by Lauren Smith
“Er…yes, I ought to.” He covered her hand with his, and they walked away from the library back toward the front door.
“So, your father’s estate, what’s it like?” Kat pressed again.
Tristan rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, reveling in how soft her skin was.
“Vast. There are miles of forest, fields, so much land. And the house is immense—tan stone, Georgian architecture. I wish—” He could never take Kat there. His father would ruin the last good thing he was trying to keep for himself.
“What?” Kat leaned in to him and gazed up with those lovely eyes, silently begging him to open up. The doorbell chimed again, and he scowled in irritation as they walked toward it.
“If my father weren’t there, I’d take you.”
Her brows furrowed. She seemed frustrated and hurt.
“It has nothing to do with you or what I think of you.” He lifted her chin so he could see her eyes. “My father disapproves of every woman I’ve ever shown the slightest interest in, except Brianna Wolverton. He thinks he’ll arrange my marriage to her and he’ll get in the way of me and any woman I desire that he doesn’t approve of.” He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers again for a brief second before he backed away and opened the door, still looking at her as he spoke. “I don’t ever want you to meet my father. He’s cold, arrogant. Ruthless. He’ll tear you down simply because I care about you. I want to protect you.”
The frustration cleared from her expression, softening her gray eyes. “He’s really that bad?”
“Worse. He’ll do anything to make me come to heel. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“Well, you’ve already failed at that, boy.” A cold voice sliced through Tristan.
He turned back to look at the open doorway, his hand still on the knob as he stared into the cold, arrogant face of his father, Edward Kingsley.
Chapter 7
Father,” he uttered harshly. His chest tightened and his hands clenched into fists as he struggled to remain calm.
He slowly moved to block Kat from his father’s view. What the hell was his father doing at Fox Hill? He should have been back at the estate. Unless…he was furious that Tristan had returned to London and Kat, in which case…his father had tracked him down here.
Fucking hell.
Without so much as an “excuse me,” his father pushed him out of the way and strode into the entrance hall, glowering.
“So, the rumors are true. Sleeping with the daughter of the man your mother married only this afternoon? Really, Tristan. I’ve taught you to control your urges better than that. Did you know they are calling you ‘Lord of Scandal’ back in London? Your picture and hers”—Edward nodded at Kat with a scowl—“are in every paper. Bloody TMZ was at the estate this afternoon hounding the guards at the front gates, asking about your affair with your stepsister.” His father’s voice grew louder as he talked, like a storm building upon the horizon.
Rather than shrinking behind Tristan as any other woman might when his father started to yell, Kat squared her shoulders and faced him, joining Tristan at his side.
“Father, get the bloody hell out of my house.” His tone was ice-cold and he was one step away from shouting. It was one thing for Edward to attack him—he was used to being a target—but Kat was off-limits.
Edward chuckled. “Your house? Boy, this isn’t—and never will be—your house. Just like everything else, what you think you own belongs to either your mother or me. The car you drive? Mine. The clothes on your back? Mine. The funds currently putting you through Cambridge? Also mine.”
His father spat the last few words with such venom that it took every ounce of Tristan’s control not to flinch.
“I own you, dear boy. Every part of you. Now, send that little American tramp back to London and come home with me to Pembroke immediately.”
Kat’s fingers curled around his, and he realized he’d balled them into fists and taken a step toward his father. Her touch gave him a strange mixture of strength and patience.
“I’m not sending her anywhere, Father.”
A hard sneer covered his father’s face. “Yes. You. Are. Because if you don’t, you can say good-bye to everything I’ve given you. The car, the clothes, the program in Cambridge. Oh, and I’ll sack Mr. Martin and his son, effective immediately.”
“What?” Tristan hissed. Fury began to churn inside him, spinning madly.
This time his father smiled. “You wouldn’t want to lose your beloved Carter and his father, would you? Without references from me, they’ll be out of decent work. Lord knows what they’ll have to do to make ends meet. After twenty-nine years of service, Mr. Martin will be cast out. No aristocratic family will dare to hire him, not when I’ve expressed my views on his poor job performance.”
Tristan couldn’t breathe. Carter and his father…tossed off the estate. Their entire lives were at Pembroke. He couldn’t ruin that for…
Kat’s hand fell away from his, and it felt like he was falling through a black tunnel, no end in sight. Just crushing darkness.
“You have one night, Tristan. Be back at Pembroke first thing tomorrow morning without her, or I’ll destroy the Martins and take everything else you love away from you. Clear enough?” Edward straightened his suit, then pulled a pair of leather gloves out from his coat pocket and slid them on in a slow but controlled movement, like a military general.
Tristan’s throat constricted, but he gave no sign to his father that he agreed. Everything inside him was raw and yet numb at the same time.
“Happy Christmas.” His father’s words were dark, and all too cold, given the season. An amusing parting shot, no doubt, as he ripped Tristan’s world apart.
It was a long moment after his father left the house before Tristan recovered from the shock. Numbly, he walked slowly toward the library, the room in Fox Hill that he took the greatest comfort in. Kat followed silently, her eyes wide and face ashen. He leaned heavily against one of the reading tables, trying to clear his head of the thoughts rushing madly through his mind.
