Tristan . The window around the Tristan of her dream shattered. Kat jerked awake with a gasp. Her heart beat so hard she could barely think. Blood roared in her ears, making her dizzy.
She was alone in her dorm room. Tristan and the beautiful snowy house on the hill were a dream. Nothing more.
She turned on the lamp and reached for her laptop on the nightstand. She pulled up an Internet search for Tristan Kingsley. She hadn’t wanted to see evidence of his past, not after the first time she and Lacy had Googled him. But now she needed to see it. Plenty of tabloid pictures, usually of Tristan and some woman dancing at a club, drinking at a bar, or dining at a restaurant. Most of the time he was with that girl, Brianna. Every time Kat came across an article, it never failed to mention Tristan’s father, the Earl of Pembroke, and the earl’s current political power plays.
Why would all of the articles attempt to use Tristan’s playboy character against his father’s public image? Unless…that was their intention. Use the son to discredit the father.
Kat remembered Tristan’s face, the way his eyes had hardened, the way his jaw had tensed when he’d spoken about his father. Their relationship must be strained, and it no doubt wasn’t helped by this type of article.
Kat perused the articles again, reading over everything, studying Tristan’s posture and attitude in the photos. Aside from the extremely risqué picture with his hand up Brianna’s skirt, there wasn’t much in the way of bad behavior. No assaults, no drugs, no drunkenness. Just scores of women and the scandal of his libertine lifestyle. A typical playboy. But not really a bad guy.
Tristan said he hadn’t been with anyone since he’d met her. They’d only known each other two days, and she’d known at the back of her mind that he couldn’t have been with anyone else that quickly. Yet she’d judged him anyway. He’d wanted to give whatever was between them a chance, and she’d shut him down so fast they’d failed to get anywhere.
Am I that afraid of a photograph of him and some other woman taken before he met me?
She was, and she hated that she was so scared of getting hurt. He’d been right. She was young and she should be living and having fun, not locking herself away from anything that might hurt her later. Wasn’t falling in love and dating part of that?
I had an adventure right there and I shoved him out the door. And now I can’t even contact him to…to what? Talk? Go out on a real date? Tell him I want him and that I’m ready to risk my heart to be with him?
She had no phone number or e-mail address—nothing. He was at a different college within the university. Their paths might never cross again. Not to mention, she’d burned her bridges when they’d fought, and he wouldn’t forgive her. She couldn’t forgive herself for stopping something before they’d had a chance to start.
I’ll never know what it would have been like to be with him .
She closed the laptop and set it aside, a hollowness growing inside her chest until bleak despair covered her like a suffocating shroud.
What have I done?
Chapter 13
T he past two weeks had been hell. Beyond hell .
Tristan hadn’t bothered to shave for a week. He’d barely managed to shower and stumble into his classes. Carter had threatened to shove him out on his arse in the snow if he didn’t clean up for the party tonight.
But none of it mattered. Kat had shut him out of her life. The spark of something deep and hot between them had been buried by her closing the door that night. The finality of her decision had ripped through him so hard he’d been unable to drive for several minutes after leaving her dormitory. Instead, he’d wandered the snowy grounds, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his mind trying to sort through the pain and the anger over her rejection. When he’d finally come home that night, he’d poured every bit of his soul into the nearest glass of brandy and hadn’t come out of the bottle since.
“You look like bloody hell,” Carter mused from the doorway. His smug grin made Tristan growl and clench his fists around the soft towel as he wiped his face dry. He’d showered and dressed in a pair of jeans. Their house would be full of people tonight, but he was tempted to go downstairs as he was. That would certainly be scandalous. He felt reckless enough that he just might do it. What was one more scandal in the papers? His father would be furious, but what else was new?
“The razor is within reach, Carter. I’d watch your words,” he warned.
“As if you could do anything. I’ve watched you drink yourself into the bottom of your mother’s most expensive Scotch this week. I dare you to throw a decent punch.”
“You’re one to talk. Celia’s come around four times, and you duck and run.”
Carter’s mouth thinned into a scowl. “We both know why I avoid her.”
Tristan tossed the towel onto the counter, glowering at his friend in the mirror’s reflection.
“Don’t you have a party to host with Celia?”
“Only because you won’t come down and join us. We got this together for you, and you aren’t even attending.”
Well played . Tristan scrubbed a hand over his chin. He’d gotten his friend and cousin into this party all because he’d hoped it would be one more way to woo Kat. If she loved Fox Hill he’d be that much closer to winning her over. And it had all been a wasted effort, because she would never want him again, would never trust him over things he’d done before he’d met her.
Life up until now had been a loving mistress to him. Now she was a cold-hearted creature digging her claws into his chest. The one thing he wanted most in the world…Kat…was something he couldn’t have.
“Are you really not going to come down to the party?” Carter asked.
Exhaling, Tristan rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throb of a building headache. “The whole point of tonight’s festivities no longer exists for me.”
Carter’s irritation changed to sympathy. “Are you certain? I handed out dozens of invitations to undergraduate students. How do you know she won’t come?”
