Taste of Desire (12 page)

“I do have my day off
, my lord.”

“Of course
. And I am sure in theory you are right, but my belly would beg to disagree. Just the water.”

“But, my lord, Cook has prepared some succulent kippers for breakfast.”

God, who had ever decided that fish was breakfast food? Tristan made no answer except a glare. Jackson turned to fetch a glass and pitcher.

“And
Jackson ...”

“Yes, my lord?”

“How did I manage my way home last night?”

“Lord Landon saw you to the door and up the stairs
. The others waited by the carriage.”

God, he didn’t even remember Landon being there last night
. “What others?”

“I coul
dn’t say. He was the only one who entered the house. I just heard the laughter. Possibly the footman saw more. Should I inquire?”

“No.
”

Tristan downed the water in a single swallow
. Jackson continued to hover.

“Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

Jackson hesitated only briefly. “About your wife, my lord, I did want you to know, to be sure you realized –“

“No!” His headed pounded at his own vehemence. “I do not want to hear one word about my wife.”

God, would Marguerite never cease to plague him
? Even when she was gone he could feel those cobalt eyes asking more of him, wanting something more from him.

“But, my lord –“

“I mean it, not one.”

“As you say.”

Tristan gestured towards the tray Jackson had set aside.

“
Leave it and bring the newspapers. I’ll drink it in my own time. Be sure I am not disturbed. I’ll be leaving for the club after I finish the papers.”

Tristan approached his home with weary feet. He’d had a most successful morning and afternoon at the club. Apparently his overindulgence of the night before had led to unexpected bonding with Lord Simon Moreland. The details of the evening were still a blur, but Moreland had planted himself in the chair beside Tristan that morning and proceeded to ramble on as if they were childhood chums. It was amazing what a few drinks could accomplish.

“Something you’ve neglected to tell me, brother?”

Tristan started with a jerk at the quiet voice behind him. He turned and set his features as he regarded the warm, wide smile of the man before him. His brother, Peter, had returned.

“You’re back.”

“And a fine reception I receive,” Peter said.

Tristan had to work to hold back his grin
. “If you’d remembered to send word, I’d have thrown a soiree.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about forgetting.”

“I don’t know of what you speak.”

“Your only brother and you don’t even bother to inform me of your wedding
. I have to hear about it at the club.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that. Where is my lovely new sister? I do take it she’s lovely?”

“Yes, she is that
. She’s also not here.”

“Not here
? Then where is she?”

“I am surprised you didn’t hear
that tidbit as well.” Tristan walked towards the door, letting Peter follow in his wake. “There must be new gossip to cover the fact I married by special license and sent my bride to the country the next day. I wonder whether there’s been a duel or some sweet young thing has eloped that has eclipsed the anecdotes of my lovely wife. Do you know?”

“There was something about the Earl of Danchester’s daughter and
that Dutchman, Huismans, but don’t try and distract me. How could you marry without informing me? Why have you sent your wife away? And is the gossip correct that I shall soon be an uncle? Is there another reason you would marry so – unexpectedly?”

Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose
. The headache of the morning returned. Why had he ever taught Peter the importance of asking questions? “If you’d been in London or even in the country I would have sent you word of the wedding. Don’t forget that the last letter you sent said simply
Paris lives up to expectations
. My message would still be tracking you down, if I’d sent one. To the second question – it is no one’s business but Marguerite’s and mine. As to the third and fourth – also a private matter, but not one that shall be private for long. Yes, you will be an unc . . . yes, Marguerite is expecting. God willing I will have an heir sometime next summer. However, we plan to wait the proper number of weeks before we spread the news. I trust in your discretion.”

Peter leaned against the door with a thump, blocking the entrance to the house
. “Thank God. I was beginning to think you were depending on me and that would never do. I’ve no intention of doing the honorable. Can’t imagine a woman who could hold my attention for that long. Is that what happened? Was one day of marriage more than enough?”

Tristan’s fingers curled by his side
. If it had been anyone but Peter . . . no that wasn’t right, if anyone but Peter had said the same, the words would have rolled away. “I’ve already said it was a private matter. I had my own reasons for the marriage. Perhaps I will explain them when I have time.” He’d never thought to confide in his brother. Peter was a trifle reckless and tended towards excess, but he’d a good head on his shoulders. It would require thought. “I will be joining Marguerite in the country shortly.” Or at least he hoped he would. If Moreland kept up the camaraderie it might take longer.

Peter shrugged
. “If you say so. When do I get to meet my savior? Would you object if I headed off to Glynwolde myself to give thanks to your sweet bride? I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know I won’t ever be responsible for all this.” Peter waved vaguely at the imposing façade of the house.

“The baby might be a girl.”

“Don’t ruin my mood. Besides I am sure you’re good for more than one. You’ve always done your duty – just like father. If there’s an heir you still need a spare. See, I do know my purpose in life. One you are so kindly freeing me from.”

Tristan stared up at the sky
. He was far better not considering his options should Marguerite bear a daughter. He turned away from Peter before risking any slip of expression. He didn’t want Peter to know how closely that arrow had hit. Yes, he was like his father – and Marguerite his mother.

