Taste of Desire

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. Marguerite might have misunderstood some of what she had been told, but her mother had always been clear on that point. Mama said that Marguerite’s father had never once spoken of love.

For the first time in a long time she felt a pang of sympathy for Mama.

But, Marguerite had a home of her own, and a husband who desired her. Her annoying blush rose at the thought. What more could she want?

She started walking again, her pace light and carefree. She turned the corner.

Lord Simon Moreland and Mr. James Langdon stood before her. Langdon swayed slightly. Both gentlemen wore evening dress, their cravats loose and their coats wrinkled. She imagined she could smell the sour stench of whiskey and perspiration from where she stood.

She started to step back behind the hedge that marked the corner.

Marguerite saw the exact moment they saw her. Langdon’s head jerked and he patted Simon on the back. Simon turned, took an unsteady step towards her, and swayed into a low bow.

“And a fine morning to you, my lady,” he said.

“And you too, Lord Simon, Landgon.” Marguerite inclined her head in greeting and tried to pass.

“Ah, not so fast, my dear,” Simon caught her arm, “don’t you have a few moments for a few good friends.”

Marguerite stepped back, putting a more comfortable space between them. He was being very forward. It must be the result of his night of indulgence. “Of course. Is there something you needed to tell me, some message for my husband perhaps?” She stepped back again.

Simon stepped forward following her. Langdon leaned back against a lamppost and watched.

“I just thought a few words with a lovely lady on beautiful morning would be nice. Don’t you agree?” Simon stopped. He shrugged his shoulders in question.

Marguerite glanced around. There were plenty of people on the street. There was no reason for her to be frightened.

“You are right. A few words among friends on a sunny morning are nothing but a delight. It was wonderful seeing you – and Landgon.” She gestured in his direction. “I will be sure to pass on your greeting to Wimberley.” She started to walk on down the street. Any threat was all in her mind. She would be sure to take her maid the next time she ventured out.

Simon fell into step beside her. Langdon followed a few paces behind. She picked up her pace. She was being foolish, but she wanted to be home.

“And what are your plans today, Lady Wimberley?” Simon matched her step for step. “Is there a reason for your hurry?”

“I am eager to be home. I find myself fatigued.”

“Hence your rapid pace.” Simon sounded sincere. Did he not realize the hypocrisy in running because you were tired? Probably not.

“Yes, I am dreaming of putting my feet up.” Marguerite moved even faster.

“Must say I am looking forward to the same.” Langdon spoke up from behind. “A nice nap with the sun shining in the window.”

“We don’t have time for a nap. We promised my mother we’d accompany her this afternoon.” Simon snapped at Langdon.

Langdon look dismayed, but then brightened. “Still a nap is quite the thing after a night on the town, don’t you agree?”

“I was not out all night. I merely ran a morning errand.” Marguerite spoke through gritted teeth. She worked to relax her jaw.

“We never suspected differently. You must behave now that you’re married.” Simon smiled at her pleasantly.

They reached the path up to the house and the gentleman finally halted. Marguerite turned to them and spoke with firmness, “Thank you for accompanying me, but now I must say farewell.”

She turned toward the door giving them no chance to demur. She had a goal to accomplish – it was time to see Tristan.

The door swung open as she approached. She tilted her head to Winters – only it was not Winters. Tristan stood in the doorway, his face stiff with formality.

“And where have you been, wife?”



He had not meant to sound so harsh. It had been almost an hour before he realized she was gone. He’d actually come down to breakfast and sat at the table for twenty minutes waiting for her to appear. It was only when he summoned her maid that he learned she was gone and that nobody knew where she was.

He was torn between worry and annoyance.

And she’d arrived back with Langdon and Moreland in tow. This whole thing was one big circle. He turned towards the library and gestured for her to proceed.

“I had an errand to run.” It took a moment for him to realize she answered his question.

“An errand, and what pray was of such importance this bright morning?” Did he sound the jealous fool? Of course, he wasn’t jealous, he just didn’t like her going out without informing anyone.

She was going to lie. He could see her brows draw together and her lower lip tremble. He’d never seen such a guilty looking face.

“I needed to . . .” Her eyebrows were almost touching. She stopped suddenly. Her shoulders pulled back. “It was nothing. I just woke and wanted to be out. Does it matter where I went?”

How did she always manage to turn the question back to him? “Of course not, merely idle curiosity.” He sat in the high wing chair, swung his feet up on the stool. Her eyes followed the gesture and her lips curled up. He raised a brow in question.

