How the Scoundrel Seduces (26 page)

“Uncle Milosh was wrong! You’ve handled my case admirably so far. I trust you to be careful with my father.”

“And what about your cousin?”

“What has
he
got to do with anything?”

Tristan snorted. “He’s the reason for all of this, remember? According to the plan you yourself laid out, you have to marry him. If I spook Keane by paying calls on you, when he already knows that your father doesn’t approve of me, it won’t help your situation. Keane will start asking questions, as he always does, and it will make it harder for you and your father to keep the truth from him.”

“We can’t keep it from him anyway, now that Uncle Milosh is involved,” she said dolefully.

“Not necessarily. If we get your father to provide Milosh with the missing facts that could lead him to Drina, Milosh can go throttle Hucker on her behalf without anyone tracing it back to your family. Then you can marry your cousin.”

“This afternoon you didn’t want me to marry my cousin,” she said hoarsely. “What has changed?”

“Everything, damn it!” Then he seemed to catch himself, to even out his tone. “You have to marry Keane. It’s the only way for you to keep the title and the estate. As you said before, he’s the one man who won’t care if the truth gets out. Because then
he
would inherit. You’d still be safe.”

The fact that he was now pushing her at her cousin made her despair. “He doesn’t want me.”

“I doubt that. But even if it’s true, you can make him want you.” He dragged in a long breath. “You have a talent for that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m merely pointing out that you were right. Marrying your cousin is sensible. Which makes it essential that I play a less visible role in the investigation.”

“I don’t want—”

“I don’t care what you want!”

She must have made some shocked sound, for he muttered a curse under his breath and added in a coldly measured voice, “This is how it must be. You’ll see the wisdom of it once you’ve had time to think.”

Ooh, she absolutely
hated
when men started ordering her about without taking her feelings into consideration. She hadn’t expected that from him, though perhaps she should have. He did have a tendency to think his way was always best.

Just like Papa.

Who wasn’t even her papa.

That sent her over the edge. “Fine. Behave like an arse then. See if I care.” When that insult got no reaction from him, she saw red. “If you don’t want to be there when I speak to the Major, don’t come. Send your brother instead. Or your sister or whomever you wish. Just leave me be!”

Sick to death of worrying over it, over
him,
she spurred her mare into a gallop and headed for home.

That got a reaction at last. “Damn it, Zoe!” he cried, and galloped after her.

It was a mad ride through London streets. From previous stays in London, she knew the route with the least traffic this time of night, and she took it, determined to reach home without letting him see how her heart was breaking.

Her heart? No, certainly not. She would never be so foolish as to give her heart to that . . . that officious, pigheaded, surly scoundrel!

She reached Berkeley Square but was forced to halt at the end of the mews when something dawned on her. Since she’d sneaked the horse out of their stables earlier, she now had to sneak it back in. Heaven save her.

And now she could hear Tristan riding up behind her, no doubt ready to make more icy pronouncements.

Curse the man to hell. That was the problem with dramatic shows of anger. One always ended up in the same place one had started, with the same arse who was giving one all the trouble.

The same arse who rode up next to her and hissed, “Are you out of your mind, riding neck-or-nothing through London when—”

“As if you care.” She slipped off the horse and gazed down to her family’s stable at the other end of the mews. “Go away. I have to figure out how to get my mare back into her stall without anyone hearing me. Otherwise, they’ll know I’ve been gone.” She shot him a sullen look. “And we wouldn’t want my cousin to guess, or he might not make the supreme sacrifice and marry me.”

Tristan tensed, then dismounted, too. “Stay here with my horse. I’ll take care of yours.”

And before she could even protest, he’d caught her reins and was striding down to the stables. She stood there, uncertain, her heart pounding as he disappeared into the stable and then emerged without the mare.

When he approached, she said, “How did you—”

“If you’ll recall, getting in and out of places without being caught is my particular skill. Can you get into the house?”

“I left the kitchen door unlocked, so yes.”

He frowned. “You’re assuming that it
stayed
unlocked. We’d best check.” He tethered his horse to a nearby fence post, then offered his arm. “Let’s go.”

She ignored his arm, stalking off down the mews toward their back garden. He followed her through it and to the kitchen door without a word. He was probably chafing to be rid of her. Lord knew she was chafing to be rid of
him.

Unfortunately, when she reached the kitchen door, she found it locked.

“Botheration,” she muttered. “I expected to be home before they locked up for the night.” She glared at him. “I can’t get in. How am I to get in?”

He gave a long sigh. “Give me one of your hairpins.”

“Why?”

“Just give it to me, all right?”

She yanked one out and handed it to him. He crouched to work it in the lock. Within seconds, she heard a click.

He stood and opened the door. “There you go.”

“No wonder you play a thief so well.”

His lips twitched, and she thought she’d finally gotten a smile out of him when they heard a noise in the mews.

“Now then, what’s this?” said a man’s voice. “Are you lost, laddie? I don’t remember seeing you hereabouts. You’re a fine one, you are.”

Tristan tensed. “Damn, someone has found my horse.”

“It’s our neighbor’s groom,” she breathed.

The groom made a
tsk
ing noise. “I daresay it’s the master’s son, getting drunk and taking someone else’s mount again. Damned fool. We’d best get you inside, all
right, laddie? Give you a nice rubdown and settle you in for the night until we can find out who’s your master. Can’t leave you out here to be stolen.”

When Tristan turned toward the mews, she whispered, “You can’t go out there yet.”

“I
know
that. The bloody groom will want to know who I am and why I’m lurking about in your garden.”

