Dance with Deception: Scandalous Secrets, Book 1 - Exclusive Edition (Scandalous Secrets - Exclusive Edition) (36 page)

“It wasn’t a game.”

“Oh, no?” His stare was unrelenting.

She returned it. “How dare you turn this around on me!”

“Who else?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You set the rules last night and now, in the light of day, you’re ashamed.”

He had a point. “Sebastian—”

“I don’t care, not any longer.” His tone was flat as he strode toward the door then turned on his heel toward her. “I’m sick of waiting while you dissect our relationship.”

“That’s not what—”

“I am returning home.” He grabbed the brass handle to the door. “My stallion is here so you and Victoria may return in the coach. Tell her that I’ll meet you both there. You and I will not argue in front of her. We will pretend to be happily married lest she run away again, or God forbid, worse.”

“But—”

“You were skillful at pretending last night.” His eyes narrowed as he added with an icy tone, “I have no doubt you will be as believable with my sister.”

He turned the brass handle and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The noise strained Gwen’s already taut nerves.

She walked over to the tousled bed, smoothing her husband’s pillowcase with the palm of her hand as his parting words sliced through her like the sharp blade of a knife.

Could he really think her to be so manipulative?

Gwen crushed his pillow to her chest. How could everything go so wrong?

What was she to do now?

Too inebriated to think rationally, he didn’t believe the inferno surrounding him was real until the flames grew closer, his flesh hotter, then realization set in.

The fires of hell were calling him home.

He shuddered in fright because he deserved this. Looking back on his life, it became clear to him at last. He chased everyone away and had lied, hurting the very people who once loved him. The secrets he reveled in revealing had destroyed everyone in their path.

Lachlan MacAlistair would now face God and answer for his sins.

As he choked on the thick, black smoke that filled his lungs, he found himself pleading for his life, begging for mercy.

As his lungs filled with smoke, the flames licked closer to his flesh and his screams echoed in the crackling inferno. He had never felt so alone, so terrified, so powerless.

Burn in hell
.

His daughter’s words sliced through his mind.
He had awoken there
.

Lachlan did this to himself, he realized in despair. Not the fire, but his lack of affection and companionship. He’d chosen his vengeful path, controlled his destiny, yet fate had the final say. His final punishment was to die an isolated and smoldering death.

He succumbed to coughing, unable to breathe.

Hours later, with nothing remaining but charred ruins and a few dying embers, no one would suspect that his conscience had reawakened nor would anyone ever know if God forgave him.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Tristan received the communication around midday. He sat behind the antique desk in his office and read it twice before his mind could fully comprehend it.

His father was dead.

He had never believed that the man was sick let alone dying. He knew it was nothing but a ploy the old man used to force Gwen into a loveless marriage.

So, how could he be dead?

After folding the paper and tucking it inside his jacket pocket, Tristan set off in search of answers.

It took him several hours by coach to reach the Hound’s Tooth Inn. As he approached the site, he braced himself for the worst, yet that failed to prepare him for what was waiting.

The full moon illuminated the remnants of a once-solid structure. There was nothing left but black ash and the charred wreckage of a formerly prosperous business littering the scorched earth.

Tristan alighted from his coach devoid of any feeling other than shock. His father burned to death? The realization stabbed his heart like a knife.

The man’s behavior had been disgusting at best, maniacal at worst. To die such a horrible death …
surely this was punishment for Lachlan MacAlistair’s numerous sins.

A horse whinnied, jarring Tristan from his inner turmoil. Turning in the direction of the sound, he witnessed a thin man exiting a barn not far from the debris.

“Excuse me, sir.” Tristan strode towards him. As he got closer, he noticed his graying hair and his blackened, soot-covered suit. “Are you the owner of the establishment?”

“Aye, sir, I’m afraid I am.” The man viewed the wreckage before him with misty eyes. “I lost it all. The inn belonged to my family for fifteen years and now it’s gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tristan’s gaze drifted again to the blackened wreckage and charred earth. “The man who died was my father. Where was his room?”

The innkeeper’s tone softened. “Oh, sir, I have been waiting for you to arrive. Please allow me to offer my deepest condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Tristan’s voice was distant, even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “Where was he?”

“On the far side,” The innkeeper tipped his head. “The poor soul hadn’t a chance, I’m afraid. Once the fire started, it spread quickly throughout the building. He mustn’t have felt much for he was quite intoxicated. I put him to bed that night. Poor chap couldn’t walk up the stairs himself.”

Tristan toured the rubble, absorbing every word the man was telling him. He thought his father a fool. Had he been sober, Lachlan would have
escaped unharmed.

The kind man continued. “There is no body, I’m afraid. Nothing is left of him to bury.”

“What caused the blaze?”

“I don’t know sir; a candle perhaps? I left one lit in your father’s room. Had I known …” The man choked on his words.

