by Nikki Poppen
“Are you well, Bella?” He searched her face for anything she might be hiding.
“Yes. You are well? Did everything get sorted out after the accident at the Burtons? I was sorry to leave you to manage it on your own” She turned her warm gaze on him intently. It seemed that she was searching for signs of hidden meaning as well.
“I am fine. Thank you for your concern” How long had it been since someone had genuinely cared for his safety with no other ulterior motive?
“Tristan, you must tell me what is going on. I know the incident was no accident. Someone tried to harm you”
“Dear Bella, I cannot tell you and you are safer for not knowing. In a few weeks, it will not even signify.” He smiled as kindly as he could, hoping to convey how sincerely he meant the words. He knew Bella’s tender heart would be hurt by the rejection. He was surprised that the tenacious Bella simply nodded and accepted his statement.
The waltz ended and he returned Bella to the group, or what remained of it. Chatham and Alain had sauntered off somewhere, most likely the card rooms. He pulled out his pocket watch and ascertained the time.
“An appointment, Gresham?” Driscoll asked pointedly.
Tristan glared at him. The man wanted to call Bella’s attention to his departure. No doubt, Driscoll wanted to make something sordid out of his need to leave. “I promised to meet someone” He met Driscoll’s gaze with an even stare of his own. He’d learned long ago that the best way to manage difficult situations was with the truth. Ironically, no one expected him to come out with the truth so they were usually stunned into silence. He was pleased to note that the righteous Driscoll was no different. He pulled out his silver watch once more and made a show of checking the time again. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Tristan knew he was early for the rendezvous as he strode out to the quiet conservatory. Experience taught him it paid to be early, to have a chance to become aware of all the entrances and exits possible from a location. He’d have preferred having a witness secreted away behind the potted plants too, just in case, but there had been no viable candidate, so he had come alone to survey the conservatory and wait.
Tristan smiled appreciatively in the darkness as he closed the French doors behind him. The conservatory was the ideal meeting place for his admirer. The room was fragrant and fresh, offering a cacophony of scents mingled with the discreet trickle of fountains placed around the large room. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Tristan made out a rattan sofa set near one of the putti-spilling-waterfrom-a-jug fountains. There were only two ways in and out: the door he’d used from the hallway and another door leading in from the yard. Satisfied with his efforts, Tristan sat down on the sofa to wait. The soft sounds of water tempted him to relax and give into this sensory paradise, but his training demanded vigilance, so he stayed alert, one hand ready to draw his hidden blade at the first sign of disaster. Tristan felt his muscles tense as the French doors opened and a darkly clad figure swept in. With an ease that discomfited him, Tristan slipped into the role he’d become so well known for in his covert circles-the dangerous seducer. Whoever this person was, woman, assassin or both, he was ready on all accounts.
“Be at ease, milord,” the figure said in a low feminine tone. “It is I with whom you are expecting to meet” She came forward, all veil and cloaking, to stand in front of him, full of her own confidence. “I am pleased you have come”
Tristan’s other senses were primed since his sight was limited. He could smell her as she stood in front of him. Her perfume was a rosy floral scent cut with vanilla. He thought fleetingly of the fragrance of Isabella’s rose this evening as they’d danced. His heart leapt strangely in his chest before he discarded the notion. No, he had left Isabella fuming in the ballroom. Besides, there was vanilla in this scent, too.
He could feel the expensive weight of her cloak folds against his leg. She was bold. He knew that already. No woman ever sent a man a piece of apparel. No woman dared to meet with a man alone at her own instigation. No woman dared to play imposter. This woman knew she wasn’t the secret admirer of whom he’d been bragging about all over town. But this woman dared all of these things. Now she radiated a mysterious sensuality by keeping herself covered from him in all her veiled trappings while letting him know her through his other senses, an erotic bit of irony.
