Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  Tristan shot her a sharp look. "Not likely. She was my mistress."

  "Lord."

  "What's the matter?"

  "Does she expect you to marry her? Yes or no?"

  "I don't know what she expects, but it never entered my mind."

  "Who is the other lady I saw? The one you don't like?"

  "My stepmother."

  Meg's eyes rounded. "Why don't you like her?"

  "Because she's a money-hungry bitch. She married my father for Oak Tree and made him look like a fool every day of his life."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean she took one lover after another. I only hope to God he never knew half the things she did."

  "You weren't one of them?" Meg asked with sudden horrifying clarity.

  "No, I wasn't. But she was planning on it. She told me the three of us could live happily with no one the wiser. Damn, just the thought of her makes my skin crawl."

  Tristan leaned back in his seat and sighed as he stared at the roof of the coach. "I've hated her every day of my life since the day she married my father."

  "She was your lover first."

  Tristan didn't answer.

  "Were you going to marry her?"

  "I was twenty years old and believed myself madly in love.^ But when she saw Oak Tree, she forgot about me fast enough. She married my father a week after I brought her home. I left the next day."

  "And?"

  "And I haven't been back since."

  "What about your father? Didn't you ever see him again?"

  "Twice in Baltimore. Things weren't easy then. He was filled with guilt and I with rage. We could barely speak. By the time the rage lessened and I realized he was just a poor fool who had fallen for a conniving woman's tricks, he was dead."

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I."

  "How do you expect to live at Oak Tree with a woman you hate?"

  "I don't. I expect to kick her out."

  Meg gasped at the heartless thought. "Just like that?"

  "Oak Tree belongs to me. I'm sure my dear stepmother has swindled my father out of enough to keep happy for years." He sneered at the thought. "Believe, that kind of woman can take care of herself.

  By the time his father had died and he'd become the sole owner of Oak Tree, the place that had once been his home no longer held any interest. By then he was captain of his own ship, content with his wandering life, and wanted nothing to do with the running of his father's home.

  But things had changed. He was back now with a wife. He hoped one day to fill the empty rooms with his children. And that evil bitch would be gone within hours of his arrival.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "You're being ridiculous."

  "I'm ridiculous?" Tristan asked with more than a touch of annoyance. "I've never met a woman more thickheaded, more obstinate, more—"

  "It's a waste of money," she interrupted, her hands on her hips.

  "It's my money."

  "No one needs this much." His extravagance was infuriating, to say the least. Meg had never seen a man so wasteful. Enough was enough. "Can't you do anything in moderation?"

  Tristan had directed Humphreys to stop at Oak-ridge, a small town five miles or so from his home, for he wouldn't take his bride home in rags. Meg had been delighted at his thoughtfulness and was anxious to buy a dress or two. In truth she was sick of the gold ball gown, a gown she'd never particularly liked in the first place. But this was too much.

  "Gypsy, it's not a matter of needing. I want you to have the best."

  Meg groaned and looked at the wide-eyed seamstress, whose attention was riveted on the young couple and whose head had snapped back and forth as she took in every word of their argument. "A dozen day dresses are more than enough."

  Tristan countered her order with one of his own. "She'll take two dozen day dresses, ten ball gowns, plus everything else I've chosen." Tristan shot her hard look, daring her to disagree. "Mrs. Hall will take the three she's already tried on and the one she's wearing." His gaze moved with appreciation over the violet silk with its tight bodice and bell-shaped skirt. The dress was modest, for the neckline buttoned to her throat, but form-fitting. And Meg's form filled it out more obviously than he would have liked. Tristan felt a sudden urge to drape her in a long cloak lest another see her femininity. "I want the rest finished in two weeks."

  "But . . ." Miss Helen Worthington was flabbergasted. She'd never in her forty years of sewing received so large an order. She couldn't possibly fill it in two weeks' time.

  "If you can't do it, then hire someone to help and send me the bill."