“I was just discussing how much I wanted to put my feet up and now I find myself standing watching you,” she said.

“Ahh, are we not going to argue then.”

She placed a hand on the arm of his chair and leaned towards him. “I am not sure we know how to talk without arguing. It seems whatever I say you feel compelled to say the opposite.”

“And here I was thinking the same of you.”

“Then do we actually agree on something?” she asked.

“We do. Are you going to tell me where you were?” He swung one foot down and guided her until she stood between his legs. He closed his thighs about her. He could see the pulse in her neck flick to life.

“I thought it did not matter.” She bent further forward, granting him a clear view down the front of her dress. She licked that maddening lower lip.

“It doesn’t. I just wanted to make sure I had not displeased you in some way. I had plans when I awoke and finding you not present, it put, shall we say, a damper on them.” He waited and watched, sure enough, the blush came. He watched it rise over her chest, spread up her neck until it pinkened her cheeks. She was a delight.

He grasped the hand that rested on the chair and used it to pull her into the chair. “So are you going to tell me?” he whispered into her ear.

“Tell you what?” she whispered back and planted a small kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Where you were?”

“A woman must keep some mysteries.”

He ran a finger across her collar bone, enjoying her shudder. She kissed him again. He turned his mouth so the kiss landed fully upon his lips. “Will you at least tell me why you were with Moreland and Landgon?” He kissed her again.

“I was not with them, they merely followed.”

“They followed you on your errand?” He pushed down the edge of her bodice and nibbled one white shoulder. He ignored the growing pressure of his arousal. He was getting close to an answer.

“No, they followed me home.” She turned over until her chest was pressed fully against his. She trailed kisses up his neck and nipped the point of his chin. “Are you really going to spend the rest of the morning asking me questions? I thought there was something you wanted to do that you needed me for.” She rotated her hips against him.

He suppressed a groan. She was an enchantress, blushing and innocent one moment, Aphrodite the next. He pulled up her skirt. “We have time for stories and my plans before we go. Is there something you are trying to avoid telling me?” He drew circles on the back of her knee, the fine silk of her stocking causing only the slightest friction.

“Going where are we going?” She bit his chin again.

“Huismans card party. I believe I will accompany you.”

He almost missed how she paled at his answer. Was she still trying to find an excuse not to tell him where she had been? Had it not been as innocent as he imagined? His mind began to spin with possibilities.

She drew back. “Oh, I think I need more practice then.” Her fingers moved from his shirt to the upper fastening of her dress. “I daresay I could use another hand of piquet.”

He forgot what he’d been thinking about.



As she entered the small drawing room on her husband’s arm, Marguerite understood for the first time the power of her title. Walking up to Huismans’ house she had almost turned and run, confessed to her husband that she had no invitation, that it had all been pretense, but instead she held strong.

She need not have feared. The porter gestured them in, the butler waved them towards the party without question. If the Marquess of Wimberley was here, then he belonged here.

Huisman’s strode up to them as they entered.

Before he could comment Marguerite spoke quickly, “It was wonderful of you to invite me. I have been practicing, but fear I am no match for a man of your skill. I hope it is no difficulty that my husband has accompanied me.”

Huismans measured her with his glance. She could feel the questions he did not ask. “Of course, I am delighted by your company. I am sure we have much to discuss.” His words addressed Marguerite, but his glance had turned to Tristan. “If the numbers are uneven we will take turns sitting out – a true gentleman does not mind letting someone else do the work.” He gave a small laugh, almost a titter. “It is of course the purpose of men such as myself – the merchant class.”

Tristan made no response beyond a proper greeting and gestured to Marguerite to precede them into the room. There were no chairs available at the card tables. She gulped as she spied Landgon, Simon, and another young gentleman seated at a table with Simon’s mother. Lady Harburton did not look pleased to see her. She turned back to her son.

Tristan looked amused at the lack of remaining seats and with the smallest quirk of his mouth he indicated she should take a seat on the couch. He followed and stood beside her.

“The tables look set for whist, not piquet,” he said.

“Perhaps I misunderstood, or perhaps . . .”

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps I was looking for a game only for two.” She felt heat begin to rise. She stared with force at the tulips on the mantle. They shone a polished black, not a deep purple, but a true black. She started to try to think of other objects that color, coal, polished boots, ebony – If she thought hard enough she would not blush. She could pretend a sophistication she did not feel – continue the verbal joust at which her husband was so accomplished.

“You are admiring my flowers, Lady Wimberley?” Huismans moved up beside her. Another gentleman, one she did not recognize had engaged Tristan in conversation.

