Page 36 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“Talk?” Blanche glanced sideways, “or gossip?”
Christine made a helpless little sound that was neither laugh nor sigh. “They are the same thing in this company.”
I want to tell all my dear friends, but where do I start? A proposal of marriage, but for convenience and from the Wolf. What I desire and what I fear are all wrapped up.
The ladies strolled down the lane toward the village, the Dowager’s open carriage rolling ahead with a pair of chaperones inside. The old Duchess’s parasol bobbed like a flag of command, her voice carrying back through the summer air.
“Remember, my dears, a brisk walk quickens the blood! And quickened blood makes for quickened hearts!”
“God preserve us,” Blanche muttered, earning a muffled laugh from Christine.
But laughter could not steady her. Since morning, the whole of Greystone had seemed to hum with the word betrothal.It travelled faster than any wind, curling through every parlor and garden walk.
Ladies had congratulated her. Gentlemen had bowed lower than they ever had before. Even servants smiled in a way that told her they knew. She had said nothing. Denying the rumor would only fan the flames. And besides, she had agreed to it.
I must be clear that I will be in control. But how does one control a wolf? Ride it for a time, but eventually one must get off.
A temporary betrothal. A lie dressed in lace. Tristan’s offer still echoed through her thoughts.
“Blanche,” she said suddenly, startling her friend out of some internal reverie, “if you were promised a life of comfort and safety at the price of deceit, would you take it?”
“Deceit?” Blanche’s brows arched, “Good heavens, Christine, you make it sound like highway robbery. Whose comfort and safety are we speaking of, yours or another’s?”
Christine hesitated. “Mine, I suppose.”
“Then I should say yes.” Blanche’s tone softened, “unless the man in question is truly dreadful.”
“He is…” Christine faltered, thinking of Tristan’s eyes, those stark gray eyes that seemed to see everything and reveal nothing, “he is formidable. I do not trust him, not completely. Perhaps not at all. No, there must be some trust there or I would not…”
“Ramble?” Blanche said, leaning close and smiling mischievously, “You are babbling, so I will take it there is something positive in your regard for him.”
“I certainly don’t hate him.”
“You’re not meant to hate him! You’re meant to toy with him until he forgets how to breathe.”
“I wish you would not say things like that,” Christine muttered, though she smiled in spite of herself.
Blanche stopped walking, forcing Christine to halt too.
“Tell me plainly. What did the Wolf Duke do? You have been quieter than a cloistered nun since breakfast.”
Christine tugged at her gloves. “He made me a proposal.”
“Of marriage? Everyone knows that by now.”
“Of convenience.”
Blanche blinked. “The devil you say.”
“He claims it would protect me from Lady Gillray and that I may end it whenever I choose. He says it will benefit us both.”
“And will it?”
“I do not know.” Christine’s voice wavered. “He is honest in the way the wolves are honest. They do not hide their teeth.”
Blanche’s hand closed gently over hers. “Then perhaps he is the safer sort of liar. The ones who smile while they bite are the ones to fear.”
Christine squeezed her friend’s hand in thanks. But her thoughts wandered still to Lady Gillray’s spite, to Dreadford’s leering face, to the hopelessness that had once filled every corner of her life. To Tristan’s words.
