Chapter 19 #2
He said nothing, merely closed his eyes, as agreed. Tearing her gaze from his face, Madeline turned her back and faced the mirror. This way, she could see his face over her shoulder and would know if he peeked.
She let the drying sheet fall. Her own body did not interest her very much—she’d seen it often, after all—but she kept her gaze on Tristan’s face. A furrow appeared between his brows. He did not open his eyes, though.
She slipped first one arm, then the other, into the robe.
It was made of heavy silk, smooth against her bare skin.
Tristan let go of the material, allowing her to pull it around herself.
There was a sash that could be pulled around the middle to tie it closed.
She did so and realized that her hands were shaking.
“There you are,” she said aloud, her voice catching just a little. “I am decent. You may look now if you like.”
“Decent,” Tristan murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath. “I haven’t had a decent thought about you for quite some time now.”
He opened his eyes slowly, his gaze finding hers straight away through the mirror. Madeline swallowed thickly. She ought to step away or look away at the very least. Instead, she stood where she was, staring, mesmerized.
He took a step forward. Already, he was standing close to her, and that step led to his chest pressing warmly against her back. Madeline’s breath seemed to get caught up between her lungs and her lips, leading to a sensation of almost-panicked breathlessness.
“You don’t look at yourself often,” he observed. “You seemed almost surprised to see yourself in the mirror at the dressmaker’s. Do you perhaps not know how beautiful you are? Could that be possible?”
A flush rose to her cheeks. “I don’t know what you are saying.”
“Oh, but I think you do.”
One of his hands placed itself gently on the side of her waist, just before her hip began to curve up under the robe. His hand was warm; she could feel it through the thin material.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Now, to be clear, I am talking here of physical beauty, not the inner kind. You already have bucketfuls of the inner stuff, of which I think your delightful friends have made you well aware. Friends, however, often forget to tell their companions that they are pretty, in my experience. I think perhaps you are not used to men looking at you with lust in their hearts, my dear duchess.”
“I…” Madeline managed, and once again her voice seemed to get lost before the words made their way out of her mouth.
Tristan rested his chin on her shoulder. He kissed the side of her neck almost thoughtfully, and she felt a quick, warm taste from his tongue.
She could not look away from his eyes in the mirror.
Holding her gaze, he applied his lips to her throat again, this time where her neck met her shoulders.
There was a quick, sharp pinprick, the feeling of teeth just grazing skin, and that sent a red-shot ripple of desire through her that frightened her just as much as it aroused her.
Ladies weren’t supposed to feel this way.
She felt pretty sure that respectable ladies were not even this eager with their own husbands.
His hand slid sideways, cupping her hip. The warmth was reassuring, and Madeline found that her hand dropped to rest over his. He had large hands, and she spread hers out experimentally on top to judge their differences.
His other hand landed on her waist, moving up over her ribcage. It tickled, and Madeline bit back a smile. Heat bloomed in her chest, moving downwards. The pulse between her legs was back again and only increased as his hands continued to move.
When his knuckles brushed the underside of her breast, Madeline bit back a sudden gasp of surprise. Sensation seemed to follow the trail of his hand. She was transfixed, staring at herself in the mirror. She watched as his hand moved higher still, the tip of one finger stroking over her breast.
He circled her nipple, and heat seemed to convulse right there. A tingle of something almost like pleasure but not quite shivered through her stomach. He cupped her breast with his hand, almost experimentally, warmth suffusing it, and applied a tiny amount of pressure.
She felt pleasure pulse between her legs.
Her nipple peaked under his touch, easily appearing through the thin fabric.
Tristan chuckled low in his throat and slid his finger over her nipple once more, tapping gently.
He took the peak between his finger and thumb in the gentlest pinch, and Madeline’s breath caught in her throat.
She was not entirely sure why such a touch should feel so wonderful, but the plain fact was that it did. The pleasure increased, and she found herself dizzily wondering what it would feel like to have his mouth on her breast, hot and wet and breathtakingly thrilling.
“I believe you are enjoying this, my dear,” he murmured, breath warm against the side of her neck. He placed his whole hand over her breast again and squeezed once more. Madeline found that she could not have spoken a word, even if her life had depended upon it.