  Tristan ushered Meg out of the shop. Just before he closed the door on the astonished woman, he remarked, "I'll be back in an hour for the things we've chosen so far."

  "You're wasting huge sums of money," Meg said, once on the street.

  "Why?"

  "Because you could have sent someone to my father's and brought back my own clothes."

  "I want to buy you your clothes."

  The two glared at each other for a long moment before Tristan's tight mouth began to quiver with laughter. "You're adorable. Do you know that?"

  "And you're obnoxious."

  Tristan grinned. "What happened to your pledge to be nice?"

  "I am being nice," she returned with a wicked smile, refusing to look at his tender expression. "I could have called you any number of things. 'Obnoxious' happened to be the kindest of them all."

  Tristan laughed as he started down the wooden sidewalk toward Murphy's Tavern. "Are you hungry?"

  "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

  Tristan guffawed at her leery expression. "You must be hungry. I'm starving."

  They'd eaten only a light midday meal of bread and cheese taken from the inn. "If I said I were, would you then buy me the whole tavern?"

  Tristan smiled. "If you want it."

  Meg sighed with disgust. "What I want is one meal. Do you understand? One meal. If you buy anything more, I just might throw it at you"

  Out in the open before the startled eyes of half the town, Tristan pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly as his chest rumbled with laughter. "I promise, sweetheart. One meal."

  They sat in a dark corner of a large smoke-filled, noisy room. A candle centered on their table provided all the light they needed, for neither looked beyond the other. "I'm sorry. They didn't have a private dinning room."

  Meg grinned. "Tristan, I've been in tavern rooms before. You needn't treat me as if I'd faint dead away at the sight of men drinking."

  "It's not their drinking that worries me, but what the drinking does to some."

  Meg laughed, the sound soft and deliciously sweet as she teased. "Don't worry, darling. I'll protect you."

  Tristan's eyes widened. He looked as if he'd taken a blow to the midsection. He never heard a word beyond 'darling' and couldn't think above the need to hear her say it again. His eyes were glazed as he stared at her.

  "What's the matter?" Meg asked, never realizing her use of the endearment, nor its effect on her husband.

  "Say it again."

  "What? What did I say? That I'd protect you?"

  "Darling. You called me darling."

  She shook her head, her eyes registering surprise. "I didn't."

  "You did. I heard you."

  Meg was saved from further comment by a serving girl who chose just that moment to saunter up to their table. Meg watched the girl lean low, offering Tristan an indecent view of ample charms. "Would you care for anything else, sir?" the girl asked, and Meg instinctively knew it wasn't food or ale she referred to.

  Meg's dark eyes narrowed with rage as she watched Tristan's gaze take in the woman's casual display. "Nothing, thank you," he said, bringing his gaze back to his wife's angry face. His face registered surprise to find her glaring at him. "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing," she said, her lips barely moving, her teeth tightly clenched.

  "Something's bothering you. What is
it?"

  "If you want her, don't let me stand in your way. I'm sure I can find something to occupy my time for an hour or so."

  "Who? Want who?" Tristan asked, totally baffled.

  "The serving girl."

  "What serving girl? Damn it, Gypsy, how am I suppose to know what you're talking about if you never use complete sentences?"

  "I'm talking about the way you looked at the girl. Your eyes just about fell out of your head, and I thought you might permanently damage your neck what with the way you twisted it to look down her blouse." Her statement was a gross exaggeration, but she was angry enough not to care.

  "That's just about the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say."

  "You think so?" Meg imagined it a spectacular feat that she was able to keep her voice to a whisper. "Then try this: I want an annulment."

  Tristan sighed. Only a moment ago she'd called him darling. And now she was asking for an annulment. Lord, but the woman juggled her moods faster than an acrobat. She was furious at the harmless display, but why take that anger out on him? He didn't do anything but look. Silently Tristan swore he was never going to look again. That unthinking action had just ruined a most delightfully intimate moment.

  His eyes hardened as he replied, "An annulment is out of the question. Don't ever mention it again."

