Her Immortal Love (12 page)

“Tristan? What kind of a name is that?” she asked.

“It’s a name, Mother,” Lydia replied, her voice hardening. “Like any other. Tristan Drake.”

“Well, Tristan is certainly unlike any name I’ve ever heard.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you? Some kind of an artist? Or musician? Aren’t they the sort to go around choosing odd sounding names?”

“No, Mother,” Lydia said. “He’s not an artist or a musician.”

“Then what is he?”

“He’s my lover,” Lydia said before she could stop herself.

She glanced up at Tristan. She thought she saw amusement in his dark blue eyes but she wasn't sure.

He looked over at her mother. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Richards.” He made as if to take her hand, but Carlotta kept it well out of reach. Now the whispers swooped about the room like startled sparrows.

Carlotta looked away from Tristan and over at Lydia. “What did you say he was?”

“My lover, Mother. My date, my boyfriend.” She hadn’t meant to add that last one. It made her sound like she was fifteen years old.

“Well, he’s certainly a boy. I’ll grant you that.”

“Stop talking about him as if he weren’t here.”

A frown wrinkled along Carlotta’s high forehead. “You didn’t tell me you were dating.”

“Mother, can we please discuss this—”

“I don’t approve. No, I don’t approve in the least. He’s far too young, and you know my feelings about such things.”

All the conversations at the party had stopped. Tristan, Lydia and Carlotta were now the star attractions. But Lydia had no intention on providing salacious entertainment for her mother’s guests.

She looked over at Tristan. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

He inclined his head, but his eyes were anxious. She gave him a small smile of assurance. Her mother had always loved embarrassing Lydia, especially in public. She’d never gotten used to it, but it wasn’t anything new either.

She took her mother by the arm and, although it was like trying to move a mountain, managed through sheer will and growing anger to guide her mother into the mansion’s library. It had been her late father’s favorite room and was, therefore, strictly off limits to the guests.

Once inside, she closed the door firmly behind them.

“What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?” Carlotta demanded as Lydia whirled around to face her. “You’re old enough to be his mother.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. What is he? Seventeen?”

“Of course he isn’t. And you know he isn’t. He is younger than me, but—”

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on making this into something serious?”

“And what if I am?”

“Have you no shame?”

Lydia blinked. An image of her in the carriage with Tristan as he fucked her flared in her mind. She smiled. “No, Mother, I guess I don't.”

Carlotta’s eyes widened then narrowed. “What do you know about him?”

“Enough.”

“Which means you know nothing.”

“I know he’s a man. A real man.”

“As opposed to whom? Douglas?”

Lydia only shrugged. After she divorced Douglas, her mother didn’t speak to her for a month. She accused Lydia of acting rashly regarding the whole adultery thing. Insisted that she should have forgiven Douglass for his, as Carlotta termed it, little indiscretion. That it was not unusual for a man Douglas’s age to have an affair. That it was a mid-life crisis sort of thing and not something to make a major fuss over.

Lydia had not heeded her mother’s advice. She divorced Douglas and she divorced him because he hadn’t just betrayed her sexually. She had loved him with all her heart. In her eyes, she’d been a good, loyal and supportive wife. She had nurtured his dreams, celebrated his successes and cried with him when he was in pain.

And she had trusted him. Trusted him to return her love with loyalty if not with passion.

Carlotta pointed a shaking finger at the door. “That gigolo wants only one thing from you.”

Lydia gritted her teeth. “His name’s Tristan. And he’s not a gigolo.”

“Your money,” Carlotta said. “That’s all that sort cares about.”

Lydia laughed. “Money? Mother, you’re the one with all the money.”

“Which when I die you’ll inherit along with the company. And I’m sure he is well aware of that. Or if he wasn’t, he’s certainly aware of it now.”

“Tristan is quite well-off. He doesn’t need any money.”

“Well, then, he’s just using you.”

“Using me?”

Her mother’s face tightened with disgust. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

“Then he’s probably one of those young men who, out of some sense of misguided pity, indecent libidinousness or a perverse mother-complex, like to take advantage of women of a certain age.”