Kat had moved to stand in front of one of the large windows, hugging herself as she gazed out at the snow-covered gardens of Fox Hill.
“Kat…” Her name burned his lips.
She turned his way, and he glimpsed tears coursing down her cheeks. She tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. Was she dying inside like he was?
“I guess it’s really over this time, isn’t it?” She started to turn away again, but Tristan strode over and spun her, catching her against him.
If he held fast to her, he might not have to let her go. A foolish hope, but it was there all the same.
A muffled sob came from her, and she clung to him.
I have had everything a man could want my entire life. Until her. And she’ll never belong to me…The one thing I—
He squeezed Kat tighter to him. Every moment of his life seemed to have led to this, and his father was taking her away.
“Tristan, I can’t go back to my dad, not after what happened, but I can’t stay here either.”
The pain lancing through him flared his temper. “Why not? My father can’t take you from me. He can’t—”
Kat reached up to place a fingertip to his lips. “We both know he would do what he threatened to. And I’m not going to let you choose me, not when you know in your heart you have to protect Carter and his dad. It’s the right thing to do.”
“To hell with what’s right. I want you, Kat. I don’t need anyone but you.”
When she pushed him away, it cut his soul in two.
“The man you are, the man I fell for, does the right thing, even when he doesn’t want to. I know I teased you about being a bit high and mighty, but the truth is…” She rubbed her eyes, wiping away stray tears. “The truth is, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. Even though you try to hide it, your heart is so full of love, for your mother, for Celia, Carter…The people you love are a part of what makes you so wonderful. I wi
ll not be the woman who steals them from your life.”
Kat was killing him. His lungs tightened and his anger boiled to the surface.
“So you’ll condemn me to the fate my father has planned? Don’t tell me that you can sit back and watch me walk away. I’ll have to marry someone else. That’s what he wants. Political allies, a strategic marriage, a life of silent desperation. You would do that to me?”
How could she not see that if they gave in to his father’s wishes this time, they’d lose each other and their chance at shared happiness? Edward Kingsley had played his trump card and wouldn’t hesitate to exploit anyone to get anything he wanted.
“We have to grow up, Tristan. Not everything is a fairy tale. We had a glimpse of something few other people ever have in their entire lives. But we have to give it up because it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice was quiet but firm, and it cut his heart to ribbons.
There it was, that glimmer in her eyes of an ancient knowledge of having endured this before, in another life, another time. How could she be so brave? It was destroying him, but she stood tall in the face of losing their chance of being happy together. Everything they’d done today seemed a thousand years away, as though a stranger, not him, had experienced that joy, that freedom to just…be with the woman he cared about.
“We have one night. Let’s not waste it.” She held out a hand to him.
* * *
Tristan curled his fingers around hers and tugged her toward him. Being in his arms was like coming home, the way she felt as a little girl, climbing down the steps of her bus and running across the thick summer grass, spying her house in the distance. The house she’d lived in as a child. Before her mother left…before everything changed.
She tilted her head back and gazed into Tristan’s eyes.
One of us has to be strong enough to keep things together for one more day.
“Pretend with me,” she breathed as she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his.
“Pretend?” His hand gripped the back of her neck, lightly massaging away the knots of tension.
“Yes.” Kat kissed him lightly. “Pretend it’s just you and me. No one else exists in this world. What happens with this last day, it will always be ours. No one can take that away from us.”
His mouth, usually so stern and proud, curved into a gentle, wry smile. Slowly, so slowly the anticipation drove her mad, Tristan lowered his head until their lips touched.
Sweet kisses, soft but firm hands stroking, a shared exhale…
It began to build, like the sky burning with shades of fire as the dawn approached. Kat gasped as Tristan suddenly lifted her up and she curled her legs around his waist. He carried her to a bookshelf that had a wide waist-high shelf. When she hit the wood, he pressed against her, his mouth devouring hers while his hands fumbled with the buttons of his jeans.
“Let…me…” She panted between searing kisses and hopped down to stand.
He stepped back and pulled his sweater off, tossing it away while she toed out of her boots and stripped out of her clothes. When she was down to her panties and bra, he was on her again, placing her back on the ledge. She wound her arms around his neck, stroking her fingers through his hair and tracing the shapes of his shoulder muscles. He was so beautiful.
My own fallen angel. She smiled against his lips.
Tristan kissed his way down to the tops of her breasts, and with a little tug on her bra, he freed them from the black cotton bra cups. One of his palms cupped her left breast, while his mouth closed over the peak of the right. Sucking hard on the tip, he tortured her sweetly. She writhed against the bookshelf behind her, feeling the spines of the old books rasping against her skin. Digging her hands into his hair, she tugged on the strands.
Rather than relent, he moved his lips down her belly. With a low growl, he ripped the panties off. The scraps dropped to the ground, and he flattened his palms on her inner thighs, shoving them wide apart. Kat let go of his hair so she could grasp the edges of the bookcase to keep herself from falling. He pressed kisses, feathery and light, followed by little love bites, against her inner thighs as he worked his way toward her mound. Kat shivered and arched against the shelf, gripping the wood to stay upright. She glanced down, seeing his dark hair glinting in the soft glow of the library light. Every kiss, every little stroking touch of his hands and lips upon her skin, set fire to her body.
