Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  "If you want me to tell you, you'd better stop that. I can't think of two things at once."

  "Sorry," he said, but if his grin meant anything, it was obvious he didn't mean it.

  "Anyway, now I know the reason why."

  "Why?"

  "That's what I wanted you to guess."

  "Let's see." Tristan tapped his cheek with his forefinger as if in deep concentration while Meg giggled.

  "You'll never guess."

  "Lena married my friend Edward and your father and the happy couple are on their way home."

  Meg's eyes widened in shock, and she gasped. "You beast! How long have you known?"

  Tristan laughed as he caught her hand before she could hit him. "Was I right?"

  "How long have you known?" she repeated with a threatening glare while trying to break his hold.

  "Since Bennett brought in the mail. Edward wrote me."

  Her eyes narrowed with menace. "I'm going to get you for that."

  "No," he said. "Wait. Don't. Go ahead. I'll let you hit me."

  Meg laughed and leaned against him as he released her arms. "You are the most maddening man."

  "But you love me."

  "It's a good thing for you that I do."

  Tristan breathed a long sigh as he held her against him and nuzzled his face in black silky curls. "I know."

  "Sonofabitch! I'd like to get my hands on the bastard behind this. I can't take any more losses. I've had to double the guard, and because of it almost no work is getting done."

  Tristan lowered his tankard of ale, ignoring the fussing serving wench who had attached herself to his side, and asked his neighbor, "How many have you lost?"

  "Thirty-three. Jenson's lost twenty-seven. What about you?"

  Tristan shook his head. "Only four. Most of my people have been at Oak Tree since before I was born. They wouldn't know where else to go."

  Markus Johnston nodded in agreement. "It's the new ones that run. Damn!" His fisted hand hit the table, causing the plates and tankards to clatter. "The last one cost me five hundred. If I didn't want the bastard for stud, I'd cut his balls off the minute my people find him."

  Meg glared at the woman hovering over her husband. "I'd like a glass of wine, please," she said politely, if between clenched teeth.

  Both Tristan and Johnston realized Meg had to have heard that last comment. Tristan hid his grin and Johnston turned red as Meg made herself comfortable at her husband's side. She placed her packages neatly on the floor between-their chairs.

  "Did you find everything you needed?" For the last hour Meg had been shopping for material, thread, lace, and more. She couldn't wait to get started making baby clothes. Tristan, after spending a few useless minutes watching her talk to Mrs. Sinclair, the owner of the Emporium, noticed his neighbor Johnston. The two men decided that spending time over tankards of ale was time well-spent. So they left for the inn, and Meg was to meet Tristan as soon as she was finished.

  "I did," Meg said, giving her husband a tender smile. "Don't let me interrupt, gentlemen. Please, go on with your conversation."

  "We were discussing the slaves. Johnston lost, what was it, thirty-three?"

  Johnston nodded, looking to Meg for commiseration.

  "I'm so sorry, Mr. Johnston. Thirty-three, you say. Good Lord, that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

  Johnston smiled at the woman sitting opposite him. Lord, but she was a beauty. If his wife looked half as good, he wouldn't be pokin' his head into those smelly cabins every night looking for a new piece.

  "How many do you have left?"

  Johnston shrugged. "About two hundred."

  "Oh dear, that many? Then losing thirty-three couldn't make too much difference, could it?" Eyes wide, Meg blinked, perfectly portraying the empty-headed fool. "After all-"

  "Meg doesn't come from Virginia, Johnston," Tristan said, interrupting whatever she'd been about to say. "I'm afraid she doesn't understand all our problems."

  Johnston nodded at Tristan and smiled at Meg. "I hear the two of you were just married a few months back."

  Meg simpered and Tristan shot her a look of amazement. "We were, Mr. Johnston. But I'm beginning to think we might have been a bit hasty not to wait until we reached home."

  Meg glanced at her husband's puzzled expression. "We might have had a large wedding and invited all your friends, darling"

  What the hell was that all about?" "What?" Meg asked, her head snapping back as he hit the horse with the reins and the buggy lunged forward.

