“We don’t know, damn it!” Tristan cried. “And that’s precisely why you can’t rush off half-cocked. Zoe heard secondhand, from her adoptive mother’s sister, the tale of how she ended up with her adoptive parents. Her adoptive father has so far refused to even confirm that any of it happened. For all we know, one of them invented the part about the beating.”
“For all we know,” Milosh countered, “Hucker could have forced Drina to sell her babe to a gadjo couple. Or sold the babe himself. Only Hucker knows what really happened.” He balled his hands into fists. “And I mean to make him tell me, if I have to thrash it out of him!”
“Look here,” Tristan said, his tone coaxing, “twenty-one years have already passed, so it won’t hurt you to wait a bit longer for your answers. Now that we have some facts, we can confront Zoe’s adoptive father and find out the truth from his perspective. No point in going to Hucker until we learn more from the man.”
“Fine.” Milosh clapped a hat on his head. “Let’s go talk to him.”
Panic seized Zoe, and she cast a pleading glance at Tristan.
But he was already shaking his head. “Not yet. We have to break it to him gently. He doesn’t even know his daughter has been looking for her parents. This will take finesse—”
“Something you’ve never possessed,” Milosh snapped.
Tristan stiffened. “I’m not the boy you once knew. Give me credit for having learned a few things in the years since we ran about Rathmoor Park.” When Milosh continued to scowl at him, Tristan added, “If you go blundering into this, my friend, you might destroy several lives in the process. Not just Zoe’s, but her father’s and her aunt’s . . .”
“And Tristan’s, too.” Zoe laid her hand on her uncle’s arm. “Please, don’t be hasty. Tristan and Mr. Manton run an investigative concern now, and its reputation will be ruined if this situation becomes public and damages me or my family. Indeed, if I’d had any inkling that my natural father might be . . .” She choked back tears. “Please let Tristan guide you in this. I beg you, Uncle Milosh.”
Only after Milosh caught his breath did she realize she’d called him “uncle” for the first time.
His eyes softened, and he covered her hand with his. “You don’t understand, dearie. You are my family now. I must look out for you.”
“I have a family, uncle. They’ve taken very good care of me.”
“Then why are you out looking for your Romany mother?”
Excellent question. Tristan had been right about that, too. She should have left well enough alone and hoped that Drina never rose from the past to harm her.
Yet she couldn’t regret it. At least now she knew what sort of life Papa and Mama had saved her from—one where she was the daughter of a man like Hucker. She shuddered.
When she realized Milosh was still awaiting his answer, she said, “It’s hard to explain why I’m looking for her. I . . . er . . .”
“She’s about to be married,” Tristan put in smoothly, “and you know these gadjos—even the lowest gentleman won’t want his precious line of inheritance besmirched by Romany blood. So she needed to know if her natural mother would come back to ruin her marriage.”
“Yes, exactly,” Zoe said.
It had sort of been true . . . once. But marrying Jeremy was out of the question now. And not because Hucker was lurking about, ready to destroy her family if he ever learned the truth. That wasn’t the problem.
She cast Tristan a furtive glance. The problem was that the only man she wanted to marry stood next to her.
Never mind that he wouldn’t even consider a marriage to the daughter of his enemy. Or that he had no desire to marry anyone, anyway. Never mind that it was impossible, that it wouldn’t help her situation, that she still had Winborough to worry about.
The thought of marrying another man while she felt this for Tristan seemed horribly wrong. She couldn’t do that to Jeremy. Or to herself.
“So you see,” Tristan said to Milosh, “you can’t go after Hucker just yet. We need some time.”
“How much?” Milosh demanded.
“A few days to get everything in order. Can’t you give us that, for the sake of your niece and her family?”
“You mean the family who stole her from her people?”
“The family who took her in when her natural parents abandoned her,” Tristan said in a hard voice.
Though Milosh flushed, he didn’t protest the assertion. He rubbed his beard, then glanced to her. “Fine. A few days. But if I haven’t heard from you by then, I will go after Hucker.”
“I understand,” Tristan said.
“Thank you, Uncle Milosh.” Zoe stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You have no idea how that relieves me.”
He nodded curtly. Apparently, pride was as important to the Romany as to English lords.
She slid a glance at Tristan, who stood stiffly by. And to those lords’ illegitimate children, as well.
“We must go,” Tristan told Milosh, “but we’ll return as soon as we can. Tell me where you’re staying during the day, in case I need to reach you.”
Milosh rattled off something in Romany, then nodded at Zoe and switched to English. “Take good care of my niece.”
Tristan squared his shoulders. “I always take good care of my clients.”
The words made her despair. She would always be merely a client to him, especially after this.
And there wasn’t a thing she could do to change that.
16
AS THEY WALKED back to the horses, they said nothing, mostly to avoid having people overhear them. That was Zoe’s reason, anyway. She wasn’t sure about Tristan’s. She wasn’t sure about anything regarding Tristan now. Finding out that her father was a man Tristan reviled had to have shaken him up.
