This man was his competition? Even before Keir spoke, Sebastian had ached to punch him, yet after hearing the fop’s dress down to Gwen, he now had a reason to. His hands clenched in tight fists as he fought the overwhelming urge to do so.
It was apparent that Victoria could read his anger, for she took her brother’s hand in hers, thus keeping Sebastian from knocking Keir out cold with one swift punch.
“Come dearest,” Tristan said, his tone dripping with venom as he took Gwen’s arm. “Let’s leave the men to their introductions while I get you something to drink. It is bad form that Lord Dunlop hasn’t yet offered you any refreshment.”
Lachlan introduced Keir to Sebastian and Victoria. Sebastian hailed a footman post haste, ensuring that his guests were settled before ushering Victoria to the far end of the ballroom. The Earl of Stratton may have just arrived but Sebastian couldn’t wait for him to leave.
Tristan led his affronted sister out onto the verandah, noting that she now clutched the brandy glass he’d given her so tightly that her glove looked stretched beyond reason.
“Careful,” he warned, “you may break the glass.”
Gwen loosened her grip and took an unladylike gulp of the amber liquid. Her once vibrant eyes had appeared vacant ever since their arrival.
“Why are you going through with this?” he asked his twin. “You can’t honestly plan to marry that loathsome man.”
“I don’t want to,” Gwen replied, feeling the color draining from her cheeks, “but I don’t see how I can escape without hurting father or our family’s reputation.”
“It is quite simple.” Tristan studied her reaction. “Refuse to marry the man.”
“What of Papa’s health and our family’s reputation?” Gwen’s voice raised an octave, belying her even-tempered nature. “Honestly, Tristan, I know you’re not an objective observer. You have been eager for me to defy Papa for ages.”
“That has nothing to do with this.” His tone was dire. “With father’s help, Keir will steal your soul, that which I admire most about you.”
“Please, Tristan.” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not be melodramatic.”
“For God’s sake, Gwen, look at how he has already diminished your spirit after only one carriage ride and a conversation with the Duke of Davenport. What will you be like in a few months or years, let alone a lifetime?”
Tristan’s words mirrored her own doubts and fears. “I just can’t fathom why Papa would be set on this union if Keir weren’t a good man? True, I never liked him but even so, the Keir present this evening isn’t the same man we knew in Scotland. Surely you will concede that.”
Gwen was desperate to understand, to make sense of her father’s actions. Why would he want her to marry someone so vile? “Perhaps Keir is uncomfortable in England? Perhaps he wanted to impress his host?”
“You cannot change them, Gwen.” Tristan’s response was sympathetic. “I know you want to think the best of them but, make no mistake, this is the real Keir. Our father is either blinded by his Scottish roots, his own need to control your life, or by some ulterior motive neither you nor I can yet fathom. Our father is not the man you think he is.”
Even though Gwen suspected her brother was indeed correct, she raged against him as much as she inwardly admonished herself. “How can you be so cruel toward him? He is our father! Have you no loyalty?”
“What possible need would I have for loyalty? You bestow enough upon him for ten siblings.” Tristan sighed and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I swear to you, Gwen; it is a mistake to marry that man.”
“Then it is a good thing you’re not the one betrothed to him,” Gwen muttered as she jerked away from his grasp, part of her drink sloshing about the glass and over the rim. Gwen wiped her skirt with her free hand.
“Do you think nothing of the man you truly love, of Sebastian?” Tristan asked in a hushed tone. “He loves you, too. It’s plain for all to see. He is the man you should be marrying.”
“I cannot discuss this with you anymore, Tristan.” She turned and crossed the terrace, heading towards the crowded ballroom.
Her brother was close on her heels. “Why?” he insisted and, when she ignored him, he reached for her arm, turning her to face him. “Is it because you can’t be honest with yourself let alone your own brother?”
Gwen’s gaze locked with her brother’s, his brown eyes brimming with concern. Gradually, her anger subsided and at last she allowed herself to consider his question.
During her time with Sebastian, he had skillfully seduced her and she had been more than willing to comply. He admitted to wanting her but never professed his love let alone proposed marriage. Perhaps the sole reason Sebastian wanted her was because she was unattainable.
