The Skilled Seduction (4 page)

“Victoria!” his tone snapped her back to reality. “We were almost caught. Your reputation would have been ruined. No man would have married you, marred in scandal.”

She nodded, proving to him that she indeed understood.

Tristan had almost ruined her tonight. The thought left a foul taste in his mouth. If they had been caught, would he have married Victoria to save her virtue?

No.

Of that he was certain.
 

He would never be a suitable husband for her, as his own reputation now left much to be desired due to the secrets he was entrusted to protect. Tristan could never offer her his heart. Not after the choices he had made, the many sacrifices, and the danger that lurked.

“This must never happen again, Tori,” he proclaimed, to himself as much as to her.

Tristan skulked towards the main house, relief washing over him. He mustn’t allow one impulsive kiss, uncontrolled jealousy, or a romanticized view of one woman to trap him into yet another relationship that would all but destroy him in the end.
 

Besides, there were others to consider.
 

He would never permit Victoria to get within such close proximity to him again. Nor would he ever let his guard down.

It was as much for her sake as his own.

* * *

“What happened?” Oliver asked, cornering Victoria in the ballroom.

She sidestepped the truth by grabbing a glass of champagne from a footman and taking a large gulp.

“If he hurt you—”

“No,” she was quick to assure him, “he didn’t harm me.” It was quite the contrary, actually, though she could never admit such a thing to Ollie.

Her friend’s expression softened. “That one has a temper, Victoria. You would be wise to steer clear of him.”

Victoria recognized a compelling argument when she heard one. Tristan was cynical, moody and at times downright volatile. He also possessed a tempestuous jealous streak, one which she had been blissfully unaware of until this very evening.
 

Faults aside, the fact remained that Tristan was the man she loved – passionate, wise and funny with a commanding presence she couldn’t ignore.

Having known him before his dark transformation, Victoria knew the real man, the man who lay underneath this newfound persona. Tristan was redeemable. She was positive of it. So, Victoria would proceed with her plan.

Step one was a success though it offered some surprises, like his fervent kiss. Victoria suspected that she had held her own as his equal and Tristan now saw her as a woman.

After taking another sip of champagne, Victoria contemplated her second step. Tristan’s reaction tonight, his kiss, proved to her that he indeed wants her. She must make Tristan realize just how much he desires her.

Of course, playing with fire was a dangerous affair. But she had no other choice, did she? Tristan left her no other option but to stoke the flames of his desire and use his own passion against him.

As she downed the rest of her glass, Victoria prepared for the battle ahead, well aware that her opponent was far more skilled than she in the art of seduction.

Even as her conscience warned that she was treading through dangerous territory, she refused to relent.
 

No, Victoria was determined to follow her plan through to completion.

She wouldn’t relent until Tristan MacAlistair couldn’t live without her.

* * *

Tristan took two large gulps of whisky as he studied Victoria’s beguiling form from across the ballroom. She looked delectable in her gown of jade green silk and tulle, the regal portrait of beauty, grace, and voluptuous curves. Her plump lips were pink from his kisses, he noted with silent satisfaction.
 

From the mere memory of their latest kiss, Tristan realized that the spirited young woman he met so many years ago had matured into an irresistibly sensual woman.

Where did this sudden revelation stem from? She was the same young woman he’d known for a long time, for heaven’s sake. But she wasn’t. Not really.
 

Not any longer.
 

Tightening his grip on his tumbler until he thought it would shatter, he silently cursed himself.
 

Why was it that, with a sudden jolt, one kiss caused him to see her with such lucidity? He was perpetually under her spell, even when not in her presence.

Blame it on that kiss. But, which kiss? He had now kissed her twice and both were glorious. Especially tonight’s. For some reason that Tristan couldn’t quite comprehend, his mind kept repeating it over and over again. With each remembrance, his pulse thumped erratically in response. It was a sensation unlike any other he’d ever before experienced.

What was he feeling?
 

It was no longer a simple longing to kiss her again. No, he noted as he took another swig from his glass, it had become an insatiable hunger to do so.

He continued to study Victoria as she chatted with Wainwright, jealousy coiling within Tristan’s abdomen like a snake. The sight caused him to recall the kiss he’d witnessed between Victoria and Wainwright, reawakening his previous desire to knock the man flat on his arse.

“Damn it to hell,” he muttered under his breath as Wainwright leaned into her, whispering something in her ear.

Tristan strode towards her, weaving around the throngs of guests clad in vibrant colors, all a blur. The more she encouraged that dolt, Wainwright, his desire to punch the man increased tenfold. He clenched his free hand into a tight fist, fully aware that he would indeed punch him, especially if Wainwright tried to kiss her again.

“I thought I told you to stay away from her,” Tristan warned through clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching in an effort to hold his anger at bay.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. MacAlistair,” Oliver drawled, turning towards Tori.

Victoria turned her attention from Oliver to Tristan then back again. “Gentleman, stop behaving like you’re going to issue a challenge for a duel.”

“I’m game.” The flippancy of Tristan’s remark never met his tone. If the dolt wanted a duel, he’d have one.

Oliver took a step forward, “Name the date, mate.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she sighed before facing Oliver, placing her hand on his arm. “Stand down, dear. There will be no duel in your near future.”

“He started it,” Oliver pointed at Tristan.

Whining didn’t suit him.

“Yes, and I am completing it,” Victoria patted his arm. “At least five women are waiting to dance with you, Ollie. Please don’t disappoint them.”

