The Skilled Seduction

by Tracy Goodwin

  In a sudden moment of clarity, Victoria realized that Tristan was currently stalking Oliver.

  Her friend didn’t appear to notice.

  “First of all, ours was a private moment until your unforeseen arrival. Secondly, Victoria is beautiful, intelligent and witty.” Oliver’s eyes danced with mirth as they locked with Victoria’s, “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss her?”

  Tristan rounded on Victoria. “Are you betrothed to this man?”

  Victoria steeled her shoulders, meeting his intense scrutiny with her own. She refused to cower. The reason for this ambush was to convince Tristan to concede that Victoria was a woman. He would see her as such before this evening was through.

  Taking a step forward, she claimed her ground. “I never expected you to be so proper, Tristan,” Victoria teased, offering him a sweet smile.

  Oliver shot her one of his I hope you know what you’re doing glances before stating, “I have half a mind to propose to you if it means more kisses like that, Lady Victoria.”

  Tristan’s attention snapped back to Oliver. Never at a loss for words, it appeared that Tristan lacked his usual stinging retorts. Victoria couldn’t help but smile at the realization.

  So far, the first step in her plan was a complete success.

  Oliver further stoked the fire by adding, “It’s no wonder you have so many suitors when you kiss like—”

  “Enough,” Tristan’s hand sliced through the charged air again.

  For one brief moment, Tori half expected him to hit her friend. Instead, Tristan grabbed her hand. “Say goodnight to your …” Tristan paused, glaring at Oliver. “Just say goodnight, Victoria.” His words dripped with venom.

  Tori mouthed thank you to her friend as Tristan tugged her away from the scene. She turned her attention toward him, his profile illuminated by a combination of the silver moon hanging high above them and the many gas lamps accentuating their path.

  A mask of rage contorted his handsome features causing her every nerve to stand on end.

  Guiding her past the ballroom doors to the other end of the terrace, they encountered a couple kissing. From his ragged intake of breath and the clenching of his hand over hers, she assumed that the sight further aggravated him.

  The still night air seemed charged with his mounting exasperation as he led her to another venue, the gardens.

  Tristan’s blood pounded against his temples, his wrath unlike any he had ever known. What the hell was Victoria doing kissing that fop, Wainright, in the dim light of the terrace? For God’s sake, her brother was due to walk out at any moment.

  “Where are we going, Tristan?” she asked.

  Instead of offering a response, he chose to remain silent, waiting for his frustration to abate. Victoria had matured since his kiss with her, Tristan realized with a surprising pang of regret.

  Why Wainright, he wondered. Why not me?

  There it was – his damned inner voice reminding him of the kiss they once shared.

  The same kiss he longed to repeat.

  As one might expect, the events that occurred on the day that Tristan’s former fiancée married his brother forever changed him but not for the reasons one would assume. Eve marrying Colin did enrage him, though he was much more affected by his kiss with Victoria.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t forget how perfectly she fit within his arms. Nor could he purge himself of her savory taste, her heady scent, her alluring essence or the warmth her kisses ignited within him.

  Tristan had attempted to recreate what he felt with Victoria on numerous occasions since their encounter without success. No other woman came close to Victoria and her spellbinding pull over him. He was certain that not a woman alive measured up to the inexperienced young woman he had kissed so long ago.

  She was no longer innocent, he noted, regret forming in a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard in a concerted effort to douse the distaste from his mouth.

  At the time, Tristan had blamed their brief encounter on the liquor they had consumed but that had been a lie. He wasn’t inebriated when he kissed her unless there was such a thing as being drunk with desire. No, he kissed Victoria because he wanted her and no matter what remedies he tried, none were enough to prevent him from craving another kiss.

  His desire had quickly become downright obsession, festering within the dark crevices of his very core. Because Tristan liked to torture himself, his favorite pastime of late was to remind himself that Victoria was an eligible female of marrying age and that she would soon be betrothed to another man. In doing so, he thought that he had prepared himself for the inevitable, convinced himself of it, in fact.

