Page 29 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Then you must find amusement elsewhere.”
They turned down a more secluded path, the others lingering behind in animated conversation. When they were alone enough, Tristan’s tone shifted.
“Have you given more thought to my offer?”
“I still have time, do I not?”
He faced her squarely, his expression unreadable but his eyes alight with some fierce intent.
“A betrothal of convenience. You gain protection from Lady Gillray, from Dreadford, from the vultures of society. I gain leverage. Your brother will surface if his sister is bound to me.”
Christine’s heart thudded painfully. “I am bait and my brother the innocent prey.”
“Hardly innocent.”
“He does not know that he is hunted.”
“He must know or else why hide?”
I cannot deny the logic. If he did not fear reprisals, he would be in his place as Earl, and I would not be threatened by Lord Dreadford.
“I would use every weapon at my disposal,” Tristan said evenly, “and you would cease to be a pawn in other people’s games. I would shield you.”
“Shield me?” Her laugh was bitter, “By making me your wife in name only? Do you take me for such a fool?”
“No fool,” he said softly, “and who said anything about a wife? I speak of betrothal, not marriage.”
Christine flushed, realizing the mistake she had made, the slip of language that betrayed some buried fantasy she didn’t want to admit even to herself.
“I would allow no man to threaten you when you are mine,” Tristan said, pressing his case.
His words touched her like his body when he pressed her against him as he kissed her. She felt embraced by this thought, held tight. Her skin tingled at the thought. She wet her lips, wanting the taste of him on them, the wetness of his lips.
Safe. No man would dare threaten the woman of the Wolf Duke.
It was alluring and exciting, setting a thrill running through her that emanated somewhere deep and primal within her.
“You call me yours. As though I would be your property. Your possession. Is that not arrogant?” Christine said, trying to regain some control over herself, over the conversation.
And yet, her heart told her that his arrogance was thrilling. It was, so was his casual dominance. It made her want to dig her heels in, want to push back and claim her own independence.
But why does it also make me want to submit” To swoon and be carried away in his arms? Because then my worries could end. I could utterly surrender.
His words stirred both fury and something hotter, more dangerous. She lifted her chin.
“And what of trust, Your Grace? Or affection?”
“I told you to call me Tristan,” he growled, looming over her.
The shadows reached for them, branches and brambles encroaching and forcing them to walk closer. They had diverted from the main path and left the conversation of others behind them. Darkness cloaked them. He stepped closer, still.
“I do not offer affection. But I will be honest. You know my aim. I will not lie about it.”
“You admit it, then. You care nothing for me.”
His reply was silence. They stood, no longer walking, as though even movement had to be sacrificed to allow their focus to be solely on each other. Christine stared up into his night-haunted face.
“Is it important that I care?” he said.
