Page 94 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“You are trembling,” he said after a moment.
“Because I was nearly carried off by villains,” she retorted, putting fire into her voice, not wanting to seem like a shivering damsel.
Fake the fire and hope it will ignite within me. I will act the part of the brave duchess even if I am just a cowardly, trembling one.
“If trembling is the only effect, you are braver than most.”
They rode in silence for a time. The landscape opened before them: fields gold with early wheat, cottages smoke-crowned, the church spire rising pale against the sky. Then Tristan turned into a narrow lane that wound up a hill between sloping meadows of cloud-like sheep. Christine frowned.
This is not the way to Duxworth. At least it is a much longer route, up into the hills.
“You are taking us to Duxworth?” she asked.
“This road eventually connects to Church Street; it brings us into the village from the north.”
“Not the quickest route.”
“No.”
“You think I will change my mind if you drag out our journey?”
“I simply wish to extend our ride,” Tristan responded stiffly.
“Why?” Christine lifted her head, pulling herself away from him.
“Because I would like to give you a chance to calm yourself before we arrive,” he said.
“Oh.”
“And…”
Christine waited, looking at him, seeing his face harden and his eyes hood.
One word, and he thinks he has given away more than he can afford.
“And?”
“And…I wish to be in your company for longer,” he finally said.
Christine looked at him, shifting gently with the walking pace of the horse. Finally, he looked back.
“That sounds…pleasant,” Christine said.
Proximity to him was easing the frantic beating of her heart, or at least making it beat frantically for a very different reason.
“Good. This is my favorite ride in the district. We will pass an ancient grove of oaks with a standing stone in the heart of it. I came here many times as a boy, as soon as I learned to ride.”
“I should like to see it,” Christine answered.
“What of your appointments?” Tristan asked.
Is this a ruse to get me to forsake my appointments in the village? All because he holds grudges against them? No, I think he is resigned to that. He simply wanted to share with me a place he loves.
“We will come back afterward. I would like you to show me,” Christine said.
They continued along the ridge of a hill and down towards the village, emerging behind the parish church. When they reached the edge of the green, Tristan dismounted and helped her down. The villagers paused in their morning labors, watching. A blacksmith straightened from his anvil, and the innkeeper’s wife wiped her hands on her apron. To them, the Duke of Duskwood was a rare and half-mythical creature; to appear on horseback with his lady was cause for every curtain to twitch.
Christine felt the weight of a hundred eyes, but she lifted her chin.