Once they were back on the road riding toward Berkeley Square and the crowd thinned out, he finally spoke. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
The unexpectedly solicitous remark made tears burn her eyes once more. “As right as I can be, under the circumstances.”
He nodded, but said nothing more.
They went a long distance in utter silence. It made her want to scream. She ached for his sharp and cynical remarks, his liberal use of “princess” when referring to her. Being relegated to a mere client hurt after they’d been so intimate this afternoon.
Before long, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “I don’t know how we’re going to approach Papa.”
“We are not.” He stared ahead at the road, his face set in harsh lines. “It’s time I step out of this. You can speak to your father on your own this evening or wait until tomorrow so that I can report our findings to Dom. Then he and you can approach your father together.”
“No!” It worried her that he wouldn’t look at her. Probably couldn’t bear to look at her. “I want you to do it.”
“That’s not an option.” His voice held an awful, icy finality. “My brother is used to dealing with men like your father. Dom should handle this.”
“I don’t want Dom!” I want you. She caught herself before she could say it.
Because she didn’t want him just for this. She wanted him for everything. But it didn’t matter what she wanted. Aside from the fact that he wouldn’t give her what she wanted, this wasn’t about her and Tristan any longer. It was about finding out the truth of what had happened to her natural mother without setting off her testy uncle. It was about settling her future without ruining anyone’s life.
Or risking pulling George into the matter. Because if that happened, Tristan would almost certainly be hurt. Again. And she couldn’t allow that.
But that didn’t mean she was going to let him run off without finishing this.
She forced herself to sound normal, practical. “You are the one who knows the most about Milosh and his family and Hucker. It has to be you—you have to be there! If not for your wanting to find Milosh, we would never have discovered who I am.”
“You might have pr
eferred that,” he said acidly.
Her throat tightened. Did he mean that he would have preferred it? Probably.
Then again, perhaps he was happy to have matters turn out like this. It gave him an excuse to do what he’d wanted to do all along—push her away before she got too close. He wasn’t looking for a wife, a fact he’d made perfectly clear every time he’d disparaged marriage.
And now that she knew him better, she knew he wouldn’t try to seduce her just for the fun of the thing. More was the pity.
“This has to be handled delicately,” he said, the words clipped and impersonal. “I’m not . . . good at that, something which Milosh was only too eager to point out.”
“Uncle Milosh was wrong! You’ve handled my case admirably so far. I trust you to be careful with my father.”
“And what about your cousin?”
“What has he got to do with anything?”
Tristan snorted. “He’s the reason for all of this, remember? According to the plan you yourself laid out, you have to marry him. If I spook Keane by paying calls on you, when he already knows that your father doesn’t approve of me, it won’t help your situation. Keane will start asking questions, as he always does, and it will make it harder for you and your father to keep the truth from him.”
“We can’t keep it from him anyway, now that Uncle Milosh is involved,” she said dolefully.
“Not necessarily. If we get your father to provide Milosh with the missing facts that could lead him to Drina, Milosh can go throttle Hucker on her behalf without anyone tracing it back to your family. Then you can marry your cousin.”
“This afternoon you didn’t want me to marry my cousin,” she said hoarsely. “What has changed?”
“Everything, damn it!” Then he seemed to catch himself, to even out his tone. “You have to marry Keane. It’s the only way for you to keep the title and the estate. As you said before, he’s the one man who won’t care if the truth gets out. Because then he would inherit. You’d still be safe.”
The fact that he was now pushing her at her cousin made her despair. “He doesn’t want me.”
“I doubt that. But even if it’s true, you can make him want you.” He dragged in a long breath. “You have a talent for that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m merely pointing out that you were right. Marrying your cousin is sensible. Which makes it essential that I play a less visible role in the investigation.”
“I don’t want—”
“I don’t care what you want!”
She must have made some shocked sound, for he muttered a curse under his breath and added in a coldly measured voice, “This is how it must be. You’ll see the wisdom of it once you’ve had time to think.”
Ooh, she absolutely hated when men started ordering her about without taking her feelings into consideration. She hadn’t expected that from him, though perhaps she should have. He did have a tendency to think his way was always best.
Just like Papa.
Who wasn’t even her papa.
That sent her over the edge. “Fine. Behave like an arse then. See if I care.” When that insult got no reaction from him, she saw red. “If you don’t want to be there when I speak to the Major, don’t come. Send your brother instead. Or your sister or whomever you wish. Just leave me be!”
Sick to death of worrying over it, over him, she spurred her mare into a gallop and headed for home.
That got a reaction at last. “Damn it, Zoe!” he cried, and galloped after her.
It was a mad ride through London streets. From previous stays in London, she knew the route with the least traffic this time of night, and she took it, determined to reach home without letting him see how her heart was breaking.
Her heart? No, certainly not. She would never be so foolish as to give her heart to that . . . that officious, pigheaded, surly scoundrel!
She reached Berkeley Square but was forced to halt at the end of the mews when something dawned on her. Since she’d sneaked the horse out of their stables earlier, she now had to sneak it back in. Heaven save her.
And now she could hear Tristan riding up behind her, no doubt ready to make more icy pronouncements.
