Chapter 30
Tristan had been married less than twenty-four hours and he was ready to strangle his wife. Or himself. But that wouldn’t work now, would it? Once he began to lose consciousness, his hands would fall away and the deed would never get done.
He had jumped through various hoops all day trying to please the uncommon cast of characters that were currently occupying Sykes House. He was tired. Frustrated. And had the bluest of blue balls, despite masturbating less than three-quarters of an hour ago.
What in hell was he going to do with his wife?
This one. He had no interest in discussing Linnet with her. His first marriage had been a disaster, and most of the time he pretended to himself that it had never happened. His friends and family were usually too polite to bring the subject up.
Did he owe Sadie the truth? She would think less of him, knowing he’d been a cuckold. A man who hadn’t satisfied his wife—
Ha. He’d pledged to satisfy Sadie. Had touted his ability. Just words, when it had yet to be proved that he could.
Perhaps it was for the best that they would live apart.
But at the moment she was scarcely a foot away. Now that he’d seen her body—and its charming freckles—he was in a state of lustful agony.
He waited to hear her light snores, but the wait was in vain. He could practically feel how awake she was, vibrating with energy. If he told her just enough, they might put his past to rest, and then get some rest.
Tristan cleared his throat of gruffness. Best to make this simple. Unemotional. “Her name was Linnet. Her father was a viscount. We married much too young. She was hardly seventeen and not at all ready to settle down.”
“What happened to not talking about it ever?” Sadie asked, moving closer.
“You’re like a terrier with a rat. I might as well tell you some of it before you wear me down with your chewing. It’s not something I particularly relish doing.” An understatement if there ever was one.
“Thank you. If I had a husband, I’d tell you about him.”
And I wouldn’t want to know. “Men and women are different dealing with such things. You ladies like to chatter until our ears fall off.”
“And you men keep everything to yourselves until you explode.”
“Maybe you are right. At any rate, Linnet and I were unhappy almost from the beginning. She preferred the gaiety of London. I like a quieter life.”
“But you said you wanted to marry her. Why could you not make the sacrifice to stay in the city?”
“I did. For a time. Then things became too painful for both of us, and we divorced.”
“And then she died.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yes.”
She paused, and he hoped she was done. No such luck. “It’s very sad, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Is that the only word you can say about it?”
“Yes. Now, if you please, can we try to go to sleep? I shall try to answer any other questions you might have at a reasonable hour, but there’s not much left to tell.” Nothing more he wished to divulge at any rate.
“Was she beautiful?”
Tristan knew whatever he said would be wrong. “That’s enough, Sadie.”
“But—”
She needed distracting, and a kiss was a good way to do it. But this time, he was going to mark her, so there would be little doubt of the consequences of their wedding night. He grasped her shoulders, drawing her to him. “Enough, I said.”
He covered her mouth with his and felt a tremor. His or hers, he wasn’t sure which. He thrust his tongue deep, deliberately giving her no chance to stop him.
She didn’t seem to want to, which was gratifying. Sadie was pliant in his arms, making those soft noises that drove him mad with desire. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, and Tristan knew he would be lost in seconds. Abruptly he turned his head and nipped her long white throat, causing her to shriek and torture his eardrum.
Hearing was overrated anyway, wasn’t it? He continued to bite and suckle and stroke her breasts until she was frantic, clawing through his hair, scratching his bare back. They were marking each other, and let Roderick Charlton try to prove they had not consummated their hasty marriage.
She was writhing and sobbing, straining against him. She wanted to finish this, or at least he thought she did. He knew what he wanted, had never wanted anything so much.
But he’d made a promise.
“Enough,” he whispered.
“Damn you.”
He felt damned. Doomed. His cock was definitely cursed.
“Have you been reading Polidori’s The Vampyre? What on earth was that?” Her voice shook as she buttoned her nightgown up to her chin.
“Love bites. I don’t believe I drew any blood, though.” He’d been careful, but her throat would be covered with rosy welts for all the world to see.
“It was b-barbaric.”
“Forgive me.” Better to ask forgiveness than permission. He tucked her head on his shoulder and smoothed her hair. “Go to sleep. It’s very late. Or very early, depending upon your perspective.”
No more questions about Linnet. No more talking about anything. A cool rain-scented breeze wafted in the open window, and Tristan began to plan the day ahead as he lay cradling his wife. His number one priority—to say goodbye and good riddance to Charlton and Islesford.
He would have to meet with the Puddling Rehabilitation Foundation governors and explain their Guest’s newly altered state. Altared state. He smiled in the dark at his pun. Check on the progress of the renovations of Stonecrop Cottage. Propose new construction somewhere in the village to expand the program.
And sign the parish register. One mustn’t overlook that. Really, that was the first order of business. He’d go to the parsonage and bring back old Fitzmartin. The rest could wait.
He felt Sadie’s lips buzz against his skin. “May I finally go shopping for clothes?”
He’d really prefer she never wear anything again. How delightful it would be if he confined her to the Red House bedroom where he could feast his eyes on her all the day long.
Except he didn’t have time for that indulgence. “Can I trust you not to run off?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should come with me to make sure I behave.”
“Not if you’re wearing my old suit. Tell you what. I have several things to take care of tomorrow—no, this morning. I’ll take you into Stroud in the afternoon. All right?”
“I suppose.” She snuggled against him, her long limbs tempting him unmercifully.
It was peaceful to lie thus. One could almost imagine they were a happily married couple on their honeymoon, apart from Tristan’s iron erection. If he was truly on his honeymoon, he’d be doing something about that.
Perhaps one night, but not this one. She might be more than amenable to his kisses, but the rest could wait. Tristan didn’t want Sadie to feel forced any more than she already did and turn resentful. Her life had changed far beyond what she had ever planned.
As had his. He supposed he had thought he might marry once again—many years in the future, when an heir was needed. He might have found someone obliging. Docile. Two words one would never ascribe to Lady Sarah Marchmain.