Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation (16 page)

‘What was it, then?’

‘Great sex.’ He smiled—a slow, sensual smile that was meant to cajole her out of her mood. Unfortunately it backfired.

‘Oh, well, pardon me. We had
great
sex. What more do you want? It’s not like it was anything
special
, was it? I thought you’d be pleased to be able to get on with your life and…’ Her
voice trailed off and she clamped her lips closed, as if she didn’t want to reveal too much of herself or her intentions.

‘And what? Now you want to play the field? Get every other man’s attention?’ That had been his mother’s area of expertise. ‘You want to get it on with one of Oliver’s cousins now that I’ve broken you in?’

Her shocked gasp reverberated off the vaulted ceiling and he knew his comment had been a low blow. But, dammit, he’d wanted to hear her deny any interest in other men. And now he wished she’d slap him. Anything was better than being stared down by this icy creature who just wanted to get away from him.

‘I’m going back in.’ She moved towards the door and his hand shot out to stop her.

Something wasn’t right. She wasn’t anything like his mother and he knew that.

‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.’ His gaze fastened on her face and she stared back at him, her eyes glittering with barely veiled pain.

Then the way she’d spat the word
special
at him, and
get on with your life
registered in the thinking part of his brain.

‘You overheard me talking to Jordana this morning.’ His tone was accusatory when he hadn’t meant it to be, and her eyebrows hit her hairline.

‘I wasn’t going to embarrass you by mentioning it.’

‘I’m not embarrassed.’ Actually, he was still trying to recall exactly what he had said. He’d spent most of the day trying not to remember that particular conversation.

He tried to clear his head and think on his feet—something he was usually exceptionally good at, but which was eluding him tonight.

‘You weren’t meant to hear any of that.’

Lily shrugged as if it didn’t matter. ‘I’m sure you didn’t say anything to Jordana that you wouldn’t have said to me if I’d asked.’

Possibly. But hadn’t he said he was sick of her case? And
that she wasn’t special? And something about his future title? Had he really said she was after that?

Okay, he could understand why she had her back up. He probably would have too if their situations had been reversed.

He shoved his hair from his forehead and smiled at her. ‘I know you’re not after my title.’

She looked at him as someone might regard a mutant rodent. ‘What a relief.’

‘And after last night you must
know
I think you’re special.’

‘How am I special?’ she asked immediately.

How was she special? What kind of a question was that?

Tristan tugged at his shirt collar, annoyed when she held her hand up.

‘Don’t bother answering that. I think I know.’ Her voice was full of scorn, and that got
his
back up.

Why the hell did he feel guilty all of a sudden? They were both consenting adults, and she had asked
him
to make love to her!

‘I didn’t hear you complaining last night.’

‘That’s because I wasn’t,’ she agreed.

‘Then what’s the problem?’ he asked aggressively.

‘There
is
no problem. We had a good time and now it’s over.’

‘Just like that?’

‘You want flowers?’

‘Lily—’

She threw her hands up. ‘Tristan, I can’t do this.’

‘Then how about we do this instead?’ he murmured throatily, crowding her back against the hallway table, quickly reaching around her to snatch at a teetering vase that was probably two thousand years old.

He righted the vase, coiled his arm around Lily’s waist and did what he’d wanted to do all day. Pulled her in close and sealed his lips to hers.

She resisted for maybe half a heartbeat, and then her mouth opened and his tongue swept inside. He groaned at the sheer heaven of her wildfire response and swept his hands down over
the gauzy fabric of her dress. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her breasts into his chest. He wished he’d removed his jacket. And his shirt.

‘Hmmm, nice gloss.’ He licked his lips, tasting…cherries? And then nearly fell over the table himself when she let out a sharp cry and pushed him away from her.

‘You
ever
kiss me against my will again and I’ll slap you,’ she said breathlessly.

‘You wanted it,’ he said definitely.

‘No.
You
wanted it. I’m over it. And get that smug look off your face. Physically you’re one heck of a package, but when it comes down to it you’ve got nothing I want.’

Tristan felt as if a bomb had just gone off in his head. His mind reeled, memories of his mother’s words from over a decade ago dragging him under, but he shoved them away with steely determination, blanking the pain that threatened to tear him in half.

What was going on here? Was he actually about to beg? And for what? One more round in the ring? Not even his father had been that stupid. And Tristan could have any number of women. Didn’t she know that?