Tristan’s lips moved closer and closer to her mons, and her head spun a little when she realized where his mouth was headed. When he found her clit and he sucked on the sensitive bud, sparks shot through her, and she cried out at the harsh stab of arousal and the rush of wet heat. He licked her, kissed her, tortured her with his mouth until she was chanting—more like begging—his name in reverent breaths. The climax hit her slowly, softly, a cresting wave of pleasure, drawing her out to sea and lulling her into relaxing.
“Don’t quit on me yet, darling.” He chuckled as he rose and towered over her. He went to unbutton his jeans. Kat reached for him, but he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head with one of his hands. His other hand freed his cock and then positioned himself at her entrance. He kissed her hard, brutal almost, as he thrust into her body. She bit his lip as pleasure at the sudden invasion tore through her.
Nothing will ever feel this good again…
She could barely think coherently as he withdrew from her and then slammed back in. He kept her wrists pinned and her body open for his taking. Everything was too much, too overwhelming, the emotions, the sensations, the need to move and to feel him move inside her.
“Who do you belong to?” His voice was low, rough, and commanding.
Their gazes locked and the primal part of her British bad boy was there, like churning fires in the mouth of a volcano. And she wanted to be burned. Bad.
“You,” she moaned. She arched her back, undulating her body against his. The savage sound that tore from his lips as he fully claimed her made her explode.
He pounded into her, relentless, their hips colliding with such force she knew she’d be bruised tomorrow. The bookcase rocked on its edges, the wood creaking in between the sounds of their bodies coming together. Several books crashed down to the floor around them, but neither of them cared.
“I’m yours, Tristan, forever,” she whispered as he buried his face in her neck.
Then, as the orgasm fully knocked into her, she threw her head back. A second later Tristan cried out, his body rigid as he came. He let go of her wrists and clasped her face in his hands and kissed her, his breathing harsh. His chest pressed to hers and their hearts beat wildly. When their mouths broke apart, Kat had to catch her breath.
That was when she noticed that a portion of the upper library windows were stained glass. The middle panel depicted a medieval woman and man in an embrace. The vivid colors were glowing with the setting sun outside, and the couple seemed to come alive, love evident on their etched features. Beneath them was an inscription, and Kat murmured the words aloud.
“Amor omnia vincit improbus. What does it mean?” she asked him.
“What?” Tristan nuzzled her cheek, their bodies still joined.
“Amor omnia vincit improbus,” she repeated, her eyes drifting between his face and the medieval stained glass.
“Love conquers all.”
When he spoke those words, she heard the pain buried just beneath the surface of his tone. She placed a hand on his cheek and stroked his jaw, the faint stubble scraping her skin.
Stay with me, Tristan. Don’t lose control now.
They only had one night and they needed to fill it with a lifetime of memories.
Chapter 8
Everything Kat had dreamed of but had been too afraid to hope for was ending tonight. As she held Tristan against her body, she clung to him like he was a fading phantom.
With a sigh, he pulled away from her. She watched him use a handkerchief to wipe himself and her before he fixed his trousers.
Kat slid
off the shelf, her feet unsteady from the two overpowering orgasms. Using the bookcase as support, she grabbed her clothes, minus the ripped underwear, and dressed quickly.
Tristan didn’t speak while she dressed, instead gazing at the stained-glass couple. When he finally faced her, his eyes were shadowed with sorrow.
“You asked me if the stained glass at my mother’s town house was what moved me to tears. It wasn’t.” He lifted his head in the direction of the medieval couple. “It was them.”
Love conquers all.
Kat blinked rapidly as unshed tears stung her eyes. “It’s so beautiful.”
He turned his gaze away from the medieval lovers and looked at her, those blue-green eyes casting a spell upon her heart.
“If we only have one night.” The barest hint of a hitch in his voice stung her.
She struggled to breathe. “Then we should do something wonderful.”
Tristan lifted his head, stark pain in his eyes. “You’re mine and I’ll do anything you want.” The way he said you’re mine sent little flutters through her chest.
Kat walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him. “I want to spend it with you. No one else. Let’s not leave your bed until morning.”
His responding smile warmed her insides.
Holding his hand, she followed him out of the library.
When they reached Tristan’s room, she was surprised at the bittersweet melancholy that swept through her. She’d lost her virginity here, and she’d lost her heart to him that same night.
Warm hands settled on her waist as Tristan caught hold of her from behind and pulled her against him. He nuzzled her cheek and exhaled.
“We have so little time,” he murmured.
Kat placed her hands on his and squeezed lightly. Her chest was tight as emotions flooded her.
“Tell me about Pembroke. The house I mean. You never really talk about it.”
He stiffened behind her.
“Please, Tristan, forget your father. Just tell me about your home.” She wanted—no, needed—to have a place to picture in her mind, so when she lay in bed at night, missing him, she could see him.