Schooling his features he waved Peter away from the doorway
. “Now tell me about the Earl of Danchester’s daughter. I’ve evidently been caught with my accounts too long.”

Peter smiled
. “Trying to change the subject again. I would’ve thought you’d know all the gossip. You normally are so far ahead of it that I’ve always figured you started half of it.”

Tristan smile
d in response. The door swung open and Marguerite stood before them.

“So you have decided to return home
. Are you going to introduce me to our guest, my husband?”

             
Chapter Six

Marguerite fought the urge to turn and flee as Tristan stalked in the door. Bravery only went so far. The first spurt of words had burst out of her, leaving nothing in their wake. It had been so effortless to plan her return while safe in the carriage. Even this morning when she’d awoken to find him already gone she’d held strong with ease. It was quite another to find courage when under the glare of six-feet of hard masculinity.

Tristan stared at her
. The light flowed in the door behind him and she fought to keep from squinting. He was tense, his shoulders drawn back, his neck held stiffly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I believe that since our marriage I live here.”

Silence again
. She pressed her lips together. She refused to start rambling no matter how long he stared.

It was hard to see him with the sunlight filtering in
. Marguerite waited another moment for him to speak and then walked down the stairs and turned into the parlor. She did not look back to see if he followed.

She sat in the same seat from which she’d confronted her mother
. She drew in each breath carefully and held it. She must be calm. If she could survive this one meeting without giving in maybe she would stand a chance at some independence. She was not a puppet to be moved at will. He had wanted this marriage, pushed her to it – let him live with it.

Tristan strode into the room, a second man following behind
. “You were supposed to have gone to the country. I saw you leave – yesterday. We decided it was for the best. Did you forget something? You should have just had it sent for.”

Marguerite
concentrated on drawing in another breath. Why did the dratted man do this to her? She counted to five. Focused on the leaves of the palm in the corner. Released her breath. “I decided not to go.”

She looked up, trying
to focus on anything but him. Was the man behind Tristan grinning? Had Tristan told this man about the baby? Marguerite wasn’t sure how to respond. Tristan still had not introduced them.

“I will be more comfortable here
with you,” she said. “I do not know anyone at Glynwolde and have never been one for long rambling walks and I do not ride – not that I would in my condition. I have a strong dislike of horses and other large animals. What would be the advantage of my being there a few days earlier?”

“Well, the air
. As I said, the air.” Tristan nodded his chin decisively.

“I find the air here quite satisfactory and I am sure that your cook has never served
anything spoilt in all her days. And I doubt the gardens are producing much given the frost. I imagine that a hothouse cucumber is the same whether in Town or the country.”

The man behind Tristan gave a loud snort
. Tristan turned to face him. “Are you still here? Don’t you have someone better to bother?”

“Oh, brother, who could be better to bother than you?” came the reply
. “I’ve never seen you at such a loss for words. I swear you could take on every Whig in Parliament with more grace and wit than you presently show. Are you ever going to introduce us? You’re normally known for your perfection of manners.”

“If I must.
” Tristan glared at the man who was grinning even more widely. “Marguerite, let me present to you Lord Peter St. Johns, my brother. Peter, this, as I am sure you have gathered is Marguerite, Lady Wimberley, my wife and your salvation.”

Lord Peter stepped forward with a smile that sho
ne with sincerity. “He’s right about that. I’d begun to worry that he’d never do the proper and I’d be forced to die before him or face all of this.” He gestured about at the elegant room and then, stepped around Tristan and pulling her up from the chair, he crushed Marguerite into an embrace. “Welcome to the family.”

“I
t is a pleasure to meet you,” she squeaked. She resisted the urge to push against him, even though his embrace was overpowering it was not unpleasant or as unsettling as Tristan’s mere presence.

Finally he released her, allowing her to si
nk back into the chair gratefully. Her eyes darted from one man to the other. She would never have guessed they were brothers. Tristan shone with elegance and breeding. He was broad of shoulder, but tapered – his tailor must rejoice in dressing him. His brother was more of a bear, well muscled and sturdy. Even their coloring was different. Peter was as dark as Tristan was fair, his eyes and hair the color of darkest chocolate. She searched for some similarity between them.

Peter turned back to his brother
. Did he ever stop grinning? She had never seen a man so continually glowing. “She’s a beautiful addition to the family. Have you brought her to meet mother? She must be delighted to know you’re finally happy.”

Tristan turned away, avoiding his brother’s eyes
. “No, the opportunity has not presented itself.”

Peter
appeared to miss any undercurrents in his brother’s comment. “I see the two of you must have things to discuss. Tristan, perhaps you’ll find your eloquence again once I am gone.”

Peter gave Marguerite one more
glowing smile and bounded towards the door like a happy puppy. Marguerite heard his boots pound along the hall and then the groan of the front door.

There was silence again.

She could hear the patter of her heart and the creak of her chair when she shifted. Tristan stood motionless and soundless. The beat of her heart increased.

“Your brother seems very pleasant,” she choked out the words
. How did he always make her speak first?

Tristan drew in a deep breath
. He turned to face her, his glance sweeping over her. “Yes, Peter is always pleasant. A man could not wish for a better brother.”