“Marrying Sebastian isn’t an option now, nor will it ever be.” Gwen downed the remaining contents of her glass in two large gulps. “I must return to the ballroom.”
“No, Gwen. Talk to me before it’s too late,” Tristan beseeched his sister.
“Tell me, then, how to make this right. How do I cry off without scandalizing our entire family?” Tears welled in her eyes as Gwen used her free hand to clutch her brother’s jacket in desperation. “You want me to see Papa clearly? Well, I do. He will announce my betrothal tonight, if he hasn’t already done so. He and Keir have me cornered. How do I break free now without ruining us all? Please tell me that and I will gladly cry off this instant. Please, Tristan.”
Her plea was met with silence. It became clear to Gwen that even he, a brilliant attorney, knew not how to solve her dilemma without wreaking havoc. She released his jacket, taking several steps back.
Tristan opened his mouth to protest, but Gwen held her hand up in warning, her eyes ablaze with anger. “No more! I must return to the rest of the wolves.”
“You cannot think me one of those wolves?” A deep line etched in his forehead, proof her words had wounded him.
“Of course I do.” Gwen’s hands were shaking as she spoke. “You’re tearing me apart, speaking of choices when there are none, at least none that won’t destroy everyone I love. Why must you dangle an apparition of happiness in front of me when I shall never have it?”
Her glass slipped from her grasp, shattering into tiny fragments as the shrill noise reverberated through the still night air.
Gwen stared at the sharp shards of crystal scattered across the stone floor then, after a moment’s hesitation, bent down to pick them up.
Tristan knelt beside her and placed her shaking hands in his own. “Don’t worry about this mess. I’ll take care of it. You go inside and freshen up.” He squeezed her hands in a protective gesture.
“Can’t you see?” she implored him. “Whether or not I marry Keir is no longer my decision. I will suffer regardless. It lies to me now to protect you and Colin from scandal.”
“Gwen,” Tristan said, his tone kind yet commanding. “Colin has abandoned us for all intents and purposes. I don’t need nor do I want your protection, especially if it means that you sacrifice yourself to the devil that has been endowed with our father’s approval.”
After squeezing her hands in his, Tristan added, “Don’t sacrifice yourself. I am begging you. Do not do this. Trust in me. I can and will protect you.”
Her eyes searched his and Gwen sensed that there was something Tristan wasn’t revealing to her but her taut nerves and frayed emotions failed to process whatever it was. Instead, she stood then reentered the noisy ballroom.
Keir charged towards her at once, like a dog at the hunts, and seized her arm. Gwen was aware that she’d just walked into the arms of her predator. There were times when which Keir treated her with cordial civility. On most other occasions, he treated her like a possession and continually sought her cleavage, licking his lips and all but salivating at the sight.
Gwen cursed her asinine decision to rework the material at her bodice at least a thousand times and wished at least a thousand more that the night would end at once putting her
out of her misery.
Surely it wouldn’t be too much to ask for a meteor shower to strike the very spot upon which Keir now stood? She squeezed her eyes closed, allowing herself one brief respite by picturing a stray meteor setting Keir ablaze. Though her train of thought was not realistic, it still afforded her a tiny bit of satisfaction.
From across the ballroom, Sebastian scrutinized her, despising the fact that Gwen’s arm rested on Keir’s as if she belonged to him.
Jealousy coursed through every muscle in his body as Sebastian watched Dunlop leer at the creamy flesh above her bodice. His hands itched to reach for the nearest knife and gouge Keir’s eyes out. Or, he mused with a wry smile, a fork or spoon would be just as effective.
Gwen’s expression was vacant, her smile counterfeit, causing anxiety to claw at Sebastian’s chest. Upon further examination of her pale face and hollow eyes, his blood turned to ice. It was the first time he’d ever seen Gwen humorless.
This would be her life with Keir.
Their argument, Gwen’s reaction, made sense to Sebastian at last. She must have resented him for stirring sensations within her that she’d never again experience. Gwen must have realized that she would never share such passion with her betrothed.
