Seducing Mr. Sykes

by Maggie Robinson

  “I suppose.” She snuggled against him, her long limbs tempting him unmercifully.

  It was peaceful to lie thus. One could almost imagine they were a happily married couple on their honeymoon, apart from Tristan’s iron erection. If he was truly on his honeymoon, he’d be doing something about that.

  Perhaps one night, but not this one. She might be more than amenable to his kisses, but the rest could wait. Tristan didn’t want Sadie to feel forced any more than she already did and turn resentful. Her life had changed far beyond what she had ever planned.

  As had his. He supposed he had thought he might marry once again—many years in the future, when an heir was needed. He might have found someone obliging. Docile. Two words one would never ascribe to Lady Sarah Marchmain.

  Chapter 31

  “You owe it to him, my girl.”

  How dare her father try to make her feel guilty, when this impossible situation was all due to him and his high-handed finagling! If anyone owed anything to Roddy, it was the Duke of Islesford, who had neglected to reimburse his ex-future son-in-law for the loans he had made. Tristan had assured her the viscount would be adequately compensated, and that his solicitor was working out the details. A breach of promise suit would be one more embarrassment that he wanted to avoid.

  Sadie wished she could avoid everyone and everything. But she had found herself at the breakfast table with her new husband, her dreadful father and her former suitor, the most awkward meal imaginable. She had barely been able to swallow her tea while the gentlemen treated each other with arctic politeness over the poached eggs.

  Tristan had excused himself to go into the village on business, promising to return shortly. He gave her a very thorough kiss in front of his departing guests which would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind—other than hers—that he and Sadie were a committed couple. She had added a kerchief over another servant’s dress—gray, this time—to cover the livid marks on her neck.

  She should not have enjoyed being nibbled like a pastry, but she had. Sadie found her reaction to her married state inexplicable. Tristan Sykes was—

  Confusing. She might have thought of more words if she possessed more than half a brain.

  “I don’t see why Roddy wants to speak to me. He should hold me in aversion.” You too, she added silently to her father. She wouldn’t want to share their carriage ride.

  “He cares for you, Sadie. I believe he wants to assure himself that you’ve made the right choice.”

  “I didn’t make a choice at all, Father,” she said coldly. “You insisted on this marriage.”

  “What was I to think, finding my little girl half-naked in a man’s arms?” the duke blustered.

  “I haven’t been a little girl in a decade.” Sadie had shot up alarmingly as a child, and was a good four inches taller than her father now. She stared down at him, hoping to make him feel like the lowly worm he was.

  “I am not talking about your size, you ungrateful chit. You are my daughter, and I worry about you.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it, selling me off to every creditor that comes along.”

  “It was never like that! You needed a husband’s strong hand to control you. I admit I was a failure at that.”

  “I don’t want to be controlled!” It was all Sadie could do to refrain from punching her father’s veiny nose this instant. It was obvious he’d indulged in what the Sykes’s wine cellar had to offer last night.

  “You’d better get used to it. That Sykes fellow is no milksop. You may think to run him ragged now, but he’ll soon set you to rights. I’ve had him investigated. That man who was here yesterday—well, you didn’t see him and he left at first light, but he knows what’s what.”

  “The inquiry agent? I’m surprised you spent the money.”

  “I’ve been throwing money away on you ever since I paid off that groom when you were fifteen.”

  Her father had never believed her about Dermot. The hurt of his doubt was still as sharp, but there was no point in Sadie letting her father know he’d scored another hit.

  “So sorry to be a bother.”

  “None of that. It’s what you live for. I hired the fellow to find you when you ran away. But I killed two birds with one stone. The information he provided was invaluable. If you think to be up to your old ways, think again. Sykes won’t put up with any funny business from a wife. The first one learned that soon enough.”

  Linnet. Sadie wouldn’t give her father the satisfaction of knowing she was still curious about her predecessor.

  “Tristan’s told me all about it,” she said airily.