“A certain age?” Lydia threw her hands up in exasperation. “Mother, what are you—”

“If you’re going to date,” Carlotta said, interrupting her, “but which I highly suggest you don’t since you apparently have no idea what you’re doing, it should be someone your own age. Or older. It’s not fitting your being with that…that person. You’re only making a fool of yourself. Just as you were a fool to let Douglas go. At least he knew how to keep you in line.”

“I didn’t let Douglas go, Mother. He left me. Remember? To be with a woman half his age.”

The nostrils of Carlotta’s high-bridged nose flared. “Oh, so is that your justification for your behavior? Some sort of turnaround is fair play? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander?” Carlotta slowly shook her head. “I expected better from you. I know your father would have.”

“Don’t you dare bring Father into this.” Lydia’s voice shook with both anger and grief. Her father had died when she was fourteen, but after all these years she still missed him desperately.

Her father had loved her. Truly loved her. Had accepted her for who she was faults and all. And if he were alive, he would love her still. No matter what choices she made. No matter whom she wanted to be with. Of that she had no doubt and no one, not even her mother, was going to convince her otherwise.

Her mother must have known she’d hit a nerve for a look of chagrin fell across her face. But she quickly shook it off. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “You should not have brought him to my party.”

“I brought him here because I wanted you to meet him.

But even as she said it she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She had known how her mother was going to act upon meeting Tristan. She had entered the situation with her eyes wide-open. She’d wanted to make a statement regarding her life and her choices. Well, she’d made her statement and her mother had reacted just as she’d suspected she would.

“I’ve met him,” Carlotta said. “I have no desire to meet him again. If you’re going to insist on seeing him then I think it best the two of you leave before you embarrass yourself, and, most especially, me, any further.”

Tears stung Lydia’s eyes but she quickly blinked them away. She would not give her mother the satisfaction of knowing how deeply she had hurt her. She left the library. The conversations among the guests had resumed but she noted curious glances being thrown her way.

“Lydia, oh, Lydia dear.”

She stopped and turned around. One of her mother’s acquaintances, a Mrs. Sorenson, came towards her, her round, pleasant face stretched in a wide smile.

Lydia could not help but return her smile despite the pain in her heart at her mother’s words. Mrs. Sorenson was one of the few of her mother’s friends she genuinely liked.

“Oh, my dear, wherever did you find him?” Mrs. Sorenson gushed.

“Who?”

“That utterly delectable young man. He’s absolutely charming. I just had the most fascinating conversation with him about the gardens of Versailles. You know how I love anything regarding the French.” She giggled. “Well, he’s quite the expert on Versailles. He told me all sorts of fascinating things about it.”

She placed a plump hand on Lydia’s arm. “Did you know that the first hot air balloon was launched there in 1783 and that it carried a sheep, a rooster and a duck and it flew for eight minutes, right in front of Louis XIV, Marie Antoinette and the entire French court?”

Lydia shook her head.

“And that when Louis XIV visited the fountains of Versailles the guards were ordered to whistle so the fountains would be turned on when the king visited them. And that you could rent a hat and sword at the front gate so that you would be properly attired when visiting the Grand Apartment. Fascinating, don’t you think? Like a fancy restaurant providing a tie for a man.”

“Yes, it is fascinating.”

Mrs. Sorenson’s eyes sparkled. “Your young man is a veritable fount of information. And so well-mannered for someone his age. Wherever did you meet him?”

“I, um, met him…at a bookstore.” She didn’t want Mrs. Sorenson to know she’d been hanging out at a campus bar and it wasn’t entirely a lie. They met the second time at the new age store and it sold books.

“Really? Well, personally, I think it’s wonderful that older women are dating younger men. It is the twenty-first century after all and what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

Lydia blinked. Carlotta had said the exact same thing, but hearing it from Mrs. Sorenson it sounded more like a rallying cry than an accusation of some sort of illicit activity, which is how her mother had made it sound.

Mrs. Sorenson leaned closer. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course not.”

