Page 56 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
“No,” Tristan said, “remind me what tomfoolery we are expected to perform this time?”
Christine huffed, tugged the knot of the blindfold just a little too tight.
“There is a key, many keys. Hidden in the woods. We are to find them. I look and you reach, guided by me. The key will lead us to a clue which will…”
Tristan put up his hands in surrender. “Spare me. I think I can deduce the path of the game. Very well.”
“Could you perhaps be a little less like a bear with a sore paw?” Christine chided, leaning close so that their fellow players would not hear.
Tristan grinned. “Don’t you mean a wolf? When does this farce begin?”
There came the tinkling of the Dowager Duchess’ bell.
“Now,” Christine said.
“Point me in the right direction,” Tristan said, letting his arm hang by his side, his body open to Christine’s guidance.
Christine steered him to the start line and oriented him by gentle touches. They were the last touches she was allowed to give in this game. He was acutely aware of her perfume, the sound of her breathing, and the soft touch on his arm. It was tender and soft, the touch of a butterfly. Where her fingers landed became the heart of his awareness.
They were one hundred meters from the woods, and the distance was strewn with obstacles to be negotiated. It was a test ofcommunication and trust. Tristan had known that the moment he had glanced out of the window of the breakfast room at the servants setting up the damn obstacle course, first thing that morning. Part of him was unwilling to let any other couple win. He told himself that was pure foolishness of the highest order.
I do not care if we never ever make it to the woods, let alone find a key or a clue.
“What is to stop me just sitting down here on the grass?” Tristan asked.
“I would kick you,” Christine replied.
“You could sit with me.”
“I could not. I would not offend Her Grace. She is a lovely lady who has given me a new lease on life.”
“I thought that was me.”
“You are neither lovely nor a lady.”
Tristan found himself laughing. Christine seized his shoulders and turned him.
“Begin walking. After ten yards, I will stop you, for we have a series of cart wheels on the ground to contend with.”
Tristan could hear exclamations and laughter from all around as other couples began to navigate through the complications that the Dowager Duchess had formulated for them. He started forward, stopping at Christine’s command. A cautious boot revealed the edge of a wheel, and he followed it with his toe.
“If I put my hands on your shoulders…”
“We are not allowed to touch,” Christine said.
Tristan huffed, and Christine laughed at his exasperation.
“This is the last game, then you are free,” she whispered.
“It cannot come soon enough.”
Christine began to guide him through the convoluted path that avoided the cartwheels. The noises he heard from the other players told him that others were falling, tripping, and stumbling. And laughing like demented geese.
He swore under his breath and despaired for England that its leaders were so frivolous. But Christine was competent and careful. Her instructions were precise, and he never came close to tripping.
“You have passed the first hurdle. There are ropes tied between posts now for us to navigate. Some will need to be stepped over, others crouched under. Ah! The Dowager Duchess’ favoritemusical instrument is attached to each, a silver bell,” Christine said.
“So, we must avoid ringing the bell?” Tristan said acidly.
