How the Scoundrel Seduces (33 page)

Coupled with what he’d told her last night, it broke her heart. “I’m not surprised you would find goats fascinating. They’re critical to land management in Yorkshire. And as a former resident of Rathmoor Park, you would have to be aware of that. Did you read what he said about which poisonous plants they devour?”

Tristan swung his gaze to her and something flickered deep in his eyes that made her mouth go dry. Then he settled back against the squabs with a smile. “Hard to believe that they will ingest hemlock with no ill effects.”

“I know! Isn’t it astonishing? Then there’s the . . .”

For the next few hours, the four of them discussed gardening. And animal husbandry. And enclosures. She was shocked to realize that her future husband was by no means unaware of the problems facing an estate manager. Granted, some of his ideas were outmoded, probably based on things his father had told him over a decade ago, but he had sound judgment. Even Papa looked impressed.

When the conversation stalled, however, they could no longer avoid the subject uppermost in their minds.

“Are you sure that Mr. Corrie is traveling the same road we are?” Papa asked Tristan.

“Yes. It’s his speed I’m unsure of.” Tristan’s gaze met hers. “If he relies on his Romany friends for horses, he might not have to stop to rest his own as often as I assumed at first.”

“But you said the Gypsies winter in cities,” Mr. Manton put in, “so there shouldn’t be many of them in rural encampments to help him.”

“They don’t all winter in cities. And he’ll know which ones don’t.”

That sobered them. They were silent a long time, so silent that after a while Zoe dozed off. When she awoke, it was to Papa shaking her. “We’ve stopped for dinner, dear girl.”

“Dinner?” Had she slept so long? Apparently so, for the sun was low in the sky now.

And she mustn’t have been the only one who’d fallen asleep, for Papa was blearily combing his hair, which stuck out every which way. Mr. Manton looked more alert, probably because he hadn’t been up half the night as they had, but Tristan—

She sat up straight. “Where’s Tristan?”

Mr. Manton climbed out and turned to help her down. “While we’re at dinner he’s going to talk to the local Romany clan, find out if they’ve seen Milosh. We’re ordering food for him to eat in the carriage.”

“But Mr. Manton, surely Tristan should—”

He smiled. “Call me Dom.” He eyed her closely as her father got out behind her. “The way I understand it, we’re soon to be brother and sister.”

It dawned on her that Tristan must have told him about their plans to marry. “Yes, we will, indeed . . . Dom.”

Dom broke into a grin. “Lisette will be delighted to see Tristan settled at last.”

“I don’t know how settled he’ll be,” she grumbled. “Even now he’s running off to take care of things when he ought to be sleeping. He’s been running hard ever since yesterday, riding here and there, squiring me about . . .” Making love to her. “He needs rest.”

“Don’t worry about my brother.” The three of them headed for the inn door. “He’s used to going for days, sleeping only in snatches when he’s on a mission. It was one reason Vidocq used him as an agent so frequently.”

She kept forgetting about that part of his life.

“Bonnaud was an agent for Eugène Vidocq?” Papa said incredulously.

“You’ve heard of him, Papa?”

“I’ve met him. Scary fellow.”

Dom chuckled. “I agree. But effective.”

“That’s what my friend who introduced me to the man said. But how did Bonnaud get mixed up with Vidocq?”

While they ate, Dom filled Papa in on Tristan’s many exploits as an agent of La Sûreté Nationale. Since she hadn’t heard much about them herself, she was fascinated. And worried. She and Tristan hadn’t talked about what he would do after he married her. Would he truly be content on an estate in Yorkshire? Wouldn’t a man used to such an adventurous life get restless after a while?

Tristan was waiting for them in the carriage when they came out, and Zoe noticed that Papa seemed to eye him in a new light. At least this trip was affording
her father a chance to become better acquainted with her future husband.

As soon as they set off, Tristan gave them his report. They’d missed Milosh by three hours, and he
had
changed horses at the local Romany camp. They were on the right road, but still too far behind.

Unfortunately, night was falling, so that would slow them down. But Tristan and Dom consulted and decided it would probably slow Milosh down as well. Still, they didn’t dare halt their march north to take a room at an inn.

“He won’t stop,” Tristan said grimly. “I know him. He sees this as his family honor being at stake. Besides, it probably never sat well with him that Hucker seduced Drina, but now that he knows it resulted in a child . . . Thanks to me, he’s got a bee in his bonnet, and he won’t rest until he can let it loose to sting Hucker.”

“It’s
not
‘thanks to you,’ ” Zoe protested. “I’m the one who mentioned the beating to him. I’m the one who stirred everything up.” She stared out the window. “I never should have pursued this. I should have left well enough alone and just refused to marry my cousin.”

“Really?” Papa surprised her by saying. “Truly, girl, do you think you could have gone your whole life without knowing what happened?”

“No,” Tristan answered for her, amusement in his voice. “Zoe always has to get to the bottom of things. It’s in her nature. It’s what makes her so interesting. Along with her fine—” He checked himself. “Wit.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Very prudently put, sir.”

“I’m nothing if not prudent,” he teased. “Hadn’t you noticed that about me?”

His brother snorted.

“If there is any blame to be placed,” Papa said, “it belongs squarely on your aunt for telling you about the matter in the first place. But she was so determined to make sure you married well—”

He broke off with a scowl, as if realizing to whom he was speaking. “Anyway, what’s done is done. No point in fretting over it now.”

Perhaps not, but it was because of her that they were on this hard journey. And it
was
hard. They took turns watching out the window for signs of Milosh while the others attempted to sleep. By morning they were a day’s journey from York, and while they broke their fast in an inn near a Romany camp, Tristan asked around about Milosh.

