Chapter 10 #2
She stepped away from the table, but she was not done.
“You should have married Miss Longrove if you wanted a wife who would obey and behave as you wish her to. That was what you needed. A delicate flower, and not a thistle. There is no world in which I would allow myself to be plucked only to satisfy your ego. Therefore, we can be nothing but strangers in this marriage.”
“You did not kiss me like a stranger,” he said. “You kissed me back, and—”
“It was a moment of weakness,” she said. “I am not made of stone, Your Grace. I am, however, made of better sense than to mistake a moment of weakness for something it was not. Now let me finish my work.”
Tristan should be furious. He should not want to see this defiant woman anymore. Yet, at that moment, he felt a pull from her that he could not ignore. He closed her ledger firmly.
“The ledgers can wait,” he said firmly, his gaze dropping to her full lips. “Your husband can no longer. It has been five days of you avoiding me, Cathy. I never said anything about being spared from your presence.”
“Oh?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. He saw her breath hitch, even though she tried to hide it. “Your silence in that regard when conversing with your friend was enough. Please, spare me your pity.”
Tristan moved closer, his hands finding the surface of her table on either side of her hips. He had caged her. Even the heavy ledger felt helpless under the palm of his hand.
“Do you really believe all that?” he asked, leaning in closer.
Their foreheads were so close. It was so much easier to do with her height.
“Do you think I ran from that altar and stood in front of your entire family and half the ton out of pity? You think I kissed you in the library out of pity? You think I have spent five days in my own home acutely aware of every hour you are not in it, out of pity?”
Cathy trembled. Tristan was close enough to feel that. He could feel the heat radiating from her body and saw how hard she gripped the edge of the table behind her. Her knuckles had turned white.
“Your reputation precedes you, Your Grace. So do forgive me if I find all that hard to believe.”
“I do not say things I do not mean, Cathy. It is perhaps the one virtue Brandon would concede me without argument. I am many things. A liar is not among them.” He held her gaze.
“I did not want to marry. That much is true. I will not pretend otherwise. But I did not leave that altar because I pitied you. I left because I could not say those words to another woman when I had spent the previous night thinking about you.”
“Your Grace, stop,” she said. Her voice was not as steady as she would have liked.
“I... I do not want to be married to you,” she reminded him.
“I know you do not want to be tied down to someone like me either. There is no reason for these big words. However, I am truly grateful for what this marriage means to my family. Your protection saved my sisters’ reputations after our father abandoned us.
We can make a perfect arrangement of separate lives in the same house. I trust your servants are discreet.”
Tristan felt that twinge of annoyance once more, and he did not attempt to hide it.
“Discreet? Is that the only thing that is important to you? Charity and propriety and the careful management of appearances?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You are lying to me, Cathy. Worse than that, you are lying to yourself.”
Before Cathy could protest or attempt to escape, he crossed that final inch between them.
He did not ask. He merely took what he wanted.
What he needed. His mouth descended on her with a raw, insatiable hunger burning away any of the fury he felt at the insult he thought he sent her way all those five days.
He was not giving her a gentle kiss. No.
She deserved something else. She needed to be claimed again.
Initially, the stubborn woman fought by pressing her lips tightly. Her body remained rigid beneath him. Then, when his hand slid to the nape of her neck, tangling with her luscious curls, she whimpered.
The sound became both of their undoing, as she clutched his waistcoat and pulled him closer to her. He felt her tremble in his arms, as they continued to kiss, tongues lashing against each other and breaths melding. It was like taking more from his very own soul.
He pulled away, but not because he wanted to. He wanted to hear what she had to say, even as his arms refused to let go of her. He kept her grounded by pressing his forehead against hers as they tried to catch their breath.
“Now, tell me you felt nothing,” he challenged. He was surprised at how raspy his voice sounded. How thick.
Cathy did not respond. She only continued to stare at his collar, as if she were trying to regain her balance. He knew what she was doing. She was already distancing herself from the act.
No. Do not do that.
“Look me in the eye, Cathy,” he commanded. “Look at me and tell me that the kiss meant nothing to you. If you can tell me honestly that there was nothing, not even a spark, then I will leave you in your requested solitude. The remainder of this marriage shall be spent in quiet separation.”
His heart ached as he said those words. He already somehow suspected what she would say, but he had to give her freedom. He let his thumb graze her swollen lower lip.
Tristan gazed into her eyes. He needed the truth from her. “But if you felt even a fraction of—”
She had already tensed in his arms, her passionate face turning into a mask of indifference. She pushed him gently.
“I felt nothing, Your Grace,” she said steadily. “It was a physical reflex. I might be Miss Priggish, but apparently my body is still human. Nothing more. It could have happened with anyone.”
Tristan’s ears rang at that response, and he felt numb all over. He stared at her, looking for signs that she would change her mind, but there was nothing.
“I see,” he choked out. “Very well, then. I shall respect your wishes.”
He then turned to leave his new wife’s bedchamber, hoping he would forget the touch of her lips on his.