by Nikki Poppen
“Of course not!” Isabella replied hotly. “Why would you think that?”
“I imagine you have your own expectations regarding me. I’d hate to not live up to the incredibly low opinions currently circulating about my war record”
“Are those opinions the truth then?”
“Is that your third question?”
“Yes,” Isabella said crossly. “I am capable of counting.”
“Then you’ll appreciate the fact that I allowed you an extra question. Don’t forget I have two guesses owing to me” Tristan was smug. “As to an answer, I can only say that most lies spring from some nugget of truth.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“My answer. Now-” Tristan didn’t get any further.
“Oh, I say! I am sorry I didn’t know anyone was there” A voice broke into their trysting place. The voice sounded far too contrived to convince Isabella the intruder had been startled by his immediate discovery. This voice belonged to someone who’d been watching, at least briefly, and it sounded familiar.
How much had the intruder heard? She wasn’t worried as much for herself as she was for Tristan. The intruder could tell nothing of her identity under her wraps but perhaps he would make something ludicrous out of Tristan’s veiled statements. To his credit, Tristan rose from the bench and stepped in front of her, effectively blocking the intruder’s view of her. He strode forward and clapped the man on the shoulder with great bonhomie and steered him back towards the drawing room. Isabella could hear traces of their conversation as they walked away.
“Gresham, it is you, you old devil! I couldn’t see well enough in the darkness but I am not surprised. I came out side for some fresh air, but instead I run across your little liaison with your secret admirer. Lud, you have all the luck. Do you know who it is yet?” The intruder rambled on. “You’re a bold one, Gresham, carrying on like that and not even knowing who’s under the covers”
“Does it really matter, Middleton?” Tristan said rather coldly.
Male laughter floated back to Isabella. “I suppose it doesn’t, Gresham. They’re all the same in the dark”
Isabella grabbed a handful of rocks and threw them at the fence in frustration. Of all the gall! How could Tristan hoax her like this? Truly, he was a rogue of the first water to play with her the way he had at the pond. It was utterly vile to toy with her affections by pretending such sincerity as he had shown this afternoon, and then jaunt off to meet with an anonymous woman of purportedly brazen character hours later. It was entirely unconscionable. She couldn’t imagine what would compel such behavior. Unless, she had it backwards and for some unfathomable reason the show he’d put on tonight was the lie. If that was the case, she was no closer to knowing.
Tristan gave the amber liquid in his snifter a distracted swirl. His feet rested on the fireplace fender. He registered the long case clock chiming two hours after midnight in the hall. He should try and sleep but his mind was not tired. He had come home early from the Fillmore soiree, disconsolate and confused. After he had walked Middleton back inside he had returned to the bench and found it empty. He had suspected he would. The admirer was gone as was any chance to confirm her identity.
Several things bothered him about the admirer. Instinctively, he felt he should know her. She had mannerisms and other characteristics that he knew.
In his line of work, he’d learned to rely on all of his senses. Methodically, he dissected the information he knew about her according to each sense. She was taller than most women. Beneath her voluminous cloak, she seemed to have a slender, athletic frame. But to rely on sight alone exposed one to lies. Anyone could disguise his or her physical appearance. Her heavy veil had concealed a good look at her eyes and totally distorted the proportions of her face. Her voice was husky and deliberately pitched low. The attempt to match the voice did not fool Tristan in the least. Her true voice would sound much different. There weren’t many clues in the sight and sound of her. The chinks in her disguise were in her touch and her smell.
Touch conveyed all manner of secrets people wanted to keep hidden. He hadn’t wanted to act the forward rogue and practice seduction on her, but it was a surefire way to know what her touch revealed. She had wanted to appear sophisticated and worldly to him. Her touches would have been bold if she’d been comfortable carrying them off. She was not. When things were getting interesting, she’d stopped his hand and push against his chest, just as Isabella had in the park.
