“It’s lovely,” Madeline murmured, rubbing a finger and thumb over one of the lavender plants, bringing her hand up to her nose and breathing in the scent.
“I rather hoped you’d have had a poem for me in recompense,” Tristan observed, grinning at her. “After all, we met because of your poetry.”
She reddened, glancing away. “I have been composing a little something, but it’s hardly proper.”
“I love improper poems. In fact, they are my favorite kind.”
She bit her lip, hiding a smile. “Very well, I’ll tell you, but you mustn’t repeat it.”
He held up his hand solemnly. “Cross my heart, my dear.”
She drew in a breath and scuttled over to him, rising up on her tiptoes. She whispered the poem in his ear.
“I care not for flowers and sweetmeats,
My lover only cares for me.
I care not for lace and buttons,
My lover is the one I see.
I care little for gossip and nothing for dancing,
So long as my lover is not easily led.
I care only for him and he only for me,
I care only to stay in my lover’s bed.”
He gave an amused chuckle, and Madeline pulled away, reddening.
“It’s not very good,” she admitted.
He took her hand, pulling her roughly against him. The warmth and firmness of his body against her made Madeline’s breath stutter, and she stared up at him, struggling to formulate the words.
How can it be that this man makes me feel so strongly?
“It is anexcellentpoem,” he insisted, grinning. “If I were not about to kiss you at this moment, I would demand to hear it again.”
She yelped, leaning back before he could fit his lips to hers.
“You cannot kiss mehere! People might see.”
“Might they?” Tristan mused. “Well, I hope they do not let me catch them, or else I would have to gouge out their eyes for daring to look atmyduchess.”
She snorted. “You had better be joking.”
He tilted his head. “Perhaps.”
He bent down and kissed her, and this time she did not object. His lips were soft against hers, and she tasted mint once more. Madeline closed her eyes, and the world melted away. It was only the two of them in a warm, well-lit gazebo, and nothing else and nobody mattered.
She felt heat rising in her again, and the desperate ache of wanting returned in full force. It struck Madeline that she was not sure what she wanted at all, or how to ask for it. Just as she was thinking this, Tristan pulled back, eyeing her thoughtfully.
“You seem preoccupied,” he said.
She bit her lip and nodded. “I am confused, I suppose. All ofthis,” she gestured between them, “confuses me.”
He nodded. “I hoped that tonight we could talk more about ourselves. You and I, that is. Would you ever consider allowing me to be a proper husband to you, Madeline? Would you let me share your bed, and the rest of your life?”
