For the Love of Lila Page 7

  “Tristan? Tristan, you are miles away.” She hooked her arm through his, unknowingly maddening him with her proximity. “We really should go below and ensure that we’ve left nothing behind. The captain says we can expect to land within the hour.”

  He nodded and turned toward the stairs with her. These obsessive thoughts of his had to end—but, of course, they would end when the journey did. If all continued well, they would reach Paris the following evening. He would deliver her to her cousin, and then his life would settle down. The only contact he and Lila would ever have again would be a rare letter regarding her trust.

  Somehow, the knowledge gave him no solace. He slid a glance at her lovely profile. If anything, he wanted more than ever to pull her into his arms.

  * * * *

  Though the small stone inn they approached that evening looked cozy, Lila could not seem to recapture the cheer she had felt earlier. She accompanied Tristan inside, reminding herself that she could anticipate a hot bath and rich French cooking. But she kept remembering that the next day she would have to part from the man at her side. She pulled a little closer to him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the move.

  “Tired?” he asked while they waited for the proprietor to finish speaking with another party.

  She nodded. “We have come a long way today.”

  “But we have ensured that we can reach Paris tomorrow.” He looked down at her, studying her face for a moment. “I can see that our mad dash has taken a toll on you. I am sorry we did not stop earlier. Why don’t you lean against me while we wait?”

  She had to turn her face away in order to hide her surprise. Her recent restraint must have given him the confidence to lower his guard. Or maybe their feigned marriage was fooling them as well as other people. She had noticed a gradual increase in physicality between them—only in little touches but occurring more and more frequently. Knowing her susceptibility to him, she should have been avoiding such contact, but she let her head drop against him. She had fewer than twenty-four hours left to spend with him. She wanted to savor every second.

  At last, the innkeeper turned to them and nodded a greeting. Beside him, a petite dark-haired woman, likely his wife, glanced their way and gave them a knowing smile. She murmured something to her husband in French, of which Lila caught only the words “young love.” Apparently, she and Tristan were performing their roles well, not a difficult task for her.

  The thought made her start, as it implied that what she felt for him wasn’t much short of love. Nonsense, clearly. She felt a great deal of...affection. Well, attraction too, but those two feelings scarcely added up to love. Of course, she held a good deal of esteem for him as well...and a certain amount of wonder over how he had come to be the intriguing man he was.

  She stopped her train of thought, unwilling to continue adding up her feelings. The mounting sum alarmed her. She had a notion that instead of starting her life in Paris excited over the independence she had gained, she would be fending off a terrible sense of loss.

  “Come, Lila,” Tristan urged, and she saw that the proprietress was poised to lead them upstairs.

  “Forgive me,” she murmured, forcing herself to follow.

  The woman showed them to a pair of adjoining chambers, connected by an inner door. Lila’s room boasted a large, comfortable feather bed, though she suspected she would not sleep well anyway. She had too much on her mind.

  While Tristan made arrangements for their dinner, her thoughts continued to stray. And when he and the proprietress suddenly left her alone, she realized she had no idea what time they had agreed upon for the meal.

  No matter. Whatever time they had set, she would be ready. She had no intention of wasting precious minutes lingering over her toilette.

  The hot bath the inn servants set up for her felt luxurious after the long day of travel, but she splashed through her routine without dallying. She barely dried herself before shrugging into her finest gown, a difficult task without a maid to help. Luckily, the emerald-green velvet gave enough to allow her to reach the buttons running down her back.

  She pinned up her still-damp hair, pinched her cheeks and looked at the door connecting the rooms. Had he said he would summon her? Unable to recall, she scratched at the door herself.

  “Tristan? Whenever you are ready, I am.”

  She heard his approaching footsteps, and the door opened.

  More striking than ever in formal black, he swept his gaze down her body and shook his head. “Your talents are endless, Lila. What other woman could fly through her toilette, without assistance, and manage to look so magnificent?”

