“You are a cheater, Nicholas Montgomery,” Victoria teased, as she scooped him up from behind and swung him into the air, tickling the little boy. “It was my turn.”
“No,” he pealed with laughter. “Mine.”
Tori fell to her knees, still tickling the squirming little boy on the lawn.
Emma busied herself by plucking fistfuls of grass before sneaking up on Victoria from behind. The little girl then pulled the collar of her aunt’s shirt and shoved the blades under the fabric.
Victoria squealed, shaking the fabric in an attempt to shed herself of the grass. Once satisfied, she turned her attention to Emma.
“You little scamp!” Victoria reached for the child and pulled her onto the grass as Nicholas grabbed his own fistful, this time containing a thicket of green leaves from a nearby bush.
“See what you’ve started?” Victoria teased her
niece. “Go on Nicholas, defend Auntie Tori’s honor.”
Instead of doing as he was bid, Nicholas tossed the leaves upwards, sprinkling them in Victoria’s face and hair. Tristan could no longer tell where the children’s laughter ended and Victoria’s began, all now intermingled in perfect harmony.
He smiled. How could he not? Victoria was wonderful with the twins and there was no doubt in his mind that they loved her to no end. Of course, Gwen had to catch his small, insignificant reaction.
“You want that, don’t you?” she asked.
I want Victoria.
The thought struck him, louder than a thunderclap, causing his ears to ring and every nerve ending to stand on end. What in bloody hell was wrong with him? He’d been asking himself that question a great deal of late and always in regards to Victoria and her affect upon him.
“You want a family,” Gwen persisted. It was a statement, not a question.
Turning his attention from Victoria and the children, Tristan glanced at his sister for the first time in minutes. Tears were now pooling in her eyes as she offered her brother a look of understanding.
“Never forget, Tristan, that I know you far better than you know yourself.” The truth of her statement made him return his attention to Victoria and the twins.
The children, now laughing harder than ever, wriggled away from their aunt before racing inside, with Victoria following close on their heels. Nicholas was the first to scurry through the doors leading into the breakfast room.
“Auntie Tori cheats,” he exclaimed, his bright smile contradicting his serious accusation.
“I do not,” Victoria feigned indignation, leaning against the doorway and pausing just long enough to catch her breath. She then approached the little boy from behind, “I’ll have you know, young Nicholas, that no one said tickling was off limits.”
Victoria then began doing just that. Even in her present disheveled state, wearing grass-stained breeches, a shirt with leaves and blades of grass clinging to it, and several stray leaves in her hair she looked captivating.
Why had it taken Tristan so long to see how beguiling she was? To see how intelligent, witty, and independent she was?
Had Victoria possessed these qualities all along?
Nicholas’s peals of laughter reverberated throughout the small room, echoed by those of his sister who had just now caught up to him. He fidgeted before freeing himself from his aunt’s grasp. The little boy then grabbed his sister’s hand and ran out of the room. “Hide and seek,” he shouted over his shoulder as their footsteps thundered down the marble hallway.
“We played hide and seek earlier.” Victoria released an exaggerated sigh.
If Tristan didn’t know better he’d swear she was whining.
He chuckled behind his hand.
“Precisely what is it that you find so amusing, Mr. MacAlistair?” she asked, snagging a strawberry from his plate before taking a bite as she waited for his answer.
Tristan motioned for her to come closer. Victoria squinted, her wary attention moving from him to Gwen before she crept closer.
“What?” she asked, her tone laced with trepidation.
Tristan motioned again for her to come nearer. She complied and when Victoria leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of a pale pink bow adorning her corset, visible through the buttons of her white shirt. Though merely a tease of what lay beneath her layers of clothing, it was still enough to make his blood pump faster.
He reached for her hair, his hand grazing her neck before pulling one of several leaves out of Victoria’s hair. Offering it to her in the palm of his hand, he chided, “I’m sorry. What was your question?”
