaware of the problems facing an estate manager. Granted, some of his ideas were outmoded, probably based on things his father had told him over a decade ago, but he had sound judgment. Even Papa looked impressed.
When the conversation stalled, however, they could no longer avoid the subject uppermost in their minds.
“Are you sure that Mr. Corrie is traveling the same road we are?” Papa asked Tristan.
“Yes. It’s his speed I’m unsure of.” Tristan’s gaze met hers. “If he relies on his Romany friends for horses, he might not have to stop to rest his own as often as I assumed at first.”
“But you said the Gypsies winter in cities,” Mr. Manton put in, “so there shouldn’t be many of them in rural encampments to help him.”
“They don’t all winter in cities. And he’ll know which ones don’t.”
That sobered them. They were silent a long time, so silent that after a while Zoe dozed off. When she awoke, it was to Papa shaking her. “We’ve stopped for dinner, dear girl.”
“Dinner?” Had she slept so long? Apparently so, for the sun was low in the sky now.
And she mustn’t have been the only one who’d fallen asleep, for Papa was blearily combing his hair, which stuck out every which way. Mr. Manton looked more alert, probably because he hadn’t been up half the night as they had, but Tristan—
She sat up straight. “Where’s Tristan?”
Mr. Manton climbed out and turned to help her down. “While we’re at dinner he’s going to talk to the local Romany clan, find out if they’ve seen Milosh. We’re ordering food for him to eat in the carriage.”
“But Mr. Manton, surely Tristan should—”
He smiled. “Call me Dom.” He eyed her closely as her father got out behind her. “The way I understand it, we’re soon to be brother and sister.”
It dawned on her that Tristan must have told him about their plans to marry. “Yes, we will, indeed . . . Dom.”
Dom broke into a grin. “Lisette will be delighted to see Tristan settled at last.”
“I don’t know how settled he’ll be,” she grumbled. “Even now he’s running off to take care of things when he ought to be sleeping. He’s been running hard ever since yesterday, riding here and there, squiring me about . . .” Making love to her. “He needs rest.”
“Don’t worry about my brother.” The three of them headed for the inn door. “He’s used to going for days, sleeping only in snatches when he’s on a mission. It was one reason Vidocq used him as an agent so frequently.”
She kept forgetting about that part of his life.
“Bonnaud was an agent for Eugène Vidocq?” Papa said incredulously.
“You’ve heard of him, Papa?”
“I’ve met him. Scary fellow.”
Dom chuckled. “I agree. But effective.”
“That’s what my friend who introduced me to the man said. But how did Bonnaud get mixed up
with Vidocq?”
While they ate, Dom filled Papa in on Tristan’s many exploits as an agent of La Sûreté Nationale. Since she hadn’t heard much about them herself, she was fascinated. And worried. She and Tristan hadn’t talked about what he would do after he married her. Would he truly be content on an estate in Yorkshire? Wouldn’t a man used to such an adventurous life get restless after a while?
Tristan was waiting for them in the carriage when they came out, and Zoe noticed that Papa seemed to eye him in a new light. At least this trip was affording her father a chance to become better acquainted with her future husband.
As soon as they set off, Tristan gave them his report. They’d missed Milosh by three hours, and he had changed horses at the local Romany camp. They were on the right road, but still too far behind.
Unfortunately, night was falling, so that would slow them down. But Tristan and Dom consulted and decided it would probably slow Milosh down as well. Still, they didn’t dare halt their march north to take a room at an inn.
“He won’t stop,” Tristan said grimly. “I know him. He sees this as his family honor being at stake. Besides, it probably never sat well with him that Hucker seduced Drina, but now that he knows it resulted in a child . . . Thanks to me, he’s got a bee in his bonnet, and he won’t rest until he can let it loose to sting Hucker.”
“It’s not ‘thanks to you,’ ” Zoe protested. “I’m the one who mentioned the beating to him. I’m the one who stirred everything up.” She stared out the window. “I never should have pursued this. I should have left well enough alone and just refused to marry my cousin.”
“Really?” Papa surprised her by saying. “Truly, girl, do you think you could have gone your whole life without knowing what happened?”
“No,” Tristan answered for her, amusement in his voice. “Zoe always has to get to the bottom of things. It’s in her nature. It’s what makes her so interesting. Along with her fine—” He checked himself. “Wit.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Very prudently put, sir.”
“I’m nothing if not prudent,” he teased. “Hadn’t you noticed that about me?”
How the Scoundrel Seduces Page 24