Kristine bit down on her lower lip; then, summoning her courage, she asked, “Do we have to? Go back, I mean.” She spread her hands in a gesture that encompassed the surrounding countryside. “It’s so pretty out here. And I do like riding. It’s quite . . . exciting.”
“You want to ride with me?” he exclaimed, disbelief evident in his voice, in the taut lines of his body.
“Yes, my lord, very much.”
“Have you ever ridden before today?”
She shook her head, wondering if such an admission was wise. Would he make her go back, now that he knew she was a novice?
“I shall have Brandt give you lessons.”
Taking up Misty’s reins, he led the mare to Kristine. “Are you certain you wish to ride with me?”
She nodded, feeling a rush of excitement as Erik’s hands closed around her waist. He lifted her effortlessly into the saddle, handed her the reins, then swung onto the stallion’s back and clucked to the horse.
Kristine urged Misty up beside him. They rode side by side, not speaking.
In spite of her earlier remark about the beauty of her surroundings, Kristine paid little heed to the passing countryside. The trees might have been blue, the sky green, for all the notice she took. All her senses were riveted on the man riding beside her. The tall, dark mysterious man who was her husband. Erik . . .
She watched him furtively. He rode easily in the saddle, the reins loosely held in his right hand. His left hand, curled into a tight fist, rested on his thigh. Her gaze moved over his broad back and shoulders. He was as well muscled as the big horse he rode. Her gaze lingered on the blue-black highlights in his hair, was drawn again and again to the mask that covered his face. What was he hiding beneath that bit of black silk?
Trevayne was acutely aware of her veiled glances in his direction. He understood her curiosity. What he didn’t understand was why she wanted to ride with him. He had given her no reason to desire his company.
The silence stretched between them, thrumming like a tuning fork. Kristine glanced at his gloved hands, remembering how they felt moving over her body, wondering again if his left hand was deformed in some way. He shifted in the saddle and she watched the play of muscles beneath his coat, felt her mouth go dry as he turned to face her.
Desperate to break the taut silence between them, she cast about for some safe topic of conversation. “All this land,” she said, making a sweeping gesture with one hand. “Is it yours?”
He nodded curtly. “And yours, too, madam.”
She felt a rush of heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks as he reminded her, in his rough, gravel-like voice, that she was also his. She wondered if he had been injured somehow, if that was what caused his voice to be so harsh.
“Where does your . . . our . . . land end?”
“At the stream, just beyond that rise. The property across the water belongs to Lord Farthingale.”
Kristine nodded, though she had no idea who Lord Farthingale might be.
She looked at Erik, her gaze again drawn to the mask. She saw his eyes narrow, his muscles tense, as he endured her scrutiny.
Muttering an oath, he reined the stallion to a halt.
Unwilling to pass the stallion, Misty planted her feet. With a startled cry, Kristine grabbed at the saddle to keep from flying over the mare’s neck.
“Why did you come after me?” Erik rasped.
“My lord?”
“Answer me, damn you. Why were you following me?”
She flinched at the bitterness in his voice, the quiet rage in his eyes.
“Answer me!”
“Because I . . . I thought that we should spend some time together.”
“Did you?”
His voice, that low, gruff voice, struck her like shards of glass. She nodded, her hands clenching and unclenching on the reins.
“Did it not occur to you that I might wish to be alone?”
“Do you?”
Two words. Small words. Simple words. They drew the anger from him as effectively as a poultice drew poison from a wound. Of course he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted his old life back. He wanted to be able to go riding along the public roads again, to while away the hours gambling with his former cronies, to dine with old friends, to dance with a pretty woman who would smile at him instead of turning away in horror. Alone? He was utterly weary of being alone, of life.
She was watching him, silent, curious, perhaps even afraid. Well, she should be afraid. Soon he would be more monster than man. He stared into her eyes, those luminous emerald-green eyes that haunted his sleep, and wished he could sweep her into his arms and bury himself in her warmth, here, now, with the sun shining upon them like a benediction. Wished he could strip away his mask and clothing and feel the honeyed warmth of her silken skin against his. . ..
Bitterness rose up within him anew as he considered all that was forever denied him, and with it an overpowering sense of despair.
“Go back to the house, Kristine,” he said wearily.
“My lord?”
“Do as I say.”
She lacked the courage to argue with him. He watched her tug on Misty’s reins. The mare did not want to leave the company of the stallion, but Kristine finally managed to turn the horse around. His wife sent one last glance in his direction, her eyes filled with hurt and disappointment, and then, with a toss of her head, she left him there, staring after her, foolishly wishing for things that could never be.
That night, Kristine bent over her diary, fighting the urge to cry as she wrote.
He doesn’t want me, and he never will. I know that now. He doesn’t want warmth or affection. He doesn’t want someone to share his life or his dreams. Why, then, did he marry me? What did he hope to gain?
“A son,” she muttered bitterly. “That’s all he wants from you.”
Fighting the childish urge to throw herself on the bed and pound the pillow with her fists, she took a deep breath, then dipped her quill in the inkwell.
I asked Mrs. Grainger why he wears a mask, but she shook her head and refused to answer me. One way or another, I shall uncover the secrets of this house, and those of the man who is its master.
I have nothing else to do with my time. . ..
Chapter Five
Kristine rose early the next morning. Dressing quickly, she went to the window and peered out into the gray dawn. As soon as she saw Erik striding toward the barn, she went to the door that separated her room from his. It was locked. Frowning, she stood there a moment, then left her room. She tiptoed the short distance to his chamber, then paused, her hand on the latch.