“She’s not the party type. I was hoping to entice her to come before…” Before she ripped me in two.
His friend pushed away from the door frame and sighed. “I’m sorry, Tristan. Wherever the girl is, she’s twisted you up in knots. I suggest you sort yourself out before we go on holiday. Your mother won’t want her time with you to be—” he waved a hand up and down at Tristan’s body “—like this. She deserves her son to be on his best behavior.”
Best behavior? Had he ever behaved? No, and he had no intention of starting now.
“Get out of my room, Carter, and go downstairs to keep Celia company.”
His friend shrugged and then left.
Tristan could hear the low bass of music downstairs, that blend of chatter and laughter unique only to parties. Since Celia was in charge, it was more upscale than a typical university party. They were also past that wild stage of partying that came with the newly minted college students.
Drunken escapades had lost their appeal after he’d turned twenty-two. Now he preferred his parties on the quiet side, with drinks and entertainment of a more private nature, preferably in a bed. He would have none of that tonight. Kat should have been here. He’d planned to show her the house, tell her its history, seduce her with the things she loved most and prove to her that he cared about her. Because he did , he cared too bloody much, and all it had gotten him was pain.
Why the hell did it hurt so much not having her here? She was just a girl, wasn’t she? He’d had plenty of them over the years…so why did Kat matter? Why couldn’t he get the thought of her mercury gray eyes out of his head, or the sound of her laugh out of his ears? His hands trembled with longing for her, to touch her, thread his fingers through her silky hair. He missed everything about her.
Fuck . This was going to be a long night.
He slipped out of the bathroom and moved through the darkened bedroom to his closet. The cold weather outside wasn’t going to matter, not with all the people flood
ing Fox Hill, so Tristan opted for a black T-shirt rather than a sweater.
Tugging the shirt over his head, he padded to the wide window and shoved one curtain back to peer through the frosted glass. Below him, the main driveway was full of cars. Headlights from some of the newer arrivals burned bright in the night, cutting through the heavily falling snow, creating gold beams that glowed with an ethereal luminescence.
He watched the snow fall for several minutes, his thoughts as scattered as the falling flakes outside, until his mobile rang. He had no intention of answering, but when he saw the caller ID he changed his mind.
“Mum?”
“Hello, Tristan, dear.”
He loved the sound of her voice, sweet and kind, full of affection for him. So different from his father’s.
“Am I still due to come stay with you in two days?” He hoped she hadn’t changed her plans. The last thing he wanted was to end up with his father on holiday. The arrogant man already thought Tristan was coming and would be furious when he discovered his son had lied.
“Yes.” Her breathless reply was quick. “But I want to talk to you.”
He continued to stare out the window as he waited for her to speak.
“I’ve met someone, Tristan. A wonderful man. We’ve been dating these last few months, and I want you to meet him.”
Everything inside him stilled. His mother had met a man? He was happy for her, of course. But he’d make sure that whoever this fellow was, he was good enough for her. His mother was often a target because of her property and her family money. Men without scruples saw her as a way to wealth and power.
The last time his mother had believed she was in love, the man had been a gentleman from a good family who’d gone deep into debt. He’d attempted to seduce her while still married. When his mother had discovered that the man hadn’t yet divorced his wife, it had crushed her. Tristan had vowed that wouldn’t happen again, not while he was there to watch out for her.
“That’s good to hear, Mum. Who is he?”
“He’s an investment banker.” His mother chuckled. “And no, he has no interest in my money. He has plenty on his own.”
Tristan smiled, shaking his head. It was like she’d heard his thoughts. “That’s good. How did you meet?” He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of a strange man in his mother’s life, but he’d attempt to sound happy for her. He would also have the man thoroughly checked out.
His mother launched into an amusing story of running into the man at a grocer.
“We want you to meet. We thought we could stay together over Christmas.”
Tristan digested this, pacing as he mulled it over. Given the situation with Kat, he desperately needed a distraction, even one that wouldn’t be necessarily positive. He would rather deal with his mother’s relationship than his own.
“Is this all right, Tristan? I don’t want to upset your holiday. We just thought it would be the best time for all of us to get together.”
“It’s fine, Mum. I’ll be delighted to meet him.”
“Wonderful. He has a daughter, a girl near your age. I haven’t met her yet, but he says she’s a sweet girl.”
That made him groan. The last thing he wanted to do was interact with the girl during the holidays.
“Mum, that sounds lovely. Do you mind if I call you tomorrow?”
She laughed. “Of course, darling.”
Tristan tossed his mobile on the bed and started toward the door. He needed to get drunk again. Now .
Chapter 14
L acy was right. As usual. Not that Kat would ever admit it.
Mark parked the car at the end of the circular drive, and they stepped out into the snowstorm. Her ankle-high boots and little black dress weren’t the best clothes for tramping about in the snow, but at least she had on a thick, black woolen coat, which she clutched tightly around her as she followed her friends. They were teasing each other, knocking their shoulders together while they whispered and laughed.
