His head turned toward her. “Why?”
She knew exactly which part of her statement he questioned. “Because you have become so very successful. I hear ladies talk of you all the time—how you would be such a good husband, or lover. I rather like knowing I have some responsibility for it.”
He swore and looked away. It occurred to her that she might tell him how she sometimes thought of their first night together and how sweet he’d been, how gentle. No man had ever touched her as though she were made of glass or gold. No one but young Trystan Kane who had cared more about pleasing her than his own pleasure, who apologized for climaxing before her and did all that his youthful body could to make it up to her.
But then he would know that every man she’d been with since had been compared in some way to him, and she wasn’t about to make herself that vulnerable, not when she knew he didn’t want her anymore. Her feminine pride could only take so much; and knowing he wasn’t attracted to her, when she found him even more captivating than she had years ago, was a slap she no doubt deserved but regretted all the same.
She could control her desire for him, however. Her attraction would not interfere with their business relationship. Men were not so skilled at such things, so perhaps it was for the best that he no longer saw her in a romantic light. He would want someone younger, someone from a better family who preferably still had her hymen intact. Primogeniture was so very important to his class, unlike her own.
Of course, in any social sphere, a man could make love to whomever he wanted without any ramifications, but if a woman did she could find herself tossed out with no friends and no family. That was a lesson she had learned in a very, very painful way when she gave her heart and body to the wrong man.
She would not think of it. Nothing good ever came out of living in the past.
“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat, “I meant to imply that perhaps the mischief at the construction site is directly aimed at you. Do you have any enemies who would like to see this venture fail?”
Trystan pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Not that I know of. I haven’t exactly built a career out of being ruthless, you know. Taking chances, yes; but never advantage of others.”
“Are you certain? No one upon whom you skimmed the fringes of good faith? Or bent the rules, such as with me?”
She thought she heard him laugh as he shook his head. “No, Vienne. You are my first and only dupe.”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m honored.”
His lips quirked, and when she let her smile stretch into a full grin and laughter followed, the air filled with his laughter as well. People turned to look in their direction, smiling in response to their unfettered mirth.
He was right, it was a lovely morning.
T
here hadn’t been anymore “mishaps” at the construction site since the hiring of new guards, a fact that made Trystan’s nightly sleep better. He didn’t believe Vienne’s theory that the accidents might have more to do with him than the emporium. It just didn’t make sense.
He also slept better knowing that things were good between them. Oh, he still felt as though he had something to prove to Vienne; wouldn’t be content until he knew that in her eyes he was her equal, not just a man. But they
had
reached a truce. In fact, it seemed as though they might actually stand a chance at becoming friends—something he had never been with a female who wasn’t family. It was refreshing, talking to a woman who knew as much, if not more, about certain aspects of commerce. At times he educated her as well, bringing a balance to their relationship that he was certain only he felt.
Anything else was impossible, and he daren’t let himself entertain the possibility. As tempting as Vienne was, he didn’t think she was capable of love. Oh, she could feel it if she let herself, but that was just it—she wouldn’t allow it. She had spent too many years using her wiles and body to manipulate men to get her way that he doubted she knew how not to. He didn’t know what had happened to make her distrust and despise his sex so very much, but he’d like to slap the mouth of the man responsible.
Still, he and Vienne shared an energy that was contagious. Once one of them hit upon an idea for the emporium, the other surely followed with a dozen more suggestions built off that one. The various boutiques, especially those on the ground floor, were beginning to come together nicely; several of them were already painted and only needed trim and plasterwork on the ceiling. Vienne’s detailed sketches of the space were slowly coming to life, and it was amazing to see—especially when she incorporated his suggestions as well.
He was growing accustomed to spending much of his days in her company, and they often took at least one meal together—most of which was spent discussing business. It appeared Vienne was enjoying his company as much as he was enjoying hers. They went riding together as well: he on his horse, Domino, and she atop Versailles, the name she’d chosen for the pretty red mare he’d given her.
But spending so much time with her meant he had to witness how other men were with her—and how she behaved with them. He knew he had no right to feel any sort of irritation, but he did. It bothered him when other men watched her, nudged each other when she wasn’t looking. It bothered him even more when she flirted with them, because she talked and joked with them in a manner far different from the one she affected with him.
Most of all it bothered him that there were no women about for him to flirt with so she could see. When he had first arrived back in London, he’d flirted a little with Sadie, Jack’s wife—nothing disrespectful, but just enough that he knew it had bothered Vienne. That’s what he wanted to do right now. He could only hope that she would be half as peeved.
It wasn’t that he still had feelings for her, or had developed any new ones. It wasn’t. He just despised being made to feel so left out while she basked in attention and rubbed his face in it. As though they were having some sort of popularity competition! He
hated
seeing those men act as though they had a chance with her. Most of them didn’t, but they talked as though they did. Vienne only heard what insipid wit they used on her, while he had to hear what they truly thought—and there was little eloquence involved.