  Why, then, did the sight of Victoria in Wainright’s embrace send him into such a blinding rage?

  Perhaps it was because Tristan never suspected Wainright? The man was her childhood friend, or so Victoria always claimed.

  Tristan now knew why the fop was so damned cordial to her during those many years.

  Reality, stark and cold punched him hard in the gut. Wainright had nothing to do with his wrath. No, his anger stemmed from the fact that Victoria was kissing someone else when all Tristan craved was for her to kiss him again.

  “Tristan, where are we going?” she repeated, as he veered towards the steps and led her down towards the gardens.

  “Somewhere private,” he managed, powerless to trust his own voice. Did she have any idea what she had just done? Or, better yet, the damage to her reputation that would have occurred if someone else had caught them? He intended to talk some sense into her.

  He should tell her brother! Yes, that would stop her from kissing anyone else the way—

  The way she had kissed Tristan a little more than two years ago.

  Twenty-four months and eighteen days ago to be precise. If pressed, Tristan could probably tick off the number of hours and minutes.

  His intimacy with Victoria had altered his life.

  Tristan led her to a stone bench buffered by tall, manicured shrubs. Why did her encounter with Wainright bother him so? He couldn’t explain it, but it did indeed bother him.

  Once again, his inner voice reminded him that he wanted to kiss her.

  It had been his soul’s deepest desire ever since their first kisses occurred. Hell, if she were anyone else’s sister, he probably would have seduced her by now.

  Instead, Wainright was seducing her.

  And Tristan’s blood boiled at the realization. Victoria, he was growing to realize, now resembled most females by being easily tempted. Would she grow to be untrustworthy as well, if given enough time?

  As if sensing the dire direction his thoughts had taken, Victoria broke the thick silence. “Regardless of what you may believe, I do not kiss every man I meet.”

  “No?” he asked, motioning for her to sit. “Perhaps you reserve that honor for the multitude of men who court you?”

  Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she stood in defiance, her hands on her hips, accentuating her voluptuous hourglass figure. “If that were the case, I would never have kissed you.”

  True enough, he realized, as the memory of that kiss again permeated Tristan’s consciousness. Why couldn’t he shake the recollection? The only reason he could fathom was that Victoria was unattainable and, therefore, he wanted her. That, in combination with the fact that Victoria was inexperienced when he kissed her, had thrilled him.

  His heart hardened at the realization that not even Victoria was innocent any longer.

  “Tristan, for heaven’s sake,” Victoria tugged his arm, turning him to face her. “I’m not a trollop.”

  “What would you call it, Victoria? Kissing men on terraces and God only knows where else?” He paused, noting the pain emanating from her eyes. Even in the semi-darkness, illuminated by the sliver of an opaque moon and bathed in shadows, he knew her eyes to be a deep sapphire with silver flecks.

  “You and Oliver are the only men I have ever kissed and tonight marks the first time that I kissed Oliver,” Victoria admitted a
s she sat on the stone bench he’d motioned to earlier. She began to trace the golden embroidered flowers that spanned the landscape of her jade skirts with her fingernail.

  It surprised him that despite the fact that Victoria had been cloaked in shadows, he still knew what she wore. He couldn’t recall what any other woman in attendance wore tonight. Victoria was the exception, and damn it to hell, he had been unable to take his eyes off of her in the ballroom.

  Dressed in an exquisite gown of jade and gold, Victoria appeared to be more resplendent than the thousands of candles illuminating the grand room. Beauty personified, Tristan thought, as he watched her mingle amongst the other guests, smiling animatedly as she wound her way through the throngs in attendance, making everyone she spoke with think they were the most important people in the room. Her charm and grace overpowered every other lady in that ballroom.

  “Why did you kiss Wainright?” Tristan was astonished by his unrelenting need to hear her explanation.

  She didn’t answer, instead mesmerized by her skirts. Tristan settled beside her then reached for her, tipping her chin with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “Why?” he repeated, a voice a low murmur.

