How the Scoundrel Seduces
Page 4
“Ah. I begin to see your concern,” Dom said. “The fact that your father is pushing this cousin on you has made you curious about his reasons. Is that it?”
“Unfortunately, it’s more than that.” She clutched her reticule tightly. “Shortly after I turned nineteen and was presented at court, Mama fell ill. That put a halt to my season before I even had time to receive offers of marriage. Aunt Flo and I were too engrossed in taking care of Mama to worry about balls and such.”
She rose, clearly agitated, and began to pace before the desk. “After she died, her loss was too new for me to endure another season, so we put it off a year. It was only last autumn, a few weeks before the house party at Kinlaw Castle, that we started preparing for me to have a full season this spring. And that’s when Aunt Flo made her revelation.”
“That your parents aren’t really your parents,” Tristan said, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.
“Exactly. My aunt and I were discussing my cousin’s impending trip to London, and she started instructing me in how to behave around him.” She looked suddenly self-conscious. “She thinks I’m too . . . impulsive.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Tristan muttered, “when you do things like ride off into the woods after gentlemen in pursuit of a thief.”
“Now see here,” she retorted, rounding on him, “I did that because I was hoping I could help somehow, and then you gentlemen would be so grateful that you would agree to take on my case.”
That brought him up short. It put a slightly different slant on her actions, made them seem more calculated than reckless.
If he could believe her. “That’s not what you said when you confronted us. You said you wanted to see ‘the great Duke’s Men in action.’ Those were your exact words.”
Dom shot him a bemused glance. “How odd that you remember them after all this time.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Don’t you?”
“Yes, but I always do,” Dom said with a shrug. “You’re generally better at ferreting out the meaning behind the words.”
“Is he really?” she broke in. “Then he ought to realize that I couldn’t have revealed my real purpose at the time. You three were in the midst of some scheme, and I didn’t want to muck with your plans.”
“No, just get something out of them for yourself,” Tristan said.
“Can you blame me?” She met his gaze with rank belligerence. “Sometimes a woman must resort to subterfuge to get things done.”
Dom chuckled. “You must admit, old boy, that she has a point. Our sister has been saying the same thing for years.”
“That’s different,” he said grimly. “Lisette wasn’t born a fine lady. She knows how to take care of herself in a pinch.”
“As I recall,” Dom countered, “that’s not what you claimed when you asked me to bring her back to England last year and get her a husband.”
“It worked, didn’t it? She snagged herself a duke.”
“Yes, no thanks to either of us,” Dom said. “And Lady Zoe’s plan worked, too. In fact, it took rather quick thinking to come up with it.”
Much as Tristan hated to admit it, his brother was right. Once Lady Zoe had realized the situation, she’d handled matters admirably. Any other fine lady would have fainted or some such rot. Lady Zoe had faced them all down and used the circumstances to get what she wanted.
Just as a man might. But then, she’d been born to a title and an estate like a man; that had to have shaped her character. And if she proved not to be the heir after all . . .
He shook off that thought. He doubted that her parents could have hidden such a monumental secret from the world. “So, when exactly did your aunt make her grand revelation?” he asked, determined to get on with this nonsense.
Her withering stare amused him. She was so easy to provoke. Which meant he might actually get the truth out of her.
“It was after I lost my temper and told Aunt Flo I would never marry Mr. Keane. I pointed out that an American couldn’t possibly appreciate Winborough and all it stood for, so she could just forget any union between us.”
Dropping abruptly into the chair, she folded her hands in her lap. “That’s when she said I had to marry my cousin. Because if anyone ever found out that I wasn’t really my parents’ daughter, I would lose all claim to the title and the estate. But if I married Mr. Keane, Winborough would be protected for our children even if my cousin learned the truth, since our son or daughter would inherit either way.”
“Ah,” Dom said. “Did your aunt explain why she thought you weren’t your parents’ daughter?”