His stride was brusque and determined as he crossed the ballroom. Gwen had managed to free herself from Keir’s grip and was standing off to the side of him.
Sebastian took her arm. He didn’t ask Dunlop for the dance. It would have imparted more consideration than the man deserved. Instead, he clapped his rival hard on the shoulder and drawled, “You don’t mind if the host steals a dance with Miss MacAlistair, do you old man?”
Before Dunlop could reply, Sebastian had already ushered Gwen in the direction of the dance floor. He bowed his head and whispered, “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. Is something amiss?”
“Everything is as it should be.” Her eyes flashed in defiance.
They reached the center of the dance floor and began to waltz. “This is how it should be,” he said, his baritone rich with emotion, emphasizing his first word for dramatic effect.
“Have you been speaking with my brother?” she asked him.
“No.” Sebastian grinned as he tightened his grip around her waist. “Should I speak with him?”
Gwen plastered a sardonic smile on her face then answered, “I’m certain you would find conversation with my brother riveting, for you both sound like parrots reciting the same words.”
“I have an idea. Why don’t I skip the conversation with your brother and marry you instead?”
Had she heard him correctly?
Stunned, Gwen lost her focus and tripped. Sebastian caught her, righting her before anyone became the wiser.
“Come now,” Sebastian’s husky timbre was teasing as his arms guided her into another dance step. “We mustn’t garner too much suspicion.”
Her eyes searched his. Could this really be happening? The entire scene seemed like a dream: the orchestra, the candlelight, the comforting aroma of his cologne, gliding across the marble tiles in his warm embrace. If it was a dream, she didn’t wish to awaken.
“Marry me, Gwen. Tristan can chaperone us to Gretna Green. The scandal will be minimal.”
“We can’t elope.” She still didn’t believe her ears.
“Yes, we can,” he insisted, his tall frame steadying her, sturdy as a century-old oak.
The music ended. Sebastian muttered under his breath about the orchestra’s bad timing before asserting, “We shall continue our discussion later.”
Soon afterward, the men gathered for brandy and cigars in the smoking room. Married and eligible men crowded the room, many of them of the older generation.
Sebastian scanned the room in search of Gwen’s father. The usually ill-tempered man stood among a group of older gentlemen, his expression animated as he discussed his daughter’s betrothal. With his chest puffed with pride, Lachlan gave the distinct impression that he was holding court and enjoying every minute of his dominance.
Sebastian then searched for Gwen’s brother and found him standing alone. While other members of his generation were gambling their family’s wealth at cards and discussing eligible women who were in attendance this night, Tristan glared at his father while a deep scowl marred his expression.
Sebastian observed him march to the sideboard before pouring a generous amount of whiskey in a glass. Tristan then proceeded to the door.
Raucous laughter from his father’s group reverberated throughout the room.
“An earl? Well done, Lachlan. That’s a splendid match,” one of the elder gentlemen said, his slurred words indicating that he was somewhat inebriated.
Tristan turned on his heel and marched towards the crystal decanter he’d abandoned just minutes before. He then grabbed it and carried it out of the smoke-filled room.
Seconds later Sebastian reached the same table, and after grabbing his own glass and decanter, he followed Tristan onto the terrace.
He found Tristan sitting on a long stone bench overlooking the lawns. “Am I intruding?” Sebastian asked. The answer he received was a scowl. He then held out the ornate crystal decanter he carried. “I brought a peace offering.”
Gwen’s brother arched a brow then slid to the end of the bench in a silent gesture of welcome.
“I have my own but you’re more than welcome to join me in a toast.”
“To what shall we toast?” Sebastian asked as he joined Tristan on the cool stone.
Tristan raised his glass. “To the misery of love and the pitfalls of family.”
“My, that is morose.” Sebastian clinked his crystal decanter against Tristan’s.
They quickly consumed the contents of their glasses. Tristan then extracted two cheroots from his pocket, offering one to his companion. Once lit, each man sat in silence, first inhaling then exhaling as the swirling smoke wafted into the crisp night air.
“A fine mess we have, is it not?” Tristan said, his words slicing into the stillness.