In his own low, seductive tone, Tristan asked, “For what have we come?” He reached a hand up to caress her cheek through the veil. She grasped his wrist and waylaid his hand.
“I could not stay away. It was no longer enough to admire you from afar and honor you with gifts.” Her tone was sultry as she turned over his captive right hand and began to trace his palm with her gloved finger.
Oh she was bold! Claiming the roses were from her when she knew no such thing was possible. Tristan smiled in the dark at her audacity. He knew how to play this game. A few fine words and he would have her veil off and who knew what else. “I have enjoyed your attentions. The flowers are exquisite and the waistcoat is of the finest. I am honored and flattered by your desires.” He paused for good effect. “Let us have no more secrets between us. Let me see your face” His voice was near her ear, his breath feathering the veil. There was no longer any distance between them. He expected compliance after his sweet words and he made to gently raise the veil only to be forestalled once more by her hand. Did he imagine that she trembled? He was struck by the odd mixture of knowing womanhood and virtue in her behavior. Her words were practiced and coy. Yet her actions belied the confidence with which they were spoken.
“I think the game has been enjoyable for us both, sirrah. Perhaps we should prolong our game by altering the rules. Truly, I am no longer a phantom to you. You smell me. I feel your body as it touches me, learning me bit by bit without actual sight. I am no longer a stranger. I think that is revelation enough for one evening.”
“How shall this game be played, then?” Tristan asked in a near whisper. He was not without his wits or weapons when it came to seduction. He captured the hand she had used to stroke his palm and placed his lips in its silken center. He moved his fingers to the pearl-buttoned length of the glove and deftly began flicking the buttons open, offering kisses along the newly bared expanse of her arm.
When she resisted and drew back, Tristan held her hand tightly. “My dark lady, you should know that too much resistance spoils the game. I must have some compensation, some show of favor if I am to be encouraged to continue.” He brought his head up from its ministrations at her hand, a twinkle of charm in his eye if anyone could see it. “Besides, my dark angel, there is no fear of revelation from a simple arm being bared. I can hardly see it. I sincerely doubt I would be able to note any telltale marks or signs that would give away your identity.” With that, Tristan pulled the glove off and proceeded to draw small, tantalizing circles on her bare palm.
He smiled as he pressed a thumb to the base of her wrist and felt the speed of her pulse. She was more affected than she let on. He was pleased. He would hate to disappoint her after her “admiration from afar.” Lowering his head, he offered her wrist a gentle kiss. “I do not disappoint you, I think,” he flirted boldly.
She replied with equal bluntness. “No, my lord, you do not. I am pleased.” Then she grasped his hand and held him away from her, stepping back, putting distance between them. “I must go now, before I am missed. We will meet again.” “
Coolness stole into Tristan’s voice. “If there is a next time, what shall we do? Shall I see your face?” He did not like being played with, and she was playing now. Once she had stepped away from him, he had lost his power to equalize their roles. He saw clearly that she was using her departure to set the rules to her advantage.
I do not think you shall see my face yet,” she said coyly, turning to leave and cut off the conversation. “We shall talk and get to know each other.”
Tristan closed the distance between them in two rapid steps. “Be warned, this game of secret identity is a danger ous
one. You do not know with whom you play.” He growled. If she’d listened to the rumors about him, she would expect something more from him. He couldn’t afford to expose his cover just yet. It would not suit for this woman to spread rumors that she had bested the notorious viscount. “I will have my due for this night’s work”
Lightening quick, Tristan reached for her and pressed her against him, one hand about her waist, another at the back of her neck as he brought her lips to his, the veil between them. His kiss was ferocious and demanding. With satisfaction, he felt her respond to his force, nipping at his lower lip as best she could with the filmy material as a barrier. He had meant to show her his power, but her hungry response had leveled the playing field.
She broke the kiss first with a flirting lilt. “We shall have a grand passion between us in time, my impatient one” But there was a slight tremor to her voice as she spoke before she turned and fled.