The older woman glanced around then lowered her voice to a whisper. “What is he like?”

Lydia lowered her voice to match hers. “What do you mean?”

“In bed? What is he like in bed?”

Lydia smiled. “Amazing.”

Mrs. Sorenson’s round face pinked. “Really? Does he. . .can he. . .all night?”

Enjoying herself immensely, Lydia nodded.

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Sorenson touched her cheek then proceeded to fan herself. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be with a younger man. They’re so. . . young and vigorous. Well, you are a lucky woman, Lydia. Yes, a very lucky woman indeed.”

She looked over at a stout, balding man who stood in front of a long table bulging with food. “It’s not that my Harold doesn’t try to make me happy but. . .” She stopped and sighed.

Mr. Sorenson bit into a hors d'oeuvre, brushing the crumbs off his round belly. Then, noting Lydia and his wife looking over at him, he smiled and waved.

Mrs. Sorenson waved back then turned to Lydia. “All night you say?”

Lydia nodded.

“And does he make you. . .happy?”

It took a moment for Lydia to realize what Mrs. Sorenson meant. “Yes, very happy.”

“More than once a night?”

“Yes, more than once a night.”

Mrs. Sorenson eyes widened, but before she could say another word, Lydia saw Tristan moving towards her. As always, his eyes were only on her even though the eyes of everyone else at the party followed him.

He smiled at Mrs. Sorenson. “Still enjoying the party?”

Mrs. Sorenson was no longer pink. She was now as red as a beet. She giggled, batting her lashes up at Tristan. “Yes, yes I am. Very much so.” She glanced between Lydia and Tristan. “I’ll leave you two young people alone. I must keep an eye on Harold. He gets indigestion when he eats too many shrimp canapes.”

She moved away toward her husband who was chewing lustily, a look of utter bliss on his face.

Tristan leaned close to Lydia, his lips brushing her ear. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Mother was. . .Mother.”

“Do you want to stay?” He slid his arm about her waist and pulled her close.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to tell him that her mother had ordered the two of them out of her house.

“Do you want to say goodbye to her?” he asked.

“No, I’ll. . . I’ll call her tomorrow.”

Tristan took her arm and they left the mansion. Once they were on the street and out of sight of her mother’s house she leaned against him. He put his arms around her. “Sweet, tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Make love to me. Please.”

“Here?” He smiled and glanced around. “Behind those bushes, perhaps?”

Yes. Why not? Why not engage in a scorching hot bout of wild, monkey sex with her young lover on the grounds of her mother’s estate? Wouldn’t that put an appropriate postscript on the evening?

“Tempting, but no.” She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. “I want to be alone with you. Completely and utterly alone.”

He moved his warm lips over her face. “Your place is closer.”

“Yes, yes,” she whispered. “Let’s go to my place.”

Tristan kissed her, so deeply and so thoroughly that Lydia thought she would climax right then and there. When he finally released her, she was breathless. They walked arm in arm, stealing kisses from the other as they did. Once they were inside his car, Lydia sighed and pressed her head against his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked.

She shook her head. There was nothing to talk about. Either she did as her mother wanted and stopped seeing Tristan, or she did as she wanted and continued to see him. There was no middle ground. “I’m sorry she embarrassed you. I shouldn’t have put you through that. I apologize.”

“Lydia, darling, trust me. I’m fine. It’s you that I’m worried about. I’d hate to be the cause of a rift between the two of you.”

She laughed bitterly. “You’re too late for that. That rift you speak of has yawned between me and Mother longer than you’ve been alive.”

“I doubt that” Tristan murmured. He started the car and it purred to life.

“Thank you,” she said.

He looked over at her. “For what?”

“For being you.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “You don’t have to thank me for that, sweet. I’ll be whatever you want for as long as you want.”

“You truly are too good to be true.”

He frowned. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Did I? I didn’t mean to.”

“Do you trust me, Lydia?”

Did she? Should she? Her mother was right. She didn’t know all that much about him. They’d made love twice but he was still a mystery to her. Still a puzzle. Even now something about him continued to needle the back of her mind.