He smiled—a true predator’s smile. He’d nearly lost it over this woman and for what? Sex?

Forget it.

‘Good to know,’ he murmured evenly. ‘Because unless you’re willing to put out,
Honey Blossom
, you have nothing I want either.’

Lily’s chin jerked up and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and slowly wiped his kiss off before striding down the hallway. It was a good move. An admirable one. And he would have applauded her if she’d hung around.

Thank God he hadn’t offered her anything more. Not that he’d been going to. He’d never offered a woman anything more than a good time between the sheets, or on some other serviceable surface, and Lily Wild was no exception.

He swore viciously. He hated her. God, how he hated her.
Making him remember his mother, engaging his emotions like she had. Like some courtesan deliberately setting out to trap him. To make a fool of him.

He glanced down at the antique vase and nearly picked it up and hurled it down the long corridor.

He was happy she was gone because his instincts about her had been right all along: she was nothing but trouble.

T
ROUBLE
with a capital
T
, Tristan reminded himself the following morning as he stood beside Oliver in morning suit and top hat at the entrance to the Gothic cathedral, making small talk with yet another expensively dressed wedding guest.

It was a splendid day—except the sun had come out to grace Jordana’s big day and brought half the paparazzi in the Western world along with it. No doubt the combined news of Lily’s near-arrest and subsequent release and the many royal attendants at Jordana’s wedding was causing them to swarm like coachroaches. The local constabulary was also out in force, to keep intruders at bay, as well as a top London security firm that looked as if it employed some of the men from Lily’s premiere.

And if Tristan was feeling slightly seedy—well, that was just the Scotch he’d consumed last night, after a dinner that would surely go down as the worst ever. Having to sit next to Amanda Sutton and feign a civility he didn’t feel while Lily made eyes at one of the Blackstone boys hadn’t exactly put him in the best mood.

‘Smile, you great idiot,’ Oliver grumbled into his ear. ‘It’s my wedding day.’

Tristan cut him a dark look and then gracefully bowed over some old dowager’s gloved hand.

‘And
why
is it, exactly?’ he drawled.

‘What?’

He waited for Oliver to agree on the splendid weather they were having with the dowager’s daughter. ‘Your wedding day?’

Oliver looked flummoxed. ‘Is that a trick question?’

‘You said you’d never give up your freedom for anyone.’

‘That was before I fell for your sister.’

‘You could have just lived with her.’

Oliver shook his head. ‘And have someone steal her away at the first opportunity? I don’t think so. Anyway, I want the world to know that she’s mine. That we belong together. She’s my soul mate, and I can’t imagine a life without her in it.’

Tristan fidgeted with the wedding rings in his pocket. ‘If that’s not already a Hallmark card you could probably sell it to them for a few quid. Carlo!’ Tristan shook hands with the Italian count he’d stayed up drinking with last night. ‘Good to see you up in time for the ceremony.’

‘You didn’t tell me there was alcohol in that Scotch last night, Garrett.’

‘Hundred-year-old.’

‘That’s the last of the wedding guests.’ The wedding planner stopped in front of them and gave the Count a scathing once-over. ‘So,’ she spoke to Oliver and Tristan, ‘if you’d both like to make your way down to the altar?’

Oliver led the way, and when they finally reached the front of the church straightened Tristan’s tie.

‘Leave my bloody tie alone.’

Oliver grinned. ‘You could just tell her and get it over with,’ he whispered.

Tristan scowled. ‘Tell who what?’

The harpist started up, and Oliver dashed a hand across his forehead. ‘Stop being a coward, Garrett. It’s obvious you’re in love with her. Just
tell
her.’

Tristan swallowed. Hard. ‘Am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?’

Oliver threw him a dour look. ‘Unfortunately ignoring it or denying it doesn’t make it go away. Believe me, I did try.’

Tristan scowled.

‘Now, shut up and do your job, would you?’ Oliver growled. ‘And for God’s sake smile—or your sister is likely to make us do this all over again.’

A look of utter joy swept over Oliver’s face as he did the non-traditional thing of turning to watch his bride walk down the aisle, and Tristan swallowed heavily as he too turned, his vision immediately filled with Lily walking behind Jordana in a flowing coffee silk and tulle creation that curved around her sublime figure like whipped cream. All the other women decked out in their wedding finery, including Jordana in her delicate couture gown, couldn’t hold a torch to his Lily. She was so refined, so poised, and yet so vibrantly alive—and then he knew.

