Chapter 25 #2
“Uncomfortable?” he inquired, as calmly as if he were offering her a slice of cake.
“No,” she answered honestly enough. “Only different.”
He nodded, leaning forward to kiss her again. He tasted of mint and whiskey. Why on earth was he drinking whiskey at this time of the day?
His finger inside her twisted, bringing back the pulse of pleasure in a strange, inward sort of way. There was an element of the closeness Madeline had craved. Was this what she had wanted?
His movements sped up, purposeful and efficient.
Madeline wanted to ask him why he was doing this, why he was so keen for her to be his, but the words simply wouldn’t come.
She gasped, eyes shuddering closed again, and clutched at his shoulders for support.
He pressed his weight into her again, lips against her neck, and growled, low in his throat.
His hand twisted and slid against her, and she reached her peak with a stifled cry, putting her palm over her mouth as before. The pleasure came in waves, gradually fading until she could think clearly again, and then spiraled back down to earth.
Tristan still leaned against her, his breath warm against her neck.
“You always try to stay quiet,” he murmured, so quietly she nearly did not hear him. “I would rather you did not.”
“Anyone could come in,” she managed at last, swallowing. It seemed pointless to mention that they were locked in.
Tristan pulled back. His face was red, his eyes still dark and hungry. He grinned, withdrawing his hand from underneath her skirt, and thoughtfully placed his fingers in his mouth. There was a flourish in his gesture, as though he was particularly keen that she could see.
“Anyone could come in,” he agreed. “And that, my dear duchess, is half of the fun.”
Color rushed to Madeline’s face with an intensity that led her to think that her head might explode. Feeling crumpled, red, and somehow not entirely satisfied, she shