Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  "That's ridiculous."

  Tristan grinned. "I quite agree if you thought me such a fool as to believe my father would have left you half of everything. Didn't you imagine I'd do some investigating?"

  "It's not a forgery. I swear it."

  Tristan laughed. "And if you swear, it must be gospel, of course."

  Lydia ignored his sarcasm. "Tristan, I gave him a dozen years. I deserve — "

  He cut her off. "You have your jewels, and God knows how much money you've stolen. Near as I can figure, you've almost bankrupted us. I think you've gotten more than you deserve."

  "I'll fight you in court. I'll get my own people to swear the will is authentic."

  Tristan shrugged as he took another sip of his drink, and Lydia, realizing her threats wouldn't work, switched to another tactic —blackmail. "If you do this, I'll tell everything I know about your wife."

  "What about her?" Tristan's eyes narrowed as he dared her to go on.

  "She's part of the underground. Do you think I don't know that she's been helping slaves escape?"

  His eyes were stony and fiat as he fought back his panic. "If that's true, why haven't you reported it to the authorities?"

  "Because what she does is of no interest to me. I figure everyone has a right to their own amusements."

  "Meaning, of course, that she's bedding these slaves?"

  Lydia shrugged, wisely saying nothing. The man looked as close to murder as she'd ever want to see.

  "The trouble is, Lydia, you think everyone is as low and corrupt as you."

  "Darling, if you're talking about Tom and the others, I didn't mean what I said. I only told you that to make you jealous."

  Tristan laughed. "Lydia, nothing you say or do can make me jealous. The only thing I feel for you is disgust."

  Lydia couldn't have cared less what the man felt for her. She wanted but one thing, and that was Oak Tree. He couldn't be allowed to simply put her out. "Tristan, there's got to be some way we can work this out."

  "As a matter of fact, there is."

  He watched her blue eyes brighten with hope. "Anything, darling. I'll do anything you want. Just say it, and it's yours."

  "Good." He nodded and then ordered, "Get out of my house by the end of the week. If I see your lying face here after that, I'll have you brought up on charges." With that he put down his glass and nodded to his shocked stepmother. "Good night, Lydia." A moment later he walked out of the room.

  She could hear them laughing and then the low murmured sounds of intimate conversation. What were they saying? What were they doing? Meg was just about wild with jealousy. She relaxed some when she heard his step at last, but the beast walked right by her door. She bit back a sob as another door down the hall closed. Had he gone to the end? Was it Lydia's room he entered? Was she even now holding him in her arms while he told her the failings of a less-than-dutiful wife?

  Meg blinked away her tears and swore it didn't matter. The tightness around her heart wasn't pain. She didn't have to love him. As of this minute she refused to love him. If he wanted another, she wouldn't stop him. She couldn't, in any case. But if he thought she'd live in the same house with the woman he took as his mistress, he had another thing coming.

  Meg left the bed, lit a candle, and took a carpetbag from the closet. She was flinging clean underthings into it when the door to her room opened. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Meg gasped and spun around, for she hadn't heard him enter. "I'm leaving you."

  "Oh," Tristan said matter-of-factly.

  Meg glared at his complacency. Well, that really got a rise out of him. It was more than obvious the man couldn't care less what she did. Well, that was just fine with her. She didn't care what he did either. Still, Meg couldn't stop from saying, "Oh? Is that all you've got to say?"

  "No, that's not all I have to say. I had a long chat with your aunt. There won't be any more unexpected or unwanted visitors coming."

  "Did you . . . ?"

  The fear in her eyes was obvious. "Give me a little credit, Meg. I didn't threaten her. I merely convinced her to see the error of her ways. I told her you were having a baby. It put a different light on everything."

  "How is-"

  "She's fine. And she sends her regards."

  "I'd appreciate it if you'd allow me to finish a sentence before you answer my question."

  Tristan nodded. "What else do you want to know?"

  "Did you like her?"

