The Skilled Seduction

by Tracy Goodwin

  “I am truly sorry, Gwen,” he reached for his sister and, for the first time in their lives, she pulled away from him.

  “Gwen, please,” Tristan pleaded, his voice so hoarse that he could barely recognize it.

  “Did you ever consider, even for a brief moment, that your actions could fracture my family?”

  No. Instead he had acted upon his desires, consequences be damned. The realization winded him more so than his physical fight with Sebastian.

  He studied his sister and, for the first time since that fateful night when Tristan thought his twin was going to die, a tear traced a path down his own cheek.

  How could he have caused his sister so much pain?

  “You must leave,” Gwen commanded in a choked voice, turning her back on her brother as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

  Staggering to the door, Tristan paused in front of Sebastian. He noted the vein still pulsating in the man’s neck.

  “What would you have done if I’d confessed love for Victoria? Would you have forgiven me then?” he asked.

  “I would have felt some modicum of sympathy for you. But now, all I feel is rage … for wounding both my sister and my wife.” Sebastian leaned forward.

  “I am deeply sorry, Sebastian,” Tristan whispered. He sought absolution. Instead, he received the response he rightly deserved …

  “Get out of my home and stay away from my sister,” Sebastian replied, his tone now calm, devoid of emotion, as if Tristan were dead to him.

  Tristan complied, walking out of his sister’s home, unsure when, if ever, he’d be allowed back into her family.

  He had to make things right. Now, more than ever, he knew he must marry Victoria and he wracked his brain for some way to reach her, well aware that he must improvise now that his access to her had been denied.

  Standing on the cobblestone drive, awaiting his carriage, Tristan stared at the wide expanse of ominous sky above him, dark clouds hanging as heavy as his heart. How appropriate that it would rain at any moment when his life had drastically changed during another storm.

  He remembered the rain that lashed against the window panes during his night with Victoria. He could still hear the thunder rumbling, would always remember the way the windows rattled from it. As if even the heavens above recognized the significance of their act.

  A cool droplet of rain pelted his face, followed by another as his carriage came to a halt. His eyes scanned the brick and mortar estate until he was staring at what he knew to be the windows of Victoria’s suite on the second floor. He squinted, hoping for a clearer view, when the curtains fluttered. It was a slight, almost indistinguishable motion, but he caught sight of it nonetheless.

  Victoria was watching him.

  Fortified by the knowledge that she was indeed studying him from behind her window coverings, Tristan knew Victoria well enough to know that she would be desperate for an escape after remaining isolated in her suite in an attempt to avoid him since their confrontation. Once Victoria realized that he was departing, she would no doubt want to walk the grounds, even in this abysmal weather.

  Not wasting a moment, Tristan issued instructions to his driver before ascending the steps of his carriage. He had the perfect solution, providing neither Sebastian nor Gwen cornered Victoria before she could exit the main residence.

  Even if they did, though, he wouldn’t relent. No, Tristan would adjust his plans if need be. He was determined to find Victoria, even if it meant traveling to the ends of the earth.

  Sure as the steady rain that would soon be falling from the gloomy sky above, Tristan vowed that he wouldn’t allow anyone take Victoria away from him.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  Tristan would make certain that no one, not even God himself, would interfere with their impending union.

  * * *

  Victoria stared out her window at the fog hovering over the grounds. She despised the thick, soupy vapor. Unfortunately, the more she willed it to pass, the more it lingered, triggering her loathing to intensify. The murky weather meant she should stay inside, holding her hostage in her own home.

  Mother Nature. Ha! No woman would be this perverse. Victoria remembered her studies of Greek mythology. This was all Zeus’s fault. Yes, Zeus, the king of the Greek gods. As the supreme Greek god he had many responsibilities, she recalled. He controlled the skies and all weather, law, order and fate.

  Fate.

  Suddenly, she felt as if Zeus was playing with her like dice in some mythological game of chance. Victoria sighed, resting her forehead against the cool windowpane, willing the weather to clear so she could escape.

