Seducing Mr. Sykes

by Maggie Robinson

  The man colored. “Not only that. I’m very fond of Lady Sarah. You don’t have to marry this country bumpkin, Sarah. I will give you everything you need.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Well, that was a good sign. Tristan could not imagine his lace-clad bride in the arms of this red-faced fellow. Apparently, she couldn’t either.

  Tristan remembered to be insulted. He lifted a severe Sykes eyebrow. “Country bumpkin?”

  “This is the back of beyond, isn’t it? I don’t care who your father is. I am a viscount.”

  The other eyebrow raised. Tristan had practiced alternating them in front of a mirror in his aimless youth. “So?”

  “So, Lady Sarah deserves a title.”

  “And she will have it. Mrs. Sykes. Eventually, Lady Sykes, when God forfend, my father passes on.”

  “Pah! You’re only the heir to a baronetcy. She is a duke’s daughter.”

  Reverend Fitzmartin tapped Tristan on the shoulder. “Do you want me to go on with the ceremony? As far as I can tell, this gentleman has no standing, viscount or not.”

  “By all means.”

  “I do not recognize that our betrothal contract has been broken. My solicitor awaits your pleasure in the drawing room,” Charlton said.

  “I don’t care how much paper you throw at me. Sadie is mine,” Tristan growled.

  “I am not! I am nobody’s! I’ll not be pulled apart between you beastly men like some ragdoll. I—I—I want Ham!” Sadie cried, tugging herself away from Tristan’s embrace.

  Charlton’s confused face was a sight to behold, though Tristan didn’t waste much time looking at him. “This is hardly the time to want to eat, my love,” the viscount said.

  “She is not your love.” Tristan lifted Sadie’s chin. “If that is what you want, I will take you there myself. Only let the vicar say the last words.”

  “N-no. This is all a big mistake. I—I didn’t mean to agree to anything. But then you—oh!—and I forgot.”

  Tristan was not sure what she was talking about, but he knew one thing. “I don’t think it’s a mistake. Remember last night.”

  “When you bound me and forced me to spend the night in your bed?”

  “What’s this?” The duke rose from his seat. “What’s going on?”

  “Only this.” Sadie dropped her bouquet and raised her shackled wrists.

  Chapter 23

  Sadie hadn’t meant for poor Mrs. Fitzmartin to slip from the organist’s bench and swoon to the floor. She hoped the woman didn’t break anything—old bones were difficult to mend, and the floor was made of stone.

  Between her father’s roar and Tristan and the vicar springing to her assistance, Sadie saw her chance and dashed down the chapel aisle, only to be thwarted by her previous intended who was blocking the door.

  “I will rescue you,” Roderick said, grasping her shoulders.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I will rescue myself.” Sadie had been all too lulled by Tristan’s kisses and had completely forgotten she was going to refuse to be married. She had stood like an automaton, mindless and parroted every word the vicar said. What had been wrong with her? “Let me go.”

  He shook his head, and his fingers dug into the lace. “I know my duty. I must take you away from here. This town is a veritable madhouse. Do you know they lock themselves in like some medieval walled city? I had a devil of a time getting someone to open the gate. Cost me a fortune.”

  “You can afford it,” Sadie replied, unmoved. “Let me go, I said!”

  “Not after your father has weaseled away all my money!”

  “You shouldn’t have trusted him. It’s your own fault.” She bucked sideways, but the viscount hung on like a barnacle.

  “But I wanted to marry you!”

  “I can’t understand why. I’m not very—nice.” She had gone out of her way for years to not be nice.

  “Unhand her!” Tristan’s words echoed off the stone chapel walls. Miraculously, Roddy’s hands relaxed and fell to his sides.

  “How is Mrs. Fitzmartin?” Sadie asked, turning to face him. She could tell how he was, and she shivered.

  “As well as can be expected. She’s lying down on a pew. What were you thinking to expose yourself like that? We had an arrangement.”

