Taste of Desire (8 page)

Violet pursed her lips
. “If you say so. You are, after all, never wrong. I am sure she could do worse than to be caught in the net of England’s master spy.”

“I’ve told you before
. I am not a spy, just a man with skill at getting answers to his questions.” He swiped his palm over his face. “It is true, though, that I already know how to position my impending nuptials. Is it such a crime? I am helping her. What is the problem with that?”

He strode over to the dark window and stared out
. He had come only to say his private farewells not debate the soundness of his plan. Violet walked across the room to stand behind him, the whisper of fabric betraying her movement. She hesitated, and then wrapped her arms about his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Anyone watching would have taken it for a lover’s gesture – but the only thing on offer here was comfort.

“
I am sorry. I don’t mean to question. I know you would never hurt her. You are always careful of the innocent. It just seems like a great step to take without considering all the possibilities.”

“God, I don’t know.
” For the first time Tristan felt doubt seep into his voice. “Having Lady Smythe-Burke arrive was both a blessing and a curse. If she is a driving force behind my marriage, she will ensure Marguerite’s welcome everywhere, but I must admit that I did feel the noose tighten when she entered. I am a better hound than fox. Still, all in all, the whole affair feels right. I have learned to follow my instincts. Does that make any sense?”

“Actually, yes
. I know that everyone thought I married Carrington for his money, never mind I’d enough of my own after Stanton and Milton. But, in truth it just felt right. I actually didn’t mind another husband and he was in need of me as a wife.”

“You’ve never talked about him.”

“No, and I don’t intend to start now. Tris, I need to know, did I trap you by sending Lady Smythe-Burke? Are you just spinning another story to reassure me? I confess I didn’t think it through. The idea just came to me and there was not time to discuss it before we were interrupted.”

“I
admit I didn’t appreciate Lady Smythe-Burke’s help in landing my bride. I became the hunted rather than the hunter. Not a sensation I am fond of. However, you are correct that having Lady Smythe-Burke take Marguerite in hand is an absolute guarantee of her acceptance.”

“I do
wish your success. You’ve a magical ability to make the world revolve to your direction, but the more I consider, the more I wonder if we’ve made a mistake. A young pregnant bride does not seem the best of choices.”

“One would think not.
” Tristan pulled away. “It is certainly not the normal course of a right-minded man. Marguerite, asked if I was crazed. Perhaps she is correct.”

“You have taken the insane route before and ended up at the top of the heap
. Do you doubt yourself now?”

He turned to face her.

“No, that may be the most insane part of all. I know my reasons, and I trust in them. They are far more valid than the world can ever know.” Again he saw Marguerite curled on his sheets. She smiled at him, her lips curved as they had been about the wedge of lemon, her eyes speaking of pleasures yet to come. He coughed and stepped away, rearranging the fall of his coat. He walked to the center of the room. “But that is not why I came. Violet, I need to be sure this will not cause you more hurt.”

Her contralto laugh filled the room.

“You make it sound as if I were your mistress and you needed to give me a farewell kiss and a parting gift. Have you begun to believe your own fabrications? I won’t refuse a present, though. A lady can never have enough jewels.”

“You do me good
. If I were ever to take another mistress I could not do better. I chose wisely for my fabrication, as you put it. Go ahead. Choose some sparkling trinket and have the bill sent to me.”

She turned her face away, and spoke
. “But, would I ever become your mistress? You may have an angel’s face, but you know I am partial to younger men. You are by far too ancient for me – your brother Peter, now, he might be another matter . . . But, don’t worry, Tris. This will cause me no further damage.”

He detected only the slightest wobble in her voice.

             
Chapter Four

Lady Smythe-Burke, two maids, the curate, herself and Tristan in a drawing room. A wedding breakfast consisting of one pheasant and two types of soup. One only slightly used gown half a size too big, the wrong color, and ten years out of style. Vows so hurriedly said Marguerite couldn’t remember what she’d promised. It was not the recipe for happily ever after.

Despite Tristan’s mention of Minerva Press, this was no novel she’d ever read, even hidden in her bedroom by candlelight
. Marguerite stared along the bench seat of the carriage at her – at her husband. He lounged relaxed along the bench, his long thighs almost brushed her hand. She curled her fingers, intensely aware of their closeness. She swallowed.

She must feel gratitude
. He had saved her from disgrace and despair. He had elevated her to a position far above any she could have dreamed. With barely a flick of his wrist and his signature on a piece of paper, he had made her every problem disappear.

He gazed towards the half open window
. Did he even remember she was seated across from him? She was aware of his every breath, and still he seemed to think he was alone. Still, he had saved her. She should be grateful. So, why did she want to grit her teeth and spit at him?

H
e certainly looked the storybook hero, all fine blue wool and gold embroidery. He should have appeared the fop – instead, her toes curled at his nearness, his tousled golden hair shining almost white in the sun that seeped through the window. It made her want to spit all the more.

What type of lady was she
? She’d never felt like this before.
Bloody, blasted hell.
She blushed even thinking the words. Her sister Rose could swear like a sailor, but Marguerite had never even thought the words.