“Yes, please don’t disappoint the other ladies in attendance,” Tristan chided.

Oliver took one step forward and Victoria half-expected fisticuffs to ensue.

“Must you provoke him?” she muttered over her shoulder to Tristan as she leaned into Wainright.

“Unless you wish to be fodder for the gossips, I suggest you excuse yourself.” When Oliver didn’t move, Tori added, “Now.”

Tristan had never heard her tone so harsh and, judging by his surprised expression, neither had the earl.

“Good night, Tori,” Wainwright bowed before taking his leave.

Victoria then faced Tristan. “What has gotten into you?”

He hadn’t a clue and it was beginning to drive him mad. Or, perhaps he was already insane? If his newfound jealousy and thirst for Wainwright’s bodily harm was any indication …
 

From the corner of his eye, Tristan noted that a few members of the
ton
were staring at them.

“Dance with me,” he suggested, placing his glass on a nearby tray then offering her his arm.

The walk to the dance floor should have allowed him time to regain his composure. Instead, he still wasn’t fully prepared for their conversation once they arrived at their destination.

“Pardon me for repeating my previous question, but what has gotten into you?” she asked, her tone just low enough for him to hear.

Damned if he knew. “I warned him to stay away from you,” Tristan managed as he glided her across the dance floor.

Victoria smiled at a passing couple then turned to Tristan, “You are not my brother, nor are you my father.”

“No, I am your friend,” he said, holding her closer than was proper. Tristan scanned the dance floor in an attempt to see if anyone had noticed and was relieved to find that they were no longer under scrutiny. “As your friend, I’m advising you to stay away from him.”

Victoria leaned into him, the subtle gesture sending a current, like a powerful riptide through his already taut nerves. “Oliver is my friend, too.”

“Take my word for it, friends don’t kiss like that,” Tristan drawled.

“You just admitted that
you
are my friend. Must I remind you of what happened between us?”

Damn she had him there! How does one respond to such a statement?

“I am not a child, Tristan,” she paused for a moment, surveying the dance floor before studying him once more.

A crease etched his forehead, the same crease that always occurred when he was deep in thought. Tristan had come to the realization that he underestimated just how well she knew him, Victoria suspected.

Her eyes locked with his. Diluted in the midst of the thousands of candles aglow in the ballroom, they currently resembled mahogany mixed with warm honey. She stared into their depths, refusing to break their connection. “I am a woman, Tristan. Not a little girl.”

“Trust me when I say that I am acutely aware that you are a woman,” his tone was one of exasperation. “You are also impatient, impulsive, reckless and too damn stubborn to see that you are ruining your reputation.”

“Me?” Victoria begged to differ. She had waited two years for this man to kiss her again. If that failed to imply patience, nothing ever would. “I dare say you are the guilty party, Tristan – you and Oliver, discussing duels in a crowded ballroom.”

He was itching to retort. She could see it, the way his jaw tensed, his full lips pursed.

“Touché,” he said at last before adding, “make me one promise, though.”

“That would depend upon what you are asking of me.”

Tristan grinned, as if proud of her – as if he admired the fact that she was strong willed and opinionated.
 

Perhaps he did?

“Promise me,” he pulled her closer again. It was as if they were the only two people in the room, as if the orchestra was playing for them alone, as if all other motion had ceased. “Promise me that you won’t kiss Wainwright again. He’s not good enough for you, Tori. I swear he’s not.”

Tristan’s baritone was rough, unusually so. “I know you’re going to wed soon. I wouldn’t be able to withstand it if you choose someone unworthy of you.”

A lump of emotion lodged in her throat.
You’re the only man I want to marry. All I’ve ever wanted is you.
Those were the statements brimming within her heart.

“I plan on marrying someone who does deserve me,” was all she could offer, silently adding
you, only you.

Tristan’s eyes remained fixed upon hers, his intense gaze growing smokier with every moment that passed. He wanted to kiss her again, she could tell.
 

Her reputation was indeed in danger but not from the man Tristan suspected.

“You are exceptional, Victoria,” his timbre was rich with unspoken meaning and Tori believed that there was much more he wanted to say.
 

For a brief moment, she thought he just might admit how he felt, allow himself to voice what she already knew – that he cared for her, that he belonged with her. Then the orchestra ceased playing and just as abruptly Tristan released her.

In that instant, the magical spell he had woven snapped like a taut piece of thread.

“Thank you for the dance, Lady Victoria.” He formally bowed and kissed the back of her hand, pressing his lips against her gloved hand for several moments longer than proper.

In the midst of all that remained undeclared between them, one fact remained clear to Victoria: Tristan
wanted
her.
 

So much so that the thought of her kissing let alone marrying another man was pure torture for him.

Staring at his back, she watched his tall frame depart the ballroom with panther-like strides.

Tristan was coming around!

All she needed was more time.

A trip to London was in order. It would be her next move. For if she knew Tristan, and indeed she did, Victoria suspected that he would avoid her and the feelings she was stirring within him just like he had after their first kiss.

Since he already wanted her, it was time for the next step in her intricate plot to win the heart of Tristan MacAlistair. She must now be seen in his element in London. Victoria must prove to him how well she fit in his world. She must prove to him that she is his equal, for Victoria knew that no shrinking violet would ever win his devotion. Propriety be damned, Tristan would never settle for a woman who wasn’t his intellectual counterpart.