Tristan hid a smile at Carys’s irreverent commentary. He’d always enjoyed her slightly off-kilter sense of humor. The way she looked at the world was so different from the way he looked at it that talking to her was like putting on a pair of someone else’s glasses: He saw things in an entirely new way.
Of course, it also often left him dizzy.
He’d expected to find her dressed in her usual finery, like the reigning queen of fashion that she was, but this simple day dress was even more alluring. This was the Carys few were ever permitted to see, the real one he recalled from his childhood, unfettered and carefree.
The Carys she’d been before Howe had forced her to put up her guard.
The coppery red of her hair glowed like a vein of rose gold in the early morning sun, and the pale cotton of her dress outlined the glorious curves of her figure without the distraction of bows and frills.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded.
Her irritated tone made him smile. “I was just thinking how nice it is to see you let your hair down. Both literally and metaphorically.”
A charming blush warmed her cheeks. “Yes, well, don’t get used to it. As soon as I’m done here I’m going back to the house to get changed. I’m not exactly suited to the virginal white of a debutante, now am I?”
Her light tone was meant to be cynical and self-mocking, but his chest tightened at the thread of pain he sensed behind the words. She was all bravado, this girl, like a pale-faced new recruit getting his first glimpse of battle: grim with the knowledge that he had to go through with it, sick to the stomach at the thought.
He knew just how to shake her out of her misery. He let out a dismissive snort.
“You’re only one bad experience away from being a virgin. You barely qualify to wear pale pink, let alone scarlet. You, Carys Davies, are a fraud.”
Her mouth dropped open, as he’d known it would at the perceived insult, and he choked back a laugh. Outraged Carys was much better than miserable Carys.
“Being a virgin is a finite thing,” she bit out. “You either are or you aren’t. There’s no gray area.”
“True.” He kept his tone to just the right level of amused and condescending guaranteed to drive her mad. “But sexual experience is a sliding scale. A marathon, as opposed to a sprint. You’ve barely stumbled across the starting line.”
Her cheeks flushed a delicious pink and her knuckles tightened on the handle of her bucket. He wondered idly if she was about to hit him with it. He got ready to duck.
“What point are you making, exactly, Montgomery?” she growled.
“For someone who’s ruined, you’ve done a terrible job of it. Most women who suffer the consequences of losing their maidenhood have at least received some degree of pleasure for their trouble. You haven’t even had that.”
She lifted her brows, clearly irritated by his flippancy. “Well, there’s not much I can do about that, is there?”
“Of course there is.” He scoffed, as if she were a complete simpleton. “You can get more experience. With someone who won’t hurt you. Someone who can show you a good time.”
She choked out a laugh. “Of course. How logical. And where, exactly, am I going to find this paragon? A man who’ll neither expect marriage, nor threaten to expose me?” Her tone was pure scorn. “Perhaps I should engage the services of a professional? Some kind of male tart?”
Tristan shrugged. He had no idea where this conversation was going, only that goading Carys was as natural, as essential, as breathing.
“I won’t deny your options are limited. Especially here in Wales. But you really shouldn’t make sweeping statements like you’ll be happy with a celibate marriage when you aren’t in full possession of the facts.” He shot her another condescending look. “I know I prefer to make my decisions by having all the relevant information to hand, not just one small piece of the picture.”
Carys lowered the bucket to the ground and placed her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed, and his pulse kicked up as if he’d just faced a French cavalry charge. He couldn’t wait to see how she’d react.
“All right, Montgomery. If you’re such an expert, why don’t you provide me with ‘all the relevant information’?”
His breath caught as his brain tried to make sense of what she’d just said. “Wait. What?”
Her russet brows lifted in challenge and her green eyes shot sparks hot enough to melt iron. “You’re the one making sweeping statements like ‘you don’t need to like someone to have a satisfactory sexual encounter.’ You think you’re better than Howe? Well, then. Prove it.”
Carys’s heart felt as if it might batter its way out of her ribs.
Good God. Had she really just challenged Tristan Montgomery to make love to her?
Why, oh why had she allowed him to needle her into saying something so outrageous?
Except, now that the idea had materialized, it felt inexplicably … right. Tristan had—unexpectedly—provided her with the perfect opportunity to voice the fantasy that had been lurking at the back of her mind ever since they’d spoken in the carriage. A fantasy that had become ever more insistent since their opera kiss.
Her cheeks were flaming, but the only way to master this situation was to brazen it out. To pretend she knew exactly what she was doing. To be as cool and logical as Tristan himself.
“Can you deny you enjoyed our kiss at the opera?” she heard herself say. “Be honest.”
He met her gaze and her heart gave a funny little flip. “No. I don’t deny it.”
A tiny relieved breath escaped her at his admission, but she managed to nod, as if this were just a normal conversation about which fabric to use for a dress, or which dessert to serve for dinner. As if her chest weren’t as tight as a drum.
“I don’t deny it either,” she conceded. “Which just goes to show that there might actually be some truth behind your idea that enemies can be … passionate. Together.”
He inclined his head, but said nothing, so she forged on.
“I’ve come to realize that I owe it to myself to see if my experience with Howe was an anomaly.”
His expression sharpened in interest. “Go on.”
She rushed on before she could lose her nerve. What did she have to lose? She was already more embarrassed than she’d ever been in her life. If he turned her down it could hardly get more acute.
“I would like to make an informed decision. I need to know if making love with another man is as unpleasant as it was with Howe. If it is, then I can marry Ellington without any qualms about what I’ll be missing.” She took a deep breath. “And if I do find it more enjoyable, then I’ll know to find a lover who can please me. Whether I marry Ellington or not.”
“That sounds very logical,” Tristan said evenly, and she couldn’t tell if he was mocking her.
Be bold. Be brave.
“I assume you don’t have a mistress at present?” she pressed.
“I do not.”
“I also assume, from our kiss at the opera, that even though you disapprove of me, you desire me. Physically.”
Her heart raced as his eyes bored into hers. “I do.”
Her stomach somersaulted, but she cleared her throat and tried to sound cool and businesslike, as if she negotiated such intimate contracts all the time. “In that case … I would like you to be my tutor.”
He flicked a nonexistent bit of fluff from his shirt cuff. “Explain.”
“I can see how I might need some … rehabilitation,” she said, careful to inject a note of defiance, and not self-pity, into her tone. “Like Buttercup, my bear. He needed to be taught that not all men are the same. That some touches can bring pleasure, not pain.”
“And you think I’m the man for the job?”
“Why not? You seem ridiculously confident in your own abilities.” She feigned a cool she most assuredly didn’t possess. “I gave myself to a man I thought I was in love with, and it was a disaster. Perhaps making love with someone I’m definitely not in love with will be better?” She managed a wry smile. “We might be enemies, but in an odd way, an enemy can be trusted more than a friend. A friend can turn on you, let you down. An enemy is predictable. You already know their position, so you can’t be taken by surprise.”
He nodded, as if she was making perfect sense.
“I know your position,” she continued. “You aren’t in love with me. You don’t want to marry me. You won’t make empty promises or shower me with compliments just to get me into bed.”
The corner of his lips quirked in that way that made her belly flutter. “True enough.”
“Well, then. Why can’t we be enemies with … benefits?”
He opened his mouth, but she threw down one final card before he could answer. “It will only be for this week, while we’re here in Wales. No one else will know. When the party ends we’ll go our separate ways. What do you say?”