Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Pardon me, young lady, but may you be Miss Ophelia Wexley?”
With her back turned to the deep voice of the stranger behind her, Ophelia rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to cower.
Here we go. This is what we came here for. She plastered on a smile as her friends all gave her encouraging looks
“Why, yes,” Ophelia replied, turning around, “I am- oh my.”
Ophelia eyes widened as she stared up at the tall, lean, handsome gentleman standing before her.
He was older, perhaps by ten years or so, but the faint lines on his face did nothing but improve his handsome features.
His full head of pristine white hair was styled and parted to the side, and blended perfectly into a well-trimmed white beard and goatee.
His pearlescent smile was warm and infectious, and his dark brown eyes were completely riveted on her.
“How do you do, Miss Wexley?” The handsome stranger asked with a polite tone. “Might I introduce myself?”
Ophelia shook herself out of her stunned silence. She knew she was going to have to interact with eligible men than evening but she had not imagined one so handsome would walk right up to her so quickly after arriving.
“Oh, yes, of course, my lord,” she replied.
The man’s smile grew with pleasure, and he gave the most polite and natural bow she had ever seen.
“My name is Abraham Blackwood, Viscount Weavington, and it is an honor to make your make your acquaintance,” he stated with enthusiasm.
Ophelia heard her friends giggle behind her as one of them nudged her back. Clearly they were impressed with Lord Weavington. She had been too, at first, but his over emphatic politeness made her suspicious of a jape.
“It is nice to meet you, Lord Weavington,” she replied courteously, “However I must ask, why is it such an honor to meet me?”
“Ophelia!” Rose whispered harshly from behind her. Her pointed question earned her another jab to her back from one of her friends, but Lord Weavington seemed unbothered by her bluntness. In fact his handsome smile grew at the question.
“I have seen your paintings in the gallery,” he explained with a warm tone.
“You see I am recently back in London from an extended stay in the Americas. Their culture, I am afraid, is not as refined as ours, so I took myself to the gallery the moment I had the time. It was your work that I was drawn to the most.”
Ophelia felt her suspicions wane as she heard the sincere enthusiasm in Lord Weavington’s voice, and she relaxed as her own little smile formed naturally.
“I am honored that you like them so much,” she replied with a slight bow of her head, “Though I must admit that my work in the gallery is not the best representation of my skills.”
“Oh?” Lord Weavington asked, appearing genuinely curious. “Why do you believe so?”
He took a respectful step forward- not too close and not too far, and waited for her answer. Unlike the other gentleman who were overly zealous in the past, he made no move to reach for her hand, and she was relieved. She’d always felt uncomfortable when a man she did not know kissed her hand.
“Well it is quite pedestrian,” she explained, finding herself growing more comfortable with him by the moment, “You see the gallery has certain requirements for the pieces they accept. Nothing too bright or eccentric, you know.”
“And you?” He asked, raising an perfect white brow in amusement, “You prefer to be bright and eccentric?”
Ophelia’s smile widened.
“Perhaps at times,” she admitted.
His chuckle was just as infectious as his smile and she could not help but giggle along with him.
“Well, pedestrian or not, I very much enjoy your work,” he replied, “And at the risk of sounding too bold, I would find it a privilege to see more of it at some time.”
“Forward,” Ophelia chirped with a cheeky grin, “But perhaps possible.”
Another deep chuckled rolled effortlessly from Lord Wexington’s throat, and he bowed his head.
“At your leisure, only, Miss Wexley” he remarked, then leaned in closer added, “Might I say, I find your nature extremely refreshing.”
“Do you?” Ophelia mused.
“Oh indeed,” he replied, “I only just arrived in town last week and I have already been bored to tears twice by these young ladies flittering about.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Ophelia teased, and she beamed when Lord Lexington let out a loud, laugh.
“Thank heavens you chose to take pity on me, Miss Wexley,” he answered playfully.
She was about to respond with equal wit when his dark brown eyes shifted to someone behind her. His expression shifted so subtly that most would have never noticed, and he straightened his back and took a step back from her.