  Victoria wished she could stop thinking about her night with Tristan and the sensations he awakened within her. But, inevitably, her skin prickled every time she remembered his caresses, his kisses trailing across her flesh. It was madness. As was the fact that Tristan was now leaving, just when she had come to a decision.

  The irony failed to escape her as the sight of him ascending his carriage steps caused her mood to darken, like the swirling clouds above.

  Studying the carriage until it passed through the main gates, her foul mood further intensified. He’d forsaken her. Silly, really, since that is what she intended to do, was it not?

  She planned to depart as opposed to marrying a man whom she no longer trusted but, he set off first, reminding Victoria that Tristan didn’t love her and never would.

  Her future would be downhill from here, as she still needed to speak with Sebastian and get her affairs in order. Humiliating herself by admitting the truth to her beloved brother would be the most difficult thing she would ever do.

  Enough of this self-pity! Be strong and move forward. Such was her silent mantra as she reached into her wardrobe, removing an indigo velvet and ermine cloak and a matching pair of leather gloves to protect her from the chill. She then crept down the servants’ stairs.

  Though she knew sneaking down the servants’ staircase was a most unladylike act, she did so nevertheless. Victoria didn’t want to be forced to feign a smile lest anyone happened upon her. No, she needed some time to herself before she further burned the remnants of her once respectable life to the ground.

  Peering left then right, Victoria proceeded down the servants’ hallway. And bumped right into Meg, who was rushing through an adjacent side corridor.

  “Lady Victoria,” Meg whispered with eyes wide. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

  Before Victoria could answer, the sound of masculine whistling filled the hall.

  “Quick,” Meg instructed, grabbing Victoria’s arm then abruptly yanking her through an open door. It was the servants’ parlor, Victoria knew, as she remembered secretly exploring this wing as a child.

  The thick clouds outside were visible through a small bank of high windows, casting the room in an unearthly, grayish hue in spite of the lit wall sconces.

  The room seemed smaller now and more dreary than she remembered, probably due to the gloomy weather, but the room was also familiar. She found the sight oddly comforting.

  Meg closed the door behind them, turning the lock, before speaking in an exasperated tone, “Oh, Lady Victoria, have you heard? Oh, of course you did, you poor dear. Why else would you be roaming the servants’ corridor?”

  “To what are you referring, Meg?” Victoria asked as the slender woman paced the room with nervous energy.

  “Oh, it is a disaster!” Meg continued, glancing at Victoria with an apologetic look before returning her attention to her feet. “Forgive me for saying so, Lady Victoria, but this is a disaster the likes of which I have never before seen.”

  “Meg?” When Victoria failed to get the woman’s attention, she crossed the room and grabbed her friend by the shoulders. “For heaven’s sake, what are you prattling on about?”

  “You didn’t hear! Oh, no, you didn’t hear!” Meg sank in a faded, oversized chaise under the windows as if she were about to swoon.

  An
icy chill crept up Victoria’s spine. “What has happened, Meg?” she managed, anxiety reaching a crescendo within her chest.

  Meg’s face turned ashen, quickly transforming Victoria’s previous angst into sheer terror, squeezing her heart until she was sure it would stop beating at any moment.

  “His Grace knows,” Meg muttered at last, her lips quivering.

  Victoria leaned against the sturdy wall for support.

  “I’m so sorry, La—”

  “Who told him?” Victoria’s voice shook from a combination of fear and shame. Someone had beaten her to it and it was now official. Not only had she disappointed her eldest brother, but she had now disgraced and alienated the man who was more of a father to her than their own had ever been.

  Victoria swallowed hard. “Please tell me who informed him, Meg.”

  “I don’t know. His Grace confronted Mr. MacAlistair earlier. Smythe told me. He could hear them outside the duke’s study, as Smythe was trimming the hedges.” Meg paused then pursed her lips, as if thoroughly repulsed by the topic.

