Taste of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

  The dear girl blushed red, her entire face taking the shade of a polished apple. Her gaze focused on his evening slippers. She was enchanting. “I am aware you know more about such matters than I. But if you know it is not your child, then why –-?”

  “Why would I offer to marry you?”

  “Yes.” It was little more than a mumbled whisper. Her eyes darted up, caught his then fled again. “This is not what I planned. I cannot marry you.”

  He stopped, pondered. Marriage was a momentous step – even for such a cause. Why was he so willing to marry her when he had never been ready to marry before? No matter the cause, he had always balked at this final gate.

  Halt the horses.

  This he had never considered.

  She wouldn’t marry him.

  Was she insane?

  A sane woman wouldn’t show up on his doorstep interrupting his guests, wouldn’t look up at him with clear blue eyes that had his every protective instinct clamoring and then refuse his proposal.

  She’d said “no.”

  No one said “no” to him. Why, he was famous for his ability to persuade. He pulled his shoulders back and stood to his full height. He let his voice ring full and clear. “Nonetheless, it is what I offer.”

  “I do not understand.”

  He could hardly hear her.

  “Let’s see,” he began, letting his instincts run free. He remembered her sweetness, her beauty, the innocence she wore draped about her even now. He had been drawn to her on their previous meetings, never been irritated in her presence. He would have claimed her before if it had not been against every principle he held dear. But if he wed her – and a wife would be very useful at the moment – then he could make her his own and do right by her also. It was all so straightforward, if he would just let it be. Now that the plan had formed, coolly, collectedly he must win through. He moved closer to her. “According to you I promised to help you if you ever needed me. Yes?”

  “Yes, at Rose’s wedding.”

  “And, being a gentleman, I must trust the word of a lady. Don’t you agree? And, being an honorable man, I must do all within my capability to fulfill a promise. Is that not enough reason?”

  “Well –”

  “No, you’re right. It might suffice in a Minerva Press novel. But not in reality.”

  “Then?”

  He strode over and stared out the window. He pitched his voice lower – that always worked with women, drew them closer. “Maybe I am overcome by your beauty and by memories of our walk together in the garden, and simply cannot wait another moment to make you mine.”

  He turned back toward her. If only she’d lift her eyes from the floorboards and look back at him. He knew he could persuade her. He focused on the perfect shell of her ear, imagined nibbling it. His desire cascaded through his words. “You are very beautiful. I have no doubt I shall relish making you mine.”

  Was that a snort? It couldn’t be –- still, part of laying a trap was knowing when to pull back.

  “No, I rather suppose that won’t work,” he continued. “I made it a little too obvious – did I not? – that I wasn’t sure who you were at first. And a lovesick swain would hardly wait a year to propose.”

  Her pale blue eyes opened wide. She sniffled. The blush had faded from her skin and she looked unhealthily wan. He strode towards her and stood near, ready in case she should faint. She continued to stare at him with wide, seeking eyes – eyes undisturbed by the promised passion of his tone.

  “What other reason could I have for asking you to be my bride? Maybe I am really a spy, and my profligate life has all been a cover. Now, for some secret reason of my own, I need a wife, and respectability. If she is with child and I can convince my more –- questionable -– acquaintances that I am forced to the altar, so much the better.”

  Marguerite only stared at him in confusion.

  “No? You don’t believe that one. I’ll have to do better.”

  He sat beside her on the settee, careful to keep their bodies from touching. “What about this, then? I am tired of being pestered by my mother, my aunts, and my younger brother to marry and produce an heir. Poor Peter, my brother, is terrified I am going to meet my demise and leave him the title and estates. So, maybe I simply wish to manage matters in one fell swoop.”

  He could feel Marguerite tremble, although they did not touch. Her gaze had returned to her half boots.

  “This must all seem a great joke to you,” Marguerite croaked, as if addressing her lap, “but it is my whole life. I believe one of the requirements of producing an heir is actual paternity.”

  “That’s the rumor, but it is not a fact.”

  “Now you are just being ridiculous, toying with me.” Her head snapped up, her eyes glistened – with tears or anger? “I would not have expected that of you.”

  “But you don’t know me, do you?” Indeed, at this moment he didn’t know himself. Had he grown so cynical that even marriage proposals had become a sport? He drew in a breath, considered. No, his plan was sound. His words were sound. He felt no desire to change their flow. She would suit his needs perfectly. His gaze swept her slender figure. She really was exquisite. Yes, he would offer her protection from scandal and she . . . .

  “Apparently, no.” She interrupted his thought. “If this is your response, no, I do not know you. All I had hoped was to be put in sufficient funds to make do until Rose has delivered her child. Then I would trust in her charity and shelter. Truly, sir, it did not seem such a great deal to ask.”

  “But it is not what I offer.” Money. He should just give her the funds and be done with it. But, his instinct again clamored against it. Instinct never failed him. He let the words keep forming. The silver-tongued charmer he’d played for so long served well. “I have told you the help I am prepared to present. How do you reply?”

  She lifted her head and turned towards him, dark shadows stark beneath her eyes. “Sir, you cannot be serious,” she argued further. “No man deliberately claims a child that is not his own and names it his heir.” Her voice quavered with weariness.

