Taste of Desire (34 page)

Torment shone clear in every unmoving muscle of his face
. He might pretend not to feel, but the very lack of animation betrayed him. Marguerite longed to walk to him to offer him solace, but her own wound was too fresh, too raw.

“What did your mother say?” she asked.

“Do you think I waited for her explanation? She’d clearly told me lies my whole life, my father and me. Do you think I would listen to her now? It’s not like I was alone in my belief. I learned afterwards that there was gossip about them throughout society.” Tristan turned and faced her, his eyes turned deep and story like the swirl of the sea in the midst of a tempest.

“But,
if you never let her explain –“

“Explain what
? I know what I saw. I have avoided communication with her since that day. I have left balls because she arrived. The only time I wrote to her was after talking with my solicitor.”

“Why?”

“I had wanted to know if the estate and title could be turned over to Peter, no one looking at him could doubt his paternity – my own inquiries revealed there were plenty of rumors of branches in our family tree, even if none would speak of the details.” Tristan picked up an ornament of a shelf. He held it, turning it in his hand.

Marguerite could see the strain in his arm, sense his desire to throw it against wall
. She walked over and took wrapping her fingers about the ornament, took it from him and placed it on the table.

He turned a bitter smile to her
. “You are right. I destroyed enough when I first knew. It did not help then. It will not help now.” He ran a finger over the ornament. “The answer was ‘no.’ My father had recognized me, delighted in me, I was his son in the eyes of the law. The only way for the entail and title to pass on was through my death. I even considered it.” He lowered his head, and all she could see was the fall of his hair.

Marguerite moved to a chair and sat
. Her mind spun with the images of this proud man, not as he was now, but as he must have been four years earlier. At twenty-five he would not have been young, but he must have been less cynical, more open to the world. Tristan had loved his father greatly, almost worshipped him. What would it have done to him to find this out? He must already have been in such pain from his death. She could not imagine. Her own father had died before she could remember, but she remembered clearly Rose’s reaction when her first husband died, the despair that had followed. And he had been sick, the death not unexpected. What must it be to lose a beloved parent so suddenly? And then to be confronted with this betrayal.

Tristan’s voice drew her from her thoughts
. “All this should be Peter’s, by birth and by right.” He gestured with his arm, then picked up the ornament again. This time he held it with great care. “Yes, every small thing should be his.”

Marguerite’s mind careened, taking her back to the first time she had sat before him in this room
. “That is why you said it was rumor not fact that paternity was the requirement in having an heir.”

He nodded his head.

“And it is why you do not wish children. You want Peter to inherit it all.” She tapped her fingers together. “Then why marry me knowing my child would be your heir. You would take it all from Peter a second time.”

He started to answer, but she cut him off, “You said that Peter was terrified of your dying and leaving him the estates
. He does not want it. That is the irony of the situation, is it not? He might be the true heir, but you are the one with the desire and will to manage it, to take a marquess’s position in society.”

“It is merely that he was not trained to it.”

“You sound as if you try to convince yourself. Peter is a dear man, but he has no more desire for all this than a dog might wish to ride a horse – forgive me I do not mean to compare your brother to dog.”

Tristan did not say anything
. He walked behind his desk and sat, his hands flat on the surface in front of him.

Marguerite flattened her own hands on her lap
. “You married me so that Peter would be spared the inheritance. I still do not understand why you should be so against having your own child if your brother does not want the title. I do not see how that helps anything.”

Tristan looked away from her
. He stared at the bookshelves. Did he count the titles? He certainly seemed distracted as he spoke. “It serves my own sense of justice. In your meetings with my mother surely you have heard her discuss her lineage, her vaulted bloodlines. Do you think I would give her the satisfaction of having what she wants when she has betrayed all? If Peter had wanted it, wanted his children to have it, I would have put that aside. He is without fault in this, but he does not want it and I will not let her win under those circumstances.”

Marguerite felt completely empty
. She had no emotion left. She had started the morning full of joy and anticipation. Tristan’s first words had filled her with horror, then anger, and then pain. Now, knowing the truth there was simply nothing left – nothing except understanding. She could see how they had come to this.

It did not make it easier to bear.

“You married me for revenge. That was what it was about.” She curled her hands into fists. “You must have loved her very much that she could hurt you so deep.”

“She was my mother.
” He let the statement hang.

“And yet you have no forgiveness.”

“I might be able to forgive her for what she did to me, but never for what she did to my father. If you could have seen his love, and trust, for her shining in his face that last night perhaps you would understand.”

“You must have been devastated that I was not pregnant.
” Marguerite closed her eyes so that she did not need to look at him. “You had no bastard brat to proudly parade before her.”

She could hear him stir in his chair
. He shifted as if her words discomforted him. Why should he care, she was but a pawn. She had wanted independence and ended up a playing piece on someone else’s board.

“It was not like that.
” His boots clicked on the floor, he stood and she could hear him begin to pace again. “It is true that I was not displeased with the thought of punishing my mother and giving my brother what he truly wanted, but –“

“But, what about what I wanted
? What I needed?” Her voice filled with emotion she did not know she felt. “What about me?”