“That’s the complicated part.” She fiddled nervously with her reticule. “Several months before my birth, my parents took a long trip to America to visit my cousin’s branch of the family and then tour the rest of the country. I was born on their voyage home. At least that’s what Mama wrote to Aunt Flo upon their return.”
“But your aunt found that suspicious,” Dom said.
Lady Zoe nodded. “Mama and Papa had been married for six years by then, so Aunt Flo couldn’t believe Mama would have waited until after I was born to share the joyous news that she was finally with child.”
That gave Tristan pause. There was a certain logic to her aunt’s assumptions.
Her jaw tightened. “When Aunt Flo came to visit, she badgered my mother into admitting the truth—that Mama had never been with child at all. Instead, Papa had bought me from a Gypsy woman on the road home from the coast.”
A stunned silence fell on the room.
Then Tristan shoved away from the wall. “Oh, for God’s sake, a Gypsy would never sell her babe.”
To think he’d actually begun to be swayed by her tale! But her claptrap about the Romany indicated the same narrow-minded ignorance drummed into her sort from birth. George used to spout it himself to justify his mistreatment of Milosh and his friends.
The memory lent an edge to Tristan’s voice. “She certainly wouldn’t sell her baby to a gadjo. The Romany prefer their own way of living to ours. There’s no way in hell a Gypsy would offer her child to an Englishwoman under any circumstances. It simply wouldn’t happen.”
Lady Zoe looked taken aback by his vitriol. Then her manner grew defensive. “Mama told Aunt Flo that the Gypsy woman had been badly beaten. The woman’s husband hadn’t wanted the child and had knocked her about, so she’d decided to get rid of the baby to avoid further beatings.”
“More nonsense,” he growled. “The Romany don’t generally beat their women. Rot like that is spread by landowners who don’t understand Gypsies.”
“Aunt Flo said—”
“Your aunt Flo is clearly a fool!” He strode up to loom over her. “Or a liar. She probably invented the whole thing just to get you to marry that artist fellow.”
Paling, the young woman rose. “I considered that, actually. Especially after she begged me not to mention it to Papa. But of course I could not let it rest.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Tristan muttered.
She ignored him. “I demanded the truth from Papa. He was clearly shaken, but insisted there was no truth to tell.” A shuddering breath escaped her. “That’s when I knew something wasn’t right. And when I asked for details of my birth, he abruptly ended the conversation. He said there was nothing more to discuss, and that I must never mention the matter again.”
Damn. That did sound odd.
“A few hours later,” Lady Zoe went on, “Papa brought Aunt Flo to me and urged her to speak the truth. She said she shouldn’t have told me what she had. That she’d only meant to convince me to marry Mr. Keane.”
“You see?” Tristan said, a trifle snidely. “Yet you chose not to believe her, just as you chose not to believe your father.”
When Lady Zoe’s eyes met his, their fathomless sorrow caught him entirely off guard. “Oh, but I did believe her. Because Aunt Flo never lies. And nothing she said contradicted her earlier revelation. She expressed regret at
having told me, which I’m sure was the case. And she explained that she’d only meant to further her aim to see me married to my cousin, which is undoubtedly true, too. The one thing she didn’t do was take back her story.”
He stared her down. “You’re playing with words now.”
“As was my aunt. She wanted to preserve Papa’s secrets, while also impressing upon me how much is at stake if I don’t marry my cousin. Of that, I am sure.”
“But naught else?” Dom interrupted. “Because you’re here asking for our help. And if you were sure of the truth, you would marry your cousin and be done with it.”
The pink flush that stole over her cheeks made Tristan’s breath sharpen. Lady Zoe might be trouble, but she was a very pretty trouble. How irritating that he kept noticing it.
She edged away from Tristan to face Dom. “You’ve captured my dilemma exactly, Mr. Manton. If my aunt is telling the truth, then I should definitely marry my cousin. It’s the only sure way to save Winborough.”