  “Because ...” she bit her lower lip, drawing his attention to her heart-shaped lips once more. An intense desire to kiss her flooded him once again.

  Damn, this is becoming annoying!

  The woman he found himself infatuated with was none other than Victoria, for God’s sake and this craving within him … well, in addition to being unbelievably stupid, it was bordering on incestuous. She is, after all, his sister’s sister-in-law. But his reasons rang hollow. To covet Victoria wasn’t incestuous, was it? That was why Tristan couldn’t squash this particular desire, because he knew that if he wanted her badly enough, he could have her.

  It was something he’d contemplated many times.

  He chose not to act upon his desires because a part of him recognized that after all he’d done since Eve chose his brother over him, Tristan didn’t deserve someone as good and pure as Tori.

  Tristan realized that he was still touching her, tipping her chin up. When he released her, Victoria swayed. It was a slight, almost unperceivable action but one he noticed nonetheless.

  “You never answered my question,” his tone possessed a gentle quality as he returned to the topic at hand. “Why were you kissing Wainright?”

  “Because I wanted to ensure that I knew how to kiss properly.” She studied him, her eyes searching his. “Since you kissed me, I have questioned whether I am at all proficient at it.”

  Tristan knew not why, but relief washed over him. Was it because Victoria’s motives appeared innocent? Or, perhaps, it was because she, too, remembered the kiss they shared? Perhaps she thought of their kiss as often as he did?

  Her next words assured him that she did.

  “You kissed me once and never wanted to do so again. That is most certainly a blow to a lady’s self-confidence.”

  She had no idea how much he wanted to kiss her again.

  “Before I accept any betrothal offers,” Victoria added, as if oblivious to his current state of inner turmoil. “I feel it is only fitting that I learn how to kiss.”

  Her words hovered in the air between them like a heavy cloud and Tristan felt as if his world had tilted off its axis.

  Victoria had betrothal offers?

  “In addition, it would be a rather helpful method to discern which suitor is compatible with me.”

  Good God, how many offers for her hand were there?

  Tristan raked his hands through his hair. “Let me get this straight. You plan on kissing every suitor in order to decide who you should marry?”

  Victoria suppressed a slight grin, he noted with disgust. Tristan knew he must appear utterly ridiculous. Behaving like a besotted fop! Thinking that he and Victoria—

  It was best to stop this now. He would never again want to marry anyone, not even Victoria. Nor would he ever love anyone, although if the inconceivable were to occur, it would be with Tori. Since Tristan was convinced that hell remained scorching hot and always would, he resolved to return to the subject at hand.

  Why had he dragged her out here? To help her see reason! Yes, that was it!

  Tristan swallowed hard before trusting his voice. “What did you learn this evening?” He couldn’t believe he was asking such an absurd question.

  “I didn’t learn a blessed thing because you interrupted me, remember?” Victoria chided.

  Oh, yes, right. He did, and he was glad of it. Thrilled, in fact!

  “So,” Victoria stood, her tone airy as she smoothed her skirts. “I am left with no other option but to attempt this another time when you are nowhere in the vicinity.”

  She turned on her heel but Tristan clamped his hand on her arm, swinging her around to face him.

  “Oh, no you will not,” he commanded, now standing in front of her.

  “But—”

  “No, Victoria. I forbid it.” On this he would not negotiate. “You will not practice on any other males. They don’t have your best interests at heart, nor will they understand this little educational survey of yours.”

  “May I remind you that you are not my brother? I have two, you see,” she paused, holding two fingers in the air, “and you are neither. Second, Oliver is my friend, therefore he understands.”

  “Unless you wish for your friend to propose to you, you will drop that notion right now. Or don’t you remember his suggestion upon citing a few of your many allures?”

  Tristan could also recite them – beautiful, intelligent, and witty. Then there were her unspoken charms … sweet yet seductive, with a curvaceous figure, soft skin, and thick auburn curls that all but invited a man to run his fingers through them.

