Enticing Eve: Scandalous Secrets, Book 2

by Tracy Goodwin

  He didn’t look happy.

  Nor did his guest.

  At one with his surroundings, dressed in brown, he found shelter behind a large tree and leaned against its sturdy trunk. What could MacAlistair have argued with that blonde about? Could it be possible that she, too, knows the truth?

  Having waited so long for this moment, he could barely contain his delight.

  “I saw him,” he taunted in a singsong voice, his hoarse falsetto joining the birds chirping in the trees amid the lush gardens that surrounded him.

  At last, the bastard son had resurfaced, claiming a home and an inheritance that did not rightfully belong to him. As far as the trespasser was concerned, Colin MacAlistair had returned to a life he didn’t deserve.

  “I shall right this wrong,” the interloper vowed.

  Yes, he would systematically destroy the man who had taken everything from him. First, he would uncover Colin MacAlistair’s greatest weakness then exploit it.

  Oh, how he loved games.

  This would be his favorite yet.

  “Let the amusement commence.”

  Chapter 2

  Eve clenched her hands into tight fists in a valiant yet fruitless attempt to stop them from shaking. Having survived her first encounter with Colin, she knew that she should feel relieved, thrilled even. Instead, Eve found herself at an impasse, struggling to decipher the maelstrom of emotions threatening to overtake her.

  Her pulse raced at a frantic pace causing her to feel unbalanced. There was more to it, though – an emptiness combined with an agonizing sadness had seeped into Eve’s soul sometime between her initial confrontation with Colin and her exit from his residence. The powerful mixture of emotions caused her chest to ache as if her heart had been bruised. Even the familiar sway of her grandmother’s carriage failed to cheer her.

  My affection for you hasn’t changed …

  Such was the sentiment that she had longed to hear for what felt like an eternity, until Eve dared no longer hope. On this very day when she least expected it, Colin’s admission disarmed her. Why? Could it stem from the fact that his gentle cadence and avowals of devotion were so very convincing? Is that why she felt unsteady? Eve never expected that Colin would be happy to see her let alone admit to caring for her.

  Anger came so easily when she thought him to be a liar, when she suspected she would never hear such avowals again, when she ceased believing Colin ever meant the words in the first place.

  Clutching her reticule against her chest in an attempt to steady her erratic pulse, a myriad of emotions warred within Eve. She wanted to despise Colin, wanted to remain angry with him from now until the end of time.

  Why couldn’t she?

  Was it possible that she still cared for the man?

  Damn her for even contemplating such a notion! Eve squeezed her reticule until her knuckles turned white. How could she possibly care about Colin MacAlistair? After he had forsaken her, after all the hateful words he uttered to her on this very day, how could she feel anything other than a profound loathing towards the man?

  In her current state of turmoil, Eve began to question her sanity, certain that she had gone utterly mad. What other explanation could there possibly be for such foolishness?

  Consumed by her silent contemplation, Eve failed to notice the carriage sway to a stop in front of her family’s estate known as Waltham Manor. After descending the steps with the assistance of her driver, she paused in the cobblestone drive, taking a moment to view the impressive brick structure that represented generations of Westons – Viscounts, Viscountesses, and their children. A legacy to uphold. One Eve took to heart, though the rich history that Eve often sought strength from offered her no such relief on this day.

  Eve waited, instructing herself to breathe.

  Gather your wits. You are a Weston.

  Eve placed her hands flat in front of her. Steady at last. She exhaled a substantial sigh of relief as her plump, russet haired butler greeted her at the heavy, mahogany front door.

  “Good afternoon, Miss,” her butler pronounced, viewing her through his thin gold spectacles. “Did you have a nice outing?”

  “Yes, Durstan, thank you,” Eve smiled, noting how proficient she had become at feigning happiness since Colin’s original departure.

  “Do you know where I may find my grandmother?” She asked as the elderly man relieved Eve of her gloves and reticule.

  “In her suite, Miss,” he replied with a formal bow.