  “If you didn’t want people to know, you shouldn’t have done it. That’s what Miss Mac always told me,” Sadie said primly

  “Your governess, if I recall your silly tale to the Stanchfields. Right before she spanked you, I imagine. And how I’d like to follow in her footsteps.”

  Sadie shivered again. She could picture Tristan putting her over his knee with very little effort at all.

  “She doesn’t want to marry you.” Roddy didn’t sound quite as brave now.

  “We are already married. Aren’t we, Mr. Fitzmartin?”

  The vicar was invisible behind the high-backed pew, hunched over his incapacitated wife.

  “Fitzmartin!” the duke shouted. “Are they wed or not?”

  The vicar’s head popped up. His skin looked bleached with worry. “I think we should send for Dr. Oakley. Helena is not as young as she used to be.”

  “None of us are,” Tristan mumbled. “I’ll go find a footman and send him to the village. You must promise me if I leave this chapel that you will not run away.”

  Sadie’s eyes slid to Roddy and she sent him a silent message. Was he smart enough to understand it? “I promise.”

  “You little witch. Come on.” Sadie found herself propelled by the chain on the cuffs as Tristan dragged her through the chapel door and into the hallway.

  “I am not some dog to be exercised!” she cried. “Slow down!”

  “When Mrs. Fitzmartin’s life is at stake? I thought you better than that.” He broke into a run and she had no choice but to follow.

  “Robert! William! Anyone!” he barked.

  Footmen poured out of the halls. Tristan shouted instructions, and soon Mrs. Anstruther bustled into the chapel with a vinaigrette, a jug of water and a cloth. Tristan still hung on to Sadie in that vile, proprietary way, and she was unable to shake loose from him.

  “Sit.”

  “As I said, I’m not your dog.”

  “If you were my dog, you’d be better behaved.”

  Sadie was breathless with rage. “How dare you!”

  “I dare because it’s true. And you are my wife.”

  “I am not.”

  “She isn’t,” Roddy said from a neighboring pew.

  “She’d better be!” The duke scowled. “Spent the night in his bed, did you?”

  “Nothing happened,” Sadie lied.

  “All of you shut up!” Hearing such harsh words from the elderly vicar surprised the lot of them, and silence reigned until Dr. Oakley arrived.

  Sadie was relieved to see Mrs. Fitzmartin sit up. Mrs. Anstruther was mothering her as Dr. Oakley gave her a gentle examination.

  “I think she’ll be fine, Virgil. A day or two of rest. No excitement. No outside irritations.” Dr. Oakley seemed to be glaring at Sadie rather specifically.

  “I’ll have my driver take you both home,” Tristan said. “Anything we can provide for you—calves’ foot jelly and whatnot—I’ll leave to Mrs. Anstruther’s good judgment.” He whispered a few words in the housekeeper’s ear, and she rushed out.

  “Not so fast! The ceremony isn’t over,” the Duke of Islesford reminded them.

  “And it doesn’t have to be, Sarah. My solicitor—”

  “Damn your solicitor, Charlton! You’re too late, in all ways. Are you questioning my honor? Lady Sarah spent the night in my bed, as she has admitted herself. In my nightshirt, I might add, and a most fetching sight. Which you will never see. It is my obligation—”

  “Obligation? You owe me nothing but the key to these horrible things!” Sadie was sick and tired of hearing about legalities, duty, and obligation. She felt like a bone tossed between two dogs—three, co
unting her father—and she was picked clean. “I don’t want to marry anyone.”

  Mr. Fitzmartin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that, Lady Sarah. You did follow the service, didn’t you?”

  Not really. Sadie had been in an utter haze, her heart beating, her lips swollen, her head filled with cotton wool.

  “There’s not much left to say but I-now-pronounce-you-man-and-wife,” the vicar said hurriedly. “And what God has joined, let no man put asunder. We can sign the register tomorrow when my wife is recovered. I must get her to bed. Let’s go, Helena, my dear. We can journey back in the good doctor’s carriage. So sorry to miss the wedding breakfast.”

  Lying hypocrite! And he was supposed to be a man of God!

  Sadie did what she did best. She sank to her knees and howled. But somehow Tristan Sykes got tangled up with her and joined her on the chapel floor.

  He raised one of his damned eyebrows. “Really? Again? Have you no new tricks to torture me with?”

  “You are horrid! Get off me!”

  “You didn’t mind so much last night. Or should I say this morning?”

  “Ooh!” It wasn’t much of a comeback, but it was all Sadie could think of.

  “Hold still.”

  She felt him jam something on her finger and blinked. An emerald set in chased gold winked back at her. Very large. Very bright. A halo of diamonds around a huge stone.

  Very lovely.

  Although the ring itself was a touch too tight. She tried to pull it off but failed.

  “I’m afraid old Fitzmartin is getting a little forgetful in his dotage. I think he skipped a few paragraphs.”

  “Then we’re not really married.”

  “Oh, I think we are. There were witnesses. Under the circumstances, I think everyone would agree the deed has been done. We wouldn’t want to hurt Mr. Fitzmartin’s feelings, would we?”

  “I don’t give a rip. What about Roddy’s solicitor? He’ll object and find some way out of this.”

  “I sent him off back to London or wherever he came from. Mrs. Anstruther and the boys are taking care of it even as I speak.”

  “Ooh!” Sadie was becoming repetitive.

  “Come along now. If you continue to writhe under me, we’ll have to consummate this marriage on the chapel floor.”

  Sadie stopped herself from saying one more “Ooh.” She’d never been so angry in her life. Outmaneuvered. Outnumbered. Outdone. Tristan Sykes was no one to be trifled with.

  “We are not consummating anything.”

  “We’ll see about that. But first, some bacon and eggs. I’m starving. Aren’t you?”

  Chapter 24

  Tristan was almost enjoying himself. A skeleton key had been found for the handcuffs and his bride was picking at her shirred eggs with her own fork. It had been amusing to feed her at first, but the duke had been so furious it had spoiled Tristan’s appetite.

  In Tristan’s opinion, the man’s concern for his daughter came far too late. The fact that he’d even considered Charlton as her life mate showed his poor judgment.

  Ah, yes. The fly in the ointment, the pebble in the shoe, the unwelcome guest at the wedding banquet, such as it was. Charlton was refusing to leave without money, Sadie, or both. Damned if Tristan was going to throw more money away, although it seemed very likely he would have to. One thing he would not give up was his wife.

  Charlton had been given a room in a distant wing, where he could rave to his heart’s content. Apparently the solicitor had left with his carriage, intimidated by Tristan’s burly footmen. So the viscount was temporarily stranded. Hopefully, he’d leave with the duke when the weather calmed down.

  Which it showed no sign of doing. Sykes House’s walls rattled with the rumble of thunder above; bright flashes of lightning illuminated the dining room windows at regular intervals. Rain came down in sheets. Tristan hoped the gardens wouldn’t be flattened.

  “Quite the storm, isn’t it?”

  “You are going to talk to me about the weather?” She stabbed a sausage onto her fork. She was probably imagining it was his thigh.

  Or worse.

  “Why not? It’s hours before bedtime, and we must pass the time of day in some way.”

  “Well, I’m not going to talk about the weather. Or go to bed with you.”

  Tristan leaned back in his chair. “Surely you don’t want Charlton to have a case against us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the marriage is not consummated, what’s to stop him from saying we’re not married at all? Claim grounds for an annulment? His solicitor could drive a carriage through some loophole or other. Would you rather go off with the viscount? I would think you’d be more discerning.” In truth, Tristan was not entirely complacent about the irregularities in the service and its legality. Or the grounds for an annulment. He certainly wasn’t going to subject himself to an examination for impotence. He might not have indulged in any recent fornication, but he remembered how to.

  And was looking forward to getting back in the saddle again, as it were.

  But they hadn’t signed the register yet. He wouldn’t relax until—

  Well, likely he was never going to relax. Keeping up with Sadie and her antics were apt to turn his hair gray. Or make it fall out.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. I cannot be certain, but if he keeps asserting the betrothal contract has precedence, we might be in for a wrangle.”