  “Then watch your step if you know what’s good for you.” He sighed dramatically. “I had hoped you would make a brilliant marriage, but here you are in this wilderness. You’ve made your bed, now you must lie in it.”

  Ooh, her father was insufferable. With any luck, she wouldn’t see him again until—

  Goodness, she was about to think of his grandchild’s christening. A baby, hers and Tristan’s. If and how that was to be managed was a task for another day.

  “I’ll just do that, Father. Tell Roddy I will meet him in the conservatory in ten minutes. Have a safe trip.” She didn’t angle her cheek for a kiss.

  Her father left, grumbling. With every step he took, Sadie’s shoulders relaxed until she felt almost calm.

  How had her mother endured him? Had she been so dazzled by his title she threw away any good sense she had? Sadie had a feeling her mother had been manipulated by her father, who had wanted to advance his woolen mill by his relationship with a duke. At least her grandfather had been wise enough to protect his daughter’s money from her rapacious husband.

  Sadie supposed she had access to those funds now. They were to be released upon her marriage or when she turned twenty-five. What would she do with the money? It had been a dream for years. But any fantasy she’d had butted up against the reality that she was Tristan Sykes’s wife. She couldn’t buy herself a castle or a cottage and acquire some cats.

  Or could she? If marriage to Tristan proved to be impossible, she might have recourse.

  She checked her herself in a mirror and was dismayed. Her scarf had come loose, and purple bruises climbed to her jaw. No wonder her father had been so disdainful. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at her with anything like joy.

  She’d seen to that.

  Sadie entered the conservatory, her favorite room in the house. It was truly an amazing place, Tristan’s green fingers evident everywhere. The air was thick and hot despite the gray skies outside, and she sat on a wicker chair to wait.

  Her husband had skills unusual for a gentleman. He did, after all, construct wedding bouquets. She’d seen some framed architectural renderings in the Red House during her incarceration. Tristan’s house designs were clean-lined, yet warm and inviting. She wondered if he ever thought to create a real house for himself, something larger that his converted garden folly.

  Why should he? He’d inherit Sykes House one day, and it was a rather lovely property. No doubt he’d add his own touches to it when the time came. Would she still be here to see them?

  She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear Roddy enter until he cleared his throat.

  Sadie didn’t rise. “You wanted to see me?”

  He took the chair opposite. “I did. You know you can depend on me, Sarah, if you change your mind about Sykes.” He gave her an earnest look that she couldn’t meet.

  “Thank you. I shall be fine. Have a pleasant journey home.” There. He could go.

  He twirled his signet ring in the heavy silence, and cleared his throat again. “You’ve had poor judgment about men in the past.”

  Sadie felt a flash of irritation. “What do you mean?”

  “I know about your youthful indiscretions. I decided to forgive you when I asked you to marry me—it was all so long ago, after all.”

  “Forgive me? I don’t
need your forgiveness! Nothing happened with anyone!” There had been Dermot. Two other rejected fiancés. None of them were worth tuppence, and they hadn’t got much further than misbegotten kisses. Kisses that she knew now were the work of amateurs.

  “You have a reputation, Sarah. I was willing to overlook it. I assume Sykes is aware of what he’s gotten into.”

  “If this conversation is supposed to make me sorry for not marrying you, it’s failing in spectacular fashion. How dare you criticize me!”

  “I am not criticizing! You are a spirited woman. I had hoped to tame you.”

  “Tame me?” Sadie’s palms itched, always a bad sign. “As if I were a filly to be broken to bridle?”

  “I am a patient man. I waited for you for a year, Sarah,” he said with reproach.

  “More fool you.” Had it really been that long? Sadie had tried to ignore her father’s machinations, and Roddy had never really registered with her, apart from noticing his rust-colored moustache and beard. She wasn’t even sure what color his eyes were, and he was sitting right in front of her.