Now, when it was too late, her mind was full of them
. She didn’t feel gratitude. She felt anger, anger that he should sit there, so careless with his power. Her life had been spun around and still she was in the same place – lacking all control of her own destiny.

She was married to a man she hardly knew, with child by a man she never wanted to be in the same room with again, and
her stomach was beginning to protest the sway of the carriage. Life could not get any worse.

The carriage j
olted to a halt.

Without even looking in her direction Tristan swung the door open without waiting for assistance
. He kicked the step loose and jumped down, only then turning towards her and without meeting her eye, held out his arm.

She placed her
icy fingers about it, thrust her shoulders back, and, taking a deep breath of air, attempted not to lose the wedding breakfast on his boots.

The house loomed above her
. She’d known it was imposing, but now it seemed ready to engulf her in its majesty. What was she doing? This was not what she had wanted.

She bit down on her lip hard and followed Tristan as he marched towards the door
. It swung open before him.

Taking it as his due, he proceeded
. If she hadn’t been holding fast to his arm she would have turned and fled, as she should have when she’d first arrived a week ago. Was it only a week?

Her feet dragged to halt
. She would not do this.

It was not too late.

They would just rip that piece of paper in half and pretend it never happened. She did not know what she would do then, but it would not be this.

Tristan turned as her stalled feet caused her to pull at his arm
. Her feet would not move another step. She stood looking up at the façade of his home and could not move – except for the tremor that began in her knees and spread until she was shaking like a kite string in a gusting wind.

“Is something wrong?” His tone was so correct, so condescending
. Was she supposed to grovel in thanks for all he done?

“What could possibly be wrong?
” Her voice was high and brittle.

“You stopped.”

“I had not noticed.” If only her feet would move. If only his arm were not the only thing keeping her upright.

“You’re shaking.”

“I must be cold. There is a chill in the air.”

For the first time all day Tristan looked at her, really looked at her
. He moved to stand beside her, his silver eyes locked on hers, the heat of his body warming her.

“I didn’t mean it to be like this,” he said
. “Somehow it’s spun out of control like a child’s top. I am best when directing the action.”

“I thought this is what you wanted
. I would never have agreed, I would have gone along with it all if you had not persuaded me it was for the best. I am already disgraced. I could have stood the scandal.”

He raised one hand and stroked her cheek
. “Maybe you could, maybe you couldn’t. I know I couldn’t have stood it for you. It is what I wanted. I knew what I did and why. I should have offered more reassurance. I am sorry.”

“No, I am sorry.
” She knew she was about to ramble and tried bite down on her tongue, but still it ran on. “I still do not understand why you did it, why you asked me. You could have had anyone and you chose me – hardly your first choice – only then Lady Smythe-Burke bullied things along and . . . Oh, I do not know . . . I could still run away . . . nobody would blame you.”

“Do not doubt that I knew what I did, and why I did it
. I considered no others. Our marriage suits my plans. What matters now is how we proceed from here.”

He placed a hand on each side of her face and turned it until they faced each other fully
. She could feel the roughness of a callous on the firm flesh of his palm. For a moment they stood there, still. Marguerite could feel the heat of the morning sun upon her face, smell the greenery freshly cut and neatened for late autumn. With each additional second that Tristan stared down at her she could feel this single moment being etched forever in her mind.

He moved then, only half a step closer, but it was enough
. She drew a deep breath into her lungs, filling them as if it would be her last. She focused on his mouth. He bent his head, his lips only inches from her own. How warm his breath was. She inhaled and knew they breathed the same air. She raised her head up slightly. This is what she had dreamed of – what had led her to this moment. She swayed towards him. Her gaze fastened on his lips.

He made that last move, his lips parting and
– she turned her head, his kiss brushing over her cheek. It was all simply too much.

He stepped back, not saying a word.

“I am sorry.” It passed her lips as a whisper.

“There is no need to be, these things take time
, on occasion.”

“No, it is not that, it is only that . . . .”

“That what?”

How could she w
ant this so much and still refuse to dip even a toe in the pond? Marguerite closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression. “It is only that I have never been kissed before.”

“Never been kissed before?”

Tristan
watched her flush as he stared at her belly.
Never been kissed before.
The words ricocheted through him. It was not possible. His own desire caught at him, leaving him frustrated and burning.

“Do not mock me.
” She spoke with quiet dignity.

“Forgive me
. You make it too easy. How can you not have been kissed before?”

“I do not comprehend what you find so complex
. It is a simple statement. I have never been kissed before.”

“But . . .”

Marguerite curled her hands about her waist. She stared at the hollies, refusing to look at him.

“I thought you said you understood how these things worked
.” She kept her eyes on the bush. “It did not require kissing.”

She reached out and cradled a cluster of berries in her hand. Was she ignoring him
? She answered his questions, but her mind seemed elsewhere.

He coughed, forcing her eyes back to him
. He needed to understand. He offered his arm. “Forgive me. You are, of course, correct. There is no kissing actually required, although I hardly see the point, the pleasure, if one does not – What a distasteful thought.”

“I never said it was pleasure.”
A deep flush washed across her pallid cheeks as she took his arm. She turned her eyes downward. Why wouldn’t she look at him, speak straight to him?