  Sadie picked up her champagne glass and took a long swallow. “I hate you all.”

  Tristan chose not to believe her. Anyone who kissed him as she did had to have some positive feelings for him.

  “Have I told you how exquisite you look? My friend should be arriving any time now to take some photographs.”

  “Of me in the curtains?”

  “No one would ever know. Charles Worth himself could not have done better.”

  “I don’t know how you’re going to get me out of them. I’m sewed in.”

  Ah. So she was thinking ahead, was she? That was a hopeful sign.

  “I’m very good with my hands. As you might remember.” He had plucked at her nipple until it was as hard as a cherrystone last night.

  “Pah,” she dismissed.

  “I am! Look at the gardens. And I build things. I’m quite a nimble creature.”

  She turned to him. “Do you dance?”

  “Dance?” The word felt foreign on his tongue.

  “You know, the waltz. The mazurka. The gallop. I love to dance.”

  Did she? He knew very little about her.

  “Um. I haven’t danced in some time.”

  “Why not? Don’t you go to parties? Even I’m invited to parties, though there’s no telling what I might get up to once I’m in someone’s drawing room. Filch the silver. Set the rug on fire. Kiss a footman.”

  Kiss a footman? She’d better not try anything like that now they were married. Or sort of married. Really, he would need to check with the vicar first thing tomorrow morning.

  “There are very few amusements in Puddling, as you know.” Puddling was designed to be as boring as it possibly could be. Most of its young people left the first chance they got, money or no money.

  “But what about when you’re in London?”

  She seemed genuinely curious. Did she imagine she’d spend time kicking up her heels in the city? Shopping and gossiping?

  “I hardly ever go to London. I have responsibilities here.” She was one of them.

  Her russet eyebrows met. “Do you mean to lock me up in this house as I was locked up in Stonecrop Cottage?”

  “You weren’t locked up. You had total freedom of movement. Enough to steal trousers and pumpkins and tarts.” And raise general havoc amongst the villagers. How would they feel once they knew mad Lady Sarah Marchmain was now Mrs. Tristan Sykes? Sadie was likely to upset the calm quiet of the town, that soothing atmosphere which was so esse
ntial for their Guests’ mental health and physical well-being.

  Perhaps he should take her to London and leave her there.

  How had his grandfather dealt with his grandmother, another duke’s daughter who chafed against the restrictions of society? The short answer was that he hadn’t. Lady Maribel did pretty much as she pleased, and poor Grandpapa followed behind to clean up her messes and admire her backside.

  Tristan had no intention of following in his grandfather’s footsteps.

  “I prefer the country,” he said in a clipped voice. He’d spent enough time in London chasing after Linnet.

  “How do you handle your architectural commissions?”

  He was surprised that she cared. “Easily. You have heard of the post, have you not? The occasional telegram. I have trusted deputies who carry out my instructions. A very dedicated crew of workers and artisans. Every now and again I go to town for business meetings. More often, my clients come to me.”

  Tristan wasn’t about to brag, but he had a sterling reputation and too little time to take on every project that came his way.

  She scrunched up her nose. “So we’ll be buried here.”

  “Not buried. Happily ensconced, I should say.”

  “Where will we live?”

  Tristan had given this matter some thought as he lay awake in the too few hours before dawn in his Red House bedroom. He gestured toward the yellow wallpaper. “I suggest you remain here at Sykes House, where there is greater space, more amenities and a full staff at your disposal. I shall, um, visit you.”

  “Visit me.”

  “Yes. For conjugal relations.” He cleared his throat of an enormous frog.

  Her eyes were wide and rather lovely. “You don’t intend for us to live together.”

  “Not at first. We are, as you have pointed out on more than one occasion, strangers. I will—ah—court you so we can get to know each other better.”

  Sadie threw back her head and laughed, almost losing the tiara that glittered from her red hair. Tristan stopped it from flying backward, tangling his fingers in her hair and veil. She batted him away, still laughing until tears were coursing down her cheeks.