  "She was very nice. Reminded me a bit of you as a matter of fact. Very spirited and more than a little thick-headed, but we got along."

  Meg would have died before she asked, so she breathed a sigh of relief as he went on. "After I left her place, I went to Baltimore. I've got to go back in a few days."

  "Good for you," she said with sharp sarcasm. "I hope you have yourself a wonderful time."

  Tristan shot her a puzzled look. "I'd take you with me, but you know yourself that the trip is long and hard. In your condition, there's no need for you to go through it. Besides, your family might arrive any day. I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss them."

  "How convenient."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I mean my condition is a convenient excuse not to bring me along." She shrugged. "Who said I wanted to go with you anyway? I imagine visiting your mistress with your wife at your side is hardly the thing to do."

  "I have no intentions of visiting Linda."

  "So you admit she's your mistress."

  "Was my mistress," he corrected. "I went to Baltimore on business."

  Meg snorted with disbelief. "What kind of business?"

  "My ship was caught in another hurricane. This one did some real damage. It'll be another three weeks before repairs are finished."

  He continued. "After the baby comes, I think we should consider moving closer to the city. We can use this place for weekends or summers. I'm planning on expanding, and the ride is too long to make as often as I'd like."

  Meg remained silent. She'd just told him she was leaving him. What interest could she possibly have in moving anywhere with him?

  "How have you been feeling?" he asked.

  "I presume you mean because of the baby?"

  Tristan nodded. He wasn't about to tell her that he was worried for her welfare, not after the way she'd greeted him downstairs. Obviously he'd been thinking like a fool if he'd expected a warm reception from this little witch. Tristan shrugged. It didn't matter. He was still angry and probably would have shunned her affections, in any case. Tristan purposely ignored the lie and almost smiled as she said, "I'm feeling very well, thank you."

  A moment later he slammed the door as he departed. At the sound of yet another door slamming shut, Meg knew he was using one of the many guest rooms.

  She muttered a particularly nasty curse, one learned from the man himself. He never even mentioned the fact that she was leaving him. He didn't even try to stop her. Meg couldn't deny the obvious fact that he just didn't care.

  Tristan smiled as he lay on his back and looked up at the dark ceiling. Lord, but the woman was a spitfire. He grinned as he remembered how she shoved her things into the bag, all the while watching him and no doubt waiting for him to stop her. So she thought she was leaving him, did she? No doubt she'd then be somewhat disappointed when she found the guards doubled at each door, all threatened with dire consequences if the mistress got by them.

  She had spunk all right. That was probably one of the things he loved most about her. Only this time her spunk could have easily cost her and the baby their lives, and that was going to take some time to forgive. He loved her so much, he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her in jeopardy. What that woman needed was to learn her place. She had to know who was master here. And damn it, if it killed him, he was going to make sure this willful woman was kept safe.

  The guards were still there. Drat, now there were two of them. No wonder Tristan had showed no emotion over her threat to leave. Somehow the beast had made
sure she was staying. We'll see about that, she silently remarked. No man was going to keep her a prisoner in her own home. And no guards were going to stop her once she made up her mind.

  If Meg had allowed herself to think on it, she would have known she didn't want to go. Tristan had explained his absence, and she had believed him. But Meg, like her husband, was headstrong and determined. Once she made up her mind, she set out to accomplish her plan, be it right or wrong.

  Meg tiptoed through the downstairs rooms. The formal parlor had one wall that was made entirely of windows. Meg knew they'd make not a sound upon opening, for the house was carefully and constantly tended. She sat on the ledge. From there it was a short drop to the ground.

  With her carpetbag in hand, she ran toward the barn, bent almost in half, and hiding behind any available bush or fence post as she tried to make her small frame smaller yet. Despite the cool night, the huge building was warm with the familiar scents of horse, fresh hay, and oiled leather. Meg smiled as she moved to Star's stall. Within minutes she'd be gone. Then he'd see he couldn't order her about as if she were but another piece of property.