  “Why not?” He could see the confusion cross her face at his question.

  “I do not understand.”

  “It seems a simple question. Why should I not marry you if I choose to?”

  “You are a marquess. You cannot mean to bestow that title and all that comes with it upon a bastard?”

  He stopped short. That was the most delicious garnish to this whole affair. He resisted the urge to smile. He’d long wished a solution that would spare his brother Peter the burden of the title. Instinct and gut reaction had again proved right. A new wife would not only provide cover for his activities, but oh, he could not wait to see his mother’s face. The solution was simply perfect.

  “Again, why not?” He reached out and took one of her hands between his own. It was like picking up a handful of snow. He rubbed his hands back and forth over her fingers. “Why should one wish to be a marquess at all, if not to have the right to act upon one’s whims?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “I’ve never considered the question, but I think not. If one were mad, I daresay, one would be unlikely to know it. Yet, it seems much more likely that I am merely overindulged and spoilt.”

  “I think perhaps you should consider again.”

  “My sanity or my proposal?”

  “Is there a difference between them?”

  Tristan pursed his lips and considered her sharp reply. Patience. A few more gentle pushes and she might provide his salvation. He could not afford to scare her off. He edged closer to her. “You demonstrate more wit than I had expected. I took you for a demure, quiet girl. I am surprised at your cheekiness. Perhaps I should reconsider, then.”

  “Yes, that is just what I am saying. You cannot possibly want to marry me.”

  “Oh, but I do.” He raised her hands to his mouth, brushed a kiss against them, and let their joined hands fall again. He had done that on their first meet
ing. Did she remember? He let his glance slide over her face, paused at her lips, moved on and held her gaze. “Have I not yet supplied a valid reason?”

  “No.” She slipped her hands from his, and turned to face straight ahead, ankles tight together. “You have not.”

  “Oh, I know. My mistress, who desires to become my wife, and has threatened scandal if I do not give in, is pursuing me. Oh, but then she could still cause a scandal if I wed you. And where would that leave us?” He leaned forward until his breath brushed her disheveled curls causing them to stir.

  He let his voice drop and grow somber. “I’ve got one more: My two best friends have both married in recent years, and I find myself taken by the vision of domestic life they now lead. There is something immensely pleasing in the ease of companionship they share with their respective wives.”

  “You play with me, my lord.” She sat even straighter, resisting him, her eyes locked straight ahead.

  He saw the pain in those eyes and it bit at him. He slid to his knees and knelt before her, letting the charming seducer depart, and spoke plainly and with sincerity. “No, I do not. At this moment in time I have no wish greater than to have you do me the honor of accepting my proposal, my protection. It would serve us both well.”

  Her head dropped forward, the blond hair falling about her cheeks. Her fragile shoulders shook. She had begun to cry. The shudders grew in strength and, as he continued to kneel at her feet, paralysis clutched at him. He could offer wit and passion, but comfort? That had never been demanded.

  “Shh, don’t do that, my dear. All will be well. Really, it will.”

  Her eyes came up, and he saw their glazed shine. The pale lips curved up despite the teeth clenched firmly against the lower lip. It was laughter. Not tears. Bitter laughter.

  “How,” she said, “can you possibly promise that? I am with child, unmarried, and about to be disowned by my mother. I cannot turn to my sister, the one person who cares for me, and, to make it all the more enjoyable, my stomach has taken residence in the back of my throat and I fear I may be embarrassingly ill at any moment. How, then, pray tell, can everything be well?”

  “If you will but marry me, I shall be your surety that all will be well. I will do all in my power to care for you and provide whatever you seek.” He spoke from a place long untouched. “You will not find yourself with a babe in arms and still unwed. There will be no need to trouble your sister. And, I am sure, your mother will not dream of disowning you when you are a marchioness. The only field wherein I shall not claim victory is your stomach, but even there I am sure I can have some delicacy prepared that will tempt rather than upset.”

  “You have not met my mother.” There was still laughter in her voice, but it grew increasingly hysterical. “Your proposal was not of her devising, and, therefore, not acceptable. Besides, you are unknown to the women of her parish, and that will matter more than your hallowed bloodline. I can assure you, she will find no more favor in this marriage than do I.”

  He stood up with a jerk. Half an hour ago he had not thought of marriage, and now he was working his damnedest to make it happen. The gods must be laughing.

  “Then stay,” he said finally. “For all my levity, the offer was sincere. I may not be able to explain my motivations to your satisfaction, but do not doubt me.”

  “Why not?” The words tore out of her. “I did not doubt you a year ago when you promised me help. Even when I knew you didn’t mean it, that they were merely words, some part of me believed you. I thought you would honor your pledge if I came and begged. And that is what I am doing, you see.”

  Tristan turned back to face her. He stepped forward and placed a light hand at each side of her face, holding her captive. He spoke gently, “I will give you the money you require.”

  Her body jerked in surprise. “You will?”

  “Yes, I’ll send Winters to fetch it in a moment, but first let us talk for a moment longer.”