A pang of pain rang through her, as sharp as a silver bell struck with a hammer. The hurt echoed inside her with little ripples that made her shake. Could she and Tristan have been like Lacy and Mark if she hadn’t shoved Tristan out of her life? Tonight was supposed to be a distraction, but seeing this house, like the one in her dream, made her think of him. The way he’d kissed her, the way his body had curled around hers in bed, and how they’d shared some of the most intimate parts of themselves with each other. He hadn’t been a future earl with a hundred notches on his bedpost, just a wonderful, sexy man.
And he’d been all mine for one night .
Why had she thought the way she felt about him was something she could ignore? Sure it had hit fast and hard, like lightning in clear skies, but maybe that was how it was supposed to be? A sudden rush, a fall, and then a jarring landing back on real ground.
“Kat, catch up!” Mark called out.
“I’m coming!” She hadn’t realized she’d stopped walking until Mark had shouted at her. There she was, just standing there, lost in thought. As she started walking again, she looked at the house, and it stole her breath.
The house—Fox Hill—with its old cottage manor architecture highlighted by the golden illumination of light from within looked like a home from a fairy tale, a place of magic and dreams, shrouded by a lacy veil of snow.
Mark and Lacy moved more quickly than she did, and when she finally caught up with them at the front of door, a woman was there to meet them. A woman Kat recognized instantly.
Celia. Tristan’s stunning cousin.
“Welcome!” Celia beamed.
She wore a black sheath dress and a pair of knee-high black boots that gave her that perfect blend of sexy and classy, a 1960s British Mod look that Kat could never seem to achieve.
Shuffling nervously, Kat tugged her coat closer about her shoulders, feeling self-conscious about her own clothes. Like a child trying to play dress-up compared to Celia’s put-together perfection.
“I’m Celia,” their hostess said as she ushered them inside.
Fox Hill’s interior had red painted walls with dark wood paneling. Evergreen garlands wound around the banister leading upstairs. Music echoed against the walls and ceiling and mixed with the laughter of guests, filling the hall and rooms around them. Christmas cheer and the end of exams had put everyone in a good mood.
A lively band played covers of popular songs in the large room just to the right. With shelves of endless books, it had to be the library. The spines glinted with gold lettering that winked and shimmered beneath the decorative Christmas lights strung across the wooden ceiling beams. It was cozy and elegant at the same time.
A group of undergrads she vaguely recognized from her dorm walked past, clutching glasses of wine and laughing. Everyone was so relieved exams were over, as she was. But it had been a lot harder to focus on schoolwork when her mind seemed determined to distract her with thoughts of Tristan and how she’d screwed everything up.
“Drinks and other refreshments are in the kitchen straight ahead. Past that, there are plenty of rooms for talking and dancing,” Celia explained as she walked them through the lower level of the house.
Kat paused at the foot of stairs, her gaze traveling up the carpeted steps. A strange need to go up them was almost irresistible. She settled one foot on the bottom stair, but Lacy touched her shoulder.
“Kat, Celia’s going to show us the house.”
Without a word, she followed her friends on the tour, only half-listening to Celia describe the house in between the discussions about professors and holiday plans. After half an hour, she slipped away from the group and headed back to the stairs.
She needed a minute to think and catch her breath. Should she ask Celia about Tristan? Would his cousin give her his cell phone number?
No, that was stupid. She couldn’t ask Celia for that. It’s over, whatever shot I had with him, I blew it.
With a little shake, she forced herself to focus on the party, and the fact
that she should be celebrating, having fun . But as miserable as she felt right now, it was the last thing she wanted to do. She used to think she was above pity parties and moping, but ever since Tristan had walked out her door, everything in her world seemed…dimmer .
Maybe she could distract herself by exploring the house. Lacy had been right about that, getting to snoop around a house like this was the equivalent of catnip to a history major.
It was certainly an old house, at least a century. Kat started up the stairs, slipping her gloves off to stroke her fingers over the smooth, polished wood of the banister. As she climbed, the party sounds grew muted.
At the top of the stairs she glanced down the left and right halls before deciding to go to the right. It was nosy, she had to admit, to want to peek into every room as she walked by but there was no way she would miss out on the chance to do just that. Most were bedrooms, sumptuously decorated in that rich English country-house style she’d seen in movies and decorating magazines. Elegant homes with canopy beds and portraits of people hanging on the walls.
The last door she opened revealed a dark room, but she could see a fire lit in the hearth. And the silhouette of a man sitting in one of the chairs facing the fireplace, holding a glass of either Scotch or brandy. The light trapped in the glass seemed to make the drink burn like liquid fire.
The last thing she wanted was to get caught sneaking around. She retreated a step, hit her elbow on the doorjamb, and cursed. The man in the chair shifted, starting to turn her way.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled and took another step backward. Whoever this was probably wanted to be left alone.
“It’s fine—” The man leaned around the edge of the chair then shot to his feet and took a step in her direction. “Kat?” That rich, accented voice made her insides turn to honey. It also halted her dead in her tracks.
“Tristan?” What was he doing here? Had Celia invited him? She must have, since this was her house.
Forbidden: Her British Stepbrother Page 13