lashes and stared up into his silver eyes. She snuggled closer. “I do not have to think about – actions. If I do not think, I do not blush. But, words – words require thought.”
“Mmmm, is that what it is?” Tristan’s lips had moved to the lobe of her ear. She squirmed. “And here I thought I’d found every man’s deepest desire, a lady in the parlor and a – I don’t even have to say the word and you turn redder still.” He chuckled. “But your hands. Your hands have a life of their own.” He pulled them from the waistband of his breeches where she had begun to toy with a button. “You haven’t asked about your present. Don’t you want to know?”
She patted his pockets again. “I don’t feel anything and you will not let me search anywhere else.” She glided her hand lower, but again he caught it.
He rubbed his chin against her forehead, the recently shaved skin sliding like silk. She could smell the musk of his cologne. She drew in a deep breath.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask?” he questioned?
“If I must.” She frowned, sticking out her lower lip, then unable to hold her look of petulance she smiled up at him.
“I saw you at the window, pressed against it like a child at the bakery.”
“And I wonder what my sweet will be.”
“Stop that. You will not distract me.”
“Tell me then. You act like I am the tease.”
“We know you are the tease. But, I like it very much.” He kissed her forehead again then led her to the window. “Do you like her? I bought her just for you. The man at Tattersall’s promised that she’s gentle.”
Marguerite paused. It took a moment for her to understand. “You bought me a horse?”
“Isn’t she beautiful? I’ve watched you on the lead with Will. I thought that with a proper mount I could take over your lessons.”
“If you say so.” Marguerite was not sure it sounded like a good idea at all. Riding was one thing on a lead in the yard. Besides, Buttercup had become almost a friend. A strange horse in public was another matter.
“Why don’t I call your maid and you can change now? The park is still mostly deserted. Come, it will be fun. Something we can do together, for no reason but to be together.”
“We already spend our afternoons together. You have promised to come with me and listen to Clara Masterson play the piano. I have heard she is quite talented.”
“Ah, but then we would not have a chance to truly converse. I am not fond of the social patter in which we are forced to engage when out.” Tristan stared over her shoulder out at the horses.
“Then why do you come with me? No other gentleman is so attentive to a lady’s entertainments.”
Her husband did not answer and Marguerite felt the beginnings of disquiet. She had asked him before and always he replied with some witticism or seduction.
She stepped back from him. “Why do you come? You are always ready to engage in conversation and show all signs of having a good time, but as soon as we are gone so are your ready smiles. Why do you come?”
“I come to be with you, of course. What other reason could there be?” He did not look at her as he spoke.
“I am not sure, but you were coming with me even before you made your enjoyment of my company clear.”
Tristan walked away from the window. He took a sip of the cup of chocolate the maid had left for her. “It’s gone cold. Come, let me call your maid. The park is beautiful at this hour.”
What was he hiding? They had the most honest and forthright of relationships, but then he would refuse to answer the most ridiculous of questions. She tapped her toe in frustration. “If you are determined to show me the park at dawn I would rather walk.”
“It is hardly dawn and the whole point is that I would like to ride with you.”
“It is getting warm. I would rather walk.” Did she sound like a petulant child?”
“Nonsense. I chose to ride so early partially to avoid the heat.” He turned to her, finally. “Come ride with me.”
Marguerite pressed a hand to her belly. This was the moment. It was not at all the way she had planned to tell him. “I cannot.”