  "That little show you put on for Johnston." "What show? I was being polite, is all. You want your friends to like me, don't you?"

  "Johnston's not a friend of mine. He's my neighbor." "So? He's your neighbor. Shouldn't he like me?"

  "I don't give a damn if he likes you or not. As a matter of fact, I prefer he doesn't."

  "What's the matter with you?"

  "You sounded just like Lydia."

  "Lydia?!" If he'd have slapped her, he couldn't have insulted her more. "Because I was being pleasant? You're mad."

  "Am I? 'Tristan has wonderful friends, Mr. Johnston.' " he mimicked in a high-pitched falsetto. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

  Meg realized she might have laid it on a little thick. Still, she didn't deserve this kind of criticism. "I thought I was being nice."

  "Why?"

  "I thought you'd want me to be nice."

  "You're lying. Why?"

  "Tristan, I don't know what you want me to say. I never thought you'd become so upset. I was only talking to the man."

  "No, you weren't." Tristan felt a twinge of jealousy but knew it was the wrong emotion here. He had nothing to be jealous of. He knew he could trust this woman with his life. But something was wrong. Something he couldn't understand. "I've seen you talk to men before. What I want to know is why you put on that 'poor little helpless me' act."

  "I didn't"

  "What did you hope to accomplish?" His brow creased as he tried to understand the reason behind her ridiculous act. "You wanted Johnston to think you didn't have a brain in your head. Why?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Meg said, her voice obviously tight and nervous. He was getting closer to the truth than she would have liked.

  Tristan glanced at his wife. "Yes, you do. You can't lie worth a damn. What have you been up to? Why do you want Johnston to think you're a fool?"

  "You're ridiculous."

  "Am I? I don't think so."

  "I'm not saying another word until you apologize."

  Tristan directed the horse toward his home as he thought about his wife's performance. There was no other word which could better describe the last half-hour. Meg was probably the most honest, unpretentious, and natural woman he'd ever known. Until today he'd never seen her put on airs or act the fool. He'd lever seen her act anything but what she was. There had to be a reason why she'd done it.

  Then the most horrifying thought he'd ever had came to steal his breath away, and he knew why.

  Tristan suddenly cursed and pulled the horse to a stop. He turned in his seat, facing her, and took her shoulders in his hands. "Tell me right now that you're not aiding the runaways."

  Meg's mouth dropped open in shock. "Good Lord, where did that come from?"

  'Tell me, Gypsy."

  Meg braved it out. In truth, she had no choice. "Tristan, I haven't got the slightest idea what you're talking about."

  "The food!" He shook her. "God damn you! And here I thought you were hungry because of the baby. Do you realize how you've chanced our baby's life?" He shook her again, harder this time. "Do you realize if you'd been caught, I couldn't have done a damn thing to save you from an angry mob's form of justice." His teeth gritted as he tried to control his rage. "I ought to beat —" Suddenly his hands dropped away, and Meg groaned at the dizziness and nausea his rough treatment brought on.

  The buggy was moving again, and Meg tried to bring the passing landscape into focus. What had she done? How
had she given herself away? How had Tristan guessed? Oh Lord, this was the very thing she'd dreaded since she'd first begun.

  "When did it start?"

  "Tristan, it's not what — "

  "Do me the courtesy of not insulting my intelligence, Gypsy. When did it start?"

  "A few weeks after I arrived," she said glumly.

  "How?"

  "I found three men in the woods while I was riding."

  The curses that rent the air were the worst she'd heard yet. "You know they could have killed you, don't your

  "The slaves?"

  "Yes, the slaves " he mimicked sneeringly.

  "They didn't. They wouldn't. They were afraid."

  Tristan fought back the urge to curse again, knowing men who were afraid to be the most dangerous of all. "What happened?"

  "I told them to follow me, to stay in the barn until — "

  "The barn! Are you telling me Aaron knows about this? I'll strip that bastard's black hide."

