How the Scoundrel Seduces

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Tristan groaned. The Major had come. He had a gun to George’s head and would clearly use it if he had to. Pray God Lord Olivier had possessed the good sense to leave Zoe behind.

  “Who the devil are you?” George asked.

  “Remember that reputable witness I told you about?” Tristan said. “That’s him.”

  “Major Roderick Keane, at your service,” Lord Olivier said.

  “How did you find us?” Dom asked.

  “Followed the tracks in the snow, of course. It’s not for nothing I was in the army.”

  George seemed to have finally identified his lordship’s other self. “Lord Olivier? How did my brothers convince you to join their ridiculous charade?”

  Though George sounded surprised, he appeared oddly unconcerned, which gave Tristan pause.

  “Never mind that,” his lordship said. “They’ve done nothing to you. So put your pistols down and let them go.”

  “The hell I will.” George lifted his head, and a grin of triumph spread over his face. “Hear that? It’s the sound of my men coming to aid their master.”

  As Dom let out a curse, Tristan’s heart dropped into his stomach. Bloody, bloody hell.

  “I can’t believe you two continue to underestimate me,” George said gleefully. “I’m not stupid. Don’t you think I sent for my men before I headed here?”

  They heard other sounds outside now, not only of men tramping about but of Lord Olivier’s oaths as he was relieved of his weapons.

  “I’m sorry, milord,” came a lad’s voice. “It took a while to get the fellows out of bed, but we’re here now.”

  “Excellent,” George said. “We have a nest of knaves to root out.” George nodded to Hucker. “Take that pistol the French whore’s bastard has been fondling all this while, will you?”

  Hucker hesitated a moment before coming up to remove the weapon from Tristan’s hand inside his coat pocket. The familiar dead look in Hucker’s eyes had returned.

  “You’re going to let him do this?” Tristan muttered. “After what he did to Drina—”

  “Hucker!” George said. “Bring them here. Now!”

  Hucker wavered and his hackles rose, but like a dog in training he came to heel, using Tristan’s pistol to prod the three of them out the door.

  Dom exchanged a glance with Tristan and very subtly touched his own coat pocket. No one had thought to check him yet, but they would soon.

  Once they were outside, Tristan made a quick assessment. Things were bad, but not as bad as he’d feared. George’s lackeys had dwindled in number since Tristan’s youth, but they still outnumbered Dom, Tristan, the Major, and Milosh by far. And they were armed with scythes and swords and a rifle or two. The odds weren’t overwhelming, but the battle would be a bloody one if it came to that.

  There was no sign of Zoe or even of Lord Olivier’s carriage. He ought to have been relieved, but despair swept over him. Though he didn’t want her caught up in this, neither could he bear the thought of dying without telling her that he loved her.

  Loved her?

  Oh, yes. He’d been such a fool. With George’s cruel face before him, all he could think was how he’d been wrong about so many things. About Father, about his own character, and yes, about the possibility of falling in love.

  The thought of her rose in his mind with a painful sweetness that staggered him. He couldn’t live without her. Nor did he want to die without telling her.

  He steadied his shoulders. He was not going to die, damn it, nor were the rest of them. George hadn’t had the last word—and if Tristan had anything to say about it, he never would.

  26

  ZOE HEARD THE commotion a short distance away from where Papa had pulled the coach off the road that led through the woods. That alarmed her so much that she leapt out.

  “My lady,” one of the outriders said sharply, “his lordship’s orders were clear. We are to stay out of sight.”

  She shook her head. “Something’s wrong. I feel it. And those horses we heard riding up from the estate a few moments ago can’t be good.”

  Pipkin stepped down from the perch. “What do you want us to do, my lady?”

  She surveyed the three stalwart fellows, who bore no resemblance to the sweet, easy-to-manipulate Ralph. “Have you any weapons with you?”

  They laughed. Apparently Papa had warned them to come armed, for they pulled out pistols, knives, and a couple of flintlock rifles.