  Eve nodded then ascended the grand staircase, all the while wondering what she would say to her grandmamma. She wanted the kind woman’s advice, longed to unburden her soul to the one person who mattered most to her, but Eve couldn’t do so.

  Blame it on her stubborn pride. It dictated Eve’s silence. After all, the last thing Eve ever wanted to admit is just how much of a fool she had been over Colin MacAlistair. Or perhaps she couldn’t bear to see the inevitable disappointment in her grandmother’s loving gaze?

  Pausing in the doorway of her father’s childhood bedchamber, Eve leaned against the doorframe. Upon further reflection, she couldn’t tolerate disappointing her grandmother. Moreover, Eve refused to hurt the dear woman. Not the way Eve’s own father had.

  Although her grandmother never spoke of it, Eve was well aware of the deep wounds her father had inflicted. The Viscountess loved her son and pampered him. Too much it turned out, since Eve’s father matured into a spoiled and reckless man, gambling away his inheritance while spending most evenings inebriated.

  James Weston was a rake, the type of man most reputable families wouldn’t allow near their eligible daughters. His title and annual income were enough, though, to convince some members of the haut ton to forgive his indiscretions – one such person being Eve’s mother. When the Viscount of Haversham met Anne Wycliffe, he found a kindred spirit, a woman as carefree as he. Recognizing the perfect match, he married Eve’s mother without hesitation, eager to begin their adventures.

  Although he loved his title as well as the power and importance that it afforded him, the Viscount detested work. Because mundane duties bored him, he soon shirked his responsibilities thus causing the family’s wealth to evaporate at a rapid rate. He cared not for the future, living only for the present.

  When his wife gave birth to a baby girl, James wasn’t daunted. Far from it, in fact, as he was relieved to be free of the constrictions raising a male heir would impose upon his relaxed lifestyle.

  Eve squeezed her eyes shut as a memory seized her. She was about eight years old and had entered her father’s office in search of him. Instead, she found her grandmother sitting behind his grand birch desk; the sweet woman’s shoulders shaking as she sobbed. It was the first time Eve had seen her grandmother cry.

  “What’s the matter, Grandmamma?” Eve ran to her, kneeling in front of the older woman, clutching her skirt as icy tentacles of fear inched up her spine.

  The lines of despair etched in her dear grandmother’s proud features soon frightened Eve more than the fact that the woman was crying.

  “My darling girl,” the Dowager Viscountess exclaimed as she pulled Eve onto her lap. “I’m saddened by a missive I received from your father.”

  “What is it, Grandmamma?”

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about my darling,” Fiona answered as another tear drifted down the woman’s cheek. Eve wiped it away with her fingertips.

  “My brave girl,” the Viscountess whispered as she encircled her granddaughter in a tight hug. Only after she released Eve from her embrace did the Dowager Viscountess explain while tears clung to her lashes, “Your father and mother have decided to spend more time abroad. They’re leaving you in my care.”

  The heartbroken woman must have seen the blend of disappointment and pure panic reflected in her granddaughter’s eyes, for she squeezed Eve’s hand, the reassuring gesture failing to bolster the child’s spirits.

  “They don’t want me anymore?” Eve asked, her voice no louder than
a faint whisper.

  “Of course they do, dearest, as do I.” Eve had never seen her grandmother so pale. The Dowager Duchess dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief before continuing, “Your mamma and papa know I can give you a proper home, one which they can’t. I love you dearly, my sweet girl. You and I shall have a grand time together, and your parents will visit us often – they promised.”

  Mama and Papa have left me, and they didn’t say goodbye … such were the thoughts of a frightened little girl.

  “No son of a man as kind and loving as your grandfather could ever desert his family,” her grandmother whispered as if reading Eve’s mind.

  Although Eve believed her grandmother at the time, she soon came to learn that her father couldn’t have been any less like the man who sired him. Indeed her parents did not want her, but that became the least of their offenses.