He almost clocked one of the bastards when he heard the man say what a good “ride” he thought Vienne would be. But it wasn’t his business, and Vienne would not appreciate him defending her honor at the cost of good workmen. She was odd that way.
Though, what was fine behavior for her was not for him, it seemed. Earlier that day, Jack and Sadie had stopped by the site with Sadie’s friend Eve Elliot in tow. Lady Eve was to be married the following week to Bramford Gregory, a man everyone expected to become prime minister one day.
“Lady Eve, you grow more and more lovely every time I see you,” Trystan said as he bowed over her gloved hand. It was a sincere compliment, because the pretty blonde did seem much altered lately. There was a confidence in her that hadn’t been there before.
Eve smiled prettily, taking his remark for what it was, but not quite so seriously. “How very kind of you, Lord Trystan.”
He had looked up to see Vienne arch a brow at him. “What?” he demanded as their guests drifted away to inspect some of the more recent construction.
“She is an engaged woman.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then do you not think you should be respectful of that and not flirt so brazenly with her?”
Trystan gawked at her. “What I said was a compliment, not flirtation.”
Vienne had the nerve to roll her eyes at him. “Please. Men never say such things without the hope of it leading elsewhere. Or women for that matter.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Vienne, if that were true, I would accuse you of trying to bed every man on our staff.”
“I never flirt with the married ones,” she shot back. What kind of answer was that? So he thought she was trying to bed every man she flirted with?
“Lady Eve is not yet married and I was
not
flirting. I have no desire for her in that way.”
“Hmm,” was her only reply before she walked away to join the others. Trystan could only stare after her in a kind of shock. The woman was mad; that was the only explanation. How dare she accuse him of flirting when that was
all
she
ever
did!
Later, after Jack, Sadie, and Lady Eve had left, he happened to turn his head and see Vienne talking to a young workman of perhaps two and twenty. The handsome youth hung on her every word, trapped in her seductive web as she leaned toward him and placed her hand on his chest as she spoke. The lad looked positively forlorn when she removed her fingers a few seconds later.
Mad, yes. And she had balls the size of an omnibus.
Damnation
. She was far more of a flirt than he was. And he was sick and tired of having to watch it.
Trystan waited until Vienne flitted off to attend another matter before approaching the workman. He helped the boy with a strip of baseboard, and held the length of gleaming oak while the boy hammered it in place.
Afterward, when he caught the young man watching Vienne, who was in another boutique across the way, Trystan said, “That Madame La Rieux is an incredible woman, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy was positively enthusiastic with his response. Foolish git.
“Smart, driven, beautiful. Hellion too.” He leaned in conspiratorially: “Did you know she
shot
her last lover?”
The young man’s face turned pale. “No, sir. I did not.”
“Really?” His surprise was real. Where did this boy live, under a rock? “It was in all the papers.”
“I don’t often read the papers, sir.”
“Ah. Apparently the young man displeased her by not doing what she told him to do, so she popped him one in shoulder. He might never regain full use of his arm.”
To a man as dependant on physical labor as this one, that was a sobering thought.
“You’re a braver man than I to flirt with her,” Trystan went on. “Have a care, though, Giles. I’d hate to see you plugged full of lead as well.”
“You may depend on me, sir.”
The shaken young man turned his back on Vienne and returned to his work. Trystan walked away with a satisfied smile.
“N
ow that you are back in England, it is time you began looking for a wife.”
Trystan set down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and turned his attention to his luncheon companion—his mother. They were sitting at his private table in the Barrington dining room. Thankfully there weren’t any other diners sitting close enough to hear their conversation.
“Mama, I’m very busy right now. There was another mishap at the construction site last night. One of our guards was badly injured.”
Trystan and Vienne had to offer higher wages to keep workmen from quitting because now they were afraid to be on site. The building was close to completion and they couldn’t afford to have everything come to a grinding halt.
Besides, it’s obviously what the culprit wanted. In fact, Trystan had been a little late to luncheon because he’d been in a meeting with a private-inquiry agent. They needed to find the person or persons responsible for these “accidents” and put an end to this mischief before someone was killed. Vienne had been beside herself when she heard about the workman—she was known for taking good care of her employees, and felt as though she had personally allowed the man to be hurt.
Trystan hadn’t the heart to tease her about the “good care” she’d given the footman she shot.
“Ridiculous,” his mother told him. “Honestly, darling, you spend far too much time working. You need to find a nice girl who will divert you from all of that. It’s not as though you need the money.”
He didn’t remind her that one of the reasons his family was so bloody rich was because he had made smart investments on their behalf. “Why don’t you pester Archer about this? He’s older than I, and still very much a bachelor.”