Isabella’s shaking form barely got her to the little chamber she had used earlier to change into her disguise. She collapsed on the narrow cot. Emotions surged through her. Volatile was the only way to describe what had transpired between her and Tristan in the conservatory. The encounter had started well enough. For the most part, she had managed to keep the upper hand and discourage any further revelation of her identity. She’d learned plenty from the encounter, but not all of it was to her liking.
Tristan had told her the rumors were lies but his behavior tonight had clearly proven otherwise. That bit he did with her hand, caressing it and divesting it of its glove and then kissing it had literally sent ripples of sensual delight up her spine. Alone, the singular move would send most women into a pleasure-driven swoon. Coupled with his low voice conveying hot intimacy in every tone, it was a recipe for irresistibility. Tristan’s farewell kiss had nearly been her undo ing. It wouldn’t happen again, she reasoned, putting the rose back into her hair and smoothing her coiffure. Of course, that assumed there would be a second time.
She began to strip off her disguise and halted with horror. The black glove was gone. Tristan had kept it. He’d probably planned that move deliberately to be left with a token of her visit. What would he do with it? Would he try to blackmail her into revealing her identity? That didn’t make sense. He couldn’t blackmail her without knowing her. Still, she didn’t like the thought of him possessing the glove, especially knowing what she knew now.
In hindsight, she was thoroughly scandalized by the way she’d acted and reacted in the conservatory. Her cheeks burned with her indiscretion. Had she really said such things? In all her grown life, she had never behaved in such a flagrant manner, nor had a gentleman acted so forward with her. Tristan’s behavior was no less than she deserved. The kind of woman who bought men clothing and arranged to meet with them in dark places could only expect to be treated the way Tristan had treated her. But, dash it all, he didn’t have to be so very good at it.
Common sense dictated she should call off her charade, but then she’d not get the answers she needed to the remaining question: what had Tristan been doing on the Continent all these years? Tonight had proven he hadn’t been soldiering, at least not in the nominal sense. She’d bet whatever it was had something to do with the attack at the Burtons.
The thought of the attack caused Isabella to strengthen her resolve. Tristan was in danger. He needed help even if he admitted it or not. There was no other avenue left for her to use in order to get close to Tristan. In the old days, it would have been easy enough to ask Tristan outright and he’d have told her. But those days were far behind them. Tristan needed her. She would not turn hen-hearted because of one kiss.
The ball was at its zenith when Isabella returned to the party. Avery Driscoll was waiting for her and she headed straight for the safe harbor of his presence. Peripherally, she noted Tristan enter the ballroom from a door near the balcony. She hoped he wouldn’t join them. She was not ready to encounter him yet. To ensure that didn’t happen, she smiled winningly at Avery. “Shall we stroll? I believe you mentioned earlier you had some news to share with me?” Not even Tristan would dare to interrupt a tete-a-tete between two close friends.
Avery Driscoll visibly brightened and inclined his golden head in acceptance. “I do indeed have news that should appeal to you,” he began as they walked slowly among the crowd. “I have completed the purchase of the stud farm not far from your place in Newmarket”
“Congratulations, that is wonderful to hear.” Isabella was genuinely happy for him. Avery Driscoll knew horses as well as she. He was an expert rider and had a solid eye for prime horseflesh. Avery continued to look at her meaningfully. She had the maggoty notion that the announcement was a prelude to a more personal conversation.
Avery placed his other kid-gloved hand over hers where it lay on his sleeve. “I am glad you’re thrilled. I am over the moon about it. I think you know it has been one of my grandest dreams to establish a superior breeding program. The price was substantial but it did not beggar me. I am looking for a stud. I have my eye on Hellion, Middleton’s stallion.” Isabella began to protest when he raised a hand in mock surrender. “Don’t cut up at me, let me finish. I know you have designs on that horse for yourself. I am hoping we’ll be able to come to an amicable agreement”
Isabella gave a merry laugh. “Absolutely, as long as Hellion is mine, I will support you completely.” The look on Avery’s face was priceless. He did his best to hide his consternation at her literal answer and Isabella knew he’d meant something more by his reference to an “amicable agreement”
“Lady Westbrooke, may I ask you a bold question?” He’d returned his hand to cover hers again. Isabella barely hid her frustration. The persistent man was going to try again. She liked Avery Driscoll immensely. She had no desire to hurt his feelings. She nodded politely.