  The compliment warmed her more than any she could remember, even the highest praise she had received for academic achievements. Ashamed by such missishness, she looked downward. “You, too, have done quite well without a valet.”

  The words came out sounding smitten, but he seemed not to notice anything untoward. He held out an arm for her to take. “Thank you. Shall we go downstairs? The sooner we get started, the earlier we can retire.”

  La, she thought to herself. Hurrying my toilette is one thing. My time with you is entirely another.

  Contrary to their expectations, the inn did have a modest private dining parlor. The innkeeper’s wife showed them inside to a small table situated before open doors that looked out onto a garden.

  “How lovely,” Lila said, as Tristan drew out a chair for her. “France is so beautiful.”

  The proprietress gave her a warm smile. “I am zo glad she pleases you, madame. May I ask what brings you to our homeland? Your wedding journey, perhaps?”

  She looked down, fixing a napkin on her lap. “What better place is there to visit on one’s wedding journey?”

  “Mais oui,” the woman said. “Zee new love shines bright een your eyes. I wish you both a long and happy life together. Please, monsieur, be seated. Ma fille Natalie brings you zee soup een a moment.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed and took a seat. The table had already been set, replete with a basket of bread and a bottle of claret. He slid the two goblets toward him and lifted the wine. “Wine, ma cherie?”

  She giggled. “Mais oui.”

  While he poured, she took the loaf of bread, warm from the oven, and broke off a chunk. A delectable aroma arose in a wisp of steam, and she felt a gnaw of hunger. All day they had skimped on their meals in an effort to make good time. She pooled all her willpower to resist stuffing the entire chunk in her mouth, instead placing it on Tristan’s plate. Before she broke off her own piece, he handed her a goblet and raised his.

  “Untried territories again?” he asked, grinning. He seemed relaxed tonight, clearly happy that they had nearly reached their destination...unlike she.

  “We have already done that one,” she said.

  “I beg to differ, cherie. There are certainly territories we have not yet tried.”

  He had such a sly look about him that she almost suspected he didn’t refer to land at all. But she must have projected her own wanton thoughts on him. Flustered, she grappled for a different toast to propose.

  The kitchen doors swung open, and a youthful version of the proprietress bustled into the room carrying a tray. “Ah, you toast your love. How sweet. Maman told me you are on your wedding journey. Do not mind me, but drink up. You must drink to your love.”

  Lila looked at Tristan, who grinned and lifted his glass higher. She, however, felt hesitant. She never liked to lie, and love, especially, was a sacred matter, not to be defiled. Perhaps if she thought of the toast as one to platonic love, she could drink in good faith. In truth, she did have a very warm feeling toward Tristan. He had been such a help to her. He was really quite remarkable.

  She clinked her glass against his. Their gazes locked. Her line of thought seemed to be working. As she looked into his eyes, the warmth she felt curled tighter inside her and radiated hotter. Love, she thought, sipping her claret, savoring the rich flavor on her starved tastebuds. She still did not feel entirely comf
ortable, no doubt because she did not feel the sort of love the maid had meant, a sort that had no place in her life. She took another, larger gulp of wine, and her stomach rolled, petitioning for solid food.

  The young woman fussed over them for a few more minutes, waiting to make sure they liked the soup and topping off their half-full wine glasses.

  With only claret, soup and bread sustaining her, Lila began to feel dizzy. By the time the salad arrived, drink had eased much of her apprehension. Sometime during her attack on the dressed lamb entree, she slipped into giddiness.

  “So, how does a staunch old Tory like your father end up with a progressive like you for a son?” she asked Tristan as she pushed away her plate.

  He sliced the last of his lamb in two and shrugged. “My father’s sons have each chosen varied paths. The eldest, William, is much like the viscount. John, the second in line, went quite the opposite way, becoming a devoted man of the cloth. I simply turned in yet another direction.”

  “But why such a unique direction? How did you end up empathetic to the plight of oppressed persons?”