She looked at the flowers again. “They are very interesting.” And very ugly.

“Yes, they are quite rare. My grower at home has only managed a handful of bulbs. I give them only to my dearest friends. A hundred years ago there were rumors in my land of single bulbs worth more than a great house. That was nonsense and caused a scandal, but these bulbs . . .” he let the sentence trail off.

“I have always liked flowers.” That was true at least. Marguerite slid closer to Tristan. If she moved her leg their calves would touch. She moved. Tristan’s body twitched. Did he feel the same bolt of lightening that she did at their slightest contact? She wished she dared move even more and find out.

“Yes, flowers are a delight. Objects of great beauty should always surround a woman. Don’t you agree?” Huismans lowered his voice as if to impart a great secret.

Marguerite flipped her skirt over her slipper. She lifted her leg slightly so that her toe rested against Tristan’s ankle just above the shoe. She raised and lowered her toe against the back of his stocking. He straightened, but made no acknowledgement.

“I asked what you think of beautiful things.” Huismans sat beside her on the settee.

“Beautiful things are very nice.” She turned towards Huismans and tried to look interested. At least the conversation was not demanding. She rubbed her toe against Tristan again. Actions were so much easier than words.

Huismans moved closer, his leg brushing the edge of her skirt. “I am glad that you feel that way. I enjoy giving objects of beauty to women of matching stature.” He laid his hand on the couch next to her own so that only the tips of their fingers brushed. Marguerite shifted nearer to the edge of the couch, and her husband.

“It would not be proper for me to accept gifts.” Gads, she hoped that sounded polite. She was in the man’s house and she had never heard anything impolite about him.

“Oh, I don’t mean anything like that.” He withdrew his hand. “I was merely thinking of a small corsage, a bouquet of my tulips. They are quite sought after. I could call and bring you a miserly offering and perhaps enjoy a cup of tea. If you are uncomfortable accepting them I am sure we can find some way for you to help me in return, perhaps, even just a conversation. Having married such a brilliant man, you must be quite the conversationalist. I can’t imagine anything more delightful than discussing the world with a fair creature of such brilliant temperance.”

What had the man just said? Brilliant temperance? She had never heard such a phrase. Marguerite was not sure if it was her own lack of knowledge or Mr. Huismans’ lack of English. She tucked it away to ask Tristan about later. She smiled back politely. “That would be lovely, but –.” She was on the point of refusing when she remembered Tristan’s interest in the man. “I am not sure when I am free, perhaps we can discuss it at a later time.”

“That would be lovely.” His hand was back. “May I make a morning call sometime this week? I will –.”

“Really, Anton,” Minerva Harburton addressed Husimans by his Christian name, “it is most irregular of you to invite me to play and then to leave me with only my son and his friend for company. Won’t you join us? Mr. Bridges has stated that he needs to leave and it will leave us short-handed. So, you must come and play.” Lady Harburton turned to Marguerite who she had ignored to this point, “Although perhaps you would care to play? Do you enjoy a challenging game of whist? It would even the tables.”

“I am really not much for cards.”

“I did not think so. Your strategy is rather obvious.” Lady Harburton glanced at Marguerite’s hand, which still lay next to Huismans’. “Tristan, your wife says she doesn’t care for games of chance. Would you like to play?”

Marguerite swallowed a gasp. Since when had Tristan been of such intimate terms with Lady Harburton? Ah, his shoulders had stiffened, he was not comfortable with the familiarity either. He turned and took in the situation behind him. His gaze also fastened on the hands, side by side, on the couch.

“Actually, Lady Harburton,” he stressed the formality, “I was just thinking how much I enjoyed competing with our dear friend Huismans. Perhaps he would join me and the other gentlemen and you ladies could have a chance to get better acquainted. Wouldn’t you enjoy that, Marguerite?”

She had not seen that coming. What was he up to? “Yes, that would be lovely. I am sure you would not mind if I furthered my friendship with Lady Harburton.” Marguerite looked at Huismans.

He nodded his agreement, although with little show of pleasure. The men departed to make up their game. Simon and Langdon did not look disappointed when Lady Harburton failed to rejoin them.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Lady Harburton hissed with a smile.

“Do forgive me, but I do not know to what you refer.” Marguerite looked pointedly ahead. Lady Harburton had replaced Huismans on the settee.

“Of course you do. I told your sister once that it was always the innocent looking ones who are sly. I was referring to your understandable pursuit of my dear Simon. But, now I see you have bigger fish to fry.”

