Taste of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

  “And if I do not, Lady Wimberley?”

  Marguerite let her gaze slip down to her hands. It was so hard being strong. When her sister stood up for herself nobody challenged – well sometimes Wulf did, but the glances that passed between them placed the game on a whole different level. That was not the case with Tristan. He could stare right at her and still not see her, while she could see him even when her eyes were closed.

  “I repeat myself.” He made no move. “Does it matter if I do not care to explain?”

  “Of course not. I am only your wife. Why should you explain to me why I couldn’t meet your mother? You have not taken the time to explain anything else.” Marguerite rose from her chair, holding her spine in the perfect straightness her mother had spent years trying to imbue. She glided towards the door. “If you will excuse me, I will dress for dinner. Will you be joining me this evening?”

  “I think not. I promised Lord Langdon I’d visit before dropping by the Winchester’s ball. I trust I will see you there.”

  Marguerite paused in the doorway. Her first night in society and he was not even going to escort her? She stared into the hallway. “I would rather not attend alone. Besides, I am rather tired and thought I would stay at home this evening.

  “You are the Marchioness of Wimberley. Why would you need accompaniment?”

  “I merely do not wish to attend my first ball as a married woman on my own. Does that surprise you?”

  “Look at me.”

  She slowly turned and faced her husband. It still seemed odd to think of him in such a fashion. She knew him less well now than she had a year ago. Still, when their gazes locked she felt that tension, that inability to breathe. It felt as if an invisible force bound her and pulled her forward. “What do you want?”

  He paused, his eyes darkening. He stepped forward, his lips parted. There was a second of absolute stillness. She could feel the beat of both their hearts. Then he turned.

  “I am sorry if I have not adequately provided for your needs. I had thought you would have enjoyed the outing. I am sorry that I had already made my own plans for the evening. It is not unusual for a wife to attend events without her husband.”

  She shook her head trying to clear the dizziness of that frozen second. “I cannot believe that is true of my first outing in society.”

  He looked nonplussed for a moment, but then recovered. “We will introduce you formally later, for now the Winchesters are dear friends and they will understand.”

  “It does not really matter,” Marguerite answered. “I am simply fatigued and have decided not to attend.”

  “It is your first London ball. Does it not pique your interest?”

  “I am tired.”

  “And if I wish you to go?”

  She would never understand this man. He paid almost no attention to her after their wedding day other to display some displeasure that she had not hurried off to the country unaccompanied. He stiffened up and shifted uncomfortably whenever she drew near and now he was upset that she didn’t want to attend a ball, unaccompanied.

  “Surely, there will be other balls for me to attend. In fact, I believe there are invitations to at least six sitting on my writing table.”

  “I wish you to attend this one. Once your condition begins to show you will not be so free in society.”

  “Then will you accompany me?”

  “I had planned on joining you at the musicale you are attending tomorrow. I do not believe we need to live in each other’s pockets. I am sure to see you at the ball, regardless.”

  She really did feel tired. It was true that her first refusal had been based solely on the desire not to appear at her first dance alone. No matter what Tristan said, even with Lady Smythe-Burke for support it was sure to cause comment. Married four days and her husband could not even be bothered to share a coach. It stung.

  She stepped towards him, lay a hand gently upon his coat. She could feel his heat through the heavy fabric, she let her fingers rub along the heavy velvet. “Would it really be such trouble to come with me? I know it is silly, but I would feel more comfortable in your presence.” It felt so good to make actual physical contact. She stroked again, pretending she was blind and could see only with her fingers.

  He pulled back from her touch. He grimaced, almost as if her touch caused him pain. “I am sorry. You should have informed me earlier of your whims. As I said I have already made plans. It would be too late to beg off with Langdon.”

  She turned back towards the hall and pretended there was a string pulling her head towards the ceiling. She would not show that she cared. “I will send a note asking Lady Smythe-Burke if it is too late for me to join her. Is there anything else you require, Lord Wimberley?”

  She heard no answer and proceeded towards the stairs. She would change for the evening and then enjoy her lonely dinner. There were fourteen stairs followed by twelve paces to reach her bedchamber.

  Where was she? He should have broken his plans to accompany her. He did not want to seem a heartless cad, but he’d been certain he was on the verge of a breakthrough with Langdon and Moreland. Now, Tristan glanced around the Winchester’s ballroom trying to see into the dark corners. He was sure she would come after their discussion earlier. He did not think she had it in her to outright disobey his request – especially her unexpected return to London.

  That was for the best anyway. His original plan of using her to regain entry into polite society was sound. He needed to be here, and even more importantly he needed her to be here. He pushed back the thought that he also wanted her here. Wants were not important.

  It was hard enough having her around the house. It had only been days, but it felt like centuries. He only had to look at her to want her. Frustration had become his constant companion. The only way to avoid pulling her to him and letting his passions rule was to stare past her, to never quite let himself relax in her presence. His body ached with the effort.

  Still, where was she? Where was Marguerite? He peered around the room again, wishing the Winchesters had not been so frugal with the candles.

