How the Scoundrel Seduces (31 page)

“Why the dickens would I do that?”

Utter silence reigned as they all gaped at him. Had he not understood what they were saying?

Zoe was the first to speak. “Because . . . because you would gain an estate and a title and a fortune, of course.”

“I already have a fortune. And I intend to use it to see the wonders of the world, and paint every one of them.” Jeremy scowled. “If I had your estate, I’d have to manage the damned thing. Either I would have to stay rooted in England, or I’d have to hire managers I trust not to cheat me at every turn—which we all know is virtually impossible when the owner doesn’t live there.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that you can’t trust
anyone
—” Papa began.

“Really? So why do
you
live in Yorkshire most of the year, my lord? For your health?”

“It’s my home!”

“Precisely. But I am not looking for a home. So let’s assume that I did hire a manager to care for my estate.
I would still have an obligation, as a lord of the realm, to come to London to sit in Parliament for the months that it is in session. Am I correct?”

“That’s mostly right,” Tristan said coolly. “Though I believe you’d have to relinquish your American citizenship to claim the right to sit in Parliament.”

“But you wouldn’t
have
to claim that right,” Aunt Flo said hastily. “You could still hold the title alone. And if you married Zoe, she would take care of all your duties to the estate, and you could just enjoy yourself.”

Good Lord. Her aunt would do anything to avoid having Zoe marry a man Aunt Flo considered too low. “It doesn’t matter, Aunt Flo,” Zoe said to preclude Tristan from protesting, “because Jeremy and I are
not
marrying. Even if he wanted to do so, which I gather he does not.”

“No offense, coz,” Jeremy said, “but I have no desire to sacrifice myself for the English idea of heaven on earth. Which is not
my
idea.”

Papa eyed him warily. “So what are you saying?”

“That I don’t give a damn about saving Winborough for future generations or becoming an almighty English earl. I have worlds to paint, places to see. You can keep your title and your lands. I’m perfectly happy to stay mum about Zoe’s natural parents if you four are.”

“You don’t want the title,” Papa said incredulously.

Jeremy uttered a drawn-out sigh. “Did I not just say that?”

“Or the
estate
?” Aunt Flo said, disbelief in her face.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jeremy said, clearly flustered. “Has it not occurred to you English that not everyone wants what you revere?”

“No,” Tristan said bluntly. “It hasn’t.”

“Well, it should. I’m free-living—I don’t even know what to do with the property I already own. So, for the last time, I don’t need Winborough, and I don’t want an earldom.” He flashed Zoe a rueful smile. “And I most assuredly do not want to marry a woman who has her eye on another man.”

Zoe’s heart had begun to pound. “But . . . but you would keep our secret? Let the world continue to believe that I am Papa’s legitimate child?”

“Why not? It’s no skin off my nose.”

As the ramifications of that hit her, she beamed at Tristan. “I could still inherit. And have Winborough. And
you
!” Something perfectly delicious occurred to her. “You’d be my representative in the House of Lords. You’d take a seat there alongside George!”

“That does have a certain appeal.” Tristan broke into a grin. “And it might possibly be the first time a bastard ever served in the House of Lords.”

“They’ve been serving in the House of Commons for years,” Papa mumbled. “I don’t see why we can’t have one in the House of Lords.”

Zoe and Tristan both gaped at him, then burst into laughter.

“There is one more thing,” Jeremy said.

Her elation vanished. “Oh?”

“I will freely relinquish all claim to the title and the
estate . . . but only so long as my sister and I are always welcome in your homes.”

“Of course!” Zoe said.

When Tristan said nothing, Zoe nudged him.

“Oh, all right,” Tristan muttered. “Assuming you leave my wife alone. I mean to be the only rogue in her life.”

“She’s not your wife yet,” Jeremy said, then laughed at Tristan’s foul glance. “Very well, my friend. I will be as a brother to Zoe, no more.”

Tristan rose and held out his hand solemnly. “Then you will always be welcome.”

They shook on it.

“There’s only one problem with all this.” Papa shot Zoe a worried look. “Your cousin may have no choice but to inherit. You said something about Drina’s brother wanting to go after her lover, your natural father. Who is he? Is he someone we could buy off or silence somehow?”

“Not if Zoe marries me,” Tristan said with a sigh. “It’s my half brother George’s man of affairs, John Hucker. If Milosh attacks Hucker and it gets back to George, my half brother will come after Zoe just to punish me.”

“I see.” Papa mused a moment. “Does Milosh know what’s at stake, how much his niece stands to lose if the matter becomes public?”

“Not yet,” Tristan said. “I didn’t want to reveal everything until I could consult with you about the matter.”

“Good thinking.” Papa rose from the table. “If the
man cares about his niece, then surely he will care about her future. So we shall just have to impress upon him the direness of the situation, eh?”

“Exactly,” Tristan said.

“Failing that, perhaps we could buy him off.”

Tristan looked as if he was about to make some hot retort, but when Zoe laid a hand on his arm, he checked himself. “Actually, knowing the truth about Drina might be enough to quiet Milosh. That’s all he wants—to know what happened to her.”

“Not quite all,” Zoe amended. “He does want vengeance over the beating, and is liable to want it all the more once he learns that she died from it. There’s also the problem that Hucker might recognize me—”

“We’ll cross those bridges when we come to them,” Papa said soothingly. “Let’s not borrow trouble just yet, dear girl.”

“I did buy us a little time,” Tristan said, “by insisting that Milosh keep quiet until I could meet with you.”

“All the same, we should go talk to him right away. I don’t like leaving these things hanging.”

“Not tonight, Papa. It’s nearly three
A.M.,
and you look exhausted.” Zoe skirted the table to take his arm. “Truly, you ought to sleep awhile first.”