  A few years later, James Weston and his wife fled London, leaving his mother under the weight of their massive debts. By this time, the Weston family estates were in disarray, their accounts dwindling, and Eve and her grandmother faced losing their home.

  If not for the kindness of the Dowager Duchess of Davenport and her son, Sebastian, Eve and her grandmother would have been penniless. Not only did the duke straighten out the Westons’ finances, but he also managed their estates along with his own, bestowing upon Eve’s father a generous allowance that thus allowed the Viscount and his wife to continue traveling abroad to their hearts’ content.

  It was because of the kindness of the ninth Duke of Davenport that Eve and her grandmother were able to survive with their social standing intact. Additionally, his discretion insured that no one outside of their immediate families ever knew of his generosity.

  When Eve’s parents perished, the family’s estates were part of an entail to be inherited by Eve’s cousin.

  The loss of her beloved son then, subsequently, the prospect of losing her home devastated the Dowager Viscountess and, for the first time in her life, hatred pulsated through Eve’s veins. She despised her parents. Not for herself or her own pain but for their despicable treatment of her grandmother.

  Sebastian once again stepped in, paying a hefty sum for their estate. Eve was certain he paid twice what it was worth and felt indebted to him. She once tried to thank him, but Sebastian wouldn’t hear of it, stating that Fiona was like a second mother to him. It was at that exact moment that Eve learned the power of family. It stemmed not from one’s bloodlines but one’s heart. After all, the duke was more of a son to Fiona Weston than her own had ever been.

  Although Eve’s father was the first man to disappoint her, he wasn’t the last. Her thoughts drifted back to Colin. What made him think that he could return after so much time had passed and pick up where he left off?

  Eve shoved herself away from the door.

  “Damn the past and damn Colin MacAlistair, the insufferable, presumptuous man,” Eve muttered aloud.

  Heading down the wide hallway to her grandmother’s suite, Eve’s resolve strengthened with every step. She survived the wreckage that Colin’s departure had made of her life. So, too, would she survive his return.

  Upon reaching her grandmother’s suite, Eve rapped on the door. She could discern several inaudible words spoken in a clipped tone before the woman’s usually sweet voice bellowed the command, “Enter!”

  Eve turned the brass knob; however, she encountered resistance while trying to push the door open. Managing to peer through the narrow opening she’d created, her attention was immediately drawn to the floor where a sea of colorful fabrics were strewn about, including several gowns piled high in front of the door.

  “Grandmamma,” Eve called, scanning the room. “I believe your gowns are attempting an escape.”

  The elder woman’s eyes widened as if surprised that her garments were attempting a massive fashion coup. “Oh, my dear girl, allow me to help you.”

  Wearing a bright fuchsia and violet gown while a fur hat dyed in vivid orange bobbed atop her silver ringlets, Fiona kicked several garments blocking her path. She stopped briefly to rescue a black and white feather boa and wrap it around her neck before winding her way to the door.

  Eve stifled a giggle behind her hand as the sweet woman then scooped up several of the gowns that blocked the door before heaving them onto a floral chaise.

  “My dear,” the Viscountess announced, adjusting her hat so it now lay flat atop her mass of curls. “I fear I have become quite boring.”

  Eve arched her brow as she surveyed the collection of colorful fabrics, feathers, and furs strewn about the room, smiling at the sweet woman’s perception of boring.

  Although a member of nobility by marriage, the Dowager Viscountess rebelled against polite society

  and its strict rules of conduct by dressing in the most ostentatious manner possible. Her gratification came from quizzing acquaintances at balls and other gatherings in regards to what they thought of her garish garments.

  Such was the Viscountess’s social experiment. By testing members of her peerage, her goal was to see who amongst them would be honest with her. In most cases, her test subjects failed miserably but there were exceptions, those who voiced their opinions or met her grandmother’s exam with a wry sense of humor. These were the friends allowed into the Viscountess’s inner circle – her extended family.