  "No, he doesn't know. No one knows."

  "Go on."

  "They stay in the barn hiding in the loft until it's dark. Then they move on."

  "And you supply them with food"

  It wasn't a question but a statement of fact. Meg nodded.

  "What else?"

  "Something to drink. Sometimes a coat or . . ."

  "A pair of shoes? Is that where they went?"

  "I asked you if you wanted them. I told you I was going to give them away."

  "But you didn't say who was going to get them."

  "What difference does it make?" she said.

  "If they're caught and found with my clothes, who do you think is going to be questioned. Who will they suspect?"

  "I'd deny it."

  "As would I, but it wouldn't make a bit of difference. They wouldn't stop searching until they found something else and then the truth would come out." He shook his head. "Who put you up to this? Who else is in on it?"

  "No one. I told you, I found them hiding in the woods. The rest must have found out and come the same way."

  "God" he muttered. "You really do take me for a fool." He turned to her. "Who the hell would turn back to tell the others?"

  "The drums" she said as if inspired. "The drums probably tell them."

  Tristan laughed without humor. "That's good, but like I said, you can't lie worth a damn. Someone is in on this with you."

  "I've told you the truth, Tristan."

  "Maybe, but not all of it."

  "All of it."

  Tristan shook his head and was quiet for a long time. It wasn't until he reined the buggy in before his home that he asked, "Who did you really go to see that day?"

  "What day?"

  "The day I found you with Jarvis. Is it him? Is Jarvis your partner? What does he get out of it? Exactly what are you giving him?"

  "Oh God," Meg groaned as she turned from his accusing glare. "You really are sick."

  Tristan dragged her from the buggy and into the house. He carried her up the stairs, taking two at a time. In seconds the bedroom door slammed behind them, and he dumped her upon the bed. His voice was tight; his eyes glazed as if he'd suddenly grown mad. "You don't know how sick I can be. You will tell me the truth, or I'll kill that sonofabitch right now."

  And when she said nothing, he turned for the door. "Wait," she said as she scrambled from the bed and yanked at his sleeve. "Wait, damn you. Wait!"

  "Are you going to beg for his life?"

  "God, I can't imagine how you—"

  "You'd better tell me, and it better be right now."

  Chills raced down her spine. Meg didn't much care for Jarvis, but she didn't want to see the man dead. Especially when he was — probably for the first time in his life —innocent. "My Aunt Emily."

  "What?"

  "Emily Bishop. My mother's aunt. She's been working with runaways for years. I went to see her after I found the first three and sent them on their way. She told me she'd take care of everything."

  "She did, did she? And she didn't give a damn that she was putting you in danger while she stayed safely in a free state?"

  Meg said nothing.

  "Where does she live exactly?"

  "I told you, in Maryland."

  "So you did. And now you'll tell me how to get to her house."

  "I won't."

  "Yes, you will."

  "Tristan, she's an old lady."

  Tristan made a sound of disgust. He could just imagine the old bitch, butting her nose in matters that were none of her business. He wouldn't have cared except that she had involved his wife in the most dangerous activity imaginable. It was more than any man could take.

  Meg shook her head. "I'll stop. I swear I won't help another. Only please — "

  His voice was calm and coolly calculating. "What do you think would happen if I told Johnston about her? Do you think it would take them more than a week to burn her out?"

  "Oh, please," she begged. "You can't let them hurt her."

  Tristan's smile was vicious as he promised, "I not only can, but I will if you don't tell me everything, and right now."

  Chapter Twenty One

  By the time Meg awoke the next morning, Tristan was already gone, leaving orders that Meg was not to leave the house under any condition. To ensure her obedience, he had placed one guard at the front door, another at the back.

  It was mortifying. The servants couldn't look her in the eye as they relayed their master's commands, and Meg didn't know for whom she felt more sorry, herself or the poor servants who didn't know what to make of this new turn of events.

  Three days passed with no word from her jailor, and Meg was not only furious but hurt that he hadn't seen fit to send her word. Jumpy and nervous, unused to inactivity, she paced the large empty rooms. She couldn't stand being cooped up. And no matter how large this house, she felt herself penned in.