  Meg took Star's saddle from the wall. She never heard a sound behind her. When the blow came, she merely frowned at the pain, just before her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped to the floor.

  Lydia never thought of readying herself for bed. Sleep would have been impossible, in any case. Not with that sonofabitch issuing orders that she was to leave his home in two days. God damn him! Why did he have to come back here? And why, of all things, did he have to bring a wife with him?

  If he'd been alone, they might have taken up where they'd left off. Maybe one day they might even have married. Lydia was positive she could have made him forget his hatred. She knew things that could change any man's heart.

  Pacing the floor, she retraced her steps as her mind searched for a solution to this disaster. She had to find a way. There had to be a way. The only thing she'd ever loved in her entire life was Oak Tree. She'd loved it from the first moment Tristan had brought her there. Hadn't she married that stupid old man in order to get it? Lydia shivered as she remembered again his soft muscles and wrinkled skin against hers.

  She cursed. None of it had mattered. Even after all the pleasure she'd given him, he hadn't thought to leave her more than a few baubles. God, how she'd begged for a share. But he'd vowed that Oak Tree would belong to his son.

  But the old man was wrong. Tristan hadn't wanted it. He hadn't come home for thirteen years. It belonged to her. She'd given up her youth for it. Done everything in her power to keep it. And no sonofabitch was going to tell her to get out.

  Lydia glanced out the window as she made yet another pass across her room and came to a sudden stop. She hadn't lit a candle upon entering, and the darkness inside allowed her to see clearly. Someone was running toward the barn. Someone bent in half and holding a bag.

  Lydia grinned as a plan came instantly to mind. It looked like things just might work out after all. Until this very moment, she hadn't been able to piece together a working plan, but now she wondered what would happen if his poor little wife died tragically, say, in a fire. Wouldn't it be a shame if Tristan, so bereft at his loss, then took his own life? Lydia grinned. After all, everyone knew how taken they were with each other.

  Lydia forced back her giggle as excitement caused her heart to pound against her ribs. The perfect opportunity presented itself. She had no time to lose.

  Lydia was safely back in bed by the time smoke began pouring through cracks in the wide slats of the barn's walls. Flames danced across the hay-strewn floor, licking a colorful path up weathered walls to the loft. There it ignited the stored bales of hay with an explosive roar. Lydia grinned as she stretched lazily and rolled to her side, snuggling comfortably into the feather mattress.

  Down the hall, Tristan couldn't get comfortable no matter what position he chose. He wished he hadn't been so stubborn. He wished he was in his own bed with his equally stubborn wife cuddled in his arms. He wasn't about to make love to her, of course, still furious at the dangerous things she'd been party to. But he needed to feel her warm and soft beside him. Lord, they'd only been together less than six months total, and already it was impossible to sleep without her.

  He was punching his pillow, trying to create some comfort, when the explosive roar brought him instantly from the bed. One glance out the window told the story, for flames had already taken the barn's roof in its hold. In the dark he reached for his trousers. He didn't take the time to button them, but pulled on a shirt and grabbed his boots as he ran out the door.

  On the steps he almost knocked Tom over. "The barn, she's on fire!" the servant shouted.

  "I know," Tristan said as he pulled on his boots. "Help Aaron get the horses out."

  "It's locked. The doors is locked."

  Tristan looked at the big man with some amazement. "What?" He was on his feet and running before the man had a chance to repeat his answer. "Who the hell locked it?"

  Tom kept up. "I don't know, sir."

  "We've got to get inside," Tristan said, stating the obvious. "Aaron's in there."

  "I knows. I knows," the man said helplessly.

  They were standing before the huge doors when Tristan shouted, "Don't just stand there, get some men to help. Bring shovels, picks, anything. Jesus Christ, hurry!"

  The man nodded vigorously and then ran while Tristan threw his body against the door. Again and again, he lunged against the structure, but to no avail. The doors moved a fraction, but refused to give.