Tristan himself didn’t remember the question but he would have said anything to take his mind off how captivating Victoria appeared in her blouse and how incredible she might look out of it.
“Harrumph,” she straightened before placing her hand on her hip in a gesture of defiance. “At least I didn’t fall asleep earlier than my three-year-old niece. You are aging, old man. What’s next? A quizzing glass and walking stick?”
“I’ll have you know, Lady Victoria,” Tristan emphasized her title, pausing long enough to pluck another leaf from her blouse. “Or should I address you as Mother Earth?”
“Oh, that is quite amusing,” she retorted, her expression animated.
“Thank you” he winked at her. “I’ll have you know, bedtime stories are tough work.”
Victoria smirked, drawing his attention to her full, pink lips. They reminded Tristan of their almost kiss the day prior.
He didn’t require reminders, having thought of that kiss, or lack thereof, for most of the previous day. Somewhere between returning to the main house and reading his niece bedtime stories, regret had washed over him.
Tristan wished he had kissed her.
Hell, he wanted to kiss her even now.
“What is it that you find so exhausting about bedtime stories?” she began, her eyes dancing as she spoke, indicating that she wasn’t through taunting him yet.
He remained silent and, as he predicted, she continued. “Could it be the illustrations or perhaps the advanced vocabulary?” She held a finger in the air, “No, don’t tell me. You are frightened by the villains! Rest assured, my niece would defend you if necessary. We Montgomery woman are a sturdy lot,” she gave Gwen a conspiratorial wink.
“All of the voices must be different,” Tristan mumbled.
“Pardon?” Victoria shook her head in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“Oh, all right,” Tristan sighed audibly, garnering her full attention. “All of the voices must be different.”
He expected Victoria to laugh. Instead she pressed her forefinger against her lips, as if trying to retain her composure.
Why did she always draw his attention to her full lips?
“Was that Emma’s edict or Nicholas’s?” she asked, taking another strawberry.
“Both, as it turns out,” he did his best to appear affronted, noticing her intimate habit of partaking in his refreshments. Be it at Almack’s or here, it had become a habit – one that he reveled in.
For what seemed like minutes but was in fact probably seconds, they stared at each other, each trying not to laugh.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Gwen interrupted the heavy silence. “I believe my children are still in hiding.”
“Oh, dear lord, I’ve forgotten,” Victoria turned to her friend, her eyes widened with shock.
“I noticed,” Gwen grinned. “Have some breakfast. Tristan was just sitting down to eat.”
Gwen shot Victoria and Tristan a knowing glance before exiting the bright room in a flurry of pale blue skirts, humming a tune Victoria didn’t recognize.
As she reached for a piece of bacon, Tori exclaimed. “I do hope I am more subtle when I play matchmaker.”
“If subtlety is your goal while playing matchmaker, I regret to inform you that you fail miserably,” Tristan teased. “I noticed you spoke in the present tense. Who are your latest victims?”
Tempte
d as she was to address his question, Victoria decided against it, choosing instead to chew her piece of bacon. She then studied him.
Tristan was different this morning. In fact, he was flirting with her.
That must be a good sign.
“Pray, tell, Mr. MacAlistair, have you used your political influence to procure me the right to vote?” she asked, her tone teasing.
“Good heavens, no,” he chided. “I fear what would happen to the kingdom if we were to grant you such authority.”
“I’ll have you know that I am more intelligent than most men.”
He placed a muffin on a china plate and offered it to her as a truce. “That’s what frightens me. Before I know it, you’d be a member of parliament and what fun would that be?”
“Yes, what fun indeed,” she countered as she accepted the plate he was offering her. “Speaking of authority, you have quite a bit of it. Have you used said authority to find me the perfect husband?”
Before Tristan could respond, a child’s footsteps bounded down the hallway and both turned to see Nicholas running into the room, his face tear-streaked.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” Victoria rose from her chair so quickly that she bumped into the table, causing it to wobble.
