The Skilled Seduction

by Tracy Goodwin

  Granted, she didn’t expect him to say he loved her but did Tristan have to shred her pride so brutally by mentioning the loving marriage of Sebastian and Gwen, or that of Colin and Eve? Must he remind Victoria that she would never have Tristan’s love regardless of how hard she tried?

  Within his arms, encircled in his embrace, she actually allowed herself to believe that Tristan cared about her. Despite his avowals to the contrary the night before, despite the fact that she knew better, she still allowed herself to hope that he cared for her.

  Damn her traitorous heart!

  Why was she such a dolt for this man? What was it about him that caused her to behave like a lovesick chit or, worse yet, a wanton?

  How could she humble herself yet again? Allow him to kiss her with such reckless abandon only to discard her with his callous mention of the type of marriage they would never share?

  With each of Tristan’s insensitive sentiments, Victoria’s desperate desire to make him suffer increased. How dare he make demands with such a blasé attitude and how dare Tristan throw happy marriages in her face when he refuses to offer her even the slightest promise of one.

  She longed for him to feel even a small modicum of the distress he was causing her.

  It was her goal as she taunted him.

  “What we shared was a momentary lapse of judgment,” she countered. “Though you seemed to enjoy our scandalous act at the time.”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “So did you or is it my turn to help you remember? Have you forgotten how you touched me, kissed me, unbuttoned my shirtfront, undressed in front of me? You were a more than willing participant last night. Hell, you offered yourself to me. And lest we forget the kiss we just shared—”

  “Don’t say another word,” Victoria warned, well aware of their kiss and of the fact that once again she had besmirched herself under her brother’s roof. This time was even worse, for it was in the quaint little art cottage Sebastian had built for her. How could she be so selfish, disgracing a brother who had been nothing but kind and supportive?

  Victoria despised herself. Deep to her very core, she hated herself for what she had done to Sebastian. The only person she could take it out on was presently studying her with a hooded gaze.

  “You wanted me,” he reminded her. “It was clear the moment you walked into my suite last night.”

  “Are you suggesting that I planned last night?” Victoria demanded, mortified by the suggestion.

  “Perhaps you did,” his tone hardened. “Last night, you weren’t some shy, inexperienced virgin. You were seductive, fearless even.”

  Although she wanted to cry, Victoria refused to do so again in front of Tristan. No, she had humbled herself enough to this man. Instead, she willed her heart to pump pure anger.

  It would be her only lifeline.

  “Bravo, Mr. MacAlistair,” She clapped her hands, her words dripping with venom. “At last you have uncovered my grand scheme. I have been attempting for weeks to ensure that you see me for the woman I am. My machinations worked, did they not? Of course my timing left something to be desired, my efforts culminating in your seduction at the precise moment your sister was near death.”

  “Stop,” Tristan’s smoky gaze exuded an intensity she’d never before seen.

  She refused to heed him.

  “Why should I when you have an abundance of reasons to loathe me.” After severe lack of sleep and nerves stretched to the breaking point, Victoria considered her next words for little less than a moment before they spewed forth, one admission after the other. “I concocted an elaborate ruse beginning with Oliver’s kiss for the sole purpose of making you jealous. I have become calculating and manipulative and everything you despise.”

  “Why would you toy with me, Victoria?” he strode towards her, until he stood less than a foot away. The lines etched around Tristan’s eyes deepened, outlining pupils now dark as night, flashing pure undiluted rage.

  Victoria refused to cower. “You have wallowed in self-pity for far too long. Instead of rising above Eve’s betrayal, you chose to alienate yourself from everyone who cares about you. All for a woman you never loved!”

  Tori turned to leave, however Tristan clamped her elbow, yanking her towards him with such strength that she staggered.

  “You know nothing of my feelings for Eve,” his tone was low and dangerous, more so than she’d ever heard it.

  Victoria couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that why you never fought for her? Why you broke your betrothal without so much as one word?”