  The roof was fully ablaze now. In minutes it was going to fall in, and Aaron, not to mention his prize horses, would be lost.

  "Aarrrron!" he screamed, knowing his voice couldn't carry above the roaring flames. Still he refused to give up. "Aaron, open the door. Can you hear me? Open the door!"

  Meg groaned against the pain and terribly loud cries as she came slowly awake. Who in the world was making all that noise? And why was her head pounding? Was she ill again? Had she somehow succumbed again to fever? She moaned as her hand reached and touched a bump the size of an egg just above her ear. One side of her head felt wet and sticky. And her hair was stiff as if with dried blood. What happened? Had she taken a fall? Had she been dangerously injured?

  Meg frowned 'at the roaring sound. It was making her headache worse than ever. Whatever it was she wished it would stop. She groaned at the scratchiness against her cheek. It felt like hay, but what would hay be doing in her bed? Her eyes blinked open, her mind still a bit confused. She wasn't in bed. She was in the barn. Why?

  Star was screaming as were the other horses. They kicked wildly at their stalls. What was going on? She tried to shake her head, wanting to think clearly, but the movement only brought a nauseating sense of dizziness. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling of white smoke that lay not three feet above her head. Beyond the smoke she could make out light. Red light. Good God, the barn was on fire!

  Meg came to her feet and choked as the top portion of her body was completely engulfed in thick smoke. She ducked low to the ground again, already desperate for air. She had to get the horses out. Crawling along, she pulled Star's stall door open. She groaned as the door swung out and hit her in the face. Watching the horse run wildly about, she then looked to the main door, only realizing it was shut.

  Holding her breath, she came to her feet and ran. Blinded by smoke, she ran right into the door and found herself flung back to the ground. She gasped for breath, able to breathe here, but her eyes widened as she watched the flames speed across the roof. She had to get out! The roof would soon give and she'd surely die.

  Meg screamed for help as she rolled toward the door and pounded her fists raw. "Help! God, please someone help me!"

  The roar of the flames swallowed her cries. Almost.

  Tristan was standing not five feet from the doors on the opposite side. He heard her cry out and was momentarily paralyzed with fear. Meg was in the barn! Jesus
' God, no! She was going to die unless he opened those doors! He lunged with the strength of a madman.

  Meg saw the doors move. Still, they would not give.

  "Hurry!" Meg screamed in panic. "I can't get out!"

  Star ran wildly behind her. She slid closer to the doors, anxious to avoid her hooves, and desperate for any breath of air that might seep through.

  She was going to die. She knew it. Tristan couldn't get the doors open, and she was finding it harder and harder to breathe. The heat was intense as the fire took hold of a stack of hay nearby. A floor of flame lit up the loose hay upon the ground, creeping ever closer.

  Meg pressed wildly against the door, desperate to find a way out. And then she saw it. A bar had been placed across the two doors, held in place by steel hooks. She screamed, "Wait!" as she came to her feet. But Tristan never heard. He was pounding and beating at the door like one possessed. He never stopped, couldn't stop. And his final lunge brought him inside.

  On his hands and knees he searched for her, never realizing he'd knocked her down when the wooden bar had broken and the door swung in.

  "Meg!" he bellowed. "Meg! Answer me."

  She responded weakly. If anything else hit her In the face or head, she'd be finished. She couldn't take another jolt.

  He found her even though he was blinded by billows of thick, white smoke. On trembling legs he lifted her to his chest and ran from the barn.

  Tom and a few of the others ran in. Within seconds they had Aaron outside. They were too late to save the horses. The smoke had been too thick. By the time they reached the stalls, all were dead. They had just made it outside again when the roof gave a final horrifying roar and the barn was finished.

  Aaron didn't make it. His bunk was high enough off the ground for his lungs to have taken too much smoke. They'd bury him the next morning.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" He was bathing away the smoke-blackened grime from her face, neck, and arms.