  “Dear Grandmamma,” Eve entered the room then reached for her grandmother’s outrageous hat, tilting it so it again lay crooked on her head. “Rest assured that you will never be boring. Such a thing is impossible.”

  Fiona laughed, her head bobbing up and down as her hat fell to the floor. After kicking it to the side, she then proceeded to her open wardrobe where only a rainbow-colored satin gown now hung. “I suppose this will suffice,” she said in a dejected tone, her shoulders slumped.

  Eve turned her attention towards her grandmother’s bed and ran her fingers over a jade gown accented with peacock feathers. “May I inquire as to the occasion?” she asked.

  “Have you forgotten the duke’s dinner invitation?” Fiona turned to her granddaughter, her smile bright. “You and I discussed it earlier.”

  Eve’s hand stilled in the process of toying with a soft, colorful feather. She had indeed forgotten. In truth, Eve hoped to avoid another encounter with Colin, well aware that she allowed him to get too close. Such a thing must never happen again.

  It would never happen again.

  Her thoughts returned to her betrothed. Perhaps she could use tonight’s dinner party to speak privately with Colin and ask him not to tell Tristan about their history before she had the opportunity.

  Yes, that is what she would do.

  “Go with the peacock gown,” Eve instructed her grandmother. “It has always been one of my favorites.”

  The Viscountess reached for the creation in question. “I am partial to this, as well. Then again, I adore each of the gowns you’ve designed for me.” She winked at her granddaughter then shook the garment causing several feathers to float through the air.

  Eve motioned to the many gowns scattered about the spacious room. “Shall I help you straighten this mess before I dress for our outing?”

  “Oh, good heavens, no,” her grandmother replied, her expression animated. “I’ll ring for Hattie. You know how she loves playing dress up.”

  Hattie, the Dowager Viscountess’s maid, was a plump, middle-aged woman with a heart of gold and flaming red hair with streaks of blonde. The thought of Hattie wearing Fiona’s rainbow dress or the fuchsia one with splashes of orange and yellow caused Eve’s shoulders to shake with mirth as she exited her grandmother’s bedchamber.

  For one brief moment, Eve had forgotten about the evening with Colin that lay before her. Reality was quick to return, though, and Eve could no longer hide from what she was certain would be a long night.

  Even though her reunion with Colin this afternoon had shaken Eve to her very core, causing her to doubt everything she believed just hours earlier, she rema
ined determined that Colin would never know how much he affected her.

  Over the course of Colin’s departure and the events that followed, Eve became proficient at the art of pretense. She convinced polite society, her friends, and even her family that she was happy and that her life was as it should be. No one ever suspected the terrible heartache she harbored.

  The evening ahead would be no exception.

  Eve would make certain of it.

  * * *

  Eve and her grandmother arrived at the duke’s grand estate shortly before four. It was a warm day though not oppressive with a gentle breeze keeping the heat at bay. Since the summer months would quickly be drawing to a close, Eve was happy to learn that they’d be having dinner on the terrace.

  Gwendolyn MacAlistair, the Duchess of Davenport, and her sister-in-law Victoria received Eve and Fiona with wide smiles and warm hugs.

  “It is wonderful to see you, Fiona,” Gwen said, kissing the Dowager Viscountess’s cheek before admiring Eve’s gown made of daffodil-colored silk accentuated with jade ribbon and piping. “You look lovely, Eve. Is that your design?”

  “But, of course.” Eve grinned, bending her knees in a mock curtsey.

  “Oh, you’re wearing the peacock gown,” Victoria’s silken voice was rich with enthusiasm as she toyed with the plumage at the Viscountess’s skirts. “I adore this one, Fiona.”

  “I know you do, my dear, which is why I brought a surprise for you,” the Dowager Viscountess announced as she reached into her exceptionally large reticule, a multi-hued concoction of mauve, turquoise, and scarlet feathers. She then removed what could best be described as the most ostentatious fan Eve had ever seen. At least she thought it was a fan since the mass of peacock feathers almost rendered her grandmother’s creation unrecognizable.