His thoughts drifted to Isabella, testing the similarities. The names he’d guessed were the names of two women present at the Fillmore soiree who seemed most likely to engage in borderline behavior, but they had not necessarily fit the description he had concocted of the secret admirer. Isabella was tall and moved with an athletic agility. Isabella had used the same gesture. Isabella lacked the true worldliness she affected so well. Isabella smelled of roses. That was the clincher.
People could often manufacture any nature of visual disguise, but smell was more difficult to overcome, usually because people overlooked the reality that they carried with them a unique smell that marked them as individuals. One of the many sobriquets Tristan had acquired on the Continent in quieter, darker circles was “bloodhound.” The first question he asked about the people he tracked was “what do they smell like?” People might layer their scents, cover them up with other smells, but they couldn’t subdue them entirely. The admirer had smelled of vanilla under which was the scent of roses. Isabella preferred to bath in rosewater, it was one of her signature trademarks.
He wanted to reject the notion that Isabella was the unwanted admirer, but how could he deny the facts? Why would Isabella insinuate herself into such a precarious situation? The motivations and their consequences were sinister. Perhaps she was looking for answers to his past? She had indicated on several occasions that those answers were important to her. If so, it was no wonder she’d shown such hesitation over his proposal today. She was aware of his duality but not the cause for it. She wanted to know which Tristan Moreland was real; the one who spoke of friendship and honesty in the afternoons or the one who met with outrageous women in dark rooms at parties. His heart lurched at the thought she might pick the wrong identity to believe.
That was the least of his worries. The other motivation was more severe. Perhaps she posed as the admirer to protect Alain. He had been with her at the Briarton winter ball at the same time his town house had been broken into. Had she been the decoy to ensure that he’d be occupied while Alain slipped away? He definitely remembered Alain being absent after his arrival at the ball. Briarton House was only a few blocks from his mansion. It wasn’t unseemly that Alain had slipped out a back garden gate and covered the distance in a few short minutes.
The devil fly away with it! Tristan cursed, swallowing the remaining brandy in his snifter. He was tired of secrets and conjecture. The sooner he got Isabella to the country, the sooner he could have his answers. The Meadows was only fifteen miles outside of London, a half day’s trip on good roads. If they left by early afternoon, they could make the estate by evening. He would press her on an early departure tomorrow morning.
Isabella stared blankly at the empty stationery in front of her. She’d been trying in vain to compose a simple letter to a friend in Devon for the past hour. She couldn’t get past the salutation without her thoughts being taken up by the events of the prior evening.
She had been a fool for thinking she could control Tristan. At the Fillmore’s he had done as exactly as he wished and she had put up no opposition to participating in his decadent games. What did that make her? She pressed her fingers to her temples, refusing to contemplate the names that sprang to mind. What would she have done if he’d kissed her again as he had in the conservatory? Worse, what would she have done if he’d guessed her name?
Amy had been right. This game of secret admirer was too dangerous. She wondered if Amy had anticipated this type of danger. She desperately wanted to talk to someone,
to lay her troubles on other shoulders, but this was one thing that could not be shared. She was in this alone. She could not tell Amy about the ravaging kiss they’d shared or that she hadn’t found it distasteful.
Everything about Tristan was as fascinating to her now as it had been in the throes of her youthful infatuation for him. With Tristan, the most mundane activity became extraordinary. She had not experienced such a phenomenon with anyone else, not even Westbrooke, who was all that a good husband should have been. Isabella acknowledged that Westbrooke had been a kind and doting husband to his young wife. She had told herself during the years of her marriage that the lack of affection beyond mutual respect was due to the disparity in their ages, but it was the same lack of deep fondness she felt for Avery Driscoll, a man who was her age, handsome and intelligent. Her long-harbored notions had ripened to fruition with Driscoll’s courtship and Tristan’s return. Tristan, with his sleek dark mane and soulful eyes, had ruined her for other men.
