then he just fell asleep.”
Violet blinked. She blinked again. “Four times and then he fell asleep.” She started to laugh. The laugh grew until it was nearly a guffaw. “Four times and then he fell asleep.”
“Do not laugh at me. Mama always cautioned that men had insatiable needs and were never satisfied.” Marguerite had to resist joining in the laughter herself. One look in Violet’s face and she knew the truth. “I know I am ridiculous, but how can I be sure that he was happy? How is a woman to know these things? What if I bored him?”
Violet pushed a napkin to her mouth and attempted to stop laughing. Tears began to stream down her face. “Four times and he fell asleep – you think you bored him?”
Violet stopped laughing abruptly. She put down the cloth. “You, my dear, I am afraid have an amazing talent for sin. I think I had better explain things more fully.”
She was gone. Tristan rolled over and reached for his wife. The bed lay cold beside him. He stretched and stared at the canopy above. The events of the night before ran through his mind.
He pushed up on his elbows. The curtains were still drawn and only the faintest tinge of light seeped into the room. The floor was bare, his wife’s clothing gone. Had Jackson been in? No, he was too well trained to interrupt. Marguerite must have taken them with her when she scurried out. She was probably at her bath or toilette. He stretched, that settled in his mind.
He lay back on the pillows. Considered. Rang for his coffee and toast. He had not planned on this.
He should regret it. He stretched again, sighing with satisfaction. No, he could not regret it. If he had known how passionate Marguerite was it would have happened long ago.
She had seduced him. He had not doubt of that.
For whatever reason she had decided that she belonged in his bed.
She was his wife.
Was it as simple as that?
Jackson entered with a tray. Tristan swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed. Jackson placed the tray on the writing desk by the window. Tristan waved him away. He walked over and poured his own coffee from the tall china pot.
He took the gulp, the tingle of the bitter fluid played down his throat. He swallowed again.
His wife was not a simple woman. He had been mistaken to see her as sweet and innocent, and think that was the meat of her. She was a woman of intellect and depth.
She had seen what she wanted and gone after it.
The question was why? For what purpose had she sought her rightful place it his bed?
He had given her independence and wealth – she would not want for more. They were already wed – she could not be seeking position and title. Was there some favor she desired, something she feared he would not grant? She had certainly approached him with purpose and plan.
Where had innocence ended and intent begun? He pictured her lips closing about the pastry, while her eyes shone with delight. He remembered her stretch before the fire last night, she must have known how little her dress concealed. His body responded to the memory, and he picked up his robe and drew it on.
It required thought. He would find out her purpose. He must remember it was a game of desire and not love. She might have played the siren with great success, but he was the master. He would find her secrets, whatever efforts were required. He grinned. Yes, he would do whatever was required. He anticipated the task. Husimans’ card party would be the perfect place to start.
Chapter Fifteen
Marguerite stepped slowly as she walked home from Violet’s. She should hurry so that nobody would realize she had left her maid behind, but the day promised to be beautiful and she let her head fall back. The sun was hot and felt wonderful on her skin. It was wonderful. She did not care if she freckled. Nothing could ruin her mood.
She had a talent for sin.
Violet’s words ran through her mind. She had pleased her husband. All her doubts were gone after Violet’s explanations. She took a little skip, then, unable to resist, twirled, her skirts spinning about her. She had found the magic.
All of her risks were paying off.
She stopped a moment.
Tristan had not said he loved her. Did it matter?
No, men were often reticent about expressing emotion and sentiment.