Taste of Desire (22 page)

She stared at him with steady blue eyes
. “Nothing to say. Well, I planned to go first anyway. I wanted to tell you that this marriage is all your fault. I am blameless it its entirety.”

“Well yes, I knew that
. I may not be quite sure why you chose me to turn to, but it was certainly my hand that forced matters from that point on. Even Lady Smythe-Burke could have been overcome if I had put my mind to it.”

“No, I do not think you quite understand
. The situation would never have arisen at all if it were not for you.”

“Forgive me, but you are right, I am confused
. I do not see how I contributed to your believing you were pregnant. Which was, by the way, your mistake and not mine. That, I had no part in.”

She had the grace to blush
. He still wasn’t sure where this was going, but it was certainly entertaining. Oh God, the blush was seeping down her face, her neck, disappearing beneath her gown. Just how far did it go? He had this sudden image of peeling back the delicate fabric and pursuing this inquiry, tracing the rosy glow to its natural conclusion. Had the room just gone up in temperature? He leaned back in his chair carefully drawing his coat over his lap.

“You are correct, but only part way
. Yes, that idiocy was mine. Although if anybody had ever bothered to teach me some of the basics – well, I cannot blame that on you either. I doubt marquesses are expected to teach the details of human anatomy to young girls. But, you distract me. What I am trying to say is that nothing would ever have happened that night at Clark’s if it were not for you.”

He would never figure out how her mind worked
. It would be the job of a lifetime. “As I believe I said previously, I was not there and, therefore, do not see how I could be held at fault.”

She smiled and her posture loosened
. She leaned forward, actually rested an elbow on the desk. The gown was not as decorous as he had imagined. He leaned back further, staring markedly at the ceiling.

“That is exactly what I am trying to explain,” she said.

“Go on then.” This was turning into a torture session. His mind was involved with her words, but his body . . . He risked a glance at her, small creamy breasts peeking from soft blue muslin, glistening pink lips separating, moving towards him. His glance shot back to the ceiling.

She was innocent
. She had no idea what she was doing. He recited the phrases repeatedly in his mind.

“It is all your fault because it really began
that
night.” He heard her lean back again.

“But, we have just established that I was not there that night, and
, therefore, cannot be held accountable.”

“Not that night,
that
night.”

He peered over at her again
. She looked as if she thought that explained everything. He was lost. “I am afraid I have no idea what you refer to.”

“I was speaking of that night at my sister’s
. The night we – talked in the garden.”

“Oh.” It was the only response he could think of
. The last thing he needed to consider was
that
evening. His body was already on fire and she wanted him to remember standing alone in the garden, bodies only inches apart, moonlight, the scent of jasmine, and skin so soft, so . . . He could not think about that.

He was going to leave her alone
. She did not want to be married. She had made that clear. He shut his eyes tight.

“Yes, I see you do remember,” she continued
. “I have always referred to it as
that
night in my mind. It was the night I became alive. Up until that moment I was only a half-being and I did not even know it. I did what I was told. I was the obedient daughter, the loving sister, the helpful friend. I never even dreamed of more. If my mother had told me who I was to marry at that point I would have smiled and been grateful. I was content to have others plan my life while I moved forward to their direction.

“Then you happened
. I had never been kissed. You know that, but I had also never been touched. Never been really touched. I did not even know what that meant. My mother kissed my forehead at night when I was a girl. Rose sometimes hugged me, with more exuberance than I thought proper, but I had never been touched. I had never let a touch sink in to me, felt to the depth of my soul.”

“Oh.
” Wasn’t he the master wordsmith? He let his eyes drift from the ceiling to settle on her face. He could see how serious she was, how deeply she felt her own words. She held herself absolutely still as he stared. Her glance hit him, pierced him, sank into some deep spot in just the manner she described his touch.

“When I followed you out to the garden,” she started again while continuing to stare straight
deep into him, “I do not know what I expected. I think I thought you would kiss me. I was an appropriate age to receive a first kiss and had never had the chance while under my mother’s careful eye. I certainly did not realize what a kiss could be. And then you stroked my hand, I could feel your warmth through the glove and suddenly the whole world became real in a way I had never known.”

She was quiet then
. Their eyes were open, but he could have sworn the scent of night blooming jasmine surrounded them. Without thought he reached across the desk and took her hand in his, his thumb stroking across the fleshy pad of hers. Her eyes grew wide and dark. Silence quivered between them. They were a moment away from mystery.

Abruptly, she pulled her hand back and straightened in her chair
. “Yes, it was just like that. You made the world spin about me and nothing was the same afterwards. That is why it was all your fault.”

He blinked
. His own mind was spinning both with the effort to separate from that moment of fantasy and with trying to keep up with her thoughts.

He spoke with care
. “I agree that the evening was magic, there was a spell in the air the like of which I have never felt, but I still do not understand how that makes your imagined pregnancy my mistake.”

He could see he had misspoken before the words were even finished
. She had been straight before, now she was rigid. “I did not say it was your mistake, merely your fault. And I do not like the term imagined. It was not imagined, it simply was not real.”

Again her thought process had left him behind
. For a moment he considered coming around the desk and kissing her until she melted. Her mind entertained him, but his own mind was rapidly losing to other parts of his body. Her breasts almost spilled from her bodice when she pulled herself so tight. Her stiffness should have made her unapproachable, but instead it only made him wish to soften her.

