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worse than most men, married or not. The difference was that he had been caught, or so the ton had been led to believe. Very few knew the truth, including his own family.  
    He sacrificed his noble reputation though no one, outside of a select few, would ever be privy to the particulars. It was for this reason that he was relieved that his sister spent such little time in London. Tristan preferred that Gwen not learn the ugly rumors about him, those that he allowed everyone in attendance tonight to presume.  
    Why did he tolerate his good name to be tarnished? Because it was the safest course of action and he had little to lose at the time.
    Turning to his right, he walked down a long corridor lined with elaborately framed paintings, relishing the solitude. He paused to study an unrecognizable canvas containing splashes of bright colors in random shapes.
    “That is atrocious,” a sweet voice murmured from behind him, causing Tristan to grin in response.  
    He hadn’t turned nor did he need to. He would recognize Victoria’s voice anywhere. God knew that he’d imagined it at least a thousand times since their last encounter, usually whispering his name in a heated moment of carnal passion.
    “Oh, no! Lady Markham is approaching,” Tori announced in a hushed whisper. “I have been attempting to avoid her since my arrival in London. Please tell me she hasn’t noticed me.”
    Tristan peered over Tori’s shoulder, just in time to see the dreadful woman headed in their direction. “I wish I could,” he asserted, no happier to see the old bat than Victoria.
    “Victoria, darling,” the shrill voice set Tristan’s hairs on end.
    Victoria stared at him, her azure eyes wide as she mouthed help before turning to face their intruder. “Lady Markham, what a delightful surprise. I didn’t expect to see you in attendance this evening.”
    Tristan smiled, amused at the ease with which Tori lied to the dreaded intruder.
    “Nor I,” declared Lady Markham, eyeing Tristan with disdain. “What are you doing here … with him ?”  
    There was no attempt to be civil on Lady Markham’s part.
    If Victoria thought the question strange or the older woman’s tone rude, she showed no indication. Instead she grinned. “I have come to fetch Tristan. His sister has been looking for him ever since our arrival. Tristan and the Duchess of Davenport are so very close.”
    “Yes,” Lady Markham narrowed her eyes.
    Tori ignored Lady Markham’s glacial tone. “Forgive my rudeness. Are you acquainted with the duchess’s brother or are introductions in order?”
    “We are …” Lady Markham paused as if for dramatic effect, “acquainted.”
    Tristan bowed, “It is a pleasure, my Lady.”
    “There you are, my dear!” It was none other than Lord Markham, a jovial man with rosy cheeks and a wide grin – his disposition in complete contrast to that of his wife as he surveyed Tristan and Victoria. “Oh, hello, Mr. MacAlistair, my Lady … I have been looking everywhere for my wife. Come with me, my dear, come with me. Lord Thackston has arrived and we must greet him.”
    Lady Markham turned from her husband, to Tristan, then to Victoria. “Will you be all right?”
    “Rest assured we shall both be fine, thank you,” Victoria replied, deliberately misinterpreting the question. In turn, Lady Markham scowled, pursing her lips as if she’d sucked on a lemon.
    Tristan added, “Yes, please do not allow us to keep you from Lord Thackston.”
    Lady Markham exhaled an impatient breath before bidding her curt farewells.
    “I see you have been making friends in London,” Victoria quipped once her Ladyship was out of earshot.
    Tristan winked at her as he offered her his arm, “You know me.”
    “Yes, I do,” she looped her arm through his. “Apparently, so does Lady Markham. Dare I ask what offense you have committed against her?”
      “What? You don’t think she likes me?” Tristan retorted.
    “No,” Victoria watched the thin