She gave up on the letter and penned a quick note to Amy. Maybe some shopping would help clear her mind.
“How are events progressing with your ill-begotten adventure?” Lady Briarton inquired wryly as she and Isabella strolled down Bond Street, arm in arm. Amy had accepted Isabella’s invitation to shop with alacrity. In less than the space of an hour, Isabella had met her friend in front of her favorite milliner’s.
“I think the game is progressing,” Isabella said resolute ly, not sure how to ask her friend for pointers on advancing the game. She couldn’t afford to tip her hand or Amy would have the entire sordid story out of her. She wasn’t ready for that. Her emotions were still in a state of confusion this morning. She wasn’t certain she understood all the twists and turns involved in the convoluted plot, let alone be able to explain them to another.
“Don’t be a gudgeon, Isabella. You know such a vague response won’t fadge with me. I want details. What have you learned?” Amy nudged her friend, pointing to a bow-fronted window showcasing dress materials. “Let’s turn in there. That striped poplin is just the thing!”
The bell jangled as they stepped inside the draper’s, thankfully diverting Amy’s attention momentarily. She returned to the topic while fingering the ells of poplin brought out by the shopkeeper. “You’ve been far too close-mouthed since the ball for me to believe that nothing exceptional has happened and yet everything is going smoothly. I deserve some details, at least. After all, I let you practice your deceit in my house” Amy reminded her in a teasing tone.
Isabella sighed heavily. “I think the game has reached a plateau. I will learn nothing more unless I escalate the stakes”
“You will not consider it!” Amy whispered in outrage. “You’ve learned all you can, Isabella. If you have to escalate the stakes than he is most definitely a rake and the rumors are well warranted.”
“That’s the problem. I am not exactly sure that the way he behaves with the secret admirer is the truth at all. He’s so very different, more like his old self, when we’re together during the day.” Isabella winced. She’d said too much. Amy’s sly look confirmed it.
“I didn’t know you’d been seeing him outside of natural social encounters at larger events” Amy looked at the watch attached to her pelisse. “Ah, perfect. Time for luncheon. I think we’d better discuss this development of yours over food. I know a corner cafe that makes delicious sandwiches not far from here.”
Amy beckoned to the shopkeeper and quickly arranged for her purchase to be sent to Briarton House. Then she led a wary Isabella to the cafe. The two women settled themselves at a small table near the window and ordered sandwiches and tea.
When the sandwiches arrived, Isabella tried a diversionary tactic. “These are delicious. I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place.”
Amy grinned and waved her finger in scolding. “No, no, no, Bella. You won’t distract me from my purpose. We’ll talk about sandwiches later.”
“Tristan took me driving yesterday.”
“In the park? Where everyone could see you?” Amy rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
Isabella tried to pass off the event as commonplace. “It was just to try out his new rig and horses. I am sure if Alain had been home, he’d have asked Alain.”
“Men don’t ask other men to ride in the park with them in their carriages,” Amy pointed out bluntly. “What else happened? What did you talk about?”
“He asked me to come to The Meadows and act as hostess for his house party.”
“House party? I haven’t heard about it.”
“We haven’t planned it yet” A familiar voice interrupted her.
“Lord Gresham, how good to see you again.” Amy offered her hand, a smile plastered on her face. Isabella felt her face go red. She had been caught talking about him!
“I have had the devil’s own time tracking you ladies down. I called at Westbrooke House earlier and must have just missed you. Your butler was kind enough to give me your direction and I tracked you from there” He looked at Amy while he spoke, but Isabella had no doubt the words were for her alone.
“I was unaware we had an appointment. Am I mistaken?” she said coolly, trying to hide her chagrin at his forward manner. Without being asked, Tristan had drawn a third chair up to their table. He made it plain he was not passing by for a moment of chit chat.
