Taste of Desire (10 page)

Marguerite met her mother’s glare and despite the trembling of her shoulders did not falter
. “I am not sure whether to be pleased or not that my sense of virtue has suddenly been restored in your eyes. A moment ago I feared I had none. As for the wedding it was indeed valid and I am sure the witness and the curate would be pleased to swear to that effect. As for Wimberley tricking me, why would he? How have I suddenly become such a prize? When you told Mr. Clark I would marry him you made it clear nobody else would have me. What has changed?”

“None of that matters.
” Her mother pushed towards standing and then settled back on the settee with a groan. Moving that bulk was evidently an effort. “You are still too young to marry without my permission. I need you to come home with me.”

It was time to take the discussion into his own hands
. “As you say, it hardly matters,” Tristan began. “It has been decades since the courts enforced such laws in all but the most blatant cases of abuse. I hardly think that the case here. I am not noted for my pursuit of children and I hardly think anyone would believe I am after her dowry – assuming she has one. Tell me, Madam, do you have such powerful friends that your own view will hold sway?”

“Well . . ,
” Mrs. Wilkes stuttered. “It can still be annulled.”

“Can it now?” Tristan asked
.

The palm shuttered and Tristan was sure he heard the gnashing of teeth before Mr. Clark spoke up
. “Marguerite stated you had only married this morning. There has not been a wedding night and I as I said, she is not of age.”

Marguerite tilted forward in
her seat and Tristan was left with only the view of the back of her head, the fine hair glinting in the sunlight. He rested a hand on her neck in reassurance. She pushed back against him and the small curls at her nape wrapped around his thumb.

“
Lack of consummation will not get you an annulment, as I assure you both parties are able, and do you really believe these matters require the cover of nightfall?” he asked. His fingers stroked down her neck, marking his possession. “I took you for more a man of the world. And, forgive my bluntness Mrs. Wilkes, it was a rather slow carriage ride back to my home and before that . . . Well, let’s just say my dearest Marguerite may already be working to provide me with an heir.”

The palm shook again and then stilled as Mr. Clark stepped around it and came to stand directly in front of Marguerite.
He leaned forward and Tristan could not see his face.

“Are you with child
? Is that the explanation for all this nonsense? I would have moved the wedding up if you’d told me. These theatricals were not necessary.”

Tristan started as Marguerite threw her head back to face
Mr. Clark head on. Every time he thought she would fade away she sprang back into the fight.

“Despite my mother’s sometimes unkind words,” she began
. “I am not an expert on these matters, but I do believe it is a little early on to tell if I am with child.”

Mr. Clark’s jaw clenched, the muscles throbbing beneath the skin
. “That would only be true if . . . .”

“If what, Mr. Clark?” Marguerite replied
. She rose to her feet. “Is there something you would like to divulge, here, in this company?”

For a moment Tristan thought Mr. Clark would do it, spit out whatever secret it was that vibrated throughout the room
. Was he the father of Marguerite’s baby? Mr. Clark opened his mouth to speak.

Tristan stepped forward
. His mind began to siphon through the possibilities. It would certainly explain a lack of kissing. Tristan’s height did not match Mr. Clark’s, but he knew how to project power and strength. He filled his chest, let his arms fall back and spoke. “Yes, is there more you would wish to say about – my wife, the woman I have just promised to cherish and – protect? I take my vows very seriously.”

Mr. Clark stepped back
. He met Tristan’s glare, then faltered. “No.”

“Is that all
, then? Do we have more to discuss?” Tristan stepped back, but kept his gaze locked on Mr. Clark’s face.

“Yes, we are through, for now.
” Mr. Clark leaned forward and in what could almost have been described as a courtly gesture lifted Marguerite’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Until later – my lady.” He turned and strode from the room.

Mrs. Wilkes sat on the couch doing her imitation of a fish.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Wilkes, but I do believe you arrived with Mr. Clark.” Tristan put on his ballroom manners. “Will you be departing with him also or should I instruct Winters to have one of my own vehicles prepared? Or would you like to spend the night here, as my guest?”

“Stay here, after what you’ve done
? Certainly not. I don’t know what type of lady you are used to dealing with, but I can promise you I am a far different breed. I am sure Mr. Clark would not dream of departing without me. He is a true gentleman rather than just a pretender to the name. I have never felt so put upon in all my days. How could you do this to me, Marguerite? Who will take care of me in my declining years? Do you really think your sister Hetty is up to the task? You know how forgetful she is. She will be so disappointed in you – not that I’ll let you see her and spread your uncharitable influence. I don’t know what I did to deserve such a strumpet for a daughter. And you, my lord, to take advantage of my poor innocent child. How could you do such a thing and break a mother’s heart? Now will someone help me from this chair?”

Tristan offered his hand
. It had definitely been too long since he’d darkened the door at Gentleman Jim’s Boxing Salon, his straining muscles informed him.

Finally Mrs. Wilkes was up, she flounced her skirts around her like the youngest of coquettes
. She walked over to her daughter and bent slightly until they were face to face. “I hope you know what you’ve done. I tried to keep you from making these mistakes. Being headstrong doesn’t pay.”

She hea
ved back to her full height, thrust out her breasts and narrowed her eyes. “I will expect to receive the license and the names of all the guests.”