Oliver was right. He loved her. Maybe he’d always loved her. The words slotted into his head like the final piece in a puzzle. Actually, the second to last piece of a puzzle. The final piece was how she felt about
him
…and by the way she avoided eye contact with him as she moved closer he could see that wasn’t looking good.

Lily gazed around at the grand ballroom of the manor house Jordana had chosen for her wedding reception. It was filled with circular tables, each with an enormous central flower arrangement and ringed with white cloth-covered chairs tied with bows at the back.

Jordana and Oliver’s wedding day had been picture-perfect and she’d never seen her friend happier. Jordana’s beautiful face was still aglow as she chatted and smiled contentedly with her wedding guests.

‘I wanted to thank you for being such a good friend to my daughter, Miss Wild.’ The eleventh Duke of Greythorn surprised her as he stopped beside Lily’s chair.

‘Actually, Your Grace, it is I who feels blessed to have Jordana’s friendship.’ Lily smiled, completely thrown by the
Duke’s open warmth when previously, she knew, he hadn’t approved of her at all.

‘Tristan has informed me of all that you have done for Jordana over the years, and I know that if your parents were alive today they would be very proud of the person you have become.’

Lily felt tears prick behind her eyes, and if she’d been standing she would have dropped into a curtsey in front of this stately gentleman. He seemed to sense her overpowering emotions and patted her hand, telling her to enjoy her evening, and Lily watched slightly dumbstruck as he returned to his seat at the head of the table.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ The MC spoke over the top of the band members tuning their instruments and drew her attention away from the Duke. ‘If I could please ask Earl and Countess Blackstone and their attendants Lord Tristan Garrett and Miss Lily Wild to take to the floor for the bridal waltz?’

The bridal waltz? Already?

Lily glanced around the room and noticed that Tristan had stopped conversing at a table in the opposite corner and was staring at her intently.

No way. She couldn’t dance with him. She smiled serenely as she quickly threaded a path through the cluster of guests milling around on her pre-planned escape to the toilets.

She had managed to avoid being alone with Tristan the whole day, and had already decided that there was no way she could dance with him tonight without giving away just how brokenhearted she felt.

The band struck up a quintessential love song and Lily fairly flew out of the room—and right into Tristan’s arms.

‘Going somewhere?’ he mocked.

Lily tried to steady her runaway heartbeat. ‘The bathroom.’

‘During the bridal waltz? I don’t think so.’

‘You can’t dictate to me any more, remember?’

‘No, but it’s your last official obligation for the day, and I didn’t take you for a shirker.’

Lily huffed out a breath and noticed the interested glances from the guests around them. ‘I’ll do it because it’s expected,’ she stated under her breath. ‘Not because you challenged me.’

Tristan smiled. ‘That’s my girl.’

Lily was about to correct him and say that she wasn’t his girl, but they were on the dance floor and he had already swept her into his arms.

She held herself so stiffly she felt like a mechanised doll, but there was nothing she could do about that. She couldn’t relax, couldn’t look at him. Then she remembered an old childhood trick she’d used to employ when she was in an uncomfortable situation. Counting. Once, she remembered, she’d counted so high she’d made it to seven hundred and thirty-five!

‘You look exquisite today.’ Tristan’s eyes glittered down into hers and Lily quickly planted her gaze at a spot over his shoulder. One, two, three…

‘But then you look exquisite all the time.’

Nine, ten…

He swirled her suddenly, and she frowned as she had to grip him tighter to stop herself from falling. He was wearing a new cologne tonight and the hint of spice was doing horrible things to her equilibrium. Nineteen, twenty…

‘How’s Hamish?’

Lily looked at him. She knew why he was asking that. She had found out from Jordana in a fit of giggles last night that her ‘surprise’ was to be set up with any of Oliver’s three single cousins. Which was what Tristan had been so angrily referring to when they’d talked prior to dinner last night.

She hadn’t known about Jordana’s cunning plan then, and she knew Tristan’s ego had been bruised when Jordana had fooled him into believing that Lily had welcomed her attempts at matchmaking. Which she hadn’t. And she had apologised profusely to each of the men when she’d told them that actually she wasn’t available.

They’d been completely charming, and she’d wished things were different so she might have been in a better position to
invite their interest. But of course she wasn’t. Her feelings for Tristan were too real and too raw for her to even attempt friendship with another man at this point.

Clearly Tristan’s ego was still affected, if the way he was studying her was any indication.