“No, we did not have an appointment. However, I was struck by a sudden need to see you” His words were a caress that brought a blush to Isabella’s hot cheeks. She bristled at the idea that he could reduce her so easily to the status of an insipid schoolroom miss. Thankfully, he turned the conversation to the table at large.
“Lady Briarton, I am throwing a house party at month’s end. Lady Westbrooke has graciously agreed to serve as my hostess since her brother and I are such close friends. I haven’t got another female relative to turn to. I had thought going down to The Meadows next week would give us sufficient time to open up the place and lay our plans. However, I have discovered there is an urgent need to go sooner. I hope you will help convince her to depart with me at once this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” Isabella gaped at him. “I couldn’t possibly be ready. I need two days at least.”
He gave her an indulgent look mixed with gentlemanly naivete. “Lady Westbrooke, how long could it possibly take to pack a few gowns? You can send the rest by post chaise later. I daresay we could be gone in three quarters of an hour.”
Isabella stared at Tristan in horror. His proposition had garnered the attention of the surrounding tables. Whispers were starting behind napkins and painted fans. She was mortified. How dare he ask her to go away with him in a public place? By nightfall, Tristan’s latest flaunting of convention would be common knowledge among the ton. She felt the pressure of his boot on her foot. She glared at him. He leaned forward.
“Bella, forgive me. I must ask you to come with me at once. I have been followed. Do you see that man across the street? He’s followed me since I left my house. My phaeton is parked in an alley out back. I want to get us to safety.”
The man Tristan indicated started to cross the street. Isabella gasped. “What shall I do?”
“Pretend you’re looking for a ladies retiring area. Go through the kitchen and out the back. My tiger is there with the grays”
“We could take my covered coach,” Isabella countered.
“It’s too far away. Don’t argue with me. Just go”
Isabella’s pulse raced with excitement and fear. The man was nearly to the cafe door, all the incentive she needed to rise and make her way to the kitchen. Tristan lounged carelessly in his chair, looking relaxed in the company of Lady Briarton. She tried to emulate his calm as she wended through the little tables. The door opened, its copper bell tinkling. Isabella didn’t need to look back to know the man had entered the cafe.
At the kitchen door, the crashing of dishware and glass drew her attention back to the front table where she’d recently sat. Her breath caught
at the sight of Tristan and the stranger grappling amid the ruins of lunch. Isabella briefly looked for Amy, relieved to see that Amy had wisely scooted anonymously to the side, falling in with the terrified onlookers. Something glinted in the man’s hand: a knife. Tristan countered with a long blade of his own, flashing into his right hand from nowhere. Isabella was riveted. Where had he kept such a weapon? Did he carry it at all times? Tristan slashed at the man, but Isabella could see his efforts were aimed at survival, not at killing the man.
Tristan thrust the man aside and upended two more tables to block the man’s progress. Swiftly, he came towards Isabella. “I told you to go!” He pushed her fiercely before him through the kitchen and hauled her up into the waiting rig. He vaulted up behind her and cracked the reins, shouting to the grays. They pelted down the narrow lane. Turning out into a quiet side street, Isabella glimpsed a man bursting into the alley, too far away to pursue them further.
She gave up gripping the seat rail and opted for gripping Tristan’s firm arm. He drove possessed, weaving in and out of traffic with no intention to stop until he was well away from the city. At last the horses slowed to a trot. The city was behind them.
“So much for packing,” Isabella commented dryly when she could breathe evenly again. “Do you mind telling me what is going on?”
“I am being followed. Perhaps the burglar wasn’t satisfied with what he took from my home and wishes to perpetrate a crime upon my person.”
“Why implicate me?”
“Because I feared this criminal may try to get to me by using you as leverage. You were on the balcony with me the night the planter was thrown. Maybe he worries you might have seen him.”
“You’re hamming me, Tristan,” Isabella said bluntly. “I wish you’d stop it and tell me the truth. The truth had better be worth it. You do realize you propositioned me in public place. This will put paid to any chances you had for making a decent marriage.”
