Instead, Cathy felt a heady sense of empowerment whenever his gaze lingered on her. His eyes followed her cues, giving her satisfaction. It made her feel like she was holding the match that would ignite the flames between them.
Control.
Yet, in some way, he also had control over her. She could not admit how much she wanted his attention. She was no longer Miss Priggish, the sensible daughter, nor was she now just another “ruined” woman. She was the woman who could ignite a duke’s desire.
“The north fence is certainly tedious business,” he said, but his expression said otherwise, as he seemingly tried to tear his eyes from her. From what she could see, his pupils were dilated. It made her shiver. “There is a lot of work to be done. Even tomorrow, but hopefully less than what we did today.”
“How unfortunate that you exert yourself so,” Cathy murmured, leaning forward. She had made certain the table was small. By leaning, their faces were so close. “You must have perspired so much. I know you like being part of the workforce, but you should be careful not to overdo it. That is why you need to drink something.”
“Oh? Is that what we are doing here, Cathy? Drinking something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Perhaps. I am merely trying to be companionable. Is that not what you wanted? Someone to accompany you for your meals?”
“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, his voice deepening. “I asked to share meals with my wife. I just did not expect a private dinner with a siren.”
He reached for a piece of fruit while his eyes remained on hers. His fingers moved almost languidly and deliberately. Cathy could not breathe. It felt like the air had thickened, as if preparing for a summer storm.
“You are not eating,” he observed.
“Oh, I will get there. After all, it would be a shame for us to waste the feast before us. However, I find I have very little appetite for the food, not when I am interested in... other things,” she said, as her index finger traced the pattern over the doily.
Tristan barked a laugh. “I warn you, Cathy. Do not lean further, or you are going to become part of the feast.”
Cathy blushed, reining in her prudish side. She had felt it creeping up to the surface. She held her tongue.
“What if that is my intention?”
Tristan’s jaw dropped slightly, and he smirked.
“Tell me, wife,” he said, lowering his voice. “Why do you look like you are trying to read my soul?”
“Is it so terrible to try to make this marriage work, Your Grace?” she asked. “Grandmama advised me to be present and active in this marriage. She said I should try to find ways to make you stay.”
Tristan’s expression shifted. The faint amusement was gone. Now, his face was a blend of true concern and intense hunger. Cathy could not bear the way he was watching her. Was he always like this? Was this what he did to all the women who had been in his life?
He reached across the table, his larger hand covering her own. She was surprised by how calloused it was. How warm.
“Stay? You think I will leave this marriage? Do you think I will have it annulled and leave you destitute?”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on.
“I will not be discarded, Your Grace. While I do not care if I fall into ruin, as you know, I cannot let my sisters suffer the consequences just because I had been too cold.”
“Too cold?” Tristan echoed, standing up slowly. His eyes were on her like a challenge. He held her hand throughout. She gasped when he pulled her upward. Her body followed, her legs shaking. “You have always had fire in you, Cathy. But now? You are a burning flame. I cannot understand anyone who would describe you as cold.”
Then, like a panther, he swiftly moved around the table until he was just inches from her. He reached out to cup her jaw, his thumb tracing her lower lip. He teased the lip, pulling it down so her mouth was slightly open.
“There is no need for you to lean forward until you lose your balance. No more hair-twirling that will pull at your scalp. No more rehearsed dialogues. I just want you. Not the siren. Not Miss Priggish. The real you.”
“Then what will happen?” she wanted to know. Her heart thundered in her chest, as if she were already certain what he would say. She was also quite sure that he could hear the beats.
“This.”
Tristan leaned down and nuzzled her neck. She shivered, but did not pull away. His nose was right where her pulse stuttered and leaped. He inhaled her as if she were the meal for the night, his hands pulling her at the small of her waist. She whimpered when she felt her softness mold with the hard planes of his body.
Even as her body dealt with the shock, her hands flew to his shoulders for support. Her palms reveled in the solid, warm muscle that met them. He was a strong man, one who knew howto use his strength. She wanted him to use it on her. To wield the power that he had learned to put on a leash.
Tristan groaned. It made her proud to hear that he was just as affected as she was. The guttural sound that he emitted in her ear made her whole body pulse.