“I thought I was doing
the correct thing for you. You needed comfort and support.

“Comfort, when did you offer me comfort?”

“I offered you my name, my position – surely that counts as comfort.”

Marguerite laughed
. She clasped her hands over mouth trying to stem the tide that threatened to bubble over. He thought he had offered comfort. He had offered her many things, security, desire – oh yes, desire, independence, perhaps even friendship – but, comfort? No, she could not remember comfort. The giggles grew to hysteria. Again she remembered that first night sitting here, begging him for the funds to leave, to find her own place in the world. How different it would all have been if he had listened.

She had laughed then too, unable to hold back the overflow of emotion
. He had sat there, offering the answers to all her needs, but had he ever just reached out and held her, taken the scared girl she had been in his arms and recognized her fears.

She gasped for air, trying to bring herself under control
.

“Here, take this.
” He held out a glass to her.

She took it, swallowed, almost spit the brandy all over the fine brocade of his jacket.

“I fail to see the humor in the situation.” He sounded so stiff. Was there anything left of the warm, caring man she had loved for the last three months.

Love.

Her laughter stopped in an instant. She loved him. That was what had brought the magic. She took another gulp of brandy. How had this happened? Tears welled behind her eyes. From laughter to tears in seconds. He would think her mad.

She had to try one more time
. The world could not be so cruel as to show her such riches and the cast her into the gutter. She would not be alone again.

“So why did you marry me
? What did you hope to gain, if as you claim you had reasons beyond revenge?” She stood and walked towards him. She needed to see deep into his eyes when he answered.

He stared back at her
. His lips pressed together, the skin stretched tautly across his cheeks. His eyes shifted, tracking down her body and then returning to her face. For a moment his features softened and her heart skipped a beat. Then he turned from her and walked to the door. “I have said all I care to say on this matter. You know my feelings.”

Marguerite stood motionless in the middle of the room
. Masculine scents, tobacco, brandy, leather, and horses surrounded her. If she closed her eyes she could have believed he was still there.

But, he was not.

“What am I to do now?” she said to no one. “The man is not an idiot. Surely, he knows that his wishes will make very little difference in the situation.”

She ran a hand over her still flat belly, let it rest for a moment against the life within
. She started to shake with cold fury, the anger returning. No, Tristan was not an idiot. He had shared her bed for too months, no matter what his ‘precautions.’  It was unreasonable and irresponsible of him to react as if he had no part in this.

She stalked over to the window
. His gelding was gone, but the pretty mare he had presented her with such joy still stood saddled, staring patiently at the stable door. It was a reminder of how quickly the world could change.

             
Chapter Seventeen

What had he done? He was not an idiot. Tristan spurred the horse to a gallop despite the pedestrians starting to wander the pathways. Dammit all. Why had he not taken more precautions with Marguerite? He’d been around enough to know that a baby could catch no matter what, but still there were more reliable methods.

Dammit all.

It wasn’t like he’d wanted her to get pregnant. Was it?

He pulled back on the reins at the thought, causing the gelding to balk.

He’d given up all thoughts of home and family when he’d found his mother and her lover – found out what a lie his family had been. He tapped his heels against the horse’s ribs quickening the pace again.

What had he been thinking over these past months
? Or had he been thinking? No, he hadn’t and that was the crux of the matter. He’d convinced himself that withdrawal was enough. Being with Marguerite was so comfortable, so easy that he’d left his brains behind. When he was with her he almost believed again in possibilities.

He started to pull back on the reins again, but caught himself – talk about not thinking
. This was no way to treat a mount. He pulled the horse to halt and dismounted. He walked forward, the horse following behind.

What did he want?

It was in and of itself a stupid question. He knew that regardless of his wishes the child would come. He was going to be a father. An hour ago the thought had filled him with horror, but now as he strode forward, the leafy boughs of summer overhead, he felt a kind of wonder.

He had not wanted a baby, but perhaps having one would not be so bad
. He pictured a small infant tight in its mother’s arms – in Marguerite’s arms – and actually felt warmth begin deep within his chest. His wife would be a wonderful mother, there was no doubt of that. He had seen her love grow previously for a child she had not wanted, felt her loss that it was not to be. How then must she feel about a child she did want, did desire?

He remembered her hesitant joy as
she’d told him her secret. And the blank despair following his response.

He was wrong
. He was an idiot. Marguerite came and offered him what was to her a precious gift and he had stomped on it.

The warmth in his chest dissipated
. He had sworn when this all began that he would not hurt her. He might turn her to his uses, but he would be sure that she had an equal share of benefit.

He had failed.

He turned towards home with heavy feet. He would make this up to her. It would be difficult to explain the rapid change of his emotions, but he would do it.

It had been the shock that had made him react so badly
. He would simply ask that they start again. Tell her that the baby was a reality and he had never turned from reality. She would understand that he was a man who did his duty, did not shirk responsibility.

Yes, she would understand
. They would continue from there.

He almost missed seeing the man walking towards him
. Simon Moreland was much worse for wear. It was clear that he was not out for an early ride, but instead staggering home from the previous evening.