  “We should reconnoiter first,” said Pipkin.

  The others agreed. They didn’t want her to come along, but she told them flatly that they were not leaving her behind. Not with her father, her fiancé, her uncle, and her fiancé’s brother possibly in danger.

  When they reached the edge of the woods and could see the house of the tenant farm in the dawning light, her heart sank. The four men she cared about were facing down ten fellows armed with weapons of varying sorts. Two men stood apart from the others—she could only assume they were George and Hucker.

  “Shall we drive to Ashcroft for help?” one of the outriders asked.

  She shook her head. “No time.”

  The other outrider pointed to the side of the woods near the house. “If the three of us can take positions in the woods around them, we may fool them into thinking there are more of us, especially if we tether our two horses at intervals, too. Those chaps aren’t hardened soldiers—just servants and farmers with weapons. A few shots from many directions, the sounds of horses responding to the shots, and we’d scatter them. They’ll think there’s an army.”

  “Do it,” Zoe said.

  The men melted into the woods and she edged as close as she dared, trying to hear what was being said in the clearing.

  “What do you mean to do with us, Rathmoor?” Papa asked, his voice ringing loudly in the morning air.

  “I can’t let you leave here.”

  The man who’d answered held two pistols. One of them was aimed at Tristan. Her stomach clenched painfully.

  Especially when Tristan advanced a step toward his half brother. “Let the rest of them go. It’s me you want. And you’re not going to murder four men in cold blood. Even you can’t cover up that crime.”

  “It’s not as hard as you think,” George said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “We saw men running away, we thought they were thieves, and we shot them.”

  “But m’ lord—” the other man said in a low voice.

  “Shut up, Hucker. You’ll be well compensated for your help, don’t worry.”

  Hucker. The sight of the man who’d sired her pierced her through. Could he really be such a villain?

  Perhaps not, but George certainly was, and he was unpredictable. She needed to stop this before he did as he threatened. And that would give Papa’s men enough time to get into place.

  She walked into the clearing. “If you kill them, Lord Rathmoor, you’ll have to kill me,” she called out as she approached. “And I don’t think you’ll have an easy time explaining how a lady got mistaken for a thief.”

  When sixteen men whirled in her direction, she swallowed hard. She was somewhat reassured when she saw that her presence seemed to make George’s men decidedly uneasy, murmuring among themselves.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, who the hell are you?” George asked.

  But Hucker had seen her, and the color drained from his face. “Drina?”

  “No.” She took a shuddering breath. “Drina’s daughter.”

  Hucker whirled on Tristan. “You said Drina died on the road!”

  “She did. But only after giving birth to your child.”

  “Yes. I’m your daughter, too, Mr. Hucker,” she reminded him.

  She had to buy Papa’s men more time. She could dimly see Pipkin edging through the woods. Hucker might be willing to shoot Tristan, but surely he wouldn’t allow his own daughter to be hurt.

  “My daughter,” Hucker repeated in a wondering voice. He shot Tristan a glance. “You found her?”

  Tristan
nodded, but his eyes were only for her. The look he gave her was so sweet, so precious, that it made her pulse quicken. Was it love she read in his eyes? Or was that just wishful thinking?

  “Lord Olivier and his wife took me in,” Zoe said, careful not to mention that they’d made her their daughter. “That was after they buried my mother—the woman you beat so badly.”

  “I wasn’t the one who beat her!” Hucker scowled at George. “It was him.”

  “You know they’re just lying to rattle you,” George said nervously.

  “Telling the same lie? All of them?” Hucker advanced on him. “For twenty-one years, I prayed that one day she would show up here; that doing your bidding would prove worth it because she returned.” He lifted the pistol in his hand. “That’s how I know she’s dead. Because if she were alive, she would have come back to me by now.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Hucker!” George cried. “Put that gun down.”

  “You killed her,” Hucker said. “You killed the only woman I ever loved!”