  Tristan clucked his tongue. “Is that the reason you decided to play me? Flirt with me?”

  “No, I did that because I cared about you,” she countered, callously revealing the truth in an off-the-cuff statement. “I blindly believed that you returned the sentiment, or at least that you could.”

  He stood stock-still, speechless.

  “Did you honestly believe that I would have kissed you with such ardor two years ago if I didn’t care about you?” Victoria’s tone was laced with desperation. Though well aware that she was losing control, she no longer cared. “You chose to ignore what was right in front of you. I gave myself to you last night because I foolishly convinced myself that you felt something, too.”

  “Because you played me for a fool?” he pulled her closer to him, his tone murderous.

  As she struggled to free herself from his grasp, Tristan tightened his grip in response. Victoria felt like a feral animal, caged and cornered. She lashed out the only way she knew how. “Eve chose Colin and you’ve punished everyone who loves you, from your sister to your innocent niece and nephew.”

  “You have no idea—”

  “Oh, yes I do!” she argued. “Your list of offenses is long, indeed, Tristan. I understand that you have ignored your sister’s letters and have missed numerous family occasions such as the twins’ birthday party all for a woman who was never yours to begin with.”

  Tristan released her arm as if she had physically injured him. “What do you know of pain … you, Lady Victoria, with your charmed life?”

  Molten anger bubbled to the surface. It is what propelled her forward. “I have experienced pain, disappointment, even betrayal. All long before I was ever acquainted with you.” She stepped forward, in an effort to prove that his six foot frame failed to intimidate her. “We all have scars, Tristan. You’re not the only one who has stared a cold-hearted monster in the eyes. I, more than anyone understand depravity. The difference between us is that I fought to survive and I grew stronger for it.”

  His proud features contorted into a mask of confusion. Of course, Tristan knew not what she referred to. No one did. At least no living individual, for this secret had been long since buried with her parents.

  “After all this time, all the years you have known me, you know nothing of my so-called charmed existence,” she said, refusing to further elaborate upon her previous remark. The tears Tori had fought against for so long now blurred her vision. “Does that matter at all to you? Or are you so selfish that you still can’t think of anyone but yourself?”

  His jaw twitched, ever so slightly. Though not much of a reaction, it was enough to convince her that she had hit a nerve.

  “You made a fool of yourself by allowing Eve’s rejection to dictate your future happiness, or lack thereof.” She studied his reaction, reveling in the pain she was now inflicting upon him.

  Tristan inhaled deeply, a vein now beginning to pulsate in his neck. Though Victoria knew that she was wounding him with her own insensitive words, she no longer cared. Her eyes had been opened to the man Tristan truly was and she detested him for disappointing her – almost as much as she detested herself for allowing it to occur.

  How foolish she had been! How trusting and naïve! In the course of one night, she had discarded her bright future and for what – a loveless marriage and lonely life with a man who would never allow himself to love her?

  Yes, for the first time since this farce be
gan, Victoria realized that her devotion was wasted on the man standing before her. Anger combined with an intense loathing like none she’d ever before experienced robbed her of all reason. Victoria wanted vengeance, yearned for it, in fact.

  Nothing else would satisfy her.

  “For the sake of argument, let’s suppose that I am pregnant. What if the child isn’t yours?” Victoria asked. Her intent was to inflict as much pain upon him as possible. Judging by the fury now distorting his chiseled features, she had succeeded.

  “Don’t you dare!” he warned, grabbing her wrist. “You know better than to insinuate that.”

  Victoria writhed free, causing his jacket to fall from her shoulders and onto the floor but she no longer noticed the chill, her rage wrapping her in a tight blanket of protection. Perhaps that was why Tristan chose to stay angry at Colin and Eve for so long? Because pure rage makes one feel alive, gives one something to fight for.