  “I didn’t agree with the duke that you should be sent here, and I was right. Look at you.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  His lip curled. “That dress. You look like a housemaid. Does your husband plan to keep you in rags like a bumpkin Cinderella? He cannot have wanted this marriage. Your father explained how you trapped him.” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “You would have been a viscountess. I would have spared no expense in providing for you.”

  She was the one trapped! “A diamond bridle, perhaps? A tooled Spanish leather saddle? I will be happier here.” Maybe. Or maybe she’d run off again. Why not?

  “Just remember I warned you. And should your husband or you come to your senses, you have only to summon me. I will take you back, of course not as a wife but a mistress. You’ll have everything you would have had, save for my name. You’ve made that impossible, I’m afraid.” He stood. “I’ll see myself out, but how about a kiss for old time’s sake? I had always held off any show of my affections, respecting you too much. I see I underestimated your warm nature.”

  Sadie didn’t trust herself to speak. She’d held rein over her temper for a remarkable amount of time, and was trembling with rage. When Roddy bent to kiss her goodbye, she socked him in the jaw with her left fist and he fell backwards at her feet. There was a loud crack as his head hit the brick floor.

  “Oh, dear. Tut, tut.”

  Sadie looked up, rubbing her hand. Both Tristan and Reverend Fitzmartin were in the doorway, and neither looked happy.

  Chapter 32

  “You could have let him kiss you,” Tristan said, not really meaning it.

  It would have been so much easier. Charlton would be gone, Islesford would be gone, he and Sadie might be in Stroud clothes-shopping right about now. He could be sitting in a chintz chair in the modest dressing room of Madame Elyse’s dress shop while his wife displayed her very considerable charms to him, and him alone.

  Instead they were waiting for Dr. Oakley to come downstairs and give his opinion on Charlton’s injury. There had been a fair amount of blood on the conservatory floor, which some unfortunate soul was mopping up under Mrs. Anstruther’s direction. Fitzmartin hadn’t been pressed into giving Charlton the Last Rites yet, but he was lingering about in the library just in case. Tristan had no idea where the duke was, which could bode ill for them all.

  At least Tristan had signed the parish register, as had his wife. It was the last thing she was going to do with that bruised hand for a while. Mrs. Anstruther had wrapped it with an ice pack, and Sadie sat nursing it glumly.

  And Anstruther was home, quite shocked to discover the missing duke’s daughter was back and had become Mrs. Sykes right on schedule. The woman he chased to Gloucester had proved to be a red-headed grandmother of five.

  “He said I could be his mistress!” she hissed. “You would have hit him too.”

  Tristan poked at the fire in the drawing room. The day had turned unseasonably chilly and damp, and the room was cold. Whiskey would be welcome, but it was still early in the day and he needed a clear head in case of more calamities. “He was only saving face, Sadie. You’ve obviously hurt him. Besides the punch.”

  “I didn’t hurt him! It was my bloody father’s idea to break the engagement and for me to marry you!”

  Tristan had wondered if she was getting used to the idea. It appeared not.

  “Nevertheless. You can’t go around hitting people. I won’t have it.”

  She looked up to him sharply. “Am I just to nod and simper and be agreeable to everything?”

  He returned the poker to its stand. “It couldn’t hurt.” As unlikely as it would be. “Look, I understand he angered you. The man is an idiot. But now we’re stuck with him—and your father—for the foreseeable future. There are consequences for your ill-advised actions.”

  Tristan knew he was lecturing, but he couldn’t stop himself. Did she realize the seriousness of the situation? They had been on the cusp of putting her past behind them, settling with Charlton so they wouldn’t get sued, getting rid of the dreadful duke so he could carry on his louche life. If Charlton was mortally injured, Sadie’s life would be ruined.

  And Tristan’s too.

  “I didn’t expect him to fall down,” Sadie said, mulish.

  “And he didn’t expect to be hit. I daresay if you gave him some warning, he might have managed himself better. Found his footing.”

  “Are you saying if I tried to hit you I wouldn’t succeed?”