  Ah, there was Lady Smythe-Burke. No other lady had skirts quite so broad or a corset quite so stiff. He was amazed sometimes that she did not powder her hair. If she was here Marguerite must be near. He glanced around again, but without luck.

  “Wimberley, I didn’t know you’d chosen to attend. I didn’t think this was quite your cup of tea – or should I say dram of whiskey. You’re not the tea type.” Lord Harburton chortled at his own witticism.

  “My wife wished to attend and what type of husband would I be if I didn’t at least stop by. I do want to be sure that she is content.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. She’s been the center of a flock of those young things. Even our Simon’s been keeping her good company. I’ve never been able to abide the chatter of the young. I much prefer a good corner and a book, or a good horse and an open field.”

  “I must express my own surprise at seeing you here. I didn’t think you’d return so early in the season. I’d heard the fishing was good.” Tristan kept half his mind on the conversation, while trying to peer over the top of Harburton’s head. He saw the flock that Harburton had been referring to, young misses in the palest of muslins and boys who scarce looked old enough to be up from school, but where was Marguerite?

  “Surprised to be here myself. You were right about the fishing, trout near as long as my arm, but I got a summons from Minerva. She said that there were pressing matters that required my presence in Town. Turns out it was all some nonsense about tulips. Can you believe the woman made me give up fish for flowers?”

  “Can’t abide flowers, myself. I never allow them in my house.” Well, except for the ones that Marguerite had been filling the rooms with. He really should say something to her.

  “Do they make you sneeze? My brother couldn’t get within an arm’s length of a bloom without wheezing and snorting like a hog.”

  “I can’t say that I foun
d myself suffering from such an ailment. I merely find them – frivolous.” He saw a shimmer of light blond hair in the corner. He rose on his toes. No, the lady was distinctly too heavy to be his wife.

  “Frivolous, that’s a good word. But, then women are frivolous, I am sure you must be finding that out for yourself now that you’re wed,” Lord Harburton continued. He apparently saw nothing odd in Tristan’s visually searching the room while holding a conversation. “I daresay that your breakfast conversation centers around bonnets and reticules. Why do you think I am always off pursuing more manly pursuits?”

  “Lady Wimberley has not yet privileged me with such wonders of discussion.” There she was, standing by the doors to the gardens. Both Simon Moreland and Langdon were with her. She nodded to one and then smiled at the other. What was so interesting about them? “Forgive me, I must greet my wife.”

  “Give it a year and you won’t be so eager. I’d best be off myself before Minerva tracks me down. She’s decided I need to take my seat and vote on some referendum. I am not sure I understand why we shouldn’t have a fort in Malacca, but it’s just easier to go along with her.”

  Tristan stopped and pivoted back, but Harburton had already disappeared into the crush.

  Why had she come? After her last experience at Mr. Clark’s ball this was almost unbearable. The heat was oppressive, even with the cool breeze blowing in from the open doors. Why would anyone try and fit so many people in such a tight room? She longed for lemonade, but the fight across the room was more than she could manage. She fanned herself and tried to look interested as Lord Simon talked about tea. She didn’t agree that England was better off concentrating on domestic issues and not worrying about the rest of the world. It seemed impolite to argue, however. Besides, Simon had been to some of the country’s best schools. If only he would quit edging so close to her.

  “You look parched. Can a fetch you a drink?” Simon asked. He must have been reading her mind.

  “No, truly I am fine.” She did not know what had prompted the response. Why did she not want Simon to fetch her a drink? He was looking at her curiously and she hurriedly continued on, “The crush is so great that you probably would not be back before it was time to leave. I would hate to miss out on your company.”

  “But, Marguerite, you know I am a champion at fetching lemonade. Don’t you remember the last time? Perhaps you could wait in the garden. I am sure Langdon would keep you company.” A strange look passed between the gentlemen. “I do remember how you love your lemons.”

  “Remember how I love my lemons?” It was true that she did love lemons, but why should Simon know, much less remember?

  “I see your confusion.” Simon focused his full attention on her. “I noted your partiality when we first met at your sister’s a year ago and then again at Clark’s –“

  “Oh, there’s my husband.” Tristan’s fair hair glowed white in the candlelight, and even from across the room she could feel his steady silver gaze. Lord Harburton stood just behind him, addressing him with some comment. Tristan stepped towards her and then stopped. He turned back to Harburton, but Harburton had slipped back into the crowd.

  She watched, waited for Tristan to turn back towards her, but something else caught his eye. His brother, Peter, came forward and whispered something in his ear. Together they turned and glanced towards the door. Framed in the arch stood the redhead who had been draped across Tristan’s lap on Marguerite’s first night in London. Her dress was slightly more decorous than it had been on that occasion, but still it clung to her curves like foam upon the waves.

  Marguerite watched as Tristan and Peter tracked straight towards the woman. The three of them whispered, then turned and left together.

  Tristan did not even glance back in her direction.

  And that was the end of her first London ball.

  Chapter Seven

  Three balls in three nights. Two afternoon musicales and a – she didn’t even know what to call the covey of dowagers who had huddled around the teapot at Lady Smythe-Burke’s that afternoon. They had claimed it was an afternoon of cards, but Marguerite had never seen the decks actually leave the tables. On each occasion Tristan had either accompanied her or arrived separately.