Curse the man to hell. That was the problem with dramatic shows of anger. One always ended up in the same place one had started, with the same arse who was giving one all the trouble.
The same arse who rode up next to her and hissed, “Are you out of your mind, riding neck-or-nothing through London when—”
“As if you care.” She slipped off the horse and gazed down to her family’s stable at the other end of the mews. “Go away. I have to figure out how to get my mare back into her stall without anyone hearing me. Otherwise, they’ll know I’ve been gone.” She shot him a sullen look. “And we wouldn’t want my cousin to guess, or he might not make the supreme sacrifice and marry me.”
Tristan tensed, then dismounted, too. “Stay here with my horse. I’ll take care of yours.”
And before she could even protest, he’d caught her reins and was striding down to the stables. She stood there, uncertain, her heart pounding as he disappeared into the stable and then emerged without the mare.
When he approached, she said, “How did you—”
“If you’ll recall, getting in and out of places without being caught is my particular skill. Can you get into the house?”
“I left the kitchen door unlocked, so yes.”
He frowned. “You’re assuming that it stayed unlocked. We’d best check.” He tethered his horse to a nearby fence post, then offered his arm. “Let’s go.”
She ignored his arm, stalking off down the mews toward their back garden. He followed her through it and to the kitchen door without a word. He was probably chafing to be rid of her. Lord knew she was chafing to be rid of him.
Unfortunately, when she reached the kitchen door, she found it locked.
“Botheration,” she muttered. “I expected to be home before they locked up for the night.” She glared at him. “I can’t get in. How am I to get in?”
He gave a long sigh. “Give me one of your hairpins.”
“Why?”
“Just give it to me, all right?”
She yanked one out and handed it to him. He crouched to work it in the lock. Within seconds, she heard a click.
He stood and opened the door. “There you go.”
“No wonder you play a thief so well.”
His lips twitched, and she thought she’d finally gotten a smile out of him when they heard a noise in the mews.
“Now then, what’s this?” said a man’s voice. “Are you lost, laddie? I don’t remember seeing you hereabouts. You’re a fine one, you are.”
Tristan tensed. “Damn, someone has found my horse.”
“It’s our neighbor’s groom,” she breathed.
The groom made a tsking noise. “I daresay it’s the master’s son, getting drunk and taking someone else’s mount again. Damned fool. We’d best get you inside, all right, laddie? Give you a nice rubdown and settle you in for the night until we can find out who’s your master. Can’t leave you out here to be stolen.”
When Tristan turned toward the mews, she whispered, “You can’t go out there yet.”
“I know that. The bloody groom will want to know who I am and why I’m lurking about in your garden.”
“And it will get back to Papa that you were here.” She tugged on his arm. “Just come inside for a bit and wait until he goes to bed. Then you can get your horse out of their stable the same way you got mine into ours.”
He hesitated, still staring in the direction of the mews. But they could hear the clatter of hooves on cobblestones as the horse was led into the stable next door. “You’d better hope it doesn’t take that groom long to fall asleep,” he hissed as they entered.
She closed the door softly and locked it. “It’ll be fine. We’ll just slip up the back stairs to—”
“Is that you,
Polly?” came their housekeeper’s voice from down the hall to the kitchen. “You’d better not be out in the garden with that footman, or I swear I’ll box your ears.”
“Hell and thunder,” Tristan muttered under his breath.
“Come on!” She pulled him toward the back stairs.
They glided up as noiselessly as they could manage, and she half dragged, half shoved him down the hall and into her room just as they heard the housekeeper on the stairs below.
Swiftly she locked the door and put her finger to her lips. She listened for the housekeeper in the hall, but apparently the woman had continued on up to the maids’ rooms in the attic. All the same, they both kept quiet until they heard the housekeeper retreat down the stairs, muttering to herself about ghosts.
“Do you do this sort of thing often, my lady?” he drawled.
Not sweetheart or even princess, but my lady.
“Oh, of course.” She removed her cloak and hung it on her bedpost. “I’m the daughter of a villain, after all, so I’m always sneaking about, evading capture, lying, cheating—”
“That’s not what I meant.” His eyes glittered in the light of the fire now burning low.
“Really?” She took off her gloves and tossed them on the bed. “Then why are you champing to be free of me all of a sudden? Why are you so desperately eager to be rid of me and this case?”
“If you had any sense, you’d be ‘desperately eager’ to be free of me.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Oh, for God’s sake . . .” Stalking over to the fire, he stoked it with sharp thrusts of the poker. “Did you not pay attention to what my sister told you? George hates me. He’ll strike at me by any means possible. So if Hucker learns that I . . . desire you, and George hears of it, the man will make it his mission to destroy you. And your family. Just for the pleasure of seeing me hurt.”
“Surely that situation was the same before this evening,” she murmured, all at sea.
“But he had no means to hurt you then. He had no inkling of why you hired us. And, to be honest, I desire plenty of women. He knows it means nothing.” Avoiding her gaze, he set the poker back on the stand. “Meant nothing, before. But you’re the first woman I’ve even considered—”
How the Scoundrel Seduces Page 19