He stood, combing his fingers through his hair
. She glanced strangely at his gesture. Maybe movement could distract his body from other desires. He began to pace, pretending he was not drawing nearer to her with each pass. “Are you ever going to explain exactly why you thought I am at fault?”

“Because I wanted it again.
” The words seemed dragged from her. “I wanted to feel so alive. Once I knew it was possible I could not turn my back on it again. I would sit and watch my mother eat her endless tea cakes and remember. I could not escape the memory. I stood trapped in a house that smelled of yesterday’s sweets and my mother’s perfume and there was no air left to breath. With one caress you left me unable to live in my world. And so, I sought a way out.” She, too, stood and stepped towards him.

“The night of Clark’s soiree I was seeking that way out, seeking the chance to feel the excitement, to feel so in touch with life that my whole body quivered
. That is why I went into the garden, I wanted to feel the magic again. Was that so wrong?” She let the question hang.

She took one more step towards him, paused, reached out and took his hand in hers, let her thumb stroke across his palm
. Her silent lips beseeched him in their parting.

He took the
half step towards her, ran a single finger across her cheek. She was here before him, ready. There could be no doubt what she offered, no doubt that every particle of his body longed to accept her offer.

Only, quiet understanding had found him
. He understood all she wanted to tell him. It
was
all his fault. He had unwittingly trapped her, lured her innocence as surely as a flower’s sweet scent drew the bee.

She was not here because she wanted
to be, she was here because he had left her no choice. There were many types of bonds.

He let his hands drop to his sides
. “I have, after all, forgotten I had promised to meet a friend at my club. Please forgive me.” He turned and left, refusing to see the sudden pain behind her eyes. He wondered if she knew all he asked forgiveness for.

             
Chapter Eleven

Well, that had been a miserable failure. Marguerite listened to the stillness of the house. She knew that footmen still walked and maids still clattered, but all she could hear was silence. Tristan had left again. She had stayed up half the night deciding how to approach him, hoping that they could find away to muddle along together.

She glanced at the paper place
d upon the desk. One corner was marked with the splatters of her solitary attempt to make a list the day before. She considered trying again.

She knew what she wanted now
. She wanted the magic. She wanted to feel alive, to feel that all things were possible. But was that just a fantasy? No. Her sister Rose lived that way, her life filled with energy and vigor. Marguerite only had to look at Rose to see the zest with which she approached everything. And when she saw Rose and Wulf together . . . then there was Anna, their five year-old daughter. From her first steps, Rose had taught her to pursue life with everything she had. If a five year-old could do it, should not she be able to do the same?

Marguerite picked up the paper and wrote.

1.
         
Find the MAGIC.

She looked at the words, considered.

1.
       
Find the MAGIC with Tristan.

She set the paper down and stood,
looked about the room, supreme in its careless masculinity. She could not think here. The library breathed of Tristan. She strode into the hall. It was better here, but hardly the spot for careful contemplation. She could go to her own chamber, but its lonely solitude felt more of a trap. The gardens? No, they prompted questions, not answers.

Maybe a walk
? It was the wrong hour for a promenade through the park to be fashionable, but that would suit her purposes. Quiet and sunshine. It just might work.

She fetched a wrap and
, with a few words to Winters, headed out the door. She stood on the stoop for a moment and let the sun warm her. It was not the same as magic, but she did feel alive.

She started down the steps
. She might not have the answers yet, but for the first time she felt that she journeyed in the right direction. The sound of a door opening down the street drew her attention. It was a green door.

The other Lady Wimberley sallied forth
. For a moment Marguerite considered drawing back into the house or even hiding behind a tree. She had not seen her mother-in-law since their disastrous first meeting and she was not sure this was the moment to try again.

Then Felicity turned and saw her
. There was no hiding now. Marguerite froze for a moment, unsure of the proper response. Then with a smile so wide it could be seen from miles away, Felicity proceeded down the walk and towards her.

“I am so pleased to see you out, Marguerite
. I had begun to worry.” There was nothing false in the greeting and that in itself gave Marguerite pause. “I am afraid my behavior on our previous meeting was rather poor. I do hope you will forgive me.”

W
ithout thought Marguerite found herself smiling in response. Despite the strangeness of their first meeting, there was something very likeable about Felicity. “I am please to see you as well, Lady Wimberley.”

“Oh, stop that nonsense
. We are family now. Despite all the foolishness between my son, and me you are now my daughter. You must call me Felicity.”

“If you insist.”

“I do
. Now, where are you off to? I would love to talk, but don’t wish to interrupt your errands.” Felicity spoke as if they’d been friends forever.

For a moment Marguerite distrusted the
gentleness, but looking into Felicity’s warm brown eyes it was impossible not to respond in kind. “I was just going to take a stroll in the park. The weather has enchanted me and I wished to stretch my legs after –“ How did she explain her mistake to Felicity?

“Peter told me
about your relationship. I am sure Tristan would not have wished him to, but Peter knows how I worry. I must confess that I do not understand the situation between you and my son, but after much consideration I have realized I do not need to. I would confess I actually spoke to Lady Smythe-Burke. I wanted to be as informed as possible. Everything she said reassures me – although it was clear, if unbelievable, that there was much she did not know. She held no doubts about you.”