  “Consider it, Tristan. You aren’t obligated to marry me if the child isn’t yours. I’ve offered you an escape route,” she took a couple of steps back, bumping into the entry table. The oil lamp wobbled, as did the framed portrait of her mother, though it was a vase of dried lavender that suffered the most damage, teetering before crashing onto the polished floor, the earsplitting sound of porcelain fragmenting into tiny pieces ringing through the silent cottage.

  Still, Tristan refused to relent. “If I wanted an excuse, Victoria, I could have simply walked away. Instead I’ve been trying to convince you to marry me.”

  “And your proposal was so eloquent,” Victoria glared at him. “You shall marry me because you have no other choice.”

  “Let me see if I understand correctly. You are refusing to consider my proposal because your pride was wounded?” He arched his brow, as if challenging her logic.

  Victoria knew it sounded absurd and a million excuses raced through her mind yet she chose to voice the one response that would wound him the deepest. “No, I refuse to marry you because I no longer find your brooding attractive.”

  Tristan flinched, visibly shaken by her hateful words. Good. She wanted him to bleed. She wasn’t through yet.

  “Let’s be honest, shall we?” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Candor will be a welcome change, don’t you agree?”

  A thick, suffocating cloud of silence hung heavy in the small chalet.

  “That’s all right, do remain silent. I have enough to say for both of us.” Tori studied the muscle in Tristan’s jaw, which had begun to pulsate once again. His tells were becoming more consistent and easier for her to recognize.

  “I have no pride, not any longer, not since I gave myself body and soul to you only to learn that you will never allow yourself to love me. You were so changed by the pain that Eve’s betrayal inflicted upon you that you are blinded to the fact that it was your own fault.” She paused, noting his sharp intake of breath. “You chose to fall for her and, yes, it was a choice, Tristan. Do you honestly believe that I don’t understand the pain caused by caring for someone who will never return the sentiment?”

  His intense gaze locked with hers. More than a battle of words, it was as if their very life forces were warring with each other.

  “I’ve lived that hell for years,” she admitted.

  A knot of jealousy coiled like a snake within Tristan’s gut, traveling up to his chest before squeezing his heart until he thought it might burst. With each word Victoria articulated, the envious monster within hissed its disapproval.

  She loved someone else?

  Victoria bridged the gap between them. “You could have had the life you lost, complete with the adoring wife and children, but you chose the wrong woman.” She jabbed his chest with one long patrician finger. “You knowingly chose the woman who was unattainable, the woman who didn’t love you enough to tell you the truth from the very beginning!”

  Tristan struggled to keep his balance as she began to thrust her finger into his chest more vehemently with each word she articulated.

  “You have been so self-absorbed with the fact that I fooled you that you overlooked the part where I admitted to caring for you.” Victoria’s expression softened as tears pooled in her eyes.

  Concern quickly replaced Tristan’s jealous wrath

  as a cold chill slowly crept into his veins at the sight.

  “You had love. As God is my witness, my devotion to you was constant. I loved you and believed in you, even after you chose Eve, ignoring the woman who was meant for you the entire time. The woman you should have fallen for in the first place.”

  It couldn’t be true. Could it?

  Tristan slid his arms around her, enveloping her into a protective cocoon. She attempted to push him away but he refused to release her. Without warning, Victoria’s shoulders began to shake with violent sobs, each one battering, winding him like a blow to his abdomen.

  She loved him?

  The realization was enough to make him weep.

  “I didn’t know,” he muttered, his vision blurred and his eyes unable to focus, as he held her tighter. “I’m the fool, not you. I never realized.”

  Why didn’t he ever see it?

  “I am so sorry,” he whispered, aware that his own cheeks were wet with tears. Hers or his, he knew not. “Shush, please don’t cry.”

  Tristan kissed the top of her head, the familiar scent of gardenia tickling his nose. She didn’t pull away from him and hope soared within his chest. Could he possibly have another chance with her? “Please don’t cry, Victoria.”

