When Tempting a Rogue (10 page)

“It was best for you,” he shot back as she turned to walk away. “You’ve always been top-notch at placing the blame on someone else, but I’m not the same boy I was back then either, Vienne.”

She hesitated on the threshold—chest tight. Slowly, she turned her head to glance at him one last time over her shoulder. The harshness of his features and the coldness in his eyes tore at her insides like sharpened claws.

“No,” she replied, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “You certainly are not.”

Chapter 6

I
t seemed Trystan was the Kane male who now owed Vienne an apology, only a bouquet of lilies wasn’t going to do the job. Quite frankly, he wasn’t quite certain what to do to tell her how sorry he was.

The purpose of becoming her partner was to make her look at him as a man, but he had acted poorly—as had she!—and now she looked at him as though she didn’t like the man he had become. Of course, she would prefer the more malleable boy, but he had behaved like a dolt, and for that he was truly repentant.

Vienne was the kind of woman accustomed to receiving gifts from men of her acquaintance, which made it even more difficult for him. He had to get her something she would like, that would prove his contrition. But it had be something she could enjoy for years ahead. Jewelry was too cold—any man could buy jewelry.

And then inspiration struck.

It took a couple of days to organize. Vienne was avoiding him like the plague, and had given herself the task of letting their current guards go while he hired new ones, so it wasn’t difficult to make arrangements without her catching wind of his plans. He had to admit to being fairly impressed with himself when everything fell into place, but a queer sense of anxiety claimed him as well. Would she like it? Was it too much?

He knocked on the front door of Saint’s Row early Friday morning, and was immediately shown to Vienne’s office. He might have known she’d be up already. Quite frankly, he wasn’t certain when the woman actually slept.

She sat behind her desk dressed in a rust-colored silk day-gown that brought out the creaminess of her skin and the fire in her hair. She looked up as he walked in; her expression neutral, eyes guarded. “Trystan. Good morning. I did not expect to see you until this afternoon at the construction site.”

Trystan turned the brim of his beaver hat around in his hands. “Yes, well . . . I have something for you.”

She arched a brow—and for a moment he was one and twenty, dry-mouthed and uncertain in her cool, sophisticated presence. “A gift? That isn’t necessary.”

She wasn’t impressed, just as he had thought. Gifts were little more than currency to her, and she clearly suspected him of trying to buy her forgiveness and good favor once again.

“I know it wasn’t necessary,” he replied. “But I thought when combined with my apology for the way I spoke to you the other day, you might see your way to forgiving a thoughtless dolt.”

She eyed him warily—suspiciously even. “You seem somewhat agitated. Have you discovered who sabotaged the steps?”

“No. No one seems to have seen anything. The carpenter, as you can imagine, was horrified . . . I’m a tad bit nervous as to whether or not you’ll like my gift.”

Vienne leaned back in her chair, still watching him. “Because you think it may not be enough to secure my forgiveness? You needn’t have bought me anything for that, Trystan. You only had to ask.”

“I’m asking.” He held out his hand. “But that’s not why I’m agitated. I sincerely want you to have this.”

She opened her arms in an expansive gesture. “So, give it to me.”

He wiggled the fingers of the hand extended to her. “You have to come with me. It’s outside.”

Ginger brows jumped. “
Mon Dieu
, it’s not a carriage is it?”

Trystan smiled at the horror in her tone. “No, it’s not a carriage.” Although now she really had him anxious. “Will you please just come with me?”

Hesitantly, she took his hand and rose to her feet. She dropped his fingers as though there were hot. “Lead on.”

They made the short journey to the entryway in silence. Trystan thought for certain she could hear the pounding of his heart, it was so loud in his own ears. “Close your eyes,” he commanded as he closed his hand around the doorknob.

An exasperated sigh slipped from between her peach-hued lips. “Trystan . . .”

“Please.”

Another sigh, but she did as he asked and closed her eyes. He kept his gaze on her as he opened the door, and tried not to notice the dark circles beneath her eyes in the bright daylight. She was working too hard.

“Keep them closed and give me your hands.”

She did, letting him steer her out onto the shallow stone steps. His gift was right before them in the drive. “All right. Open them.”

He actually held his breath as her lashes fluttered open, and watched as her carefully guarded expression fell away, revealing a shocked wonder. “Oh.” Her voice was a squeak. “Oh,
mon Dieu
.
Quelle surprise
.”

Trystan grinned. “She’s yours. A year old, from Irish racing stock.”

Hand to her mouth, Vienne slowly descended the low steps to the paved drive, where her surprise stood.

Watching her, Trystan knew he’d made the right decision in purchasing the beautiful chestnut mare whose shiny coat was an almost perfect match for Vienne’s dress. Never in their brief affair, or in all the time he’d known her, had he ever seen Vienne look so unguardedly happy. The horse had been worth every penny.

“Pretty isn’t she?” he asked dumbly, just so he could get some sort of response from her. She just stood there in front of the animal, petting it like she could not believe it was real. The young groom holding the reins stood smiling, Vienne’s joy so infectious.

“She’s
beautiful
.” The word came out as a sigh. Finally, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Wherever did you get her?”

“Jack knows the breeder. He found her for me and I had her brought over.” He watched as Vienne moved around the young horse, examining her from tooth to tail. She couldn’t seem to keep from touching the animal, nor did she seem the least bit aware of anyone else around her.

Back at the horse’s head once more, Vienne seemed to have proven to herself that the mare was real, and fully turned to face him. “How did you know?”

He didn’t pretend to not understand, just so he could hear her say how much this meant to her. He could see that in her bright, wide eyes.

“The other day, your face lit up when you talked about having horses.” He descended the steps to come stand beside her. “I could tell that you missed it.”