“I really do not know what you are speaking of and I never pursued –“

“It’s easy to pretend otherwise now, when you think you’ve hooked yourself a bigger fish, but I saw you chase him around your sister’s party. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Marguerite was not sure that there had been any pursuit, and if there had it certainly had not been on her part, but it seemed pointless to argue. She shrugged. “Regardless, I do not understand what that has to do with the present.”

“Don’t play coy with me. It’s clear that you are after Huismans. I know how the games are played.”

“I assure you nothing could be further from the truth. We were merely talking about pretty things and flowers.” Marguerite looked over at the men who were engrossed in their cards. There was no salvation there.

“See you do know what I am talking about.” Lady Harburton nodded smugly.

“No, I do not.”

“Pretty things and flowers, you said it yourself.”

Marguerite was growing more lost by the moment. Was there nobody here who spoke a language she understood?

“Everybody always wants what’s mine.” Lady Harburton settled herself back. Her gaze turned to the men as well. Marguerite did not like the way her eyes devoured Tristan.

“I do not believe he was ever yours,” Marguerite spoke firmly.

“You should have seen him a year ago. He followed me most ardently. I was quite overcome by his attentions.”

Marguerite wanted to discount the words, but there was a ring of truth to them. She did not say anything.

Lady Harburton continued, “He was always asking what I was doing. I hardly had time for my correspondence.”

“Your letters to the soldiers?”

“Yes, those poor boys needed me. How could I let them down? It was my duty, my part for the cause.” Lady Harburton glowed with pride. “I refused to let them down and they never let me down.”

Marguerite hesitated to think how it would have been possible for the young men far away on those bloody fields to let Lady Harburton down. If they had died and failed to answer Lady Harburton’s letters, would that have been a disappointment? She dismissed the thought. She was being catty.

“I know that you did great good with your constant support. I even heard Lady Smythe-Burke remark on it.” That was better. Lady Harburton had done an important service. It was not fitting to poke fun at it, even in her thoughts.

“She is such a lovely lady. And so kind. She helped me pull through when the war was over.”

Marguerite had never heard Lady Smythe-Burke described as kind, nor such a lack of joy at Napoleon’s final defeat. “I had thought the end of the fighting was a cause for celebration.”

“Oh, of course. It was only that all my young men went back to their lives and none of them had time for me any longer. And then everybody could get Belgium lace and French furnishings. It wasn’t until I found my flowers that I felt quite myself again. I’ve always been fond of gardens, you know? Even as a girl I had such an eye for beauty. Everyone said so.” Lady Harburton turned to face Marguerite. She picked up Marguerite’s gloved hand and placed it gently between her own. “Of course, that is why Huismans is mine.” She squeezed Marguerite’s hand, not gently. “I almost had to fight Lady Langdon for him. It was such a pity that those horrible rumors about her began to spread. Who would possibly believe that she was having an affair with a footman. It was so unbelievable. Still you never do know what people will believe do you? Why some might even believe that you were ruined before you came to London. I’ve heard your mother wasn’t as vigilant as she should have been, it wouldn’t have been difficult for you to get into trouble at some party or another.” She released her grip on Marguerite’s hand. “That would be nonsense though wouldn’t it? Still, you never know what people choose to listen to.” She patted Marguerite on the leg and stood. She turned and walked over to the gentlemen without looking back.

How on earth could Lady Harburton have known? Had one of the servants overheard and talked? It was certainly possible. Was there another way? She watched as Lady Harburton combed her fingers through her son’s hair.

Simon had been there that night. He’d brought her several glasses of lemonade. Could he have seen more than he let on? It would put a different light on some of his later comments.

Bitter acid burned in Marguerite’s belly. Tristan glanced over at her and she attempted a smile. There was nothing to worry about. Why would people listen or even care? She was a nobody.

Only she was not a nobody anymore. She had heard her share of the gossip surrounding her hurried marriage to Tristan. So far nobody had guessed at the truth and the stories had been replaced by other scandal, but she knew how quickly that could turn about.

She inhaled deeply. Exhaled. There was nothing she could do about it. She had never been after Huismans, so there was no way she could desist or change her behavior. And besides, she thrust her shoulders back, she refused to do anything just because Minerva Harburton desired it.

She placed her hand on the edge of the settee, took another breath, and stood. She walked over to her husband and leaned over his shoulder peaking at his cards. Lady Harburton was directly across from her. She tilted up her chin and set Lady Harburton a cutting glare.

Lady Harburton looked back. The duel had begun.