  He swallowed the last of his meal and took up his wine, leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes I think it is a selfish thing. I grew up seeing William get everything, on no merit but his birth, and only to accept his privileges with indifference and abuse. I suppose I felt unjustly slighted, so now I empathize with those who truly are.”

  “Very selfish of you.” She smirked at him as the maid cleared their plates. When the girl left again, her wine-addled brain skidded off the central topic to outer parameters. “Do you have sisters as well?”

  “Two. The youngest of the family, Beatrice, is a thoroughly absorbed new mother. Hester, my elder sister, has no children to occupy her and spends her days matchmaking.”

  “Matchmaking!”

  “Yes. As of last autumn, she has orchestrated a match for all of my siblings. Now her sights are turned full upon—” He paused, then looked back into his wine. “Me.”

  She surmised that recalling her condemnation of marriage had made him self-conscious. A sudden curiosity about his views welled up in her, but she hesitated to probe. “That must be... awkward.”

  He gave a short laugh and swirled his drink. “Indeed.”

  His evasion vexed her. She supposed she had wanted him to proclaim that he shared her opinion. But why should he forswear marrying? As a man, not only was he precluded from being subjugated by marriage, he held the power of ensuring he did not subjugate his wife. Mulling this over, she murmured, “You have the choice of making your marriage a fair one.”

  “I would do nothing less.” He met her gaze briefly but broke away to sip his wine. “Of course, I have no intention of indulging Hester and her plans. I am more concerned with establishing my career.”

  But after your career is established? She left the question unspoken, suddenly noticing an unpleasant sensation in her stomach—too much to eat. Or was it a pang of jealousy over the unknown woman who would someday have him?

  The maid came in again, carrying a lavishly iced cake and accompanied by her mother. “Cook has made somezing very special for your dessert.”

  “A village tradition,” the proprietress added, beaming. “Le torte d’amour. Zis brings zee good luck to zee newlyweds.”

  “Oh, dear.” Lila stared at the confection the younger woman placed in the center of the table. She wondered if there were any polite way to decline this second offering to love. “I wish I had saved more room.”

  “You must shift next to each other, very close.” The proprietress’s eyes gleamed with such anticipation that Lila couldn’t bear to spoil her fun or perhaps even insult the woman. She looked at Tristan to see his reaction.

  He gave her a wry smile and rose. “Allow me to rearrange the seating.”

  The Frenchwomen giggled to themselves while he moved his chair around beside Lila’s. As he reseated himself, her stomach began to flutter. What did their hostesses have in mind?

  “Very close,” the elder one said. She nodded as Tristan scooted closer, resting one arm on the back of Lila’s chair. “Oui, bien. Now you both take zee first bite at once.”

  “Is this something like a toast?” Lila asked. Her hand trembled as she scooped up a small amount of dessert. She looked to Tristan and lifted her fork in a toast-like gesture. He followed suit, and they both devoured the luscious dessert, the cake just sweet enough and the icing as fluffy as a cloud.

  “Now you kiss for luck!” the daughter exclaimed, laughing.

  Lila looked at Tristan, whose wide eyes must have mirrored her own. Her heart turned over in her chest.

  “You English are zo aloof,” the proprietress said. “Come now, you must kiss for zee luck to work. On zee lips, mind you.”

  Lila dropped her gaze but immediately looked back up at Tristan. They would have to kiss, would they not? How could they account for refusing? But what if he did not agree? How embarrassing to be rejected by her supposed husband in front of this lighthearted mother and daughter.

  But just when she had begun to worry, he reached out and cupped her chin, lowering his lips to hers. His mouth was warm and tasted like icing, so sweet she wanted to lick his lips. In an instant, he gave her mouth up again, leaving her longing for more than the teasing nibble he had allotted her.

  The Frenchwomen laughed and clapped.

  “We will leave you to eat zee rest in private,” the proprietress said, “but mind that you kiss after each bite. You must do it for zee luck.”