With a scowl, he shrugged her off. “I fought many a battle on little more than an hour’s sleep. I think I can handle some Gypsy fellow.”

“But Papa—”

“I’m fine—just leave me be!” When she winced at the reemergence of the Major, he muttered a curse.
Then he cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry, dear girl. I don’t mean to be short with you. But I can’t sleep with this weighing on me anyway.” He glanced at Tristan. “Can you take me to see this Milosh?”

“Absolutely, sir. Though we’ll have to rouse him from his bed, I expect.”

“Then let’s get on with it. I want this matter settled.”

“Yes, sir.”

As they started to walk out together, Zoe said, “Tristan!”

He halted to look at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For bringing all this trouble down on your head on my behalf.”

A faint smile crossed his lips before he scanned her with a heated glance. “You’re well worth the trouble, princess. Trust me on that.”

Then they were gone. Aunt Flo said something about retiring and headed for the stairway. Zoe was still staring after her when Jeremy spoke.

“I have one more favor to ask of you, coz.”

She glanced over at him. “What’s that?”

“When everything is settled, you must introduce me to your uncle. I’ve never painted a Gypsy before.” He grinned. “I understand they, too, like to dress with a bit of dash, and that always makes for an interesting image. Besides, their women are rumored to be quite beautiful.”

Coming on the heels of everything he’d heard about
her natural parents, she could hardly believe him. First he wanted brothels, and now he was hunting for beautiful Gypsy women to seduce? “You are utterly incorrigible! I begin to think it’s a good thing you don’t want to be an English lord. You would probably break hearts in every drawing room in London.”

“No, indeed.” He gave her a sly wink. “I would never limit myself to the drawing rooms of London.”

And as she burst into laughter, he strode jauntily out the door.

21

T
RISTAN RODE IN
his lordship’s carriage with growing apprehension. The man was quiet. Too quiet.

Not that Tristan could blame him. Lord Olivier couldn’t be happy that his daughter had been seduced by a man he neither liked nor entirely trusted. In his place, Tristan would probably be silently plotting that fellow’s murder.

In
his
place?

Oh, God, what a thought. Might he actually one day find himself with a daughter or daughters to protect from men like him? The very idea squeezed a vise around his heart.

He must be out of his mind to be thinking of marrying anyone. What did he know about being a husband? Or, for that matter, a father?

“Tell me something, Bonnaud,” Lord Olivier said into the stillness. “Did you really steal a horse from your half brother?”

Wonderful. Now he had to deal with
that
again.
“Yes. On his deathbed, my father willed it to me in a codicil, and as soon as Father drew his last breath George burned the codicil in front of me. So although the horse was
mine,
I stole it, legally speaking. I sold it to Milosh.”

“Ah.” His lordship stared out the window at a practically deserted London, his leathery cheeks washed silver by the weak light of the gas lamps. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Well, that at least explains why you did something so foolish.”

Tristan flexed his hands on his knees. “I did what I had to in order to provide for my family. If not for my actions, my family would have starved.” Sarcasm crept into his tone. “To quote a certain earl, ‘I’d do it again if I had the chance.’ ”

To his surprise, Lord Olivier chuckled. “You’re an impudent devil, aren’t you?”

“Your daughter says I like to provoke her.”

“And do you?”

“Yes. I confess I enjoy seeing her throw herself into it when she’s got her dander up.” He stared steadily at the man who would soon be his father-in-law. “But I would never hurt her. And I swear to you that I will take good care of her and try to make her happy.”

“Do you love her?”

That flummoxed him—not only because he hadn’t thought about it, but also because the question hadn’t come from
her.
After all her talk about wishing to
marry for love, what did it mean that she hadn’t asked him if he loved her?

Nor had she professed any love for him herself. She’d said she wanted to marry him. But only after she’d found herself ruined. Had she really only wanted him in her bed, then been forced to accept a proposal once they were discovered together?

That was a disturbing thought. Especially given that he’d once told her that desire was the only real connection between a man and a woman. Perhaps she’d taken his words to heart, pursued him solely because she desired him.

No, that didn’t seem like her. But then, he hadn’t known her that long; perhaps he was seeing what he wanted to see.

God, he hoped not. He didn’t want to be only a man she desired. Which was rather hypocritical of him, given his philosophy, but it was how he felt all the same.

“Well?” Lord Olivier fixed an unreadable gaze on him. “Do you love her or not?”

He debated what to answer, but after all the truths that had been laid bare this evening, it seemed despicable to lie to her father now. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I fully understand the concept of romantic love.”

“Don’t you? You persisted in offering marriage even when I threatened to cut you off. Even when you knew she wasn’t really my heir and might lose everything if that news got out.” His voice hardened. “Even after you’d had what you wanted from her.”

Tristan hadn’t even begun to have what he wanted
from Zoe. But somehow, he doubted her father would like hearing that. “Yes. What of it?”

“Sounds like love to me.”

“Or wishful thinking on your part. Forgive me for saying this, sir, but a man will do many things to quench his desire for a woman.”

“True. But marry her? When he’s already quenched his desire?”

His lordship was right. Tristan had desired many a woman, but never once had he proposed marriage.

Then again, he’d never compromised a virgin, either. Or been caught by her father in her bed. Perhaps this was how he behaved in that situation.

And perhaps he was just lying to himself about what he wanted, because the thought of loving Zoe, of desperately needing
her
love, incited panic in his breast. Mother had loved Father deeply, and it had cost her everything.

Love was the most dangerous drug on earth. He didn’t want to be its latest acolyte. That way lay madness.

The carriage raced along for a while, the only sound inside it being the creak of the springs and the muted thuds of the horses’ hooves.