Sebastian exhaled a large puff of smoke then asked, “Which mess would you be referring to?”
“The whole bloody scenario – Gwen wants you and you want her, yet she is betrothed to a damn fool who doesn’t respect her one iota.” Tristan inhaled another puff from his cheroot then exhaled, a ragged sigh escaping his throat before he continued. “All that fop wants is an heir-maker, a pretty face attached to a pretty body.”
“Aren’t you being a little harsh? From what I overheard from your father in the cigar room, Dunlop deserves knighthood.” His words were thick with Sebastian’s special blend of sarcasm.
“What Keir deserves is a good kick in the arse. If he leers at my sister’s bosom one more time, God knows I will call him out.” Tristan sighed. “He is already sucking the life out of her and they aren’t yet married.”
“Nor will they be, if I have my way. I proposed to your sister this evening.” Sebastian was quick to note that his confession failed to brighten his companion’s spirits.
“She won’t accept your offer.” Tristan’s tone was solemn. “I spoke to her earlier this evening and my sister is a bloody mess, downright guilt ridden, certain that the scandal of crying off will destroy our family. I have considered every possible scenario, every possible way I can save her from this fiasco, but Gwen won’t allow me to protect her. In regards to this matter, my father holds all the power unless Gwen disobeys him, which she is thus far unwilling to do.”
Sebastian filled his guest’s glass with more of the amber liquid. “I can understand her fear.”
Gwen’s twin swallowed several large gulps of his liquor before scoffing. “Our family is already ruined. Colin is gone and, if you ask me, he doesn’t want to return to our dysfunctional brood. My father and I share mutual dislike. The lone person who thinks we can be saved, or further destroyed, is my sister.”
“So we convince her that your family is beyond repair.” Sebastian nodded before adding, “Sounds easy eno
ugh.”
“If only it were that simple,” Tristan mumbled.
Sebastian took another sip of his drink, waiting for his companion to continue.
“I already tried that reasoning and she still wouldn’t budge. It is from years of being conditioned, I fear. You see, my father prefers his daughter to be guilt-ridden and submissive. His latest tactic has been to remind her incessantly of his impending death.” Tristan stretched his long legs in front of him. “He’s made it known to her that her marriage to Keir is his dying request. She’s afraid that disobeying him is akin to killing him.”
Continuing to cleanse his soul, Tristan’s voice turned gruff. “My sister has always made excuses for him. She feels it’s his ongoing grief from our mother’s passing that makes him so harsh and cold. Gwen has convinced herself that love governs our father’s actions, even when he manipulates her.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed at this revelation. “What is your opinion?” he asked, although he suspected he already knew what Tristan’s answer would be.
“My father is driven by selfishness and greed. When you first knew us, Gwen was allowed to do anything she wanted but when our father moved us to Scotland, the freedom we all enjoyed in England vanished. He was very hard on us, especially Gwen, often comparing her to other more refined young ladies. He seemed to take joy in pointing out her defects and hired a duenna, a heartless woman, to teach her how to be a lady. Gwen felt abandoned.”
“By everyone but you.”
Yes, everyone but me,” Tristan repeated. “As you know, Colin eventually vanished but he was never really close to us even when he wasn’t traveling. I have always been Gwen’s constant.”
Tristan paused and Sebastian remained silent in the hopes that it would encourage Gwen’s brother to continue speaking. This rare glimpse into Gwen’s life was precisely what Sebastian needed. He didn’t wait long for his companion to further confide in him.
“While I was being tutored, Gwen’s pasty, sour-faced duenna taught her etiquette and other lessons deemed proper for ladies. My sister was bored out of her skull. Asking our father if she could take lessons such as the ones I did turned out disastrous for her.” Tristan took a quick puff of his cheroot before continuing. “He refused her of course, wouldn’t even hear of it. Scotland is where she learned rejection and isolation. We both did, though I compensated for it by refusing to please my father. Gwen, on the other hand, was more determined than ever to gain our father’s love.”
Dance with Deception: Scandalous Secrets, Book 1 - Exclusive Edition (Scandalous Secrets - Exclusive Edition) Page 9