His mother smiled slightly as she cut a small piece of duck. “Archer is more of a project than I care to take on at this moment. Nevertheless, he has no shortage of female attention. You, on the other hand, rarely attend important social functions.”
“I’d hardly call a piano recital by Lady Willoughby’s talentless daughters an
important
social function.”
She gave him that frown that had always meant that he was trying her patience. “Any event that puts you in the path of eligible young ladies is important. Goodness, Trystan. You are thirty years old now. A man. It is time you set up your own household.”
Trystan was so astounded that she had called him a man, for a moment he could only sit and stare at her as she ate. “I’m not for sale, mother.”
She smiled—determinedly. “Think of it as searching for a business partner with whom you can spend the rest of your days.”
Why did a vision of Vienne fill his mind at those words? Surely he didn’t still have feelings for her? Attraction, yes. That had never gone away, but romantic feelings?
No.
He respected her, liked her even, but as for romance. . .
Dear God!
He had feelings for Vienne La Rieux. Had he no bloody sense? When had he gone from wanting her respect—wanting to make her see him as an equal—to wanting her to see him as an attractive man? This would not do. It must be as his mother suggested. Had he been in the company of other females on a regular basis, he would not feel this way about Vienne. It was only because they spent so much time together.
“Fine,” he said, hoping he sounded resigned rather than desperate. “I’ll start accepting more invitations. Does that please you?”
Judging from his mother’s smug expression, it did indeed. Her blue eyes sparkled. “Excellent. I took the liberty of accepting an invitation to Lord Angelwood’s annual End of Season Ball on your behalf. I will attend with Bronte and Alexander, but expect to see you there no later than eleven.”
At least Angelwood was an intelligent man, and his wife was no less impressive. They were certain to have filled their guest list with decently entertaining people. Perhaps he might talk up the emporium, which Vienne wanted to call La Maison de Monde. Trystan thought the name and the French pronunciation might not work in their favor. After all, this wasn’t just a clothing boutique; and they needed a name that screamed opulence without being so pretentious they scared potential customers away.
Potential customers one might meet at a ball.
“I’ll be there, but I will choose my own dance partners.
Understood?
”
Still smiling like a fat tom that had just landed a plump mouse, his mother nodded. “Of course. I know of several young ladies whom I would love for you to meet.”
Internally, Trystan shuddered and berated himself for not wording their “contract” more carefully. Of course his mother would allow him to pick his own partners—from the eligible ladies she shoved in front of him.
It was going to be a damn long night.
F
rom time to time, because of her own wealth and somewhat eccentric lifestyle—there were those who called it scandalous—Vienne found herself invited to certain societal functions that might normally be closed to an unmarried woman of dubious virtue. But Vienne was a careful woman—she never slept with married men or young men still clinging to their mamas. She was discreet, and her freedom made her the envy of many women. Hence, there would always be those dying to be in her company and those who would rather die than be in the same room with her.
Her business relationship with Lord Angelwood, and her respectful relationship with Lady Angelwood, had gotten her an invitation to their annual ball signifying the closing of the season. It was August and society had already thinned. It wouldn’t be long before those with homes in the country abandoned the city altogether, and the rest would wait for invitations to house parties and hunting parties that could sometimes last until late into the fall.
Normally she enjoyed Lord and Lady Angelwood’s hospitality, but tonight she was in decidedly poor temperament. And it didn’t take much to ascertain why.
Trystan Kane was there, looking gorgeous and dancing with every predatory young miss who hadn’t yet managed to land a husband this Season.
“Time is running out little birdies,” she muttered into her champagne glass. Would they resort to gouging each other’s eyes out to win his attention? Perhaps . . . If plumage didn’t do the trick. Every one of them was dressed at the height of fashion—and mostly in the delicate pastels favored by virgins.
Was it low of her to want to swoop in and parade her own bronze-swathed self around them like a true bird of prey? It was certainly foolish. She would look like a vulture picking at scraps. She’d never had to fight for a man’s attention, and she wasn’t about to now.
Though, why it should bother her so much she didn’t quite fathom. Of course, Trystan would want to start looking for a wife. Of course, he would pick some pretty young thing from his own class. She would be able to tease him about it tomorrow when they met for breakfast.
“You look like you swallowed something foul,” came a voice from behind her. She turned and found Sadie standing there, as usual dressed like a peacock in a stunning gown of purple and orange. Her thick dark hair was swept up, set atop her head, and little bits framed her pale face. Large multicolored eyes sparkled.
Vienne shrugged. “It annoys me, watching these young women vie for the attention of one man.”
Her friend stepped closer. “Is that a generalization or specifically because the man in question is Trystan Kane?”
She made a face—and threw an eye roll in for good measure. “Of course not. You know I despise the whole marriage-mart ritual in which you English engage.”
“I’m not English,” was her friend’s cool reply. “No more than you.”