  “Since when do you care about my well-being?” she asked, a steely edge to her words.

  It was a valid question. One for which he didn’t have an appropriate response and it further shamed him, because Tori deserved much more. Even worse, she loved him in spite of his selfishness.

  Loved – past tense.

  How could he have been so stupid? Being loved by this wonderful woman would have made him the luckiest man in all of Europe.

  Was it possible that she still felt something for him?

  He tipped her chin and gazed into the depths of her deep azure eyes. “You loved me?” His voice was small, unusually so.

  Tori’s brow furrowed, deep lines of unhappiness etched in her beautiful visage. “Once, but never again. My eyes have been opened and I am no longer under your spell.”

  Her admission drained his very breath. So much so that Tristan felt as if he was suffocating, his lungs burning from lack of air.

  “Your cruelty and insensitivity killed my feelings for you.” she said, wiping her cheek with the pads of her fingertips. “When you announced that you’d marry me but would never love me, with every hateful word and every insensitive gesture this evening, you slowly but methodically slaughtered the love that I once felt for you.”

  Tori reached for his hands, which were now cupping her face, and pried his fingers from her flesh. For one brief moment, she glanced at their hands, intertwined. Tristan’s gaze followed the same path, studying the way her long, aristocratic fingers fit so well with his. They were the perfect fit. He’d noticed it with every kiss, every caress, and during their joining. The mere comprehension sent his brain reeling.

  He felt as if he were being buried alive, crushed by soil, suffocating as it filled his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. No matter how many times he inhaled, his lungs constricted.

  Tori’s eyes locked with his and, for a brief moment, he saw a flicker of … could it be affection? She then dashed his hopes by jerking her hands free from his with a force that caused him to sway.

  “Make no mistake,” Victoria said as she backed away from him, her eyes flashing with rage. “I no longer love you. I will move to the far ends of the earth if I must, but I will never marry you nor will I ever make love to you again.”

  Tristan swallowed hard against the lump of grief that had formed in his throat.

  He refused to relent. “You belong to me now,” he said, alluding to their encounter.

  Victoria g
lared at him. “I am no one’s property. Neither our antiquated laws nor one night of copulation, as you so eloquently described our encounter earlier, will change that.”

  Tristan bridged the gap between them, his tone firm with resolve. “Because of that one night, you could be carrying my child. So I will not drop this, Tori. I will go to your brother if I have to.”

  Well aware that he’d long passed irrational, Tristan paused, fully expecting that Victoria wouldn’t be pleased with his latest tactic.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  “I refuse to compensate you by sacrificing my heart or my soul nor will I respond favorably to your threats,” she said, the expression in her sorrowful eyes causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. “There is a difference between wishing to spend one’s life with someone and desiring to possess them. You want the latter and I will not succumb.”

  “Must I remind you that you may have ample funds as you’ve admitted but you have no legal rights?”

  Victoria turned, taking several steps towards the door before pausing with her head high, a regal portrait of pride.

  “Think me irrational or churlish. Think whatever you wish but as long as I possess free will, I refuse to relinquish my soul to you.” She continued towards the door, resting her hand on the knob. “You were correct last night, when you declared that you aren’t the man you once were. I was a fool to believe in you but, rest assured, I will never make that mistake again.”

  Victoria jerked the door open, fleeing from her art chalet. She couldn’t escape fast enough, Tristan realized with regret. He, however, remained rooted in the same spot for several long minutes.

  Clouds drifted in front of the moon, leaving the cozy chalet dark and cold, the flickering wick from the oil lamp becoming his only source of light. With the doors open, the scent of damp garden soil permeated his nostrils. It was as if he was in a graveyard. Excellent symbolism for, on this night, he had indeed dug his own grave.

  Victoria had loved him and he failed to notice? Was it truly possible for someone to know him so well and yet he himself fail to see it? It must be, for Victoria saw him with more lucidity than anyone else ever had.