Page 93 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“I was not,” she said, though her knees still trembled.
He raked a hand through his hair. “You walked alone into the countryside with no escort and no carriage. Do you not know the dangers of highwaymen in this day and age?”
“I was not attacked by highwaymen,” she countered, voice trembling, “they asked for me by name.”
“That makes it worse.”
“It makes it different,” she insisted, “they were looking forme,not my purse. These were no common highwaymen. They were after me! You saw them; they did not try to rob me.”
His jaw tightened. “All the more reason you should not have left the estate.”
“I had appointments in the village.” Christine’s voice wavered, the shock of the event lingering despite her efforts to rise above them.
“Appointments!” His voice rose in an infuriating explosion
A rook burst from a nearby tree.
“Good God, Christine, do you think I would care about your arrangements with the vicar when men are…”
He broke off. Christine was trembling, though she tried to hide it. Tristan exhaled, a short, sharp breath. His shoulders relaxed as though he were putting aside a weight.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Christine shook her head, not trusting her voice. Tristan stepped closer, enfolding her in his arms. She settled against his chest, lacking the strength to pretend that she was not affected. She closed her eyes.
Just for a moment. I will pretend, for just a moment, that he is truly my fiancé and that his compassion is born of love. Pretend that I know what that feels like.
“Come,” he said quietly, stroking her hair, “you’re shaking. I’ll take you back.”
“No,” she shook her head against his chest.
“No?”
“I will not go back now. I intend to keep my word to the people of Duxworth.”
She wanted nothing more at that moment than to let Tristan protect her, to feel the safety of his arms and the stone walls of Duskwood. But duty was a weight about her shoulders. Not just to her, the position she had been forced into, but had accepted. Not just because she had promised to do something and did not want to let down the people who had equally promised a moment of their time. But because she did not want Tristan to think ill of her.
I am not sure that he would. But he is so strong. I want to show myself to be as strong. To show him that I am capable and dignified.
“They do not deserve it,” Tristan said harshly.
Christine lifted her head. It was the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. But the reward for sacrificing the sound of his heartbeat was to look into his eyes. He gazed down at her with compassion and concern lighting his features.
“You may accompany me, if you insist,” she said, her voice trembling, “but I will not be cowed into running home because two cowards thought to make off with me.”
She hoped that the outward appearance of courage would translate into the real thing. She did not feel brave, only scared to the tips of her toes. So terrified at the notion that someone out there wished her terrible harm, that she wanted to cry and curl into a ball.
He stared at her. “You are infuriating.”
“So you have told me.”
As few words as possible were the only way to manage her fear. Nothing that would give away a tremor or tear. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustle of the breeze through the hedges. Then Tristan muttered an oath. He turned to his horse and swung back into the saddle, then extending his hand.
“Very well,” he said, “if you are determined to walk into the lion’s den. We will ride into it, together.”
She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. He lifted her up before him, the movement swift and sure. The horse snorted, stamping as Tristan turned it toward the village. She sat side-saddle in front of Tristan. His arms enclosed her as he held the reins. His heartbeat was returned to her.
At first, she kept her back straight and held the pommel with both hands. But the lure of his broad chest, a perfect pillow for her cheek, was too strong. She let herself relax, craving the security of a strong man. Something that she’d never had.