‘Fine, I expect,’ she answered.

Tristan scowled and brought her hand in tightly against his chest. His other hand was spread wide against that sensitive spot in the small of her back. He was holding her so closely now Lily could hear the brush of her tulle skirt against his trousers.

Lily swallowed and concentrated on holding in the quiver that zipped up her spine, completely forgetting what number she was up to.
Damn
. One, two…

‘Are you counting?’ Tristan’s deep voice was incredulous.

‘Would you stop talking?’ she whispered furiously, trying hard to ignore the growing tension in his big body.

Then he stopped dancing altogether, and Lily became acutely aware of the murmur of voices and the soft sway of Jordana’s silk gown as she moved in time with the music. Lily stood in the circle of Tristan’s arms, glancing around nervously at the interested faces of the wedding guests circling the dance floor.

She was just about to ask him what he was doing when he made a low sound in the back of his throat. ‘Oh, to hell with it,’ he muttered, deftly hoisting her and her close-fitted tulle skirts into his arms. ‘Excuse us,’ he threw at a surprised Oliver and Jordana as he strode past.

‘What are you doing?’ Lily squeaked, smiling tremulously as if nothing untoward was going on when it definitely was.

‘Keep still,’ he ordered, and Lily, not wishing to make any more of a scene, ducked her head into his neck just as she had done at the airport a little over a week ago, to hide her face from the amused glances of the wedding guests who were parting like the Red Sea to let Tristan through.

‘Oh, I hate to imagine what everyone is going to think!’ she fumed, scowling at the smiling waiter who had
kindly
held open
the door to a smaller, private dining room and who was now in the process of closing it behind them.

She glared at Tristan, her heart beating a mile a minute, as he let her down, and stalked to the other side of the room, feeling marginally calmer with a two-metre-long mahogany dining table between them.

Tristan stood with his hands in his pockets and stared at her. ‘They’ll think I’m in love, I expect. Either that…’ He paused as if to gauge her reaction. ‘Or they’ll think I’ve lost my mind.’

‘Well, we both know the former isn’t the truth,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t play games with me, Tristan. I don’t like them.’

Tristan blew out a breath. ‘Lily, I need to talk to you, and this seemed the only way to achieve that objective.’ He circled the table towards her, and stopped when he realised she was moving as well—but in the opposite direction. ‘Would you stop that? I’m not going to bite you.’

Lily stared at him. He was so rakishly appealing with his ruffled hair and formal wedding attire it made her heart feel as if it was enclosed in a giant fist. She felt her old survival instincts rise up and did her best to blank out the pain of being so close to him and yet so far away.

‘I’m getting a little tired of you thinking you can pick me up and carry me wherever you want. Next time it happens I won’t be so concerned about creating a scene,’ she warned with haughty disdain.

‘Would you have come if I’d asked?’

His voice was soft, almost like a caress, and it confused her senses. Made her body soften. Lily did her best to clamp down on the rioting emotions running through her and focused on his question.

She lifted her chin and tried to stop her lips from trembling. Of course she wouldn’t have come with him. She had nothing to say to him that wouldn’t involve making a complete fool of herself.

‘Say what you have to say so we can get out of here. I
don’t have much time left,’ she added, thankful that her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

‘Time left for what?’

Lily noted Tristan’s sharp tone and decided now was not the time to tell him she was booked on the red-eye back to New York this very evening. After enduring the rehearsal dinner and feeling so tense a slight breeze might have snapped her in half she had changed her travel plans so she could head back to London and fly home to New York early.

Being around Tristan and watching him smoulder with Lady Sutton last night had nearly done her in. She loved him too much to imagine him with another woman, so seeing him with one who could offer him everything she couldn’t was just unendurable. Better that she start her life again without him as soon as possible. Facing her fears head-on…or perhaps just running away. She didn’t care which at this point. Her only criteria was that when she finally broke down she did so in private.

Lily steeled herself to look at him and lifted her gaze once more to his. He stood across the table from her, his expression as fierce as an angry warlord facing down a known enemy. She had no idea why. Had something happened earlier that she didn’t know about and for which she was about to get the blame again?

‘Are you going to answer my question?’ he asked, almost too politely.

‘Are you going to answer mine?’ she parried.

Tristan exhaled and ran an agitated hand through his hair. He looked tired and strung out—very unlike his usually composed self.

‘Lily this doesn’t have to end.’