His other hand, the one under hers, slid to the front of her stomach, where a loose knot tied her robe closed.
He was going to undo that knot, Madeline realized. He would undo the knot, and her robe would swing open, and then she would be entirely exposed, utterly naked. And that would be that. There would be no resisting.
She would not want to resist, and therein lay the danger. He moved to kiss her neck again, his lips sliding upwards, and a moment later, it would be too late.
Madeline stumbled forward, out of his grasp, nearly slipping on the damp floor. She just had the chance to see surprise and perhaps even hurt cross Tristan’s face before the expression was gone.
“We are going to cause confusion,” she managed, swallowing thickly. Her throat was dry, and the feeling of arousal still pulsed through her. She squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to calm the sensation. It did not work. In fact, it made it worse.
“Careful, wife,” Tristan murmured, his voice low. “I almost think that you are challenging me.”
He took a step forward, and Madeline backed away, knocking into the bathtub.
“I… I just want us to be true to our word,” she stammered. “It’s only fair.”
“Only fair? Feeling the way I do and having you so close, but not quite mine, is hardly fair, my darling duchess.”
He lifted a hand, fingertips ghosting along the point of her chin. Madeline stared up at him, unable to shake the image of herself standing up on her tiptoes and kissing him deeply. She already knew how his lips would taste, how soft they were.
“Why don’t you want to be mine?” Tristan whispered, a line appearing between his brows.
“I am already yours,” she managed. “I am your wife. Your duchess.”
He rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. Now, Madeline, I know that you do not want children. I respect your choice. But we may… enjoy ourselves without risking a child. None at all. I can promise you that. You may have pleasure without a hint of fear.”
Madeline had to drag her gaze away from him.
Want bubbled inside her, so powerful it almost felt like a hunger pang, an ache low in her gut.
She was not even entirely sure what it was that she wanted, except that it involved Tristan’s hands on her body, his lips on hers.
It was like badly wanting a drink of water, except she dared not take a sip, or else she would drown herself.
“I am afraid,” she said at last, the three words sharp and simple.
Something like confusion crossed Tristan’s face momentarily. “What?”
Madeline pushed away from the side of the bathtub, putting much-needed distance between herself and her husband.
“My mother and my grandmother died young,” she murmured.
“My grandmother died in childbirth. My mother very nearly did, and the complications stayed with her for the rest of her life. It… It has always terrified me. I know that I fear more than childbirth. I… I do not want to complicate things between us, Tristan. It has been going so well. I feel as though we are almost friends.”
She took a step forward and made an abortive attempt to take his hand, deciding at the last minute that it was a bad idea.
“I like you,” Madeline blurted. “I like your company, I mean. We have Adam to raise together, which is no small task. Today—yesterday, I should say—we worked together so well to save him. I nursed him, and you rode through the night to find somebody you thought could save him.”
“Mine was a needless journey,” Tristan murmured.
“That does not matter,” she insisted. “We can do this, Tristan. I realized today that I can be a good mother to Adam if only I apply myself, and you can be the father he needs. But distractions and complications will only get in the way. We must concentrate on what is important, and that is Adam.” She breathed in deeply, squared her shoulders, and looked him in the eye.
“This marriage was not our choice. We did it for Adam, for your brother and my friend, so let’s concentrate solely on that.
If we make a mistake now, I do not think we will forgive ourselves. ”
There was a long silence after she had finished. Tristan only looked at her, his expression impassive and unreadable. Was he angry? Sad? Disappointed?
Perhaps he does not care at all, Madeline thought, swallowing.
“Very well, wife,” Tristan murmured at last, his voice so soft she had to strain her ears to hear him.
He took a step closer, gently taking her hand in his.
He bent down, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.
Stubble on his cheek grazed her skin, making her flinch.
He straightened up and leaned forward, his lips sliding against her cheek.
It was an even lighter kiss, so light that she was not sure that his lips even touched her skin at all.
He pulled back, smiled wryly at her, and disappeared, closing the door behind him.
Madeline was left with a hammering heart, a pulse of desire in her gut, and a foreboding feeling that she had just made a great mistake.