  Oh, dear Lord, what was wrong with him? Tristan felt the sudden urge to end this conversation. He turned, fully prepared to do so.

  “Then why don’t you kiss me?” Victoria suggested, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  He was now confident that there was no order left in the world. Surely it must be overrun in mass chaos? The fact that he was entertaining her offer proved it.

  “I cannot do that,” he said, proud of his stern determination as he studied the uneven shape of a rather overgrown shrub.

  “Why not?” Victoria crossed in front of him, forcing him to face her.

  Staring into the depths of her azure eyes, Tristan feared his resolve would waver.

  She took one step closer to him, causing his pulse to rush harder, faster in response. Her tone was silken. “It wouldn’t be the first time you kissed me.”

  Despite her valid point, he rebounded, “That doesn’t mean I should do so again. Or that I ever should have done so in the first place.”

  Although he was quite impressed with his own arguments, Victoria flinched, as if wounded. His sudden, pressing desire to explain overpowered his desire to escape. “It wasn’t proper, Victoria.”

  “Since when do you observe propriety?” Victoria crossed her arms over her chest, attracting his attention to the creamy flesh above her bodice. He now wished that he had explored more of her silken skin when he had the chance.

  His thoughts were sinful!

  “No,” he asserted, more for his own benefit than hers. “I will not kiss you again.”

  “Ah,” She paused long enough to cluck her tongue. “Could it be that Mr. Tristan MacAlistair, God’s gift to the legal profession and to the entire female population of London, is afraid his kiss will pale in comparison to the Earl of Fairfax’s?”

  Tristan grunted, incapable of believing his ears.

  Victoria raked him with her eyes, surveying him from head to toe. “I can understand why you might be intimidated. Oliver is more refined, is he not? Though a gentleman of nobility, his skin is more bronzed, which is understandable since he spends more time outdoors than in an office. Perhaps Oliver is stronger? He does perform more physical labor than—”

 
Tristan reached for her, placing his iron grip around her waist then tugged her towards him. She didn’t dare finish her sentence as his fingertips slowly trailed up her ribcage then skimmed the fabric at the side of her bodice before reaching her flesh. His fingers traced a fiery path over Victoria’s shoulders and up her neck, leaving every inch of her skin tingling in their wake.

  Victoria knew he was going to kiss her, recognizing the change in his eyes – usually a deep mahogany, they now appeared a smoky onyx under the cool glow of the dim moonlight. His full lips also warned her of his forthcoming kiss, now parted ever so slightly, as if waiting for the right moment.

  Tristan’s hands stopped their exploration when they reached the nape of her neck. As he bent down to kiss her, he whispered, “Is this what you want?”

  A faint moan escaped her lips as Tristan crushed them against his own. Having now been kissed twice in the same evening by two completely different men, Victoria preferred Tristan’s commanding, impassioned, all consuming kisses above the other.

  He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue and her heartbeat quickened. Victoria wanted this, she wanted him, more than anything else in all the world. As she parted her lips for him, she silently vowed to make Tristan want her too, repeating her pledge as she used her tongue as he was doing.

  What was heaven for her, remained sheer torture for him.

  Though Victoria had been brave during their first kiss, Tristan had been in complete control. It was one of the reasons that it thrilled him so much. He knew it was her first kiss and her purity delighted him.

  On this night, she was daring and, by meeting his tongue with hers, Victoria reminded Tristan that she had indeed kissed someone else.

  Fury filled his senses. He wanted to be the only man she kissed like this. Knowing there had been another, that there could be many other men until she finally wed, made Tristan deepen his kiss.

  Harder, more demanding, his lips devoured hers. He would make her remember him and hope to God no one would ever kiss her like he did. It was madness, Tristan knew but, for one brief instant, he no longer cared.

  Victoria trembled as he threaded his fingers through her silken tresses, the flowery scent of lilacs intoxicating him. It was as if he and Victoria were the only two people in the world, shrouded by passion and unadulterated yearning.