  "Fine," she said as she took a deep breath, trying to still the urge for violence. She wanted to bring this arrogant, domineering man down a peg or two, but how? What weapons did a woman have against a man? Meg almost smiled as an idea formed. "I won't mention it again, but I won't sit here and watch you ogle women either." She came to her feet and purposely pushed her breasts to within inches of his face.

  Tristan was so bemused by the movement he never noticed the quickness of her hand as she tipped his plate, emptying its contents into his lap. "Ask your friend. I'm sure she won't mind cleaning that for you."

  Tristan cursed as he jumped to his feet. "You little . . ."

  Whatever he'd been about to say turned into another stream of curses, for Meg was already making her way to the tavern door. Tristan wiped at the gravy and meat while offering a quick prayer of thanks that he was wearing black. Mentally he vowed he'd always wear it. One never knew when the color would again become a necessity with a hot-tempered, vixen wife like his. He threw a few bills on the table and within seconds had his hand firmly around Meg's arm.

  It was almost dark by the time they collected her packages and were again sitting in a moving coach. "Apologize."

  "I will not."

  "You will. You know I did none of the things you accused me of doing. Apologize right now."

  "Tell me you didn't enjoy the view," she taunted angrily.

  "If you mean the serving girl, I hardly noticed."

  Meg snorted a disbelieving laugh.

  "She pushed them into my face. What did you expect me to do, shut my eyes?"

  "I couldn't care less what you do, but when I'm with you, I expect you to show me a little respect."

  "And how did I do otherwise?"

  "Looking at another woman's bosom when your wife is present hardly qualifies as a sign of—"

  "Get over here."

  "I won't," she said petulantly.

  "Gypsy," he said, his tone a clear threat.

  Meg ignored the warning and remained where she was.

  A moment later she gave a short squeal of surprise as she was suddenly hauled upon his lap. Her feeble struggles were quickly put to rest as his hands captured hers and held them at her back. "No hitting."

  "I had no intention of hitting you."

  Tristan grinned at her stony expression. "You said you never lie."

  "I don't." After a short hesitation in which she realized she just had, she corrected, "Almost never."

  Tristan chuckled softly, his dark gaze warm and tender. God, but he loved this woman. She filled his with delight, his heart with almost unbearable happiness. "Would you like to hear a story?"

  "No," she said cantankerously.

  "I'm going to tell you one anyway."

  "I won't listen," she said as if she could close off her hearing at will.

  Tristan smiled at her comment. "It's about this man I know. A decent sort, I think." "You mean the kind that would never look down a woman's dress?"

  "Meggie." He gave her a little shake. "There's not a alive who wouldn't look. It means nothing. I didn't even know I was doing it until I saw you glaring at me."

  Meg said nothing. Obviously she was not appeased.

  "You were telling me a story."

  'Right." He nodded. "Like I said, I know a man who, through the greatest luck, managed to find the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with. low it took some effort to find her and even more, it seems, to keep her. He's not about to lose her. I promise you."

  "How convenient for him. He's found the woman wants, but he can enjoy others as well. Does he expect his wife to remain faithful if he does not?"

  "What the hell does that mean? I'm never going to with another. And I'll break your neck if you even think of bedding another."

  "No, you wouldn't." Meg felt a heavy weight lift from her heart. He was jealous. She'd never known the emotion could prove quite so satisfying.

  His eyes narrowed as he threatened, "You don't think so?"

  "I wouldn't tell you my thoughts, so you'd never know." Meg thought that comment quite hilarious and burst out laughing.

  "You little witch," Tristan groaned as he pulled her tightly against him. His face was buried in a cloud of silky sweet hair as he murmured, "Gypsy, I swear you had no need to be angry. It's you I want. Only you."

  "Truly?" Meg asked, sighing softly as his mouth nuzzled her neck.

  "Truly," he said with fierce determination, and Meg hadn't a doubt he spoke the truth.

  "And you won't be taking your meals at Murphy's without me?"

