Free When Tempting a Rogue by Kathryn Smith Page B

do something he couldn’t quite fathom.
    It wasn’t a look between former lovers, or even current ones for that matter. He knew Grey was totally devoted to Rose—now a former lothario, of the worst kind, brought to heel by a woman just as determined to have what she wanted. But he did see some kind of tension between his brother and Vienne.
    When Vienne looked away, his heart quickly gave a queer pulse. What had Grey done? As the thought flickered through his mind, an answer came just as quickly: Archer had told Grey about him taking off for Chez Cherie’s half pissed—and his big brother had decided to confront the person he automatically blamed for Trystan’s lack of sense.
    The thought of Grey visiting Vienne—challenging her—on his behalf was mortifying. More so than Vienne’s rejection of him years earlier. More so than the fool he had made of himself trying to win her back.
    Thirty years old and his brothers were still trying to fight his battles for him.
    Perhaps he’d have another drink after all.
    He made his way through the crowd of well-wishers—smiling mamas who had daughters for him to meet, men who had schemes they wanted him to support, and the odd old friend who sincerely wanted to reconnect, perhaps over a meal or a drink at a club. Those were the ones he agreed to immediately. They eased the anger bubbling inside him, the humiliation. His friends didn’t want anything but his company, and they weren’t going to hold him up against some foolish measuring stick only they could see.
    By the time he reached the bar where one of Grey’s liveried footmen doled out scotch, bourbon, brandy, wine, and several lighter spirits, Vienne was already there, accepting a double scotch with a thankful smile.
    “I’ll have one of those as well,” he told the footman. When Vienne turned, he watched as color that had nothing to do with the drink in her hand filled her cheeks. God love her, she was embarrassed. That took a bit of the sting out.
    “Happy Birthday, Lord Trystan,” she murmured in that throaty voice of her, all the more sultry for the French that clung her words.
    “Thank you, Madame La Rieux. I’m happy you could share it with me.”
    She started but quickly recovered. “Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for all the world.” But he knew just from looking at her she’d rather be anywhere else, with anyone else.
    So much for taking the sting out. She just shoved it right back in again, deepening the wound.
    Trystan wasn’t about to go down this path, not tonight. He hadn’t the fortitude or the appetite. The footman gave him his drink and he raised it to her. “Well, enjoy your evening.” He turned to leave.
    “Wait.”
    A small smile curved his lips in response to the jolt of pleasure shooting through him at the sound of that word on her lips. He hesitated—purposefully—before slowing turning once again. “Yes?”
    High color stood out on her ivory cheeks. Her skin was almost pure white, touched by the tiniest bit of golden warmth—like the sun creeping over fresh snow. Such beauty would be cold in an English woman, but no one would ever call Vienne cold. She burned like a flame, the brightness coming out in her vivid hair and sparkling blue-green eyes, the natural crimson of her lips.
    “I wonder if I might have a moment?” Her chin came up. “In private.”
    This was interesting. Was it another ploy on her behalf? Did she have some new trick up her sleeve? Whatever her motive, Trystan’s foolish curiosity got the better of him, as did his gentlemanly honor. It would be rude to deny her an audience, he told himself.
    “Of course, madam.” He gestured to the French doors leading to the large stone balcony that overlooked the garden. “Shall we?”
    He put one hand at the small of her back, just above the gather of material that cascaded down her skirts. The boning of her corset, molded to her body like a lover’s hand, was unyielding at the pressure of his fingers.
    She