“And it will get back to Papa that you were here.” She tugged on his arm. “Just come inside for a bit and wait until he goes to bed. Then you can get your horse out of their stable the same way you got mine into ours.”

He hesitated, still staring in the direction of the mews. But they could hear the clatter of hooves on cobblestones as the horse was led into the stable next door. “You’d better hope it doesn’t take that groom long to fall asleep,” he hissed as they entered.

She closed the door softly and locked it. “It’ll be fine. We’ll just slip up the back stairs to—”

“Is that you, Polly?” came their housekeeper’s voice from down the hall to the kitchen. “You’d better not be out in the garden with that footman, or I swear I’ll box your ears.”

“Hell and thunder,” Tristan muttered under his breath.

“Come on!” She pulled him toward the back stairs.

They glided up as noiselessly as they could manage, and she half dragged, half shoved him down the hall and into her room just as they heard the housekeeper on the stairs below.

Swiftly she locked the door and put her finger to
her lips. She listened for the housekeeper in the hall, but apparently the woman had continued on up to the maids’ rooms in the attic. All the same, they both kept quiet until they heard the housekeeper retreat down the stairs, muttering to herself about ghosts.

“Do you do this sort of thing often, my lady?” he drawled.

Not
sweetheart
or even
princess
, but
my lady.

“Oh, of course.” She removed her cloak and hung it on her bedpost. “I’m the daughter of a villain, after all, so I’m always sneaking about, evading capture, lying, cheating—”

“That’s
not
what I meant.” His eyes glittered in the light of the fire now burning low.

“Really?” She took off her gloves and tossed them on the bed. “Then why are you champing to be free of me all of a sudden? Why are you so desperately eager to be rid of me and this case?”

“If you had any sense, you’d be ‘desperately eager’ to be free of
me.
”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Oh, for God’s sake . . .” Stalking over to the fire, he stoked it with sharp thrusts of the poker. “Did you not pay attention to what my sister told you? George
hates me.
He’ll strike at me by any means possible. So if Hucker learns that I . . . desire you, and George hears of it, the man will make it his mission to destroy you. And your family. Just for the pleasure of seeing me hurt.”

“Surely that situation was the same before this evening,” she murmured, all at sea.

“But he had no means to hurt you then. He had no inkling of why you hired us. And, to be honest, I desire plenty of women. He knows it means nothing.” Avoiding her gaze, he set the poker back on the stand. “
Meant
nothing, before. But you’re the first woman I’ve even considered—”

She held her breath, hardly daring to hope.

“The point is,” he said tersely, “the minute Hucker figures out that you’re his daughter, he will tell George, and any hope of your secret being kept will end. And the longer I’m around you, the more likely it is that Hucker will figure out what you mean to me.”

And what is that?
No, she dared not ask. What if she didn’t like the answer? “Yes, but how can Hucker even learn the truth? You said yourself that if Papa’s information leads Milosh to Drina, then Hucker won’t ever need to know of our involvement.”

“He’s been sniffing around. And all it will take is one look at you . . .” Striding back to her, Tristan lowered his voice. “Milosh recognized that you were Drina’s daughter the moment he laid eyes on you. Don’t you think Hucker will do the same?”

“Oh, Lord.” That hadn’t occurred to her.

He searched her face. “If I stay anywhere near you, and Hucker sees you when he’s following me, he could very well guess who you really are—without Milosh saying a word. And even if the sight of you only rouses his curiosity enough for him to start digging into your past—” He swore under his breath. “You’re better off without me around to ruin things.”

He spun away from her, but she caught him by the arm. “So let me clarify one thing.” She circled to stand before him, still holding him in her grip. “The fact that I’m Hucker’s daughter doesn’t repulse you?”

His gaze locked briefly with hers before drifting down to fix on her mouth. “You could be the daughter of Attila the Hun, and I would still desire you. Not that it matters. If you take up with me, you might as well throw Winborough to the wolves. Because George will make sure you never inherit. He’ll drag you and your family through a scandal just to torment me. And if I were mad enough to make you my wife—”

“You . . . you’ve considered making me your
wife
?”

Her fingers dug into his arm now, but she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip. Not when he was looking at her as if she dangled hope before him like a fisherman dangling bait before a trout.

“Zoe . . .” Letting out a shuddering breath, he glanced away. “What I considered is inconsequential. I can’t have what I want, and neither can you.”

So that meant he
wanted
her as his wife? Truly?

But even if that were the case, he would never act on it. She now knew how protective he was of those he cared for. The only way to get him to consider it was to seduce him into it.

Did she dare?

In that moment, she made her decision. It was time to leap for the impossible dream, regardless of the consequences. Her world was already crashing down about her ears. Even if she followed her former plan,
it might not prevent her family from plunging into scandal.

It wasn’t as if following her initial plan was a viable choice anyway. She could no longer think of marrying Jeremy. And a life spent running Winborough on her own—assuming it was even conceivable anymore—was too lonely to contemplate.

Why not seize her heart’s desire while she could? Right now, it was the only path that made sense. “This afternoon you said that princesses can have whatever—
whomever
—they damned well please.”

Ignoring how he tensed and how her heart clamored in her chest, she added, “Well, as it turns out, all this princess wants . . . is
you.
”

17

B
LOODY HELL.

Tristan was in over his head and heading right for the rocks. Because he’d never yearned for anything as much as this woman. He’d given up on figuring out why. All he knew was that when he looked at her, he saw a creature like himself, neither fish nor fowl, living everywhere and belonging nowhere.