  “I didn’t kill her, damn it!” George swung his pistol around to aim it at Zoe. “But I’ll bloody well kill your daughter if you don’t put that gun down.”

  Zoe’s heart dropped into her stomach—she had to stop this right now. Beyond George, she could already see Tristan and her father heading for him, and that would surely mean a bloodbath.

  She said hastily, “I wouldn’t advise aiming guns at me, my lord. Lord Olivier’s men have you surrounded. If you so much as nick my arm, you and your men here will all die together.”

  George’s pistol hand wavered. “You’re lying.”

  She raised her voice. “All right, lads! Fire at any of these fools who moves!”

  One of the farmers turned to peer at the woods, and got the scythe shot out of his hand for his trouble. He and his fellows started to glance nervously about them. Another shot came from a different side of the woods, and that really spooked them.

  Papa took over. “Tell your men to go, Rathmoor, and we’ll leave them be. It’s over.”

  When George hesitated, Hucker approached the men. “If you want to see another dawn, boys, you’d best return to your homes. This here is Major Keane. Served in the army. He’d as soon mow you down as look at you.”

  That was all it took to have them retreating, grumbling among themselves.

  “Come back here, you cowards!” George shot into the air, but that only sent them fleeing faster. While he was still glaring after them, Papa lunged forward to wrench the loaded pistol from his other hand.

  “Damn you all!” George tossed down the empty one. “You are on my land.”

  His face a vengeful mask, Hucker headed for George. “You killed her. You beat my Drina to death.”

  “I didn’t kill her!” George cried, backing away.

  “But you beat her, admit it!” Hucker aimed his pistol at the viscount once more.

  “All right, all right!” George said. “But she gave me no choice. She wouldn’t get out of the damned carriage!” When a shocked silence fell in the clearing, he thrust out his chin. “She just kept going on and on about her love for you, and how I should give you another chance. How the two of you were meant to be together, if I would just allow you to marry. I couldn’t get her to shut up!”

  Hucker’s face turned thunderous. “So you beat her for it?”

  “No! Not for that. The bitch told me there were no other Gypsies between here and York, and I damned well wasn’t driving her all the way to York. So I stopped near Highthorpe, and when she wouldn’t get out, when she started begging me on the life of her babe not to leave her in a place that hated Gypsies—”

  “You beat her,” Tristan said coldly. “To get her out of your carriage. A woman with child.”

  “A Gypsy whore bearing a bastard!” George spat. “Is it right that whores like her and your mother can spawn their by-blows right and left, while my own mother, the sweetest woman in the world, died bearing my traitor of a brother?”

  “George,” Dom said tersely, “dying is one of the risks of childbearing.”

  “No,” George snapped. “Bearing you was certain death for Mother, and she knew it. But she ignored the doctors who said she shouldn’t have any more children.” His face filled with hatred as he glared at Tristan. “She couldn’t stand that your damned mother was stealing Father away from her bit by bit, because Mother wasn’t supposed to share his bed.”

  The color drained from Dom’s features. “What are you talking about?”

  George scowled at him. “I used to hear them arguing about it. He told Mother he wouldn’t be the cause of her death. That’s why he brought that whore back from France.”

  Dom looked stricken. “George, I’m sorry . . . I had no idea.”

  George shook with anger now. “Whenever Father was around, Mother was brighter, sweeter. She would sing to me, and things would be normal, and then . . .” He stiffened. “He’d head off to his whore, and the light would go out of her.”

  The light seemed to go out of George, too. “She must have found some way to get him into her bed, because next thing I knew, she was telling me I was to have a brother. She was so bloody happy that I was sure everything would be good again.” His voice hardened. “Until she died having my brother.”

  “Good God,” Dom said.

  Zoe could only stare at him and Tristan, feeling as stunned as they looked. A look of sympathy flashed briefly across Tristan’s face.