  Lydia came in late on the third night to drop her usual poisonous remarks. "Your loving husband is still gone, I see." Her eyes glowed with spite as a mean smile curved beautiful lips. "Do you think he's found more interesting things to occupy his time than a dreary, little wife?"

  "I told you. He had business in Baltimore," Meg lied. There was no way she was going to tell this woman that her husband left without speaking to her and hadn't been in contact since.

  Lydia's eyes widened in malicious pleasure." "Baltimore? Ah, so you did. No doubt he's with Linda, then." She let that remark stand for a moment before she continued. "It's always so nice to renew old friendships, don't you agree?"

  "Very nice," Meg said stiffly while wondering if he hadn't done just that. Her eyes narrowed with menace as she imagined the two of them spending hours together while Tristan conveniently forgot he had a wife.

  "It's not the worst thing in the world for a man to take a mistress, you know." Meg flinched and felt her breath sucked out of her body at the thought. "Most women understand, even expect it. After all, men have certain needs one woman cannot fulfill. Don't you agree?"

  Meg moved toward the doorway. She could hardly think beyond the pain in her chest. Lydia was right. Tristan was with another. There was no other explanation as to why he hadn't been in touch or had been gone so long. She couldn't bear to hear more. Meg controlled the need to run and turned with a smile plastered to numb lips. "Actually, Lydia, I haven't given it much thought. If you'll excuse me, it's late."

  Lydia's words stopped her as she turned to leave. "Your husband is a man of strong needs. He's marvelous in bed. It would be a shame not to share that kind of talent."

  Meg turned back to face her. "Is that your problem? Are you upset because he hasn't taken you to bed?"

  "Oh, but he has, darling." Lydia laughed at the shock that filled Meg's eyes.

  "How long ago, Lydia?" Tristan asked, standing suddenly behind his wife. "Let's see. If I'm not mistaken, that business came to an end the day you told me you were going to marry my father."

  Lydia laughed. "I see you still hate me
for that."

  "Not at all. One can't hate what one feels nothing for."

  "Darling, you know I couldn't refuse. The man was terribly ill. He begged me to marry him. I thought it was his dying wish."

  Tristan grunted as he moved past Meg. The fact that he was so close, that his legs brushed against her skirts as he walked by, appeared to go unnoticed.

  It did not. Tristan looked at his wife and gave a silent sigh as he watched her mouth tighten in anger. He would have given damn near everything he owned to see her smile and welcome him back with open arms.

  Tristan found himself having to force his anger. One look into those big dark eyes and he forgot the reason why he'd been so furious. He moved to the table set up with bottles and glasses, and poured himself a drink. He took a long sip before he answered, "I'm sure that was a disappointment. He lived far longer than you expected, didn't he?"

  Meg bit her lip and for some ridiculous reason felt tears scalding the backs of her eyes. He never said a word in greeting. Had, in fact, barely looked her way.

  Her breath trembled from her lips. He'd been gone for days. Is this the treatment she was destined to know as his wife?

  All right, she mentally concluded. He was angry. Well, perhaps angry was too mild a word. He'd been nearly beside himself with rage. But did his fury give him the right to treat her so shabbily?

  She wouldn't stay, only to be further ignored. Meg lifted her chin, her eyes shining with pride, and walked silently from the room.

  Lydia grinned. "I think your little bride is upset with you."

  "What you think hardly concerns me."

  "So what's happening in Baltimore?" she asked cheerfully. "Anything new and exciting?"

  Tristan grinned. "You might say that. I've a bit of news that concerns you."

  Lydia's eyes brightened as she asked, "Really? What?"

  "I've had experts check my father's will." He smiled into eyes that were growing larger by the minute. "It was a good try, Lydia, but you didn't quite make it."

  "What?"

  "I think you heard me."

  "Are you telling me that you think I forged it?"

  "I'm telling you that I know you forged it."