  Tori couldn’t blame her for the sentiment.

  “That sneak, Smythe, peered through one of the windows and saw His Grace and Mr. MacAlistair fighting,” Meg’s tone became even more animated. “Physically fighting, I mean – fisticuffs.”

  Victoria grabbed Meg’s arm. “Is Sebastian well?”

  “A bloody lip is all. According to Smythe, Mr. MacAlistair refused to fight back at first. Not until …” Meg bit her lower lip, as if she couldn’t speak the horrible truth.

  “Until what?” Victoria demanded, squeezing her friend’s shoulders. “Tell me, Meg.”

  “My Lord compared you to …” Meg clenched her hands into tight fists before adding “this mustn’t be correct. Smythe must have heard wrong, Lady Victoria.”

  Victoria’s pulse pounded like a drum in her temples, the noise so loud that she barely heard Meg’s answer.

  “A whore,” Meg muttered before wiping her hands upon her apron, as if she could so easily remove the filth of her words.

  On weak knees, Victoria stumbled then fell to the floor. Her brother considered her to be a whore?

  Meg ran to her mistress, sinking to her knees, before taking Victoria’s hand. “Smythe said that was when Mr. MacAlistair erupted, demanding that His Grace never refer to you as such again. The duchess arrived soon after to break up their row.”

  “Gwen knows the truth, too?” Victoria muttered. “Is there anyone within the near proximity who does not?”

  Meg shrugged, an expression of sheer terror marring her animated features.

  Apparently Victoria’s disgrace was already the topic du jour. Add to that a physical altercation between the Duke of Davenport and his brother-in-law and a substantial scandal was born.

  “I dare say that my complete ruination occurred at a record pace.” Tori tried unsuccessfully to be her usual sarcastic self but this statement rang true.

  “My Lady,” Meg’s empathetic tone caught Victoria’s attention. “The duke and duchess sent Mr. MacAlistair away. His Grace has ordered Mr. MacAlistair’s belongings to be delivered to Ainsley.”

  Gwen disowned her own twin? “I’m next.”

  “No,” Meg muttered. “The duke would never do such a thing to you.”

  Icy tentacles of fear slid around Tori’s body, tugging tight until she thought she would surely sink beneath their frozen depths.

  What if Sebastian refused to allow Victoria her funds?

  What would she do then?

  “Is Tristan all right?” Victoria asked, her raspy voice no louder than a whisper. “Did my brother hurt him?”

  Meg nodded. “Smythe said that he was tossed about quite a bit. Once Her Grace appeared, Smythe didn’t observe any longer for fear that he’d be caught spying, and rightly so if you ask me. He told me all that had transpired. Though he refused to admit how many he told before me, I swore him to secrecy. He won’t dare tell anyone. I threatened to kill him in his sleep if he utters one word about this,” Meg reassured her.

  Victoria looked Meg straight in the eyes. “He will narrate all that transpired to anyone within earshot, dearest Meg. If he hasn’t done so already, that is.”

  Her maid’s lips pursed in indignation.

  “While I appreciate your loyal devotion to me,” Victoria placed her palm on Meg’s cheek, “I will not allow you to execute your threat to murder Smythe. I dare say we’ve met our quota for ladies suffering complete ruination on this particular day.”

  The two grinned, though tearfully. Meg seemed heartbroken for her mistress and the fact caused Tori to feel even worse. Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she thanked her friend. She then glanced towards the door. “I know that I must confront Sebastian and Gwen but I need to compose myself first.”

  “Oh, Lady Victoria. You can stay down here for as long as you’d like,” Meg managed a smile. Or at least Victoria thought it was a smile, as the corners of the sweet woman’s lips twitched. Upon further inspection, her mouth was rather distorted and Victoria could easily discern that her maid was frightened at the prospect of defying the duke by concealing his sister in the servants’ wing.

  Victoria stood with her shoulders straight and walked to the door, placing her hand on the knob then opening it wide causing a rather loud squeaking sound.