“From what?” Tristan asked pointedly.
“From an American who knows nothing about running an English estate. Who can predict what he would do to it? I have a duty to my tenants and servants to make sure that Winborough is preserved, even if he inherits it.”
“And the fact that you’d be left in poverty has naught to do with it, I suppose,” Tristan drawled.
She stared him down. “Papa would take care of me regardless. My dowry alone is enough to support me all my days.” Her eyes got a faraway look. “Though I suspect that if the truth came out before I married, I would have trouble finding a husband.”
“Perhaps among the ton,” Dom said kindly, “but not necessarily among more sensible gentlemen.”
Her grateful smile was tinged with sadness. “Yet if I marry a man of my choosing and the truth comes out later, who knows how my husband would handle it?”
“Excellent point,” Tristan snapped. “You wouldn’t want any scandal tainting your husband’s reputation.” Because of course she would marry someone rich and important and appropriate to be consort to the prospective Countess of Olivier. Someone just like Father.
Though she stiffened, she conceded the point with a nod. “I wouldn’t want him to be affected by any of it—scandal, or the loss of the title for our children, or the loss of my wealth. It wouldn’t be fair to spring that on a man after he’d married me with certain expectations.”
That certainly put him in his place. He grudgingly admitted that no man deserved to be taken by surprise in his choice of wife.
She went on. “And I’d still have the problem of my cousin’s inheriting a property he couldn’t handle. I can’t risk that, even if it means marrying a stranger.”
“But you prefer not to marry a stranger, I take it,” Dom said. “You hope that your aunt is lying about the Gypsy woman, so you can marry whom you please.”
She smiled at him. “Absolutely. And even if she’s telling the truth, but you and your fellow investigators learn that this Gypsy woman and her husband have taken my secret to their graves, I’m still safe. Because if our servants had known of it, they certainly would have revealed it by now. Aunt Flo only told me under duress.” Her expression turned haunted. “Either way, I have to be sure, don’t you see?”
Dom steepled his fingers. “I suppose the matter is even more urgent now that your cousin is coming to London.”
The grateful smile she bestowed on him scraped Tristan’s nerves. “You understand me perfectly. In a few days, Mr. Keane will be here, and I must know how to proceed. I’d hoped for more time to prepare, but we only learned of his impending visit a month ago. Then I had to convince Papa to bring us here well in advance of it, so I could find a way to consult with you and your men. It wasn’t a matter I dared broach in a letter.”
“Certainly not.” Dom tapped his fingers on his desk. “Let me make sure I understand you correctly—you wish to hire us to find out if your mother really bore a child on that voyage from America. If we learn that she didn’t, you want us to hunt down the Gypsy woman who actually bore you. And possibly her husband as well.”
“You’ve summed it up brilliantly,” she said.
Perfectly. Brilliantly. His brother got the gushing compliments, while she raked Tristan over the coals. He wasn’t used to that, even from her sort.
Women like her did sometimes turn up their noses at him on the few occasions when he frequented “good society.” But when no one of their class was around, they were perfectly eager to smile and bat their eyelashes. Many a married lady of rank had tried to seduce him, and even the unmarried ones flirted with him, practicing for their more serious pursuit of lords.
But, ever conscious of their reputations, they only showed their true colors privately, in the dark. Give him an honest actress or opera dancer in his bed any day over some bored baroness. They knew what they wanted, and they went after it with gusto. They didn’t hide their desires behind hypocrisy.
Lady Zoe knows what she wants and is going after it. She just doesn’t want you. And she’s being perfectly honest about it.
True. Damn her. It shouldn’t annoy him that she was apparently the one female immune to his flirtations. But it did.
“Have you any information that will help us with the search?” Tristan demanded. “Do you even know what ship your parents traveled on?”
Drawing a sheet of paper from her reticule, she placed it on the desk. “I wrote down everything about my birth that I could glean from talking to servants, tenants, and villagers over the past few months. I had to be careful, though. I dared not risk rousing suspicions in anyone.”