“Ma – Ma – Mama,” he cried, his lip trembling.
The sound of cutlery dropping against china rang through her ears as Tristan jumped to his feet.
“Where is she, Nicholas?” Tori asked, taking great pains to sound normal in a desperate attempt not to further frighten the child. “Take us to your mama.”
Nicholas led them to the gardens. Leaves crunched beneath their boots as they approached Gwen’s still form lying in the grass.
“Gwen,” Tristan said in a jagged whisper, as if the sight of his sister’s lifeless body had sucked the very breath from his lungs.
“Oh, my God,” Victoria whispered, clutching Nicholas’s hand and reciting a silent prayer as Tristan knelt beside his sister and checked for her pulse.
Please, dear God, don’t let her be dead. Please God, not Gwen.
“She’s alive,” was all he could manage.
Victoria studied her sister-in-law who had quickly become one of her dearest friends. Gwen lay stiff, motionless, and pale. She then glanced at Tristan who was ashen.
“Tristan, should you bring her inside?” Victoria asked.
He didn’t answer, instead pleading to his unconscious sister. “Please, Gwen, wake up.”
Gwen didn’t respond.
“Tristan,” Victoria implored. “Listen to me. She needs help. Gwen needs you.”
Her words seemed distant, even to her own ears.
“Carry Gwen inside,” Victoria continued issuing edicts. “Have Winston fetch Dr. Danbury. I will meet you inside as soon as I find Emma.”
It wasn’t until Tristan reached for his sister that Tori realized his hands were shaking. “Tristan,” she knelt beside him, placing her free hand over his in an attempt to infuse strength. “Attend to your sister. Have Winston fetch Dr. Danbury.”
Once Tristan moved into action, Tori again focused on Nicholas who was now sobbing. “Where is your sister, sweetheart?” she asked him, placing her hands on his shoulders.
The young boy didn’t answer, too traumatized to speak as tears streamed down his flushed cheeks.
“Darling,” she tried again, gently wiping his tear stained face with her fingertips. “Nicholas, please answer me.”
“Hiding.”
“Emma, honey, where are you?” she called, her tone taut with anxiety. “Emma, come to me.”
There was no response. Please dear God, not Emma too.
Victoria knelt beside Nicholas. “Do you know where your sister is hiding?”
He sniffled before pointing to a nearby bush. Leading him by the hand, Tori found Emma huddled with her knees tucked under her chin, rocking back and forth.
Tori reached for the little girl, encircling both children in her arms.
“You’re both safe,” she promised them only what she could, rubbing their backs in a soothing circular motion.
Dear God, please let Gwen be all right.
Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. She blinked them away, silently commanding herself not to fall apart.
Well aware that her emotions were still teetering above the surface, Victoria steeled her shoulders. The twins needed her, her brother needed her, and Tristan …
As long as Victoria lived, she would never forget the expression on his face when he saw his sister lying unconscious in the grass.
Gwen couldn’t die. Too many people loved her and needed her.
Dear God, please let Gwen be all right.
Victoria refused to accept the alternative.
Chapter 5
Propelled by her desperate need to be useful, Victoria carried a small silver tray containing a cold compress and a pitcher of water into her sister-in-law’s suite of rooms.
Night had fallen, yet in spite of the warm light emanating from the fireplace and wall sconces, the stuffy room remained shrouded in shadows – as if death itself hovered above the inhabitant of the opulent surroundings.
“She continues to run a fever,” Dr. Danbury assessed his patient’s health. “Has she had any complaints of late?”
“Gwen has been fatigued,” Victoria answered. “But that is to be expected with twins, is it not?”
Even though the Duke and Duchess of Davenport employed a nanny for their children, theirs was a most unconventional arrangement since mother, father and aunt doted on them incessantly and spent as much time as possible with them.