  Very briefly. Because then he was marching toward George. “You’re forgetting that it was Father who made the choice to share my mother’s bed, Father who brought Mother back from France to be his mistress. And Zoe’s mother had nothing to do with any of that—yet you murdered her!”

  “Zoe?” George glanced at her. “Your name is Zoe?”

  With a curse, Tristan halted.

  “You’re Lady Zoe Keane.” George’s eyes lit up like those of a shark scenting blood in the water. “Lord Olivier’s daughter. And a countess in her own right. At least, until I tell the House of Lords that you’re really some Gypsy whore’s daughter.”

  In a flash, Tristan drew a knife from his boot, which he brandished at George. “You say a word to anyone about that,” he hissed, “and I will find you and cut you into so many pieces that they’ll never know what happened to you.”

  George, the fool, taunted him. “I take it you have a soft spot for her ladyship. Isn’t that sweet? Two by-blows in love. It will make it all the more pleasurable when I expose her as a Gypsy’s bastard.”

  “Then again,” Tristan said in a chilling voice, “why wait?” And he was on George, with the knife to his throat.

  For the first time that day, George showed fear.

  “Tristan, no!” She rushed over to catch his arm. It shook with the force of his fury. “Listen to me. I know how much you hate him, but murdering him solves nothing.”

  “It solves a great deal for me!”

  “You say that in the heat of your anger.” She clung desperately to his arm. “But once you’ve killed an unarmed man, the stain of it will haunt your soul for the rest of your life. He’s still your brother.”

  “Only in blood.”

  “Yes, but much as I wish it didn’t, blood still counts for something in this world.” She held on to his arm for all she was worth. “Not to mention that you’ll be hanged for it. Is he worth that?”

  The pulse throbbed in Tristan’s neck, and his arm was so very rigid that she feared he wouldn’t heed her.

  “Please, my love,” she added, “I don’t want to see you hang.”

  It must have been the “my love” that did it, for Tristan’s arm went slack. Then he drew the blade away from George’s neck. “You’re right,” he said to Zoe. “He’s definitely not worth hanging for.”

  With a shove, he sent George sprawling on the ground and sheathed his knife.

  She threw herself into his arms with a little cry. “Oh, my love, are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”<
br />
  “No,” he said softly, then kissed her with a fierceness that left her gasping.

  “That’s enough,” Papa grumbled. “You’re not married yet.”

  “Listen to the man,” Milosh said. “None of that, now.”

  She and Tristan broke away, laughing.

  “Marry!” George picked himself up off the ground. “You think to marry her, bastard? And sit in the House of Lords with your betters? That will never happen. I will—”

  “You’ll do nothing,” Papa said firmly. “A number of witnesses here heard you confess to beating a woman with child nearly to death. Your own men heard you threaten to kill a lord of the realm and your brothers. You lift one hand against me and mine, and I will have you arrested and charged and see you hang. I’ll only keep your secrets if you keep mine.”

  George was quivering, his hands fisted at his sides and a vein throbbing in his forehead.

  “It’s over, brother,” Dom said softly. “Have the good sense to recognize when you’ve been bested.”

  “Come, lads,” Papa called out as his men emerged from the woods, “let’s go home.”

  Tristan offered her his arm. “Shall we, princess?”

  “Yes.” She beamed up at him. “Oh, yes, my love.”

  Tristan looked as if he was about to say something, but before he could speak, they heard George growl behind them, “You thieving bastard. You are not getting away with this!”

  The next part happened in a blur. Somehow George wrested the pistol from Hucker and was swinging it toward them, for she heard Hucker cry, “Tristan, watch out! He’s got your gun!”

  Shoving her aside, Tristan whirled and bent to draw his knife from his boot in one smooth motion. As George steadied his aim, Tristan let the blade fly.

  It caught George in the throat.

  He dropped the pistol to grab for the knife and wrench it free, sending blood spurting out, coursing down the front of him. He was dead before anyone even reached him.

  Tristan stood frozen beside her. Then he said, in a hollow voice, “Now it’s over.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