its den. This was not a game. He was promising responsibility for another life. He’d watched the telltale pulse at her throat and the pallor of her cheeks. Had there ever been a woman who gave so much away by the color of her skin? Marguerite was now his to care for and protect, to make her happy.
For a moment in the garden as they approached the house he’d actually been looking forward to their wedding night. Fresh sheets, a roomful of candles, satin skin, whispered caresses, and that first incredible kiss. But, it was his own desire that troubled him now.
She wanted a marriage of convenience. Why had he never considered that?
He’d meant it when he told her that he had known what he was doing. It had all suited his needs so perfectly. He could protect her, care for her, and still achieve his goal, and there’d been the pleasure of that almost-kiss.
She wanted a marriage of convenience.
She’d never been kissed before.
Was it possible?
How could he have so miscalculated?
Something inside him twisted at the thought that she could have been brought to such a predicament without the joy of a single kiss.
He tapped his slippered foot against the bedpost.
That man. Clark.
It was one thing to know that Marguerite, now his wife, was having a baby. It was another thing to be presented with the father. Was Clark the father? He had certainly been quick to guess that she was with child.
What was the truth of her story and did it matter?
Yes, indeed. He needed to know the truth. He could not further enmesh her in his plans if she’d been abused, despite his own aching desires. He could not imagine she’d freely lain with Clark -– even he could not fabricate the scenario that would place Marguerite willingly in that oaf’s arms.
What was the truth?
Though he had not visited her room tonight for these reasons and more, he could see her lying back on the sheets, that wondrous hair all about her, her eyes deepened with desire, her skin tinged with that first flush of heat, her breath catching as they moved together.
His one breath caught. Damn, it was hard to think reasonably when his body urged him onward.
But, had she been mistreated? Or was she merely skittish over a less than satisfactory encounter? He needed to know before he could approach her, a few days of digging should be sufficient. He was a master at prying out secrets. It should not be difficult to find out hers.
He walked from the bed to a high wingchair set before the fire. He slipped into it and warmed his stiff toes before the glowing coals.
“I think it would be best if you left for the country.”
Marguerite swiveled in her chair at Tristan’s unexpected voice. She’d come down to breakfast late and fully expected to be left alone to her rolls and chocolate.
“The country?” She hoped her voice did not tremble. Another decision was being made for her.
“I had planned that we would journey down in a couple of days – newlyweds should have a few weeks away. Glynwolde is kept ready at all times and is little over a day’s ride. You shall travel today and I will join you in several days time. I have matters I must attend to here.”
Marguerite turned away to stare at the bread on her plate. How many pieces could she break it into before it fell to crumbs? How small could a single piece be and still hold a pat of butter?
“Won’t people find it odd that I leave, alone, the day after the wedding?” Her tone was very quiet.
“I will let it be known that I plan to join you. There are also several house parties to which I have been invited. Any lady would welcome the chance to be the first to host the new Lady Wimberley.”
“Oh.”
“Fresh air will be healthful for your condition. It may even help with your stomach. You do want what is best for the babe?”
“Of course. But, I –-“
“And I am sure that after all I have done to show I know what is best that you will trust my advice.”
“Yes, however –“
“Good, I am glad that is settled.”
She bowed her head. “If that is your wish.”
“I only seek what is best for both of us.”
Marguerite looked down at her plate. Nine pieces. She had nine pieces of bread if she didn’t count the crumbs. The knife clanged against the china and she hastily put it