She studied Dr. Danbury, who wore a solemn expression and acknowledged her answer with a slight nod. Victoria crossed the room, placing the tray upon one of the bedside tables, out of the good doctor’s way.
Neither Sebastian nor Tristan had spoken since she entered the room. Victoria glanced from one to the other, noting that each man looked frightful, helped none by the dim light. Their familiar bronzed complexions were pallid and dark circles had formed under their eyes, making their faces appear hollow.
Two strong, healthy men had been reduced in a matter of hours into shells of their usual selves.
They don’t think Gwen will survive.
Victoria refused to entertain such a notion.
Instead, she sat beside her friend and placed the cold compress against her forehead as Dr. Danbury instructed. Gwen hadn’t regained consciousness since her collapse.
She can’t die. She mustn’t leave us. Dear God, I beg you. Please don’t let Gwen die.
Several tears fell from Tori’s eyes, though she refused to acknowledge them. Instead, Victoria whispered to her friend, “You are strong. Fight this, Gwen. Fight and return to your family.”
“My apologies, your Grace,” Dr. Danbury’s voice was barely above a ragged whisper. “I have exhausted my methods of treatment. My assistant is fetching a specialist from London though I am not certain if he will arrive in time to save your wife.”
“You’re saying Gwen will die?” Tristan’s voice erupted in a fit of rage, rattling Victoria’s already frayed nerves.
“Your sister hasn’t regained consciousness, Mr. MacAlistair, and her fever hasn’t subsided, no matter what treatment I have administered.”
Tristan snorted. “What kind of physician are you? Renouncing your patient? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Cloaked in silence, Sebastian crossed the room, his faint footfalls barely audible on the thick Persian rug. He then stood stock-still in front of the closed curtains, staring blankly ahead. Victoria studied his posture – shoulders slumped, body limp – as he processed Dr. Danbury’s assessment. She wanted to comfort her brother.
Instead, Victoria remained with Gwen, squeezing her friend’s hand as she bent down to whisper, “You can survive Gwen. Please fight your way back to us. We love you and need you.”
Dear God, please heal her.
Dr. Danbury, who appeared to be choosing his wo
rds with great care, answered Tristan at last. “I am not forsaking my patient. I am simply being honest with you, son. It pains me that my assessment is such.”
Victoria studied her friend’s beautiful features, now flushed with fever, wondering if she would ever again see Gwen’s eyes open, witness her smile, or be able to converse with her.
This scene was all too familiar for Tori. She and Sebastian had kept a vigil by their mother’s bedside, as well.
Tori remembered wondering the same things she did now, praying for a miracle that was never granted, watching helplessly as their mother quietly passed the following morning. Victoria’s chest constricted, her anguish and concern overpowering her at last as her shoulders began to shake with silent sobs.
Please, dear God, not again.
A suffocating hush engulfed the gloomy room, the stale stench of death clinging to the shadows cast upon the walls by flickering wall sconces. Victoria felt a presence beside her. Even before she turned, she recognized it to be Tristan and that he too was overcome with grief and fear.
His eyes were almost onyx in the pale light, his expression downright menacing. In complete contrast, several tears clung to his cheeks. It was the only time she had ever seen him cry, the sight fracturing Victoria’s heart into a million jagged pieces.
Tristan remained rooted at Gwen’s bedside, studying his sister. He sought for a sign, any indication that she would awaken from her present state. He was desperate to speak to her, to reach out for her, yet his arms, his mouth, his entire body felt heavy.
The thought of saying goodbye to Gwen all but paralyzed him.
They had been together since birth, celebrating each birthday, each holiday, and every milestone in each other’s lives together until recently. Even when they weren’t in the same residence or living within the same city, Tristan always knew his sister was somewhere, alive and walking upon the same earth.
He couldn’t say goodbye nor could he live one day, let alone a lifetime, knowing that he was alive and his twin sister was not.
The Skilled Seduction Page 7
