perfection of manners.”
“If I must.” Tristan glared at the man who was grinning even more widely. “Marguerite, let me present to you Lord Peter St. Johns, my brother. Peter, this, as I am sure you have gathered is Marguerite, Lady Wimberley, my wife and your salvation.”
Lord Peter stepped forward with a smile that shone with sincerity. “He’s right about that. I’d begun to worry that he’d never do the proper and I’d be forced to die before him or face all of this.” He gestured about at the elegant room and then, stepped around Tristan and pulling her up from the chair, he crushed Marguerite into an embrace. “Welcome to the family.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she squeaked. She resisted the urge to push against him, even though his embrace was overpowering it was not unpleasant or as unsettling as Tristan’s mere presence.
Finally he released her, allowing her to sink back into the chair gratefully. Her eyes darted from one man to the other. She would never have guessed they were brothers. Tristan shone with elegance and breeding. He was broad of shoulder, but tapered – his tailor must rejoice in dressing him. His brother was more of a bear, well muscled and sturdy. Even their coloring was different. Peter was as dark as Tristan was fair, his eyes and hair the color of darkest chocolate. She searched for some similarity between them.
Peter turned back to his brother. Did he ever stop grinning? She had never seen a man so continually glowing. “She’s a beautiful addition to the family. Have you brought her to meet mother? She must be delighted to know you’re finally happy.”
Tristan turned away, avoiding his brother’s eyes. “No, the opportunity has not presented itself.”
Peter appeared to miss any undercurrents in his brother’s comment. “I see the two of you must have things to discuss. Tristan, perhaps you’ll find your eloquence again once I am gone.”
Peter gave Marguerite one more glowing smile and bounded towards the door like a happy puppy. Marguerite heard his boots pound along the hall and then the groan of the front door.
There was silence again.
She could hear the patter of her heart and the creak of her chair when she shifted. Tristan stood motionless and soundless. The beat of her heart increased.
“Your brother seems very pleasant,” she choked out the words. How did he always make her speak first?
Tristan drew in a deep breath. He turned to face her, his glance sweeping over her. “Yes, Peter is always pleasant. A man could not wish for a better brother.”
“I am happy for you then. Happy for you both.” Why would he not stop staring at her? She could feel her skin flush beneath his gaze. “What of your mother? Will she not take it amiss that we have not yet been introduced? Perhaps I should visit her in the next few days?” That sounded awkward, but she was struggling for words to fill the void. Now that they were alone the quiet seemed unbearable. She shifted with discomfort. The room seemed very hot and a deep ache began low in her belly. She found her eyes drawn to his. The air seemed to have leaked from the room.
While she watched, Tristan’s brows drew together and then released. His face was placid when he spoke, but she could see the pulse in his neck speed. “I notice that you still have not adequately explained your return to town.”
Marguerite looked at her hands, swallowed. There were blue flecks in the stone floor. She never noticed that before. Had she pushed herself this far only to be sent back? She dug her nails into her palms and tilted her head up to face Tristan. She could not let him see how affected she was by his closeness. “I did not know an explanation was required beyond my own desires. Or do you wish me gone? You can always forbid me to stay. You are my husband.”
Tristan turned away with a click of his heel. He moved to a side table and picked up the book that sat there, a philosophical treatise, she thought. He stared at the binding. “No, that is not what I meant.” He spoke with such careful control. “I merely wish a logical explanation of why you would go and then return before you even reached your destination. It seems rash and illogical.”
For the first time since she had arisen that morning and found Tristan already gone Marguerite smiled. “And who