  She shifted and he could sense her desire to flee, to demand the funds now and run. Her chest expanded and she spoke. “If that is what you desire. I am hardly in a position to refuse.” Still she edged towards the door.

  He walked forward until he towered above her, deliberately demonstrating the powerlessness of her position. “I’ll have a hack summoned. What is your destination?”

  “I have told you. I would retire to the country until my sister has her child.”

  “I understand that, but what is your destination now, tonight? Do you have a friend who will take you in? But no, if you did, it would be their residence that you graced with your presence now. So, which way with you?”

  “Why, to the coach, of course.” She looked up at him as if he were daft. There was still an edge of hysteria about her.

  “My dear, that establishes your manner of conveyance, not your destination. Do you intend to sleep on the box?”

  Marguerite, having no reply, lowered her eyes.

  “And – by yourself? You must have had a marvelous journey here, if you are so eager to attempt it again. Perhaps you will find an inn? Will you sit up this night and partake of a hardy draught of ale? I am sure you’ll find the nighttime company to your liking.”

  “I had not thought –“

  “Clearly you hadn’t.” He knew he sounded cruel, but this could only be a kindness. He would not think of what fate would await her if she left with no destination, no clear plan.

  “But yes, I can sit up in the tavern tonight, waiting for the morning coach. It cannot be too bad.”

  “I can tell you have not had much exposure to London.”

  “I did visit Rose last spring, and, of course, there was her first husband’s memorial.”

  “I am sure that you spent many evenings on each of those occasions wandering alone.”

  “Of course not. But that does not mean –”

  “I am rather afraid it does. You would not be safe. Do you wish yourself harm?”

  She slumped for a moment, but then pulled herself up, refusing to be intimidated. The firelight lit her hair as she moved.

  “You can send a footman with me. That would keep me safe.”

  “So now you require funds and a footman, too?”

  “Yes.” Her voice shook, but she refused to back down.

  “That can be managed.” He let her have her victory, then parried. “Where exactly will you go, once you are in this wondrous public coach?”

  “I’ve already said, the country.”

  “That covers rather a lot of territory. Do you have a more specific location, in case I should be in need of repayment?”

  She paused and turned away, walking to the window. She stared out into the darkness. “I’ve heard Cumberland is pretty. I’ll take a cottage there.”

  “And how will you find this cottage?”

  “Ah.” She continued to face out into the night. The window overlooked the rear garden and there was not a sparkle of light to be seen. “I will hire someone to find a cottage. A manager.”

  “So I am now supplying funds for a manager as well.”

  “I will find someone reasonable,” her voice shook at the end.

  “How? In my experience a low price is often linked to dishonesty and shoddy practices.”

  “I am a good judge of character.”

  He stared at her belly. “And why do you not want to contact your child’s father?”

  “That was different.” Her hands clenched at her sides.

  “If you say so.”

  “It was.”

  “I haven’t argued.” He stepped closer again, resisting the strange urge to take her in his arms and offer comfort. “But, I daresay I’d best supply an estate agent, as well, to find you a quiet spot. An estate agent, a footman, and funds to keep you. Is anything else required?

  “No.”

  “I am sorry I didn’t hear you.” He took another step forward. “Can you speak up?”

  “No, I need nothing further.”

  “I am so gl
ad you know how to cook. So many women don’t.”

  “I will be fine.”

  “You do cook, then?” He continued to watch her. Her tightly drawn body was vibrating with the subtlety of a violin string. She could not resist much longer.

  “I said I’ll be fine,” her voice still held surprising determination.

  “I’ll add a cook to the list, then. Perhaps a maid, as well. You don’t seem to have a knack for hair.”

  Marguerite’s hand rose, as he had known it would, and brushed over her wilted locks. He could not mistake its trembling.

  He moved to stand close behind her. Only a breath of air separated them. “I do not believe I can give you the funds you desire. It seems a most foolish enterprise. My plan is much sounder. You must believe I have your best interests at heart.”

  “Why should I?” Her whole body was shaking visibly now.

  Again, he experienced an urge to pull her against him, to cradle her with his strength. His body was responding to her closeness. All the cards were stacked against her.

  “Would it be so hard to trust me?” He whispered into her hair; a light citrus scent tickled his nose. “I seek only what’s best for you. What other reason could I have?”

  “I do not know,” her voice dropped. She sounded so defeated. “None of this makes sense. All I know is that marriage between us is nonsensical. I cannot do it.”

  “Forgive me, but I am not sure you have much choice.”

  “I beg your pardon.” The laughter was gone.

  “You are more than welcome to leave.” This was the moment. He refused to push her further. His own needs were not worth the pain that seeped from her. If she did not surrender he would find some other plan to meet his needs. He could, however, not send her off to face the world alone. “I will even supply the money for the hack if you are without ready funds. Perhaps you could even persuade me to part with coach fare back to your mother. That, at least, would seem logical.”

  “But, I cannot.”

  “You have not yet said why, but I will trust your reasons are not lacking.”

  “Then, you’ll give me the money to go away, after all?” She turned to face him. He could hear the edge of hope in her voice. “It will not be much. I can live simply. Just until after Rose’s confinement.”