Chapter 21 #2
“Yes,” she heard herself say, the word cracking in her throat. “Yes, I do believe you.”
He gave a nod. “I am glad. I did not know that Juliana was performing this evening. You and my dear mother decided that we would come here, remember?”
“I remember. But, Tristan, I could swear that she looked straight at you while she sang. And before you tell me that it was not deliberate, or that she did not mean it, she must know which box belongs to you and James.”
Tristan pursed his lips. “Perhaps so. But the point, my dear, is that I was not looking at her.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Oh? Really?”
“Really. I was observing the scenery.”
She gave a snort of laughter, shaking her head. “I do not believe you.”
“You should!” he responded, grinning. “The brushwork on that large tree at the back was masterful.”
She rose to her feet, giggling, and reached for the curtain. She had intended to pull it back and step out into the corridor, but his hand closed over hers, large and strong and warm.
Heat flooded through her, tingles spreading up her arm from that simple touch. Her breath caught in her throat, and Madeline glanced slowly, slowly upwards, meeting his gaze.
His face was so close to hers that she could feel his warm breath.
“Don’t go,” Tristan murmured, lifting his hand to pinch her chin. “You still do not trust me, I see. Can’t I show you how trustworthy I can be?”
It felt like a trap. No, not a trap, not exactly, but as if she were perched at the top of a very slippery, muddy slope. If she were to begin to descend, even a little way, she would lose her footing and slide all the way to the bottom.
And yet here she was, preparing to descend.
“Very well,” Madeline breathed.
He smiled, a slow and wolfish grin that made her shiver, then leaned down and kissed her.
His lips were sweet and soft against hers, sending gentle tingles down her spine.
Almost at once, however, he grew ravenous.
One arm wound around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
She gasped, placing her hands against his chest. She fancied that she could feel his heart hammer against her palms. Could he feel hers?
There was something hard pressing against her, a firm, hot thing between his hips that she could feel even through the layers of her gown.
Madeline realized at once what it was, and reddened so intensely that she thought her head might explode.
He chuckled against her lips, tilting his head to press a kiss against her throat.
“I can all but taste your heartbeat,” he whispered, his lips grazing the pulse that thrummed against her throat.
She let out a strangled gasp, not entirely sure what to do with the powerful ache that throbbed through her whole body.
It was the same wanting as before, the feeling she’d struggled with in the washroom, but it had returned in full force and then some.
He leaned down, just for a moment, and she found herself missing the weight of his arms about her.
It was only when she felt his fingertips on the bare skin of her knee that she realized that he had lifted her skirts and slipped his hand underneath.
He kissed her again, the tip of his tongue stroking the swell of her lower lip and even slipping inside.
It was as if she were drunk, the world spinning around her. Madeline felt his fingertips dance higher and higher, his skin warm against hers, the layers of skirts and petticoats crumpling between them.
She realized that he was going to touch the join between her legs just an instant before it happened. His knuckle brushed her core, and pleasure and want jolted through her. She gasped and then clapped a hand over her mouth to smother it. There was, after all, only a curtain here for privacy.
He touched her properly, fingers sliding against slick folds, and the wanting which Madeline had felt before blossomed again, spreading through her like butter over hot bread.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, mostly to steady herself as her knees had gone weak.
He kissed her cheeks, her lips, her throat, whispering things which she only heard snippets of, and his touch sped up, sharpening the feelings.
She felt herself pulsing, growing tauter like a band waiting to snap.
Abruptly, a crest of pleasure rushed over her, taking her entirely by surprise. It cleared her mind quite effectively. She clung to him, gasping aloud, and listened to the blood drum in her ears.
At last, Tristan kissed her again and withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts. She could still feel the hard thing of his pressing against her hip, and she was vaguely aware that something should be done about it, but she was not sure what that something might be.
“Are you well?” Tristan asked, his voice a low, rasping murmur. She imagined that she heard desire in his voice, too.
I should… I should do something for him. But what?
“This is a very quiet, useful little room,” Madeline managed, with a tired sort of half-laugh. “How did you come upon it?”
Tristan hesitated, and something like guilt passed across his face.
It was as if a bucket of cold water had been emptied onto Madeline’s head. She blinked, staring up at him.
“She showed it to you, didn’t she?” Madeline breathed. “You came here with Juliana Bolt, didn’t you?”
“I… Would it have mattered if I had?” Tristan responded, rallying.
Madeline stepped back, shaking her head.
“I cannot believe that you… How could you bring me here?”
He had the grace to look ashamed. “You said yourself, Madeline, that it was a quiet, useful little room.”
In the silence that followed, she clearly heard the music stop, followed by a roar of applause. The intermission then had come.
The room, of course, was only a room, but Madeline could not seem to stop tears pricking her eyes. She shook her head, swallowing thickly.
“How could you?” she snapped and yanked back the curtain. Her legs were still wobbly, but they bore her out into the hallway well enough. She lifted her skirt and began to run, ignoring Tristan’s shouts following her down the corridor.