He turned and headed toward his chambers to wash and change. He intended to fully prepare for whatever Cathy wanted. It was clear that she was trying to seduce him. After all, a man did not reach his thirtieth year without learning the language of a woman’s intentions. However, he could not fathom the cause of the changes in her. Why? She had wanted distance, and now she wanted to get closer.
“What are you planning, Cathy?” he muttered. “Are we to finally see the final act of whatever this is?”
Tristan dressed in his finest evening black coat. Everything else was impeccable: his hair, his cravat, and his shirt. He looked at his reflection and saw what others saw: the rake. He was known for taking what he wanted. It looked like marriage to Cathy had softened him a bit.
After taking a long, deep breath and another look at the mirror, he went downstairs and strode purposely to the library. He opened the door and was greeted by the scent of rich meat and sweets. Never had the library smelled so marvelous.
The room was warmly lit by the hearth, and a small, intimate round table was positioned near it.
Near the fire, with the flames as her worthy backdrop, Cathy stood out. Tristan’s breath caught. She was a vision in emerald silk. The gown hugged her curves like a second skin, and her hairwas swept up in a softer style, with curls framing her face. This time, it did not look ridiculous.
Cathy’s face was pale, but her eyes held his. There was no smiling this time. No awkward tilting of the neck. Instead, she merely stood there, with the orange flames highlighting her silhouette and the shadows emphasizing her cheekbones.
“You are late, Your Grace,” she said, using her normal voice, and not the breathy performance.
“I was delayed,” he murmured as he walked closer to her. “Don’t you think the wait was worth it?”
This time, it was her breath that hitched. He followed the movement with his eyes, caressing her bosom with his gaze.
“A private dinner, Cathy? No footmen. No butler. Just us?”
“Just us,” she confirmed, lifting her chin in defiance. “We needed a… more focused environment.”
He stepped even closer, feeling the heat of the fire. Feeling the heat between them.
“Well, I cannot say no to a more focused environment, wife.”
Chapter 17
“Shall we sit, Your Grace?” Cathy asked, gesturing toward the round table.
It was surprising that she was able to keep her composure and keep her hand from trembling. She reminded herself of the task at hand.
Tristan did not immediately sit. He did not say anything, either. He let his eyes travel from her slippered feet up the emerald skirts and to her low neckline. Finally, his eyes reached her face.
“By all means, Cathy,” he murmured. “Let us sit.”
Tristan moved behind Cathy’s chair, sliding it out for her to sit. In the process, his knuckles brushed against her spine through the sleek fabric. She felt a jolt at the contact. After that, her movements were stiff, but she did sit down. When he leaned toward her, his breath was hot on her neck.
“You look marvelous tonight,” he whispered.
Cathy swallowed hard. “T-thank you. The gown is new. I purchased it with the allowance you gave me. It was a very fairprice for the fabric’s quality.”
Why was she ranting? She could not help it. No matter how much she promised to act calmly, she just had to focus on the practical aspects of things.
“You and I both know it is not the gown I care about.”
Then, he walked around to take his own seat as if he had not just given her praise that made her hair stand on end. She tried to focus on the feast of pheasant, steaming turkey, and candied fruits.
Focus. Cathy, focus.
She reached for the bottle, wrapping her hand around it.
“You must be ravenous after your day at the north fence,” she remarked, keeping her voice normal.
She rose to pour the wine for him, her eyes fixed on him. This time, she knew how to steady herself so she would not spill the wine all over the food. Her body leaned forward, her movements deliberate. She understood what he was seeing from this angle—the swell of her breasts illuminated by the firelight.
This time, she knew she was being provocative, and she refused to apologize for it. More surprisingly, she felt no urge to retreat or surrender. There would be no panic or maidenly vapors over this.