She turned and stalked from the room without a
backward glance.

“Her manners are usually very polished.” Marguerite resisted the urge to sway. The world had begun to spin about halfway through her mother’s speech, but she would manage to be strong a few minutes longer. She edged back towards the chair. “It’s just the unpleasant surprise.”

“I don’t know that I like being considered an unpleasant surprise.
” Tristan turned from his protective position beside her to face her dead on. Her breath caught as those silver eyes looked through her. “I’d never realize that capturing a marquess was such a disgrace. Did she have a duke in mind?”

Marguerite sank back into the chair
. Did he have to sound so cold?” “No, as you heard she’d always thought that Mr. Clark and I – well, I think she’d just made up her mind that we would suit. She has very strong ideas about a parent’s duty to their children.”

“And who exactly is Clark that he should be
so high in your mother’s esteem?”

She closed her eyes
. She didn’t want to think about this. It had been hard enough confronting her mother. She could only imagine what Tristan must think. She opened her eyes and stared at the pearl inlay of the side table. Finally she found the words. “He’s our neighbor. He is an important member of our parish and is always first when a contribution is needed. His home is larger than ours and his soirees more lavish – not that mother approves of overindulgence.”

“No, I am sure she doesn’t.
”

“Don’t look like that
. Mother has always been of delicate health. She became very ill, shortly after my birth and my father’s death, and was counseled to eat sweets and cream to help build up her constitution. She’s struggled with weakness ever since. She had hoped that as her neighbor’s wife I could continue my care of her. And I do confess, mostly I believe she is scared of being alone. I should have been kinder to her.”

Tristan turned and walked away
. He picked up a delicate marble bust of Aphrodite and ran his fingers over the smooth curves. “That response will only go so far. Why was your mother so in favor of the match with Clark? Does she know something you have failed to divulge to me?”

             
Chapter Five

“What do you mean?” Marguerite sputtered the question.

“I have played games of words with heads of state and generals
. I have persuaded parliament to my course and even on occasion held my own with Lady Smythe-Burke. Do you really want to begin this way? Answer my question. What does your mother know, that I do not?”

How could his eyes pierce her when he wasn’t looking at her
? How could his carefully modulated pitch pry so deep into her thoughts? She forced herself to hold to the exact truth. “My mother knows nothing.”

“Your tone says otherwise.”

“Well, nothing that is true at least.” Why did they have to talk about this? He had not pressed the point before, why did he suddenly need to know? She did not even want to think about that night. “And she was set on my marriage to Clark before any of this came about. She believes he is calm and steady and will assure my security. She also wishes me near her, where I can still care for her needs. That is all.”

Why wouldn’t her tongue stop moving?

Tristan didn’t even comment on her words, he just stayed silent, not even looking at her, and she felt the need to ramble onward. She bit down on her lip fighting to stop the words. She would not lie and she was still unprepared to remember the truth.

She turned from him and went to stand at the door
. “I am quite fatigued at the moment. Would you object if I went to my room to rest?”

Even with her back turned she could imagine the look of consideration
tightening his face. She prayed he would not press for more answers now. She was tired and shaken and she just might give them to him.

“No
, of course not.” he answered after a moment. “Be sure you have one of the maid’s show you to the marchioness’s chamber. I am sure you’ll find your belongings already in place. My room’s are adjoining should you have any questions.”

The last almost sounded a threat.

She hadn’t thought she could be more miserable
. How could anything be worse than being unwed and with child? Every time she thought she’d reached the bottom, things still managed to get worse. Marguerite turned over and thumped the mattress. The bed was soft, the sheets clean, the room warm, and she had never been more uncomfortable. At least she wasn’t feeling sick.

Her wedding night.

She shoved herself up and stared at the closed door. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. She could count the words they’d said over dinner on her fingers and half of those had been to the footman.

Tristan had excused her to take his port and never rejoined her
. The girl assigned as her maid had led her up to bed, brushed out her hair and dressed her in this silly confection that was apparently a gift of Lady Smythe-Burke. And that had been the end of her evening.

It wasn’t
what she had expected from Tristan, not after his comments saying this would be a real marriage. Still, she was relieved he hadn’t come to her room. Definitely, delighted he had left her alone. She didn’t want to . . . her mind balked at the thought. A few kisses, however, would have been nice. She was developing a great curiosity about kisses.

She sniffled
.

It was the alone part she wasn’t so sure about
. Life with Mama may not have held many dreams, but at least she’d never felt this incredible emptiness, as if not another creature in the world cared. Now she began to understand what Mama feared. If only she’d listened to Mama from the start – but then she’d never have met Tristan, never had a glimpse of what life had to offer.

She shoved her feet down into the cold of the bed, her toes wiggling in protest
. She curled over on her side and wrapped her arms about her stomach. If she had only herself to depend on, she’d manage. She might not be strong like her older sister, Rose, but she refused to give up.

She turned her face into the pillow and ignored the tears that refused to disappear
. She would never tell him what had really happened. Nothing could force her to remember that night.

Tristan pulled the belt tight about his robe and strode to the window. The cool moonlight of early autumn lit the rooftops down the street. He rubbed his hands up his face, pulling against the lines he could feel forming by the second.

What had he done
? It had seemed such a straightforward plan. It all was logical.

That had been yesterday, however.