“I am afraid I must depart from our lovely conversation,” he said with a tone of regret, “Thank you, Miss Wexley, for your name and your wit. It was most refreshing. I hope we speak again.”
Ophelia was surprised at the intensity of her disappointment as he said so, but she kept her smile in place and curtseyed politely as he gave her a final bow. The moment he was gone, she was whirled around by one of her friends, and was met by eight grins and one deadpan expression.
“Good heaven above, what a ghastly sight,” Ophelia muttered as she took in the eager looks from her friends and their husbands. Tristan’s expression was the only one that didn’t bother her, in fact it nearly made her chuckle.
“That appeared to go quite well,” Theo said enthusiastically.
“Extremely well,” Seraphina added.
“It was a two-minute conversation!” Ophelia exclaimed with a laugh.
“Yes but he understood your humor,” Rose pointed out.
“And he is clearly appreciative of your talent,” Amelia added.
Ophelia rolled her eyes.
“What hangs in the gallery is not a clear representation of my talent. It is simple regurgitation of an image,” she replied. “There is nothing real behind it.”
“Looks as if there might be some thing real about Lord Lexington’s interest in you, though,” Everett chimed in with a wink.
Ophelia felt the urge to close her eye and groan. If this was how her friends were going to be the entire night she would not make it.
“Be still, you vultures,” she half-teased, half-warned, then made a shooing motion. “Go, enjoy the party.”
“But what about you?” Theo asked.
“What about me?” Ophelia asked in return, “My mission for this evening is over.”
“Oh it certainly is not,” Rose said a with a laugh. “You are off to a great start, my darling, but you are nowhere near finished. You need to find other prospects. Perhaps even have a dance or two.”
Ophelia blanched at the thought.
“Is that truly necessary?” She asked.
“Of course it is!” Rose insisted, “You must show our counterparts that you are open to taking suitors.”
“Oh, I have an idea,” Seraphina said, putting her hand on Tristan’s arm.
His head swiveled to her in alarm, his expression almost making Ophelia laugh.
“Tristan will have a dance with you,” she said.
“Yes!” Theo agreed quickly,.
“I will?” he asked.
“It will do you both good,” Theo went on, nudging her brother toward Ophelia, “It will show the ladies that Tristan is still available and it will show the gentleman that Ophelia is open to accepting invitations to dance.”
Ophelia glanced up at Tristan again, her amusement gone as she remembered how her body body reacted the last time he had touched her.
“Tristan is a lovely dancer. Our dance worked wonderfully for me when I was still on the marriage market,” Seraphina said.
“Now,” Hugo interjected, giving his wife a feigned look of hurt, “I seem to remember that Tristan got you to the dance floor so that I could take over, not some random gentleman.”
Seraphina gave her husband an affectionate smile as she reached out with her other hand and patted his chest.
“Of course you are right, my love,” she agreed.
“Still, you should still dance together,” Theo urged. “Surely you can put your hatred for one another aside for one dance?”
Sparks traveled up Ophelia’s arm as she slipped her hand into Tristan’s; just as they had any other time they had touched in the last two weeks.
“I cannot dance,” she whispered as they took their places on the dance floor, “I mean, I know the steps, but I am horrible at them.”
Tristan kept his gaze above her head as he positioned her correctly in front of him, as if he was purposely trying not look at her.
“It is all right,” he murmured back, sliding his warm, large hand to her the middle of her back, “I will lead you. All you have to do is follow.”
Normally Ophelia would have a quippy retort about any man being able to lead her, but at that moment, she felt nothing but gratitude.
“Try to relax,” he murmured, his gaze finally shifting down to hers. Something twinkled in his otherwise hard gaze, and Ophelia felt her body obey his suggestion. She drew in a breath, and as the music started, she allowed Tristan to lead her into the steps.
She found herself surprised at how easily Tristan seemed to guide her, and within moments, she her and anxiety and stiff stature faded into a graceful movement.
“So,” she sighed, “You are on the marriage mart now too.”
The left side of Tristan’s lips lifted toward a cheerless smile.
“So it would seem,” he agreed, “Much to my sister’s insistence.”