  "Never." Tristan grinned. 1 swear it" he said and then cuddled her close against him for the remaining half-hour or so it took to get home.

  Meg's eyes widened with surprise as the huge house came into view. The night was dark, but light shone in every room, illuminating the white structure and bringing to life its spectacular beauty. Meg had expected something large, but nothing on this grand scale.

  Noticing her astonishment, Tristan offered, "My father was quite taken with Greek architecture."

  "Tristan, it's beautiful!"

  "If you don't close your mouth, a bug is going to fly in."

  Meg laughed as she turned to him, her eyes widening at his tender expression.

  He was about to say something more, but the coach pulled to a stop and the two of them looked out the window. Tristan's mouth hardened at the sight of a beautiful woman, tall and shapely with artfully arranged blond hair and a creamy complexion, standing upon the wide veranda that circled the entire first floor. Apparently she was wondering who had come for a visit. Tristan murmured an intelligible word of disgust at the sight of her.

  The moment he jumped from the vehicle, the woman cried out, "Darling," and almost flew down the steps and into his arms. "I knew you'd come back one day."

  Meg frowned at the sight of her husband in another's arms and groaned. This was really too much. Was there a woman alive who did not throw herself at her husband? She watched as Tristan disengaged the woman's arms from around his neck.

  "Good evening, Lydia," Tristan said, his voice flat and cold. Ignoring her, he then turned and reached for his wife. He helped Meg from the coach and steadied her at his side. Meg had never felt so insignificant in her entire life. The woman smiled at her in so condescending a fashion as to give Meg cause to wonder if the huge sums spent on her costume weren't wasted. "This is my wife Margaret."

  Lydia's surprise soon turned to laughter as her gaze moved up and down the small woman. "Your wife?"

  "Meggie, this is my stepmother, Lydia Hall," Tristan said, ignoring completely the woman and her surprise the moment he made the introductions.
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br />   "Bennett," he said to the butler who stood just behind Lydia, his black shining face a smiling mask at seeing the master home at last.

  "would you have some one see to our bags. There's quite a lot of packages inside the coach as well." With their luggage seen to, he turned to Meg and asked with tender concern, "Are you tired?"

  Meg shook her head. She was, but she wasn't about to miss this. She could see by the hard look in both Tristan's and Lydia's eyes, there was about to be quite an altercation.

  "Then I'll show you our room later. Let's go inside"

  Lydia wasn't the kind of woman men ignored. The tall blonde watched the two lead the way into the house and imagined it wouldn't take much effort to rid the place of the most recent Mrs. Hall.

  "Bennett," Tristan said as the servant followed them inside, "have one of the girls prepare the master suite."

  "That won't be possible, dear, unless the two of you are willing to share it with me." Lydia laughed at her little joke.

  Meg frowned, and Tristan gave his stepmother a hard look. "I'm surprised to find you still here, Lydia. Oak Tree can't possibly offer you the excitement you're used to. Why have you stayed?"

  "I wouldn't think of leaving, dear. I love Oak Tree. Why would I want to live anywhere else?"

  Tristan nodded. "Now that I'm home, I'll be taking care of it." His mouth hardened at Lydia's smile of relief, for the woman wanted nothing more out of life than enjoyment and begrudged the time it took to see to the plantation's running. "There's no longer any reason for you to stay."

  "Oh, but there is." Lydia laughed. "Oak Tree is my home."

  "Not anymore. I want you off the place by the end of the week."

  "Do you?" Lydia laughed again. "And suppose I don't want to go?"

  "Then I'll get in touch with the authorities."

  "Do that, darling." She smiled stiffly. "I'm sure they'll tell you I can't be forced out of my own home."

  "My home," Tristan corrected.

  "And mine," Lydia added. "Your father left me half of everything."

  There was a moment of total silence when nothing could be heard but the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Meg had never seen a man so shaken, so shocked. And then she shivered as he grinned, for the smile was as devoid of humor as his voice. "You're lying."