“That must have been difficult,” Tristan quipped. “Clearly subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”
To his surprise, a rueful smile crossed her lips. “It certainly isn’t. Still, I did my best because I also couldn’t take the chance of my questions getting back to Papa. He tends to be overprotective.”
“Which makes sense, when you consider that you’re his only heir.” Dom picked up the paper to look it over.
“True,” she murmured. “Not to mention that he keeps forgetting he’s no longer in the army.”
“The army?” Tristan echoed, taken aback.
Dom glanced up from the sheet of paper. “Don’t you remember hearing about the Keanes of Winborough? The estate is near the town of Highthorpe, only a couple of hours away from home.”
Home. Tristan hadn’t thought of Rathmoor Park as home in a very long time. It reminded him too powerfully of what he’d lost. “Might as well have been a couple of days away if her family wasn’t keen on racing.”
“Good point. Father’s friends did tend to be exclusively from that set. In any case, Lady Zoe’s father was Major Keane before his elder brother died, leaving him to inherit the title.”
“And Mama and Aunt Flo were the daughters of a colonel,” the young woman put in. “Father runs our family the way he used to run his regiment. Or so I would guess, since I wasn’t even born then.”
A certain vulnerability flashed over her face, and Tristan realized how young she must be. Based on what she’d said about her coming-out and her mother’s death, she couldn’t be more than twenty-one, barely into her majority.
The thought of a woman that age facing a fight for what was rightfully hers unsettled him. It reminded him of how easily he and Lisette had been deprived of their own inheritance. Dom, too, because of the vagaries of English law. In France, Dom would have inherited a portion no matter what George did to prevent it.
Still, Lady Zoe had a father who cared about her and meant to give her a tidy inheritance, regardless of whom she married. It was why she felt free to act recklessly. Unlike Tristan, she’d never had to risk paying for her reckless behavior with her life.
“Unfortunately,” she went on, “when Papa is being the Major, he saddles me with one of our fiercer servants as a gaoler, who dogs my every step. I could never have come here today if Papa had realized what I’ve been up to.”
Dom held up her paper. “I see no information here about the Gypsy woman. Can you tell us anything else about that?”
“I do have a name for her,” she said with a sideways glance at Tristan. “She called herself Drina. Apparently she didn’t mention a surname.”
Drina was actually a popular Romany name. Perhaps her aunt’s tale wasn’t entirely spurious. Still, it wasn’t much to go on. It would require several forays into the different Gypsy camps, and there were quite a number.
As it finally dawned on him what this could mean for him, his blood raced. Lady Zoe wanted someone to talk to the Romany; he wanted to find Milosh. He might actually get paid for doing what he’d been itching to do for months.
“Did your parents know where Drina’s people had camped?” Dom asked.
She furrowed her brow. “Mama told Aunt Flo that Drina was headed west for York when they encountered her. Perhaps she was going to join her family.”
This was getting better and better. With both Winborough and Rathmoor Park near the road to York, Tristan could easily investigate them both.
But he was getting ahead of himself. “What time of year was this?”
“January. Mama and Papa disembarked the ship in Liverpool, then traveled by coach to York. They were headed home to Highthorpe when they met up with Drina. That’s all I know.”
Tristan glanced at Dom. “Many of the Romany winter in major cities like York or Edinburgh or London. Some even take houses for those months.”
Lady Zoe began to tremble so violently that she had to sit down again. “My aunt’s tale might be true, then.” Her gaze, oddly unfocused, met Tristan’s. “I might indeed be a Gypsy by birth.”
“Not necessarily,” he said, inexplicably alarmed by her distress. “There are things about the tale that don’t make sense. Why would this Drina have been on the road in January? The Gypsies who used to camp on my father’s land left for town in early November, not two or three months later, when there was more likelihood of snow.”