  It was true that after that first ball he had taken the time to speak with her. He had appeared the next morning full of apologies and she had nodded politely, but had not actually listened to a word. He might smile at her indulgently, but she still felt like an afterthought. He never stopped to really look at her.

  She glanced down at her gown. It shimmered as she moved, the delicate gray overdress of silk netting whispering over the deep sapphire beneath. It was the first dress she had selected herself and she was still amazed at how quickly it had been made-up. She thought it enhanced the pale blue of her eyes and brought forth the color in her skin. Tristan had not even commented. He just eyed her up and down and nodded as if to say, “You’ll do.” Then he handed her into the carriage and they were off to the ball.

  Off to the ball. It sounded so romantic. It was so bloody dull. She was tired of dancing with boys who did not know the steps and old men who could not keep their hands where they belonged. She had thought being married would be a defense against the grope of unwanted hands. It was not.

  “Marguerite.”

  She turned at the first sound of her name. Not Tristan, but Lord Simon – again. What did the man want? She’d understood his interest when she was unwed, had in fact enjoyed his flirtation, but why did he keep appearing now? He seemed bent on flooding her with lemonade.

  “Marguerite, would you care to dance? I’ve seen you waltz and it would be the utmost pleasure to be your partner.”

  She thought about refusing. Her toes did feel blistered and stomped upon, but that would probably mean more lemonade and she was tired of dumping it in the palms. She didn’t know why she felt so resistant to the beverage. Normally, it was her favorite.

  “That would be delightful.” Could she pretend to be so caught up in the music that she had no need to converse? She also did not feel up to one more discussion of imports. She was reaching the point where she truly did not care where things came from or who supplied them. Yes, she wanted her tea, but she wanted to drink it in peace. She had never before realized how truly limited Simon was when it came to conversation.

  He took her by the hand and led her to the floor. It was the first time she had danced with him since her sister’s house party well over a year ago, and as his hand closed about her waist the strangest shiver shot down her spine. She fought the urge to pull back.

  Instead she fixed a smile on her face and stared over Simon’s shoulder. Thankfully, he did not feel the need to converse, either.

  “Huismans is talking to your husband. I wonder what they have to discuss.”

  “Who?” she asked.

  “I am sorry. Anton Huismans, he’s a representative of a Dutch trading firm and has become a most useful friend. He’s very good at keeping the ladies, particularly my mother, happy.” He gave a meaningful grin as his fingers tightened on her waist, she tried to shift away while keeping step with the music.

  Marguerite turned her head to look at him. She must have mistaken his implication. “I am sorry.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted indulgently. “Oh, my little innocent, I don’t mean that. It’s just that he – well, actually I think I’ll keep it my little secret. I’ll have to see if his treats have the same effect on you.”

  Marguerite heard the music drawing to an end and almost sighed with relief as they left the dance floor. Simon was getting much too personal. Had he noticed her husband’s lack of attention? It was time to show Simon that their past flirtation, was just that – past.

  For that matter it was time to show her husband.

  Her chin tilted up. Her shoulders went back.

  She took four steps towards her husband.

  Really, it was too easy to fall into this trap of letting others make the decisio
ns. If Tristan got to decide that she must attend this pile of affairs, then she was going to decide what she did while she was here. Maybe she should try and make him jealous? Did he know that she and Simon had once toyed with flirtation? Of course, that would suppose that Tristan could be made jealous and, to be truthful, the appeal in being that close to Simon was long faded.

  A slow smile curled on her lips.

  The one thing she knew about her husband – the one thing she’d never seen falter – was his perfection of public manners.

  She took two more steps. She knew Simon was behind her. If she gave him the chance he would offer his arm and become a proper escort. Four more hurried steps. Side step around Lady Odfellows. Two more steps and . . .

  “I’ve been looking for you. Did you forget you promised me this dance?” She let her voice lower as she peered up into her husband’s quicksilver eyes. She would not falter now.

  “This dance?” He hesitated only for a moment. “You must forgive me, my dear. I am afraid I was so swept up in conversation with Mr. Huismans that I lost count. I was sure there were still several more selections before I would be graced with your presence. You must let me introduce you. He is quite a gamester. We have been discussing theories of both chess and whist. His knowledge abounds.”

  The introductions were made. The music began.

  “You must forgive us, Mr. Huismans. But my husband did promise me this dance.”

  There was an almost imperceptible tensing of Tristan’s brow. “Are you sure it was this dance? I was sure it was later. It would be a shame to interrupt such a fascinating conversation.” “No, no, Lord Wimberley. Never let it be said that I stood between a man and his beautiful wife,” Huismans replied. “If your wife believes it is time to dance it is time. Perhaps she will honor me with a dance later in the evening?”

  “Of course, it would be my pleasure, Mr. Huismans. I will look forward to it.” She held out her hand to Tristan. He frowned, but took it and led her towards into the swirling crowd. She looked again. His face was as calm and polite as the butler’s. Had she imagined that look or did she somehow see deeper than the surface?