As they stepped from the auberge, a gust of cold evening wind whipped through Kate’s thin pelisse and chilled her to the bone.
“How selfish of me. If not precisely selfish, then inconsiderate and thoughtless. Perhaps it’s too chilly for a stroll.”
She stuck her face into the wind. “On the contrary, it’s a beautiful evening for a walk. I have always maintained that it’s quite ridiculous to curb one’s activities when the weather isn’t exactly what one would wish. There is but a small nip in the air.”
She drew her pelisse closely about her and strode ahead of him like an Amazon going into battle.
He grinned at her back. He hoped she wouldn’t catch a chill.
She soon found that she had to suffer another inconvenience. The uneven cobblestones cut into her feet through the soft kid shoes, and she was forced to stop for a moment to pick out an errant pebble that had worked its way to the sole of her foot.
He stopped beside her, but appeared quite unconcerned with her difficulty, seemingly engrossed in his contemplation of Lake Geneva. She threw the pebble at him instead, but missed.
By the time they reached the water’s edge, her teeth were chattering.
“Look over there, Kate.” He tugged at her sleeve and pointed her toward the mountains on the other side of the lake.
“That is Mont Blanc— White Mountain. Out of the ordinary, isn’t it?”
“Only the top of it is white. The name isn’t right. It’s obvious the Swiss have no imagination.” She would have most willingly traded the view of that awesome snowcapped peak for a pair of stout walking shoes and a warm cloak.
He turned to her in some surprise. “Why, I was under the impression that the racket of towns didn’t find favor with you, that you much preferred the openness and solitude of nature.”
“That is perfectly true. But as you see, I am to be denied solitude.”
He smiled as fervently at her as a priest bent upon saving a soul. “My dearest wife, since you and I have entered the blessed state of matrimony, we must be considered as one in spirit and in all things.”
“It must be obvious to you, Julien, that these considerations of marriage don’t apply to us. I do wish you’d stop beggaring the question.”
“I’m beggaring nothing. These, ah, considerations will apply, you’ll see. Do you grow impatient?”
“The only thing I’m impatient for is my dinner. I only hope the damned Swiss know how to cook proper English fare.”
He didn’t answer her, just leaned down and sought out a smooth pebble. Having selected a stone of the quality he desired, he flicked his wrist and sent the pebble jumping and careening wildly over the placid water. Seemingly satisfied with the number of skips he achieved, he turned to her, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Impatient only for your dinner, my dear? I can and I will give you much greater pleasure than a simple meal.”
21
Thank God they were in the open, in a very public place. If she’d been alone with him, she knew, just knew deep down, that she’d have felt unreasoning fear at his words. As it was, all she felt was wonderful anger. “Don’t you dare taunt me with your man’s threats, my lord.”
“Man’s threats? I don’t recall having threatened you, leastwise in the past few minutes. When you come to know me better, you’ll discover that I don’t make threats. I make but statements of fact.”
“They are one and the same thing coming from you, Julien. I’ve told you that I don’t like you. I can’t believe you so unintelligent as to have so quickly forgotten my words.”
She’d hoped to provoke him, to put at least a small dent in his armor, but she hadn’t. He gazed at her impassively, a gleam of amusement lighting his eyes, and she saw that gleam and was sorely tried by it.
He was finding himself hard to maintain the calm amusement she found so annoying. He’d failed miserably with his carefully thought-out speech to her in the carriage the morning after their marriage, had succeeded only in providing her with more ammunition for her skirmishes against him. He wondered, somewhat pensively, what the devil he was going to do now.
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