“It does seem to put the rest of us at a disadvantage of sorts.”
“Are you content with your match?” he asked.
Her head tilted to the side as she viewed him. “Are you content with yours?”
He didn’t let himself blink. “No.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Neither am I. But perhaps there are some things we can do to improve our situation.”
The words surprised him, but maybe they shouldn’t have. Marriset had never been anything other than direct. His gut felt strangely hollow as he returned her smile and whispered, “Perhaps we can.”
She reached out and took the glass from his hand and raised it in a salute before she took a long sip. As she lowered the glass, her tongue swept her full red lips. “I’m glad we had this talk, Carver.”
“I hope it’s not the last.”
“Oh, it won’t be.” She passed the glass back to him and stood. “Will you join me for a walk tomorrow in the gardens before breakfast?”
The drink felt heavier in his hand, knowing her mouth had been on it. “It would be my pleasure.”
Marriset’s eyes glowed and her hips swayed as she walked away from him.
The strong smell of her perfume lingered, burning his nostrils.
He glanced toward Argent, who was looking at him. The severe frown on his face made it clear he knew what Carver had been doing with Marriset—and that he disapproved.
You would stoop to this?his eyes seemed to ask.
Yes,Carver thought back at him.For you, for the empire—for the safety of everyone here . . . yes.
Besides, what would it matter? Amryn already hated him.
And he hated himself.
He set the brandy aside and stood. As he strode from the room, he caught Marriset’s gaze. She was standing beside her husband, her arm looped through Darrin’s, but her eyes were locked on Carver as she smiled.
Carver pressed his hand over Marriset’s, pinning it to his arm as they walked the garden paths. Marriset was close enough to him that her chest deliberately brushed his arm as they moved.
They had taken a few different walks in the garden now; stolen moments, away from anyone who might see or judge.
Carver hated every second of the time they spent together. He hated feeling her touch. These past few days had been a unique torture, made all the worse by the fact that Amryn was still avoiding him. And the fact that, while Marriset talked a lot, her flirtations so far hadn’t led to any real information.
“That’s fascinating,” he lied, responding to her latest comment—about flowers and their meanings, of all things.
“We live in a complicated world,” she said. “Things often have deeper meanings. That’s why it’s helpful to have people around us that can make things feel simpler.” She nodded toward a bright red flower. “If only that were a rose. Would you have any guess as to what that particular flower might mean, if I gave one to you?”
That you want to stick me with a thorn?“I have no idea.”
Her long lashes fluttered as she gazed up at him. “I’ll give you a hint. Roses symbolize passion.”
The urge to roll his eyes or fling her off his arm was strong, but that wouldn’t help him learn more about her. So he merely raised an eyebrow. “I think Darrin might mind.”
“You’re not afraid of Darrin.”
“No.”
“And I’m not afraid of your wife, so what’s the harm?” Marriset didn’t wait for an answer. She drew back her shoulders and peered up at him, her brown eyes direct. “Besides, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. And if you and I decide to seek some happiness where we can . . .” Her tone was suggestive, her expression even more so. “I don’t know about you,” she whispered, her voice a little husky now. “But I’ve lost sleep thinking about what this could be between us.”
“I haven’t slept much, either,” he admitted. Of course, that had had nothing to do with Marriset, and everything to do with the fact that his wife wasn’t really speaking to him.