How the Scoundrel Seduces (21 page)

“Tomorrow afternoon! But you have to take me with you when you go tonight.”

“Are you mad? It was hard enough to arrange this jaunt today; there’s no way in hell to sneak you out of your father’s house at night just so you can—”

“How do I know you’ll even ask about Drina?” She was still smarting from his refusal to give her the facts about his past. “You won’t tell me how you’re connected to Milosh. For all I know, you have your own plans for him.”

His eyes blazed at her. “So that’s what you think of me. I’m always going to be the dirty bastard to you, the coarse, unmannerly oaf in gentleman’s clothing.”

“I didn’t say that,” she whispered.

“You didn’t have to.” He yanked open the door. “And since you obviously think me a liar and a thief, I will let Dom handle the matter from now on.”

He stalked out onto the frozen path and headed for the road, the tail of his greatcoat flapping in the wind.

Lifting her skirts, she ran after him in a fury. “How dare you blame me for your . . . your pigheaded refusal to tell me what’s going on? I have a right to know!”

Like the cursed
man
that he was, he just kept walking.

Up ahead, the duchess’s coach pulled up and the footman helped Lisette out. She came toward them with a smile. “I hope I didn’t take too long,” she said as she approached. “But the cookshop was farther than I thought.”

“It’s fine,” Tristan clipped out. “We’re fine. She’s all yours. I’m going on.” He paused to glance back at Zoe as she reached them. “I’ll give my report to Dom in the morning. He can pass it on to you.” He tipped his hat. “Good day to you, my lady.”

He continued resolutely toward a horse tied to a tree farther down the street.

“Drat you, Tristan!” Zoe cried, and hurried after him.

The duchess caught her by the arm before she could even pass. “Let him go for now. When he’s in a temper, there’s no reasoning with him.”

“But you don’t understand.”

“I understand you’ll get nowhere with him if you don’t let him cool down.” Lisette gazed over to where he’d already untied his mount and was swinging into the saddle. “Come. Let’s head back to your father’s. You can tell me all about it on the way. Then if you still want to face down a bear, I’ll make sure to get him trapped up a tree for you, all right?”

He was already riding off. She couldn’t exactly run
after a cantering horse. With a nod, she let the duchess lead her back to the Lyons carriage.

They climbed in and set off toward Mayfair. Zoe was a seething mass of emotion—one minute furious, the next despairing, blaming herself for pressing the issue, then blaming Tristan for taking her halfway to seduction while still refusing to tell her anything.

He claimed
she
didn’t trust
him
? He didn’t trust her one whit!

“So tell me,” Lisette said, “what has my brother done now?”

Perhaps the duchess would reveal what Tristan wouldn’t. “He claims that Milosh has something to do with my case, but he won’t say how. What the devil does Milosh have to do with Tristan?”

Lisette winced. “I gather that my brother really doesn’t want you—”

“To know that he stole a horse from your half brother? That he fled to France because of it?”

“He
told
you?”

She debated whether to lie. But it hardly seemed fair to gain information by deception when what she wanted was an end to the deception. “No. I heard rumors from my father, and I need to know how much is true. And how much is foolish society gossip.” Her voice grew choked. “Tristan won’t tell me. Will you?”

The duchess looked troubled. “What’s so important about your case that you ask me to reveal something about my family history that very few people have ever heard? Can you tell me
why
you want to know?”

Zoe swallowed. “I wish I could. But my case isn’t just my own. Too much is at stake for me to unveil my secrets.” Reaching forward, she seized Lisette’s hands. “But I
can
tell you I need to know for more than just reasons of this case. Your brother is . . . not merely an investigator to me.”

Heaven save her, it was true. How terrifying. Because he clearly didn’t feel the same. Or not as deeply, anyway. “I doubt that it matters, but—”

“You want to know if you’ve misplaced your affections,” Lisette said softly. “If you’re being a terrible judge of character.”

With tears clogging her throat, she nodded.

Lisette gazed out the carriage window. For a long, agonizing moment, she appeared to be considering something. But just when Zoe was sure the woman would refuse, she turned back to Zoe and set her shoulders.

“Very well,” Lisette said with a hint of defiance. “I’ll tell you.”

13

T
HE CLATTER OF
hooves on cobblestones, the grind of scissors being sharpened, the lilting cries of sellers hawking primroses and matches and milk—all of it penetrated the duchess’s carriage, and none of it drowned out the chilling tale of Tristan’s break with George Manton.

Zoe listened with her fists clenched and her blood rising. “How did your half brother get away with it? Didn’t anybody protest?”

“No one was about to stand up to the newly minted Viscount Rathmoor.” Bitterness crept into Lisette’s voice. “Not the townspeople who called Tristan ‘the French whore’s bastard,’ or the servants who knew better than to cut off their own noses to spite their faces.”

“But Dom stood up to him.”

“Dom tried,” Lisette corrected her, “and George cut him off completely. Without money, Dom had no choice but to quit his studies as a barrister. He was forced to rely on his own resources, and his best one proved to be his friendship with Jackson Pinter.”

“
Sir
Jackson Pinter?”

The duchess nodded. “They met when Dom was studying a legal case that Sir Jackson was involved in. So when George destroyed Dom’s hope for a future, Dom asked Sir Jackson for a position as a Bow Street runner. He made his living that way until only a few years ago, when he established Manton’s Investigations.”

“And you and your mother and brother went to France.”

“
Fled
is more like it.” Lisette stared out the window. “Dom sneaked us off the estate to Flamborough Head. From there, we boarded a smuggler’s skiff for the Continent.”

A sudden lurch in the pit of her stomach made Zoe clutch the squabs. “You crossed the English Channel in a
skiff  
? It’s a miracle you even survived!”