  She looked like she wanted to hit someone or something very badly. “Don’t try it. I boxed at university.” A stupid thing to do for a young man who hoped to earn his living with his hands.

  From the time he could remember, he built things. First with blocks, then with boards to house dogs, rabbits, and other creatures. A playhouse for his younger brother. He shadowed the estate carpenter on school holidays until the man had probably wanted to hit him on the head with a hammer. Tristan sat back down on the sofa, several feet away from his bride. Some honeymoon this was.

  “What’s taking Dr. Oakley so long?” Sadie asked after an interval.

  “Stitching up Charlton’s head, I should imagine.” Let’s hope that’s all he was doing. No pennies on Charlton’s eyelids yet, pray God.

  “I’m going up there.”

  Tristan shook his head. “You’ve done enough damage for one day. You are to stay here.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be? You telling me what I may or may not do?” Her eyes were very bright.

  “Don’t be childish. I merely meant you’d get in the way. Anstruther is up there helping. He knows his way around a sickroom.”

  “Ugh. I wouldn’t want him to take care of me if I was ill.”

  “He’s very competent. He may not be a handsome fellow, but his heart is in the right place.”

  Sadie picked at the fichu around her neck. “He hates me.”

  “He hardly knows you. And if he hated you, why would he go to Gloucester to look for you?”

  “Probably to push me under a train so you could be saved from me and my wicked ways.”

  “What a bloodthirsty imagination you have. Come here.” He patted the space between them, but she stayed stubbornly put. Tristan sighed. “Do you want a cup of tea while we wait? I’m told it works wonders.”

  “Tea, the cure-all to everything,” Sadie muttered. “No, thank you.”

  Tristan needed a cure—for his temperamental wife. That was why she had been shipped to Puddling in the first place, to give her tools to deal with life’s frustrations in a more satisfactory manner. She couldn’t continue to solve problems with her fists, and Tristan didn’t particularly relish the thought of her turning those fists on him.

  Women had few ways to assert themselves, despite the fact that a queen had sat on the throne for forty-five years. Men ruled their households, and T
ristan knew if he wanted to live in any sort of peace, he’d have to make some accommodation with his independent bride.

  After meeting the Duke of Islesford, he was beginning to understand his wife. Sadie needed someone to listen to her. Value her. No wonder she was so violent and willful, when those around her had simply tried to order her around. Including him, Tristan thought ruefully. “Tell me what he said again.”

  “Oh! If I repeat it, I’ll want to go upstairs and pummel him all over again.”

  Tristan gave her a grave look and she flushed. “All right, all right. First he told me if I ever needed him, he would come. Innocuous enough. I thanked him and tried to send him on his way.”

  “But he didn’t leave after his chivalrous offer.”

  “No. He wanted to have a few more last words. Let’s see—he said I looked like a drudge in this horrible dress. There was something insulting about my high spirits and how he’d thought to tame me once we got married. As if he could.” She unwrapped the bandage and put the ice pack on a decorative plate on the end table.

  “The man is an ass. Go on.”

  She tapped her chin as if she was lost in thought. “Hm. Basically he called me a whore, offered to keep me as his mistress when you got tired of me and my whorish ways. There. Satisfied?”

  Good God. No wonder she had decked him. “He should be shot. But not today. I’ll wait until he’s recovered and challenge him to a duel.”

  Her mouth dropped open, just the effect he was seeking. “What? You cannot do that! It’s—it’s not legal! And Roddy is a fair shot. I’ve been to house parties with him where he bagged more grouse than anyone.”

  “I am not a game bird, Sadie. Your honor needs to be avenged, and Charlton needs to learn to shut his mouth.” If the man besmirched Sadie’s character publicly, they might not recover from the disgrace. Sadie would be unable to take her rightful place in society, not that she’d shown much interest in doing that so far. However, that had been her rebellious choice. Someday she might see the advantages of conventional behavior, and it would be too late. The choice would be lost to sour grapes and scurrilous gossip. The Beau Monde had a long memory.