Page 20 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
Tristan laughed. “His sister,” he corrected.
“Ah, sister. Right,” Ernald walked in silence for a moment, and then the last penny dropped, “I see! So, you’re after the brother!”
“My uncle lost a great deal of money to Charles Davidson…before he died. I am still paying off the debts he accrued, trying to balance the books.”
Ernald looked at him askance. “I know that tone. I’ve heard it before. You’re after revenge. You’ve got a just fate planned for that rogue Southbria, and you plan to use the sister to draw him out! Tell me I’m wrong!”
Tristan scowled as Ernald’s voice boomed out.
“You are not wrong. But I do not like your choice of words. I do not intend to use her.”
“You plan to get close to her to find her brother,” Ernald said, stubbornly.
“I do not hold Lady Christine responsible for her brother’s actions. I intend no harm or malice towards her. I think she can lead me to her brother, yes.”
“And how far will you go to get that information, hmm?” Ernald asked.
Tristan did not answer.
I have already offered a betrothal, albeit one of pure convenience. Marriage? Would I go that far?
The answer was simple. Yes, he would.
Tristan entered the breakfast room, having taken his leave of Ernald. It was airy and genteel, set with clusters of small tables, and already half a dozen gentlemen and ladies murmured together over tea. He sought the farthest corner, tucked away behind a large potted plant. But found it occupied.
Christine sat alone at the little table by the window, sunlight falling over her like a spotlight. Tristan hesitated, then inclined his head.
“May I?”
Her eyes flicked up. Something unreadable crossed them—hesitation, calculation, then a small smile. “Of course.”
He took the chair opposite. Silence thickened between them, filled only by the distant clink of porcelain. She reached for her cup, steady enough that he would not guess at nerves. He knew better.
“How did you sleep?” he asked, the question banal, safe.
“Very well,” she replied. “The room is most comfortable, especially compared to…” She faltered, color rising in her cheeks.
Tristan’s gaze sharpened. “Compared to what?”
Her lashes lowered. “Other accommodations I have known.”
Odd answer. And she knew it. He let it go, not wishing to stumble into a quarrel.
“And you, Your Grace?” she asked smoothly. “Did you rest?”
“Tolerably well.” He sipped his coffee, eyes on her.
A pause, then she tilted her head. “Have you yet had a chance to walk the grounds? They are said to be quite fine.”
“I did,” he said evenly, “a stroll before dawn… A habit of mine.”
Christine’s lips curved, too faintly to be called a smile. “How very…romantic. Greeting the dawn…”
Tristan’s jaw clenched. “You have never tried it?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. It is not possible at Gillray House.”
“The grounds do not allow it? Are they so unkempt?”
