Taste of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

  She could not see Tristan’s face for he stood behind her, but Felicity’s expression was taut with anticipation.

  “Then yes, Mother. I daresay the time as come to put our differences behind us.”

  “You understand then that –“ Felicity’s words were garbled with their speed.

  “No, I cannot say that. I do not think I want to ever know more about those dark days. Let us say that I have come to understand emotion is not always rational or controllable and that life does not move according to plan.” Tristan squeezed Marguerite’s shoulder.

  Felicity, evidently, was not ready to concede the point so quickly. “If you would only let me explain. It is not what you think.”

  Tristan stepped forward and held up and hand to stop the conversation. “Do not press, mother. It has taken great thought for me to reach this point. I want to live from this moment forward and let the past rest.”

  “But . . .” Felicity let the word trail off. She was clearly considering how much she had already won. Marguerite could almost see that one word mother repeating inside her head. Felicity bowed her head. She would take what was offered.

  Tristan continued to look at his mother for a moment and then turned to his wife. She could see the question in his eyes. She stared into their silver depths for a spit-second, then turned and looked at the empty space on the couch beside Felicity.

  He drew his brows together and she thought he would balk at her unspoken request, then he gave the barest suggestion of a bow and went to sit beside his mother. Felicity moved a little to the side. They did not touch. Nobody spoke.

  Violet sat to the side, she had been silent for a while, but as if sensing the tension between the other three she smiled at Felicity. “Do you plan to stay in Town after the end of the season? I know Wimberley has some beautiful land on the coast. I am sure an ocean breeze would be most refreshing if the heat continues.”

  “You are quite right.” Felicity answered. “I once loved the shore during the hottest months of the summer. It has been some years since I could indulge myself. I tend to spend the majority of the summer in Town, although I do attend the occasional house party.”

  Marguerite wished she could kick Tristan. She should not have had him sit out of her reach. She had never imagined all Felicity had given up when her husband died and her son quit speaking with her. To have gone from mistress of this house and all the estates to an unwelcome encumbrance would have tried the strongest of souls.

  Tristan remained silent and Marguerite wondered if she dared issue an invitation without his agreement. She did not understand why he had become so cooperative this morning. She started to speak and then stopped. Nobody would be happy if Tristan’s agreement was forced. She turned until she faced her husband directly. “I am sure you are both correct that I will find the sea air invigorating. I wonder how I will make do with the lack of company, however. I have lived such a quiet life, but these last few months in the city have changed my outlook. I must confess I am not sure at all how I will survive without my friends.”

  Neither of the women had any reply.

  Marguerite could almost feel each measured breath her husband took. He looked at her, looked down at his knee and tapped his fingers against it idly. He glanced back up. “You are going to insist I do this right, aren’t you. Well, I never did believe in half measures anyway.” He tapped his knee again. “Mother, Violet, we would be delighted if you would join us in a week or two when we travel to the shore – which is apparently our destination. I will let you know when the arrangements have been made.”

  Felicity agreed quickly. Marguerite could see her fear that her son would change his mind at any moment. Violet considered a moment and the demurred. “I am afraid I have made other plans. Perhaps in the fall we could manage something. I hesitate for fear you will think I am inviting myself, but I have always heard of the wonderful harvest festival you have at Glynwolde.”

  “Of course you must come – assuming of course that we will be there.” Marguerite glanced at Tristan to be sure that she had not overstepped her place.

  He gave no indication that she had. He stood and faced her. “I daresay that is where we will be. I try to oversee as much as I can myself, and I would like the child born at Glynwolde. I am not sure when it will become unsafe for you to travel. I expect we will take up residence at the end of the summer and stay through the winter. Is that agreeable to you?”

  All the tension Marguerite had felt over that last day began to loosen. Tristan might not have expressed his feelings fully in words, but his actions were speaking for him. He was trying to resolve things with his mother and he was actually speaking as if they had a future with the baby. There was hope. Still, she could not make matters too easy for him, he had hurt her too deeply with careless, callous words the previous day. “I believe that sounds like a good plan, however we should discuss the details more fully.”

  Tristan looked perplexed. She restrained a smile. He was not used to finding any obstacles in his path. She knew he wanted to say more, but this was not a discussion for company.

  Marguerite turned to her guests. “I do look forward to your company over the coming months, but now I am afraid I grow fatigued. Will you promise to come and visit again soon? I know I still have much to learn from you both and I look forward to enjoying your companionship.”

  “Oh, I had not considered how tired you must still be from yesterday’s events. Please forgive us. We must be on our way.” Felicity took Violet by the hand and prepared to depart. She hesitated and then walked to Tristan. She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He did not respond, but neither did he step away.

  The ladies left.

  Tristan turned to Marguerite as he shut the door to the parlor behind them. “Should I help you to your room? You do look a little pale.”