That set the pattern for the day. They would stop briefly to eat, and Tristan would head off to the nearest camp. Only once did he break the pattern. He returned more swiftly than in previous stops and ran into her coming out of the retiring room. Before she even knew what was happening, he’d whisked her back into it and swept her into his arms for a long, impassioned kiss, their first since being discovered together.

When they broke apart, he murmured, “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better.” She cupped his face in her hands. “But it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

“I’m much better now, princess.” He grinned, his gaze raking her with a familiar heat that had her blushing.

Then they heard her father’s voice down the hall, speaking to the innkeeper, and their moment together was over. With a wink, Tristan slipped from the room. He must have evaded Papa, for when she emerged there was no sign of him, and her father and his brother were already returning to the carriage.

They reached York midafternoon. The last place they’d stopped, they’d missed Milosh by only a half an hour, so they hoped to catch up to him in York. While Tristan headed out to search encampments near the city, they had an early dinner.

This time when Tristan joined them, right before they finished eating, it was clear that the past two days had begun to take their toll. His skin had a grayish cast, and his eyes lacked their usual sparkle.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said as he took a seat at their table. “York is too big to cover quickly. Some of the Romany are in encampments, but most took houses in different parts of the city. We’d need days to find them all. I did locate an area the Corrie family was known to frequent, but he wasn’t there and the Romany who were there said they hadn’t seen him this winter. Either he hasn’t arrived yet, or he found somewhere else in the city to change horses.”

“Beyond here, he may have trouble doing that,” Papa pointed out. “The towns along the road from the city
aren’t friendly to Gypsies, so he would have to keep his own horse and rest it more often. He’ll have to slow down.”

“Then we’re better off getting outside of York,” Tristan said. “There’s only the one road leading to the coast and Rathmoor Park. Once we’re on it, we’re sure to catch up to him. Your team will outstrip his horse easily. And if we reach the estate ahead of him, we can waylay him before he gets to Hucker.”

Unfortunately, they hadn’t gone far out of York when it began to snow. Before long the flakes were falling thick and fast, cloaking the rutted road and everything beyond it in white.

“We’d better take refuge, at least until the snow stops,” Dom said. “Milosh won’t be able to continue on horseback easily, either, so it’s not as if we’ll lose time.”

“He may actually be behind us, too,” Papa pointed out. “Depends on when he reached York and where he went. So halting might be a good idea. We’re only a few miles from Winborough now. We can stay there until morning.”

“We could all use a good night’s sleep,” Zoe said, with a furtive glance at Tristan. Truly, he looked as if someone had trampled him beneath a plow.

“I don’t like it,” Tristan said. “What if Milosh
isn’t
behind us? What if he presses on? If he reaches Hucker and George gets wind of it . . .”

“I’m the one with the most to lose,” Zoe said softly, “and I think we should stop.” When his gaze shot to
her and he looked as if he might argue again, she added, “For Papa’s sake. He can’t keep going like this. And neither can I.”

She knew Tristan would never halt for his own sake, but perhaps he’d do it for someone else’s.

After glancing at her father, who looked quite the worse for wear, Tristan sighed. “Fine. But only until the snow stops.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Dom said, “while the rest of you sleep, I’ll keep watch on the main road in case Milosh passes by.”

“I should be the one to do that,” Tristan said.

“Absolutely not,” Zoe said. “Dom knows Milosh, too, and he can certainly recognize a lone Romany rider. You’re exhausted. You need sleep more than the rest of us. I daresay you haven’t slept an hour altogether in the past two days.”

“But—”

“If you don’t let Dom do it, I swear I’ll borrow one of Papa’s pistols and shoot you. At least then you’d get some rest.”

“Zoe Marie Keane!” Papa put in. “I can’t believe you would even think—”

“She’s merely paying tit for tat, sir,” Tristan drawled, “since I threatened to shoot
her
the first time we met.”

“Thrice, as I recall,” Zoe said primly. “Don’t make me do the same.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Very well.” His gaze fell tenderly upon her. “Dom can watch the road, and I’ll sleep. Happy now, princess?”

“Delirious.” She smoothed her skirts. “I’m always happy to get my way.”

Dom gave a bark of laughter. “Be careful, old chap. That one will lead you a merry dance.”

Tristan’s eyes gleamed at her. “Fortunately, I like nothing better than a merry dance.”

23

W
INBOROUGH WASN
’
T WHAT
Tristan had expected. He’d thought it would be much like Rathmoor Park, with a grand manor house and a few outbuildings and several tenant farms on the outskirts. He hadn’t expected to ride for what felt like miles past farm after farm, then a full dairy, a deer park, and a tannery before they even reached the drive.

Around them, the extensive gardens with their snowy gazebos and follies, their expertly shaped hedges and elegantly carved paths, looked like a fairyland that had sprung from out of the English earth, especially with the moon shining full upon them.

In the midst of the circular drive ahead, a massive fountain stood like a sentinel guarding a mystical portal. And the house that loomed through the haze of snow was easily three times the size of Rathmoor Park.

When they’d stopped for dinner in York, the earl had sent an outrider ahead to alert the household staff of their impending arrival. So the windows were lit
and huge torches cast an eerie glow upon the massive edifice of yorkstone and glass, with gilded finials and crenellated towers.

In a flash, Tristan understood why Zoe had been so determined to preserve it. She hadn’t lied about the hundreds of people dependent on the estate.
This
was what she’d been fighting for—this sprawling network of farms . . . these beautiful gardens . . . this stately mansion. No wonder she’d been reluctant to let it fall to Keane, who knew nothing about managing a large estate.

Tristan’s heart began to pound. He was only marginally more capable of handling something this significant. The thought that she expected him to aid her in preserving it for their children and their children’s children struck him dumb with terror.