Vienne deflated a little, though she made certain not to show it. Sadie was her dearest friend and now she’d gone and insulted her. “Forgive me,
mon amie
. I am a proper bitch this evening.”
Sadie stepped closer. “Which takes us back to my earlier question. Is it because of Trystan Kane?”
She could lie. She should lie. “Look at him. He is in his prime, is he not?” As she spoke, she watched as he went through the steps of a quadrille with a particularly pretty partner. “I am past mine, Sadie.”
“Don’t be such an idiot. You are beautiful and could pass for a women ten years younger.”
Vienne tried to smile, and realized too late how sad and pathetic it must appear. “It hardly matters. He should find someone to marry. He should find love if he can.”
“My friend, you deserve to find love as well.”
She shook her head. “I do not believe so. To find love you must first be willing to give it. I am too distrustful to offer anyone my poor wizened heart. Besides, men do not want experienced women. They want sweet virgins who will do their bidding. I would not suit as an English wife.” Then she pushed some real feeling into her smile. “Perhaps you know of an Irishman who might not mind a free-thinking woman?”
Sadie linked her arm through hers. Vienne patted her friend’s hand. “I’m not sure there’s even an Irishman alive who could handle the likes of you,” her friend remarked in her familiar teasing tone.
Vienne tore her eyes away from the dancers and took a sip of champagne. “Enough about my maudlin thoughts. How are you, dearest? You must be very happy to have his lordship back from Ireland.”
Sadie made a face. “It will take a while for me to get used to his being an earl . . . but yes, I am glad to have him with me.”
“How long before you allow yourself to be a countess?” Though Jack and Sadie had married years ago, it had been a pagan ceremony, so there was some dispute as to whether they were married or not.
“He’s asked me to marry him, and I will, but I want to take things slowly this time. We rushed into it last time, and I want to be certain this is what we both want.”
Vienne chuckled. “Coward.”
To her credit Sadie laughed. “Fine words coming from you, missus. If you’re so brave, why don’t you saunter on over to Lord Trystan and ask him to dance. Show those insipid little girls how a real woman behaves with a man she wants.”
“Oh no. I’ll never be invited anywhere ever again if I make such a spectacle of myself.”
Sadie scowled. “What spectacle? Lady Gosling’s husband is expected to die before morning and she’s here.”
That was true. The lady’s husband took a nasty fall the day before and hadn’t recovered. “Yes, but everyone knows she despises the man—he is a monster. People expect her to be outrageous.”
“People expect you to do whatever you want. Seriously, Vienne. You and Trystan are business partners; it would not be odd for the two of you to dance. You must dance with someone. I will not stand by and watch you play the wallflower another moment.”
Sadie was right, of course. She usually was when it came to giving advice to others. “I should have you read my tea leaves,” Vienne remarked. “Perhaps then I will know what the future holds.”
“Your future holds a wee dance with a handsome man. Now go.”
Vienne laughed as her friend practically pushed her toward the dance floor. Trystan wasn’t dancing at the moment. She could walk right up to him and ask him for the next waltz. It would be scandalous, of course, but fun.
Yes!
Why shouldn’t she have a little fun? She gave her empty glass to an obliging footman and made her way toward Trystan with a determined stride. He turned to grin at her as she approached, breaking off his conversation with a lovely young girl. Vienne smiled back.
“Madame La Rieux,” he said when she reached him—the debutante had been smart enough to take her leave prior to this. “I was just about to come looking for you.”
“Were you, Lord Trystan? Whatever for?”
“To ask you to dance, of course. Will you do me the honor?”
So much for behaving outrageously by asking him. “I would be delighted.”
They only had to stand there a moment or two, awkwardly looking at one another and not talking, before the orchestra began to play the scheduled waltz. Trystan smiled and offered his arm, which she happily took.
She didn’t remember ever dancing with him before, something she regretted the moment he took her into his arms and began to move. He was a wonderful dancer—one of those rare people with a natural grace. It was confidence. He knew exactly where to step, instinctively knowing he would not trod upon her toes nor she upon his. His gloved palm was warm, but not humidly so, against her back. And even with their gloves on, Vienne fancied she could feel the flesh of his fingers entwined with her own. Her heart began to beat a little faster.
“You dance well,” she admitted.
He inclined his head. “As do you. A pity we never tried this before.”
“I was just thinking the same.”
“Of course, we had more intimate pursuits on our minds at the time.” He flashed a charming grin.
“Trystan!” She had to keep her voice low so no one would hear. Still, she looked around to make certain no one had. “You should not say such things in public.”
“You know, for a modern woman you can be quite the prude,” he informed her, eyes sparkling with humor. “Everything we’ve ever done together we’ve done well, Vienne. Dancing should be no different.” With that he whirled her around so fast she laughed in joy—which
did
gather a few glances.