“Since when have you allowed Theo to push you around?” Ophelia said with a light laugh.
The little smile in the corner of Tristan’s mouth grew genuine, and this time when he looked down at her, it was not quick glance.
“It is just a ruse for the night. To keep her happy,” he replied.
Ophelia felt a bout of unexpected relief.
“So you are not marrying?” She asked as he twirled her around.
“Oh, I will,” he replied in earnest, “When I am ready. It was always part of my plan. I was surprised to hear your plans had changed, though. The steadfast spinster taking on a husband. Is the apocalypse upon us?”
Ophelia let a dry laugh as they moved with one another.
“It certainly feels like it,” she muttered.
Tristan’s brows tensed.
“So this is not something you want?” He asked.
“Sadly not,” she sighed, smoothing her thumb his jacketed broad shoulder, “However it is required.”
She brushed her thumb over his shoulder again, finding comfort in the way it felt for some reason.
“I am sorry,” Tristan murmured softly.
She rolled her eyes up toward his with a smirk.
“No you are not.”
“No, I truly am,” he replied quickly, his eyes shining with genuine sympathy. “I understand better now just how much your freedom means to you.”
Ophelia did not laugh this time as she looked away from Tristan’s sympathetic gaze.
“Yes, well, I only wish I would have taken more liberties with it,” she murmured.
“What liberties would those be?” Tristan asked.
Ophelia felt her cheeks grow hot at his question and did not answer.
“Speaking of liberties,” Tristan went on after a moment, “I must apologize for the ones I have taken with you. That kiss. The way I grabbed your throat the other night. My behavior toward you as of late has been most uncalled for and I have no proper defense.”
Ophelia smirked, feeling herself relax more into his leading embrace.
“Honestly there is no need,” she replied, “I told you I had no care for propriety at the time. And now I’m almost thankful of those moments. They are most likely my last acts of true rebellion before I am to be married off.”
A tremor of excitement p traveled from Ophelia’s head all the way down to her toes as she watched Tristan’s eyes darken with pleasure.
“You enjoyed them?” He asked, his already deep voice dropping lower.
Heat blasted through Ophelia’s cheeks as she felt unable to look away from the sudden intensity of Tristan’s gaze.
“I am discovering that I am enjoying many things since I have come into your employ,” she confessed.
She gasped softly as Tristan’s hands tightened on her, his touch making her dizzy and warm.
“Would you like to discover more, Ophelia?” He asked, dipping his head closer as pulled her into the next dance step.
Ophelia suddenly struggled for her breath as Tristan kept his deep blue eyes locked on hers; kept his body so very close.
“What are you talking about?” She breathed.
He twirled her around, taking both her hands as his warm breath fanned over her neck and ear and began to lead her into the next step.
“Would you like to step into my world?” He whispered, “Explore your true limits and lack of propriety while you still have time?”
“I,” she breathed, struggling to capture her thoughts. “I would not know where to begin.”
Her heart jumped as she felt the tip of Tristan’s nose skim the tip of ear, heard the soft chuckle in his throat.
“I can help you with that,” he whispered, “If you wish.”
“Why would you do that?” She asked. “You hate me.”
“I never hated you, Ophelia,” he whispered into her ear. “You just drive me madder than most.”
Ophelia’s body reacted to his words as if it were the greatest of compliments.
She slowly forced her gaze from their joined hands to they ballroom around them.
They were surrounded by mostly bored, unhappy couples on the dance floor.
They weren’t looking at one another, were not whispering as she and Tristan were.
Their stares were vacant and faces were set in dull expressions.
They looked…miserable. One day soon, she would be just as miserable as they were.
She twirled in Tristan’s arms of her own accord, not caring if it was the proper step or not.
“Very well then. I wish,” she whispered, giving him an imploring look.
The music stopped then, and polite applause rose from their peers. His hand still holding hers, Tristan took a step back, and bowed.
“I will send for you in two days,” he murmured, “be ready.”
As he placed a kiss on her hand, Ophelia waited for the usual sense of revulsion she felt when a man did so. None came, and instead, her lower belly began to pulse the same way it had when he’d kissed her lips.