  “What are you doing, my Lady?” Meg shrieked, tugging at Victoria’s arm. “You can’t do that. It is a door.”

  Victoria expelled a deep breath. “So it is.”

  “But you can’t be seen down here,” Meg scratched her face absentmindedly.

  Attempting to add some levity to her dire situation, Victoria shrugged her shoulders, “My eldest brother thinks I’m a whore. Who could blame me for choosing this as my escape route?”

  Meg pursed her lips again, as if sucking on a lemon.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! The entire household staff has been apprised of my absolute ruin, Meg. In comparison to my other sins, exiting through the servants’ wing is the least of my offenses. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Meg opened her mouth to protest but Victoria silenced her.

  “As I alluded before, if you think Smythe hasn’t already informed everyone within earshot, you are a complete dolt.” Tori wagged her finger at her maid. “And since I know you to be sharp as a blade, it bears repeating that I forbid you from murdering Smythe in his sleep. It will be a difficult charge to defend you from, especially since the only barrister in our family has been disowned,” she added, referring to Tristan.

  Meg placed her hands on her hips and stifled a “Harrumph.”

  “Dearest Meg, there is only so much humor I can muster,” Victoria attempted a grin. “My whole plan as to how to handle this situation has combusted and I require time to think before I face Sebastian. Please allow me to depart.”

  “You’ll—you will hurt yourself,” Meg muttered in a final, albeit feeble, attempt at dissuading Victoria.

  Tilting her head to the side, Victoria blinked in an effort to understand her maid’s logic. “I shall take my chances,” Victoria inhaled a deep, calming breath before steeling her shoulders and walking down the corridor towards the servants’ exit, her posture proud, exuding strength and confidence. She was her mother’s daughter after all.

  The Dowager Duchess of Davenport never cowered, nor would her daughter.

  Not any longer.

  Victoria’s life may have turned into one Greek tragedy. Or was it a farce? She was, after all, exiting through the servants’ wing, was she not? Yes, her life had become a farce, but she wouldn’t allow anyone else to bear witness to her anguish.

  Instead, she walked into the cool mist hovering above the grounds and quickened her pace as she placed her ermine hood over her head, well aware of what she must do next.

  If her brother were to toss her from his home the way he had done to Tristan, there was someone she needed to see first.

  The time had come for her to face her indiscretion with Tristan and face
her future. Out of all of the people in her life, there was only one person who could possibly understand. Tori would hold on to her only lifeline, aware that she needed all the strength she could muster for her upcoming confessions.

  God, give me strength for what lies ahead.

  * * *

  Victoria made her way through the thick fog, the moist mist clinging to her face and hair like a cold, intricately woven web. The scent of wet earth permeated her nostrils as her leather boots slid in the mud beneath her feet.

  She clutched her cloak to ward off the chill, fully aware that she couldn’t turn back. Not until she had reached her destination. Instead, Tori stopped at a bank of wildflowers hidden within a maze of thick shrubbery.

  Her mother loved wildflowers, she recalled, digging deep into the recesses of her mind to remember her mother’s statement. What had she said? That wildflowers weren’t the most admired of their breed, usurped by the more beautiful roses. But they were sturdy, beneath their colorful façade.

  How Victoria could learn a thing or two from them.

  Her heart ached with the knowledge that in spite of his refusal to ever care for her, Tristan defended her to Sebastian and, in doing so, sacrificed his twin sister in the process. Meanwhile, Victoria planned to confess to her brother and run as far away from Tristan as she could possibly get, resigned to a fate of losing everyone she had ever loved and the only place she had ever called home.

  All because she refused to marry a man who would never love her.

  Victoria squeezed the stems tighter, the dampness seeping into her leather gloves as she advanced towards her destination at a brisk pace. What would she say once she got there? How does one admit to being morally corrupt, completely selfish and self-destructive? Victoria glanced over her shoulder then hastened her pace. She needed to speak aloud what she’d been grappling with for the past several days.