Vienne ran a long hand down the mare’s velvety neck. “I do, but I haven’t the time to care for her.”

That was just foolishness. “Make time. Vienne, life is more than business and commerce and making money. You must make time for the things you enjoy or life becomes rather pointless.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps I enjoy making money.”

Trystan smiled. “Riding this beautiful girl won’t cost you a cent. Just think of how many potential customers and business associates you might meet while out for a ride.”

Vienne turned her head, but not before he caught a glimpse of the smile that curved her lips. “She is a beauty.”

“You like her?”

“I love her.” She sighed. “But Trystan, I cannot accept . . .”

“You have to. I refuse to return her. She is yours, end of argument. In fact, we’re going to go riding tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you here at nine.”

Laughing, Vienne turned her head, stopping Trystan’s heart dead in his chest. “You are the most stubborn, overbearing man.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Part of my charm, I’m told. So, am I forgiven for being such a bore?”

She nodded, once again stroking the pretty mare. This time he saw her blink back moisture from her lashes. “Yes, Lord Trystan, I dare say you are.”

T
he following morning, Vienne was up and ready to go when Trystan arrived atop a beautiful gray gelding. Her horse was saddled and waited for her out front of the large Palladian building that was both club and home to her.

Trystan was dressed in a dark gray coat and dove trousers with matching top hat. He looked very dapper. Very masculine. A smile curved her mouth at the sight of him, and damned if she could do anything to prevent it.

The sly dog had wormed his way into her good graces with his wonderful, thoughtful—and expensive—gift. And when he had left without expecting anything in return . . . well, her regard for him grew. He hadn’t asked for a thing, not even a kiss. Only demanded that she take time to ride the mare she’d yet to name.

Once upon a time she might have suspected him of trying to coerce her into ignoring her business, so that he might take over. But he didn’t seem interested in running things; he seemed to legitimately want to be her partner. Why? After how she had treated him and tossed him aside, why would he want anything to do with her? It boggled the mind.

“Good morning, Madame La Rieux. Might I say that you are looking splendid this fine morning.”

Vienne blushed like an innocent schoolgirl—something she was fairly certain she had never been, at least not for a very long time. “Thank you, Lord Trystan. You look very well yourself.” Though, she’d wager he took considerably less time getting ready than she had. Good Lord, she’d gone through three outfits before finally deciding on the moss green riding costume she now wore. Thankfully she had listened to her modiste when the woman told her she had to have at least four choices for riding, even though she had no horse.

One of the grooms from her stables—where many of her patrons often left their carriages—was there to help her mount. It had been a long time, but her body remembered how to get into the saddle and arrange itself once there, hooking her knee around the horn so she wouldn’t fall. With the reins in her gloved hands, she felt as though only days had passed since she last rode.

Saint’s Row was located closer to Covent Garden than Hyde Park, so it was that neighborhood to which they kept. No one paid them much mind, despite their fine dress. Most people in the neighborhood knew Vienne by sight; and if they thought seeing her on horseback was strange, none of them let on.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Trystan remarked.

Vienne smiled. The English and their bizarre small talk. Always with the weather. “Yes. It is quite fine, though I suppose we shall have rain later.”

“Wouldn’t be England if we didn’t,” he replied with a quick grin. He really had become a truly striking man. He’d always had a certain charm, but now he seemed positively roguish.

She’d always had a soft spot for rogues. And puppies.

But Trystan was not for her. She had known this years ago when the sight of him set her heart pounding. No, he was a danger to her—and if she was smart, she would keep him at arm’s length and not do anything to jeopardize their friendship. Now that Sadie was with Jack, Vienne didn’t see her friend as often; and other than Indara, she had no other friends. It was nice to count Jack among the pitifully small number.

And it was nice to be out of the club, doing something that wasn’t business related, though she would never admit that aloud.

It didn’t mean that she couldn’t discuss business, not when it was the glue that bound them.

“I have given some thought to these incidents at the construction site,” she announced.

His horse was in step with hers, his leg close enough that she could reach out and touch it if she were so inclined. “What have you deduced?”

“Based on my memory, they seem to have started right around the time you arrived back in London.”

She literally saw him stiffen. His back snapped rigid, his jaw tightened. “Are you accusing me of being behind the mischief?”

“Do not be so ridiculous,” she reprimanded with a scowl. “Why would I do such a thing?”

He glanced at her, eyes as cold as ice. “When I first approached you as a partner, you accused me of wanting to ruin you. Perhaps you believe that still.”

She snorted. “Honestly, Trystan. How can you know me so well and not at all? If I truly distrusted you, do you believe we would be here right now?”

The man actually had the nerve to think about it. “I suppose not.”

“Of course not.” Truly, she was frowning so deeply she feared the furrows might mar her brow forever. “Idiot man.”

He made a choking noise. “What did you expect me to think when you say something like that?”

Perhaps he was right. If he had said the same to her she might have acted a little prematurely as well. “I did not mean to offend you. Do you want to hear my theory or not?”

“Oh, there’s more? Does it involve me creeping around behind your back, trying to destroy your reputation? Perhaps I might despoil a few virgins.”

For some reason the notion made her chuckle. “I believe despoiling virgins is my job.” She shot him a meaningful look, reminding him of how she had done that very thing to him in the privacy of her bedchamber many years ago.

To her surprise he flushed a deep, dark red. “Done a lot of that, have you?”

Vienne’s smile faded. She had wounded him, embarrassed him. “No,” she confessed. “Only once.”

Trystan kept his gaze focused on the street ahead, his color still very high, his shoulders stiff. “It must have been very tedious for you.”

“
Au contraire
,” she murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the morning bustle. “It was very much the opposite. I have a great deal of pride in knowing I was the first woman to bed you, Trystan. Though I would never humiliate you by advertising the fact.”