“Lady Westbrooke, I have heard the buzz about town regarding the flagrant proclivities of Viscount Gresham. Usually, I believe a man’s business is his own but in this case, he has implicated you directly. As someone who cares deeply for you, I find I must ask the nature of your relationship with the viscount.”
Isabella wished she could answer that question. How could she explain her relationship with Tristan to someone else when she couldn’t explain it to herself? The response she gave Avery was as decorous as his request. “Viscount Gresham’s proclivities, as you delicately put it, are indeed his own to manage. I daresay in time, the truth will come out and those who spread the vicious lies will recant. As for my relationship with him, Gresham has been a long time friend of my brother’s. They were chums at Eton, you know. Gresham spent several school vacations at our place.”
Avery took too much hope from the neutral message. “I am gratified to hear that. I feared it might be otherwise. Now that the business of the stud farm is completed, I would like to call on you so that we can discuss other businessanother grand dream as dear to me as the horse farm”
Isabella did her best to fob him off. “As you wish, Lord Driscoll. Tonight I have no more head for business. I would like to return to my brother and have him see me home”
Avery was efficient and devoted. Alain was eager to leave. Between them, they had Isabella ensconced in the Wickham carriage in no time. Isabella closed her eyes and sank back against the seat. The evening had been more wearying than she’d anticipated.
The squabs groaned as Alain settled across from her in the rear facing seat. “So, am I to anticipate a visit from Driscoll in the morning?”
Isabella’s eyes flew open. “Whatever makes you think that?”
Alain undid his cravat in a single, well-executed pull. “Don’t play the numbskull with me, Bella. You’re not so addlepated not to know he’s in love with you. One of these days, he’s going to feel encouraged enough to propose. He’s bought the horse farm.”
“I know.”
Alain continued. “What will you do? Driscoll’s a good sort, second son to an earl. There’s a chance he’ll inherit something from his mother’s sid
e in the way of a title through a cousinly connection. He loves horses and country living. The two of you get on well and this time you can marry where you like, within reason”
“Enough, Alain,” Isabella snapped. “I am in no mood to discuss a hypothetical proposal tonight.”
Alain stretched his long legs across the carriage and put his hands behind his head. “Does your waspish mood have anything to do with Tristan’s disappearance this evening?”
“Why should it? I am tired. It’s been a wearing two weeks thanks to Tristan’s penchant for landing himself in the suds and me along with him. Between falling planters and reap pearing lightskirts, it’s been deuced awkward to find him a wife.”
“Deuced is a man’s term. You shouldn’t use slang.”
“Tristan shouldn’t provoke me to use it!” Isabella shot back.
“If disappearing with Tristan makes you this peckish, I hope you don’t indulge in it often”
It had been on the tip of Isabella’s tongue to deny it when she realized the trap. How did Alain know she’d been with Tristan? “I was with Driscoll when Tristan left for his appointment. Shortly after that, I went to the ladies’ retiring room. I did not disappear with Tristan.”
“I beg your pardon then, my mistake.” Alain slouched in his seat and closed his eyes. The conversation was over.
Tristan hummed to himself as he unlocked his front door and stepped inside. The sight greeting him in the dimly lit foyer brought an immediate halt to his tune. Vases lay shattered on the floor, broken blooms and stems strewn among the shards of delicate glass. The sight of such wanton destruction inside his own private residence lit a primitive fire in him and he began to roar.