  The two women exited, giggling, leaving Lila and Tristan to stare at the cake. It looked as delicious as it tasted. She wanted more—but only with Tristan’s kisses.

  He cleared his throat. “Of course, we aren’t... superstitious. Are we?”

  She wondered where his question was leading but could not bear to meet his gaze. “Not normally, but—” She stopped, afraid anything further would sound like a request for more kisses. Sound like? La, it would have been.

  Still not looking at his face, she watched as he reached his fork toward the cake. He was going to eat more. Without kissing her? So, that was why he had asked her about superstition. She felt hot again, this time with humiliation.

  He dug out a forkful of cake and pointed it toward her. “A little more?”

  Startled, she looked into his face. A tiny grin tugged at his lips, from which she forced herself to look away. Now she did not know what to think. She moistened her own lips. “That is far too much.”

  “Take only what you want.” He held out the cake to feed her.

  She sucked in her breath and looked at him. His expression had become oddly sober, but he nodded his encouragement. She leaned forward and took only a nibble, licking the icing on her lips. Without looking away from her eyes, he ate the remainder. Then he bent and took her mouth again.

  His lips were sweet and warm, and she reached one arm around his neck, so he would not back away like before. She kissed him hard, too, and heard his fork clatter on the floor. Then his arms encircled her, strong and warm, and he deepened the kiss, coaxing her to part her lips and teasing her with his tongue. Mind and body reeling, she followed his lead, awed by the dizziness and heat spiraling in her body.

  The sound of a faint giggle from the kitchen registered vaguely in her ears. Tristan pulled back.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered. He loosened his arms from around her body and slid away from her.

  She cast her gaze downward and was surprised to see her chest heaving. Noticing her napkin on the floor, she bent to retrieve it while a thick silence filled the room. The tension built while she folded the cloth with ridiculous precision and repositioned it on the table.

  Finally, he murmured, “Lila, I think we had best retire. We have had too much wine.”

  And too much dessert, she thought. “Yes.”

  They left the room without waiting for the maid and proprietress. As they passed the kitchen, another smothered giggle drifted out through the doors.

&nb
sp; Lila avoided looking toward the origin of the laughter or toward Tristan.

  Upstairs, they both entered her chamber, and he closed the door behind them. The sight of the bed gave her a start. She quickly turned away, fixing her attention on repinning a strand of loose hair, but she remained highly aware of exactly what room they occupied.

  “I am going to my chamber directly,” he said, still by the door. “I shall only pause to apologize.”

  “There is no need.”

  “Lila, this was no minor indiscretion—”

  “And I shared in it, so I apologize as well.” She turned to face a looking glass on the wall, sorry she had when she saw her flushed cheeks and wild eyes.

  Behind her, he did not move. “I only wish I knew how to begin to make amends. How can such an encroachment be redressed? Under normal circumstance, an offer of marriage would be in order—”

  “You know that in my case that does not apply,” she said, staring at her reflection.

  “Yes.” She heard the floor creak, signaling that he had taken a step closer. “Please know that I meant you no lack of respect. On the contrary, I respect you very much.”

  She smiled slightly to herself, the mirror reflecting a cynical crookedness in her expression. Swallowing, she turned around to face him. “And I you. Perhaps tomorrow we had both better work harder at showing it.”

  “I assure you I will.” He let out a ragged sigh but continued to look uneasy, shifting from one foot to the other. “Well, then, I suppose there is nothing for it but to say goodnight.”

  Goodnight was the last thing she wanted to say, but what alternative did she have? She could hardly ask him to remain longer in her bedchamber. “Goodnight.”

  He walked to the door connecting their rooms and opened it. Without looking to her again, he started through to his chamber.

  “Tristan?”

  He stopped and turned around.

  She bit her lip, not sure what she intended to say, anything to cut through this awful tension. “Look, we have made a mull of this tonight, but we have only one day left together. It would be a pity to pass it in awkwardness. Let us try to put this incident out of our minds.”