“It was a sailing skiff, so not as tiny as you might think, but the journey
was
rather harrowing.” Lisette smiled faintly. “From that day on, Maman refused to set foot on anything that traversed water. She said she’d rather drown than spend hours repeatedly losing the contents of her stomach.”

“What about Tristan?”

“He was so angry at himself for putting us in that position that he stopped at nothing to protect us, took any number of reckless chances on our behalf. He nearly beat one of the smugglers to a bloody pulp for attempting to steal a kiss from me.”

“Of course he did,” Zoe said. “You were only fourteen, right?”

The duchess nodded. “When we neared the shore off Biarritz and the smugglers threatened to toss us out unless we gave them the rest of our money, Tristan held the captain at knifepoint until his men pulled the skiff in to the beach and let us off safely.”

Her eyes grew misty. “He was outnumbered four to one, and they were armed. So after they allowed Maman and me to get off, he made them go back out to sea well away from us before he jumped into the water and swam for shore in the midst of a tempest.”

“Good heavens.”

“The dratted fool was banged up so badly by the rocks that he could scarcely run when the smugglers made for land again, still eager to steal the remainder of our funds.” Lisette shook her head. “Fortunately, the storm was still going on, so we eluded them, though it was a narrow escape.”

Tears stung Zoe’s eyes over what all of them had suffered, but most especially Tristan. Her dear, tormented Tristan. No wonder he hated “her kind.” No wonder he thought her half-mad for trying to unearth her Gypsy family. She’d gained the world despite her ignominious birth; he’d lost everything because of
his.

And because of a foolish theft of a horse. “So if Tristan really stole that Thoroughbred, why is he here and not in gaol?”

“It’s a long story, but the gist of it is that in exchange for Tristan’s having found my husband’s cousin, Max made sure that George withdrew the charges. Of course, that won’t stop our blasted half brother from
trying to destroy Tristan some other way. For example, by using Milosh.”

Now that Lisette had explained who Milosh was to Tristan, Zoe was torn between anger that Tristan had used
her
situation to find Milosh, and worry over why he had chosen to do so. What could he possibly be planning?

“Does George know that Milosh is the one who bought the horse all those years ago?” Zoe asked.

“There’s no way to be sure. Milosh and his family left the same night we did. That wouldn’t have seemed odd—everyone knew that Papa was the only one allowing them to camp on the land and that George would kick them off as soon as he could. But with Milosh being a horse trader, George might have put it all together.”

“Still, if there’s no more theft warrant, how could your half brother use Milosh to hurt Tristan?”

Worry lit Lisette’s features, so much like Tristan’s. “If George has guessed that Tristan sold the horse to Milosh, then he could have
Milosh
arrested, especially if he sees Tristan taking up with the man again. George could claim he dropped the charges because he’d figured out that Milosh, not Tristan, did the stealing.”

“But there’s no evidence, nothing concrete to tie Milosh to the horse. Or surely his lordship would have had the Gypsy arrested years ago.”

“George doesn’t need evidence. He’s got Hucker to lie for him, and any number of servants. What’s more, he knows that Tristan would never stand for Milosh
taking the blame for his crime. Tristan feels bad enough that Dom suffered for it. He would do whatever he must to save Milosh.”

Zoe dragged in a sharp breath. “Like what?”

“Who knows? Probably admit to the theft. Or . . . I don’t know, challenge George to a duel or something. They truly despise each other.”

She was beginning to get that impression. “Then surely Tristan realizes all of what you’re telling me. So why is he taking such risks to see Milosh?”

Lisette shrugged. “Because of your case, I assume.”

“I don’t think so. I think he has some reason he’s not telling either of us. Before you and I even reached the camp this morning, he was looking for the man.” Zoe stared out the window for a long moment, her heart in her throat. “It’s far more likely that he used my case as an excuse to hunt up Milosh for his own purposes.”

The duchess smoothed her skirts. “Perhaps at first. But I watched him with you today. The way he acted, the way he looked at you—”

“I’m sure he looks at all women the same. He
is
a rogue, after all.”

“Yes, sometimes.” Lisette searched her face. “But don’t let my big brother’s blustering fool you. There’s more to Tristan than he lets on.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Zoe hardly saw the buildings they hurtled past on their way through town. “Still, when it comes to women . . .”

“He’s never taken up with a lady, you know. His . . . er . . . preference has always been experienced women
who are using him as much as he’s using them. And I have never seen him look at a mere client—at
any
female—as if the world might stop spinning if he couldn’t have her.”

I’ve never done this with a woman like you before. Never wanted to. I only know . . . I don’t want it to end.

Curse the man. Why must he crawl under her skin at every turn?

“Not even in France?” she asked, thinking of all the lovely Frenchwomen he must have met.

Lisette snorted. “Especially not in France. Good Lord, he had no time for women there.”

Zoe’s gaze shot to her. “Why not?”

“He spent it working.” The duchess’s lips thinned into a tight line. “When we first arrived, we all did. I took in piecework, Maman trod the boards, and he worked at the Toulon shipyards during the day and took a job as a watchman at night. He scarcely slept for days on end.”

An unsettling image of Tristan wielding a hammer at a shipyard half-asleep flashed in her mind. “Toulon? I thought he was in Paris.”

“Not until a few years later, after La Sûreté Nationale hired him. We stayed in Toulon with Maman’s family to save money.” Lisette’s voice tightened. “He took every case they threw his way, determined to earn enough so that Maman and I wouldn’t have to work anymore, especially once she fell ill. It was only after she died and I moved in with him that he stopped his frenzy.”

Zoe glanced out the window to keep Lisette from glimpsing her agitation. The duchess painted a picture of Tristan that differed vastly from the one Zoe had been clinging to.

He fought for his family like her. He sacrificed for his family like her. And no doubt he hurt when someone refused to trust him.