He arched an eyebrow. “Will you now tell me why I’m here?” He struggled with the ties, impressed with how well his captor—as small in stature as the man was—could bind so tight. “As you can see, I’m not a threat any longer.”
The lad kept his head down, intentionally avoiding Tristan’s attempts to get a better look. The cloak’s hood cast a shadow over his face, further obscuring his features, and he stayed just far enough away to prevent any real recognition. Even so, Tristan could feel the weight of the boy’s gaze, as if he were being studied, assessed for some unknown purpose.
Frustration gnawed at him. Under normal circumstances, Tristan considered himself a patient man, but his current situation had shredded any calm he might have had. He clenched his fists in his lap, fighting the urge to shout, to demand answers. This strange, drawn-out silence was testing his limits.
Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Tristan growled. “Enough of this. Who are you? What do you want from me?”
The hooded figure remained quiet for a moment, the tension in the room thickening. Then, slowly, the lad shifted, still keeping his face hidden, and spoke, his voice tinged with amusement. “Patience, Lord Worthington. You’ll have your answers soon. But for now, it’s not about whatIwant—it’s about whatyoudeserve.”
The cryptic words sent a chill down Tristan’s spine. Deserve? What had he done to deserve being kidnapped and held at sword-point? The realization dawned that this was far more personal than he had originally thought.
His captor folded his arms. “You,my lord, are in my control. I’m going to ruin you completely! The same way you ruined a certain woman three years ago.”
Chapter Four
Tristan glared athis captor, not believing thispersonhad the audacity to kidnap him before his wedding and threaten him.
“Did you not hear me?” the lad demanded. “You are in my control now! What have you to say to that?”
Nodding, Tristan cocked his head. “I heard you. Pray, tell me how you plan on ruining me as you have threatened? Because I can assure you, I did not ruin any woman three years ago.” There could only be one woman that could come close to beingruined.Diana. Yet he had never ruined her. Lord Hollingsworth had!
As the figure before him began to shed the layers of disguise, Tristan widened his eyes. His captor straightened, shedding the driver’s jacket, revealing the unmistakable silhouette of a woman beneath. The bulk that had been gathered around her middle fell away as she released the tie, and the fabric of her dress fell down, swishing around her legs. With a final, deliberate movement, she removed the driver’s hat, and a cascade of brown hair spilled over her shoulders.
Tristan blinked in disbelief, his mind struggling to catch up with the revelation. This wasn’t the boy he had thought was holding him captive—it was a woman. And not just any woman, but one he didn’t recognize.
He studied her face, but no flicker of recognition came. Her blue eyes, however, were unmistakable in their intensity, sharp and filled with an anger that made his skin prickle. Those eyes were shooting invisible daggers at him, and despite the confusion swirling inside him, he couldn’t deny the sense of danger she exuded.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had mistaken him for Trey, who had once led a scandalous life as a notorious rogue before settling down. Trey had surely broken enough hearts in his time. But the victorious grin curling at the corners of her full lips suggested she knew exactly who she had, and it wasn’t Trey.
Tristan swallowed, his voice hoarse with bewilderment. “I—I’ve never seen you before. What is this? What do you want with me?”
The woman took a step forward, folding her arms over her chest, her smile widening as if she relished his confusion. “Oh, you’ve seen me, Lord Worthington,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Perhaps not like this, but trust me, you’ve played your part in my story.”
Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and a cold realization began to settle in his gut. Whoever this woman was, she was here for revenge—and it was deeply, disturbingly personal.
“I finally have in my presence thehonorableLord Tristan Worthington.”
Inwardly he groaned. So, the idea of mistaken identity flew out the window. “Yes, you do. Now will you be so kind as to tell me your name?”
“Tabitha Paget.”
“And now will you tell me how you know me, and why in heaven’s name you thought it important to kidnap me?”
“I work for someone who hates you. You ruined her life, and now it’s time to ruin yours.”
Her?“Pray tell, who is this person you speak of? Are you certain I know her at all?”
She laughed. “Oh, you know her, I assure you.”
A loud gasp pierced the tense silence, and before he could fully register what was happening, another figure appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in a nightgown and white wrapper, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders like flames. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock—eyes that struck him with an unsettling familiarity.
For a moment, Tristan could only stare, his breath catching in his throat. He recognized those eyes, the same eyes that had once gazed at him with admiration and affection. His heart faltered as realization dawned on him.
“Diana,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The woman standing in the doorway was none other than the woman he had once loved so deeply, the woman whose memory had haunted him for years. Her face was paler than he remembered, and her expression was a mixture of disbelief and horror. But what was she doing here, in this remote cottage, and why had she gasped so violently?
Tristan turned his gaze back to the first woman, the one who had just revealed herself. The triumphant grin on her lips told him that whatever was happening here, it was all connected. Somehow, these two women—Diana and the one filled with burning anger—were part of the same story.