  “Nonsense. I am tired, but I am sure sitting with my feet up will restore me. Perhaps if you could bring me a footstool . . .”

  Tristan moved to follow her request and soon Marguerite was comfortable. She let her head fall back against the back of the chair. She truly was tired, but she was also unwilling to let further time pass without talking with her husband.

  She closed her eyes, but spoke, “I trust you have no urgent plans that require either your attention or your presence.”

  “No.” She heard him retake his seat on the couch. “I had planned on spending the day at home. I can attend to my accounts and some correspondence if you need quiet.”

  “I will rest better after we have talked.”

  “You make our discussion sound ominous.”

  “I do not mean to do so.” She opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Do you debate that we have much to speak of?”

  “You are, of course, correct. I actually tried to speak with you last evening, but you had fallen asleep.”

  “I would apologize, but I am not sure that anything I said would have made sense. I must admit I found the day quite trying.”

  Tristan leaned forward, resting his head in his hands, his elbows firmly planted on his knees. He grinned. “You sound as if you are having tea with Lady Smythe-Burke. I thought we had moved beyond such social politeness.”

  “I did too, but after yesterday –-“

  “Yesterday I was an ass. Is there more to say?”

  “I believe there is a great deal more to say,” Marguerite snapped back. “We cannot pretend that yesterday did not happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “If you do not clean a cut it can fester. You wounded me yesterday and I cannot pretend that you did not. And while your actions this morning speak well of our future, they are not enough. I need words.”

  “Words?”

  “Yes, you have implied that your feelings have changed since yesterday in regards to the baby, your heir if a son. I need to understand how they have changed and why. I am not feeling particularly trusting.”

  Tristan leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. “I d
o not know exactly what you want.”

  “I want to understand you.”

  “I am a simple man. What is there to understand?”

  Marguerite snorted. It was not polite, but it was called for. “You are not a simple man and you well know that you are not. You shift between the man I have come to – to love –,” she said the word and did not regret it, “and the man who can ignore his mother for four years without ever giving her a chance to explain—“

  Tristan cut her off. “I know what I saw and what I was told. Is it not enough that I am willing to move past it?”

  “Are you really prepared? Pretending it never happened will not put it behind you. Felicity will be our child’s grandmother. I want to know that she is truly welcome in our home, not just tolerated. Can you do that? Can you manage to forgive her?”

  “I can try.” He sat up straight again, examining her, trying to judge if his answer had been enough.

  Was it enough? It was not as much as she wanted, but it was as much as she could reasonably expect. The question was, did he really mean it?

  “Do you lie?” Marguerite let the question hang. She had not known she was going to ask it until it left her lips.

  His skin grew pale beneath the skin, his lips pressed together. He looked deep into her eyes as if he searched her very soul. “Yes, I lie. I lie frequently and without remorse. I am a very good liar.”

  It was her turn to grow pale. For the first time with the pregnancy, her stomach began to rise in revolt.

  Tristan rose, suddenly, and came to kneel before her. “I do not lie to you, however. I have never – that I recall –lied to you.”

  Could she believe him? Her mind ricocheted like a bee trapped in a jar. She tried to remember everything he had ever said. Had he ever knowingly misled her? Well, he did not claim to have never misled her, he claimed he had never spoken a complete falsehood.

  She took his hands in her own. “What about when I first came here, all those wonderful stories that you spun trying to convince me to marry you. Do you claim that none of those were dishonest?”

  “Ahh, that occasion I remember well and, yes, I do claim that I spoke no lies on that occasion. I spoke with great care. I was overcome with your beauty, despite my lapse of memory. I was being pressured by my family to marry, and Peter had no desire for the title. My best friends had both recently married and I looked upon their bliss with some jealousy. And as for my keeping my word as a gentleman to help you – I may lie, but I never betray my word.” Tristan brought her hands to his lips. He pressed soft kisses against them. “Do not doubt me.”

  Marguerite fought against the power of those sweet kisses. She needed to remember everything he had said that first night. “You said you were a spy. Surely that was a lie. I have seen no evidence of cloaks or daggers, and I cannot believe you needed me to gain entrance anywhere. You are a marquess.”

  Tristan let her hands rest upon her knees, although he covered them with his own. “I was afraid that you would hit upon that one. I hoped by supplying all the others you would not notice the omission.”

  Her heart stopped. “Then you did lie.”

  He looked up, staring straight into her eyes. “No, I did not lie. I have never thought of myself as a spy. I have on occasion denied the word. But, in truth it is as good a description of my activities as any other.” He turned away. “Can you think of any other excuse for my spending so much time with Moreland?”

  “You are a spy.” This time it was not a question. With a horrible certainty Marguerite accepted it as the truth. “You are a spy. You really married me for your own purposes. You only pretended to care about helping me.”

  “We are back at the beginning again, but I have just told you a truth about me that only a few know in order to prove my veracity to you. Do not doubt me now.”

