Joan bit her lip at the incredulity in his tone, and shrugged even as she avoided meeting his gaze. “Well, I know my father made you marry me—”
“He did not,” growled her husband.
“But we have had some—some pleasant times together, even before that,” she went on, blushing furiously.
“Pleasant!” He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
“I just wanted to know if you might ever want me for more than making love!” she exclaimed. Tristan gazed at her as if she’d grown another head, and Joan’s nerve broke. She scrambled out of bed. “Oh, never mind! I was foolish to ask—I might have known you wouldn’t listen rationally and give a dignified answer—”
“You want me to give a dignified answer when you ask if I like anything about you besides planting my cock inside you?”
“There’s no need to be crude!” Joan grabbed her nightgown and began trying to put it on, but the whole thing had been twisted and pulled into a knot; the sleeves seemed to have tied themselves together. She rammed her arms into the garment, determined to rip right through the fabric if she had to.
“No. Right. I apologize.” He scrubbed one hand over his face. “Come here.”
“No, thank you. I’ll just send Polly for some tea, and find a good book to read.”
“Don’t ring that bell,” he warned as she reached for the rope. “Not until I give you my answer.”
Her fingers hovered over the bell. “Well, what is it?” she said, refusing to look at him.
The ropes creaked as he got out of bed. “The answer is no, I do notthinkI mightsomedaycome to care for you.” He repeated her emphasis on certain words. “I am quite certain how I feel about you, and how I expect to continue feeling about you for the next fifty years. My question is, why do you want to know? And what on earth gave you the idea your father compelled me to marry you?”
“He did! My mother told me he would—she was half afraid he would end up challenging you to a duel, if you refused!”
All expression fell away from his face. “She still despises me that much?”
Her lips parted as she realized how awful her words must have sounded. “No! That is, I don’t think she’s terribly fond of you yet, but she was so worried about Papa—he used to be quite as reckless and devil-may-care as you are, and she worried he would lose his temper if you didn’t agree.”
Her husband sighed. His shoulders slumped a little, and he turned away from her, pulling on his own dressing gown. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked a little beaten. “Did you think I would refuse, after I made love to you at the Brentwood ball?”
“Well ...” He gave her a sideways look, not his usual cocky look but a wary one. She cleared her throat. “No. I didn’t. I told Mother she was being silly.”
He gave a nod.
“I also told her I was as much to blame for any scandal as you were,” Joan added quietly. “You never took advantage of me—at least, not when I didn’t want you to do so. I didn’t want her to think any worse of you than she thought of me, because the fault was equal.”
“Oh?” He tilted his head back. “Even that first time I kissed you, at the Malcolm ball?”
“I hardly invited that,” she said carefully. “But, once you began, I didn’t make much of an effort to fight you off ...”
“Did you want to?”
She hesitated. “No.”
His face eased a fraction. “I didn’t think so. I don’t kiss unwilling women, you know.”
“So,” Joan said when he didn’t say more, “is this all because I was willing?”
He considered it a moment. “Partly.” Joan’s eyes popped wide open in shock. “I never would have made love to you at the Brentwoods’ ball if you hadn’t been willing,” he added in the same offhand manner. “But you were willing, and I took that to mean you ... felt something for me—at least enough to risk your mother’s anger. Whatever else you may think of me, I hope you don’t view me as an immoral cad with no sense of a woman’s reputation and dignity.”
“Not at all,” she protested.
He nodded. “Good. Because, to answer your question, I knew that night—before I lured you away to ruination and debauchery, mind—that I wanted to marry you. The next day I went to my solicitor and told him to begin preparing a marriage contract. I even meant to do the thing right and call on your father properly in Bath, but he anticipated me by returning to London. So you—and your mother—may rest assured, he was never in any danger when he came to see me about your hand in marriage.”
Joan gaped at him. “Then he didn’t have to argue with you about it?”
“He gave me a very stern lecture,” said Tristan. “I expect the sort of thing a man might give his son, before his son weds, about being a respectable husband and how to deal with a woman’s moods and vagaries.” He grinned slightly at her scowl. “He might also have mentioned that he’s a crack shot, and wouldn’t hesitate to inflict a few flesh wounds on a son-in-law who bruised his daughter’s heart. But otherwise, no threats were exchanged.” He cocked his head and eyed her. “And you never answered my question: why do you want to know?”