“I’m certain that you are not to blame,” Tristan dismissed the man’s guilt with a wave of his hand. “If I may, there is a favor I must ask of you.”

“Of course, sir. Anything.”

“Please keep my father’s name out of the reports until I’m able to tell my sister.” Tristan removed his gold pocket watch from his vest pocket. It was just before midnight. “I won’t reach her husband’s estate in Northamptonshire for several hours.”

“Of course, sir.” The man nodded, as Tristan pressed several gold coins into the palm of his hand. “Sir, this is not necessary.”

Tristan felt sorry for the man who had lost everything. “Your respect and silence regarding my family’s loss must be rewarded.”

“Thank you once again, sir.”

Tristan acknowledged his thanks with a nod then returned to his carriage.

He had to tell his sister and then needed to find their brother. Wherever Colin was, he would be required to return posthaste and claim his birthright.

Tristan caught one last glimpse of his father’s cremation site and his heart constricted.

Conveying news of their father’s death to his sister was going to be difficult. He inhaled,
assailed with the scent of burning wood and death. “Some wedding present,” Tristan muttered once he had settled into his coach.

Even in death his father was determined to ruin his family’s happiness. This would be the last time Lachlan MacAlistair would ever hurt his family.

It was Tristan’s solemn vow, as he headed to impart the shocking news to his sister.

Gwen made a valiant effort to avoid her husband. Thus far, she succeeded, having seen him not once since their encounter at Ainsley.

After spending the subsequent day and a half reading more of her mother’s journals and certain she had endured more horrid truths than anyone should, Gwen exited her suite in search of her sister-in-law.

She didn’t need to go far.

“Gwen!” Tori ran toward her then paused in an apparent attempt to fill her lungs with much needed air.

“What is it?” Gwen’s heart lurched. “Is something wrong?”

Victoria shook her head. “No, Tristan is here. He’s instructing his driver as we speak.”

Tristan!
Gwen had already begun running to reach her brother before the young woman had finished her sentence.

Never had she been more relieved. It was difficult for her not to write to him about her recent unhappiness and confusion. He must have read
Gwen’s mind for Tristan always had a knack for knowing when she needed him.

Gwen raced out of the house, clutching her skirts.

“Tristan!” She encircled him in a tight embrace. “I have never been happier to see you.”

Her brother hugged her then placed his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t think you are going to feel the same way when you discover the reason for my arrival.”

Her heart slammed into her ribcage. He brought bad news. She could see it in his somber expression.

She studied him. “Dear God, did something happen to Colin?”

“Not here, let’s go inside.”

“Tell me what has happened.” Her voice was strained, even to her own ears.

“Gwen—”

She tugged at his arm. “You’re frightening me, Tristan. Please, tell me now.”

“I haven’t heard from Colin,” Tristan paused before he continued. “It’s not him, Gwen, it is our father.”

Gwen could feel all the blood drain from her cheeks.

Did her father tell him the truth about Colin’s parentage? She planned to keep it from Tristan, thinking it enough that she and Colin suffered from the aftermath.

“What did he tell you?” she whispered, her heart hammering within her chest.

“I haven’t spoken to him.” Tristan placed his
hands on her shoulders then squeezed, as if to infuse strength. “Gwen, Father is dead.”

“He’s what?” Surely she must be hearing things?

Tristan’s concern shone in his mahogany eyes. “He died at a roadside inn last night.”

“Are you certain?” Gwen managed to ask.

“Yes,” he paused. His sister suspected he was waiting for his words to sink in. “I confirmed it with the innkeeper before traveling to you.”

Gwen was overcome with emotions. Anger and anxiety warred with her grief and guilt, heightening to a crescendo, torturing her already troubled soul.

“How did he die?” She couldn’t believe what she was asking.

“He was killed in a fire.”

A throaty groan escaped her throat, “A fire?”

“Yes.” Tristan nodded.

I hope you rot in hell
. Gwen’s words echoed in her ears as she turned on her heel and began walking. She didn’t know where she was heading or why. She didn’t know anything anymore except the fact that she wished her father dead.

That wish had been granted.

“Gwen!” Tristan followed close on her heels. “Gwen, stop.”

She tripped on her skirts as she reached the lush lawns before the garden maze, the last place she saw her father alive.

Tears began to stream down her face as the wretchedness of her father’s death hit her. Dropping to her knees, Gwen cupped her face in her hands.

“For God’s sake, Gwen, you are alarming me.”
Her brother knelt in front of her before peeling her hands from her face. “I never expected this reaction.”

“It’s my fault,” she whispered, her chest constricting.

Her brother patted her back. “None of this is your fault.”

“You have no idea what happened. He …” Gwen paused, choosing her words with caution. She didn’t want to tell Tristan the extent of their argument. “We had horrible fight.”