  His hands still rested upon hers. Marguerite moved to pull them back, but he held tight. “I do not understand how it can all be true.”

  “But it is. I saw how we could help each other and I grasped the opportunity. I was not to know how it would turn out.”

  Did he mean when he found out she was not pregnant or now, when she found out that she was? “I am still unsure how marriage helped you with your – work. I do not see that I helped in anyway. You say you needed entrance, but none would have denied you.”

  “True.” He finally released her hands and sat back on his haunches, bringing their gazes level. “But, it would have become the cause for speculation and question if I, with my reputation, suddenly began appearing at musicales. After I married you nobody questioned my presence. If there was any gossip it was about our marriage not about my presence.”

  “Oh.” It was a very small sound. “Then all those time you came with me it was not because you wanted to?”

  “I have always wanted to be with you. I know it sounds unbelievable now, but it is also true. I may have had other motivations, true, but they were as much an excuse as they were reality. I enjoyed your company and found myself seeking it even on those occasions when I had no reason to accompany you.”

  Did she dare believe him? It all sounded so reasonable, but she knew it was anything but. It was in fact ridiculous. Her husband was a spy who had married her to make his mother mad and because he wanted invitations to tea. What sort of story was that?

  One that was so unbelievable it had to be true.

  But could she believe him about his feelings? Had he truly desired her company? She knew he had desired her, even when racked with self-doubt she did not doubt that, but did he value her beyond her body. Did he actually like to be with her? Did he care for her? She hesitated to even ask herself the question.

  She reached forward and took his hands. She pulled them back to her lap. “Assuming that I do accept all you say, accept that despite the calculation of your actions that you held my interests at heart, where does that put us now?”

  She stared down at his hands. She turned them over and began to examine the lines of his palms. She had heard that a whole life’s story could be read in the lines of the hands. She traced the patterns with her eyes, memorizing every length and cross.

  He did not speak. She scrutinized his hands for a moment longer, and then finally dragged her gaze up to his face. His eyes were closed and he looked as if he was praying.

  His voice was quiet when he finally spoke, “You ask the difficult questions today. I wish we could go back to yesterday morning when you asked that question. I would answer differently now – express the jubilation you deserved. But, I did not.”

  “No, you did not.” Her hand trembled as she reached out and lay it on his cheek.

  “So, we can only move on from here. I am attempting to forgive my mother for you. I will raise our child with kindness – and I will love it, boy or girl. I will attempt to be the father that my father was to me.”

  She stroked her thumb over his cheek. “That is a good first step. But, I need more.” She hesitated a moment. “I need you to listen to your mother.”

  “What?”

  “I have sat here listening to you speak and I have realized my great fear. I do believe that you do not lie to me now and I think I even believe you will not lie to me in the future. But, I realize I do not trust you to make a judgment and not listen. You decided that I should marry you and never truly listened to my reasons why I did not wish to. You decided I should go to the country. You decided that it was in my best interest that we not share a bed and I do believe that if I had not forced your hand we would still not touch more than fingertips. On none of the occasions did you decide to discuss the matter with me.”

  She watched as his lips grew tight and his eyes had trouble meeting hers.

  She continued on, “You know I speak the truth. I see it in your expression. You do not always listen, particularly to women. You make a decision and you will not be swayed from it. I cannot live like that. If you ever judge me I want to know I have the right to appeal. You have ignored your mother four yea
rs without ever listening to what she has to say and yet, at the slightest indication that you are ready to reconcile, she agrees readily. I do not think I would be so flexible.”

  “And I thought I was choosing a placid wife.” He smiled, but it was bittersweet. “I know you would then refuse to forgive me.”

  “You are quite correct in that.” Marguerite tilted her chin up. “I need evidence that you can change. I need you to listen to your mother and her explanations. I do understand how much you have done for me and what it means. I know it was not easy.”

  Tristan reached on and replicating her gesture stroked his thumb down her cheek. “Do you understand what it means? I think if you do we can move forward. I will do this for you. I would probably do whatever you asked of me. I have become a fool around you, yours to command. You see I have discovered that –“

  There was a tap on the door and after a discreet moment Winters entered.

  “My lord, forgive my intrusion, but Lady Harburton is at the door. She demands to speak with you.”

  “Demands?” Tristan turned from Marguerite and stood. “Lady Harburton demands?”

  “Ah, Yes, my lord,” Winters replied looking most uncomfortable.

  Before either man could reply the door behind Winters burst fully open and Lady Harburton barged in.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What did you do to my son? Where has he gone? Did he tell you everything? He must have told you everything. Why have you stolen my bulbs? My fortune. How dare you? You black-hearted scoundrel.” Lady Harburton did not take a breath. “How could you do such a thing to me? What did I ever do to you?”

  She sat down on the couch with a decided plop. She turned to Winters who still stood in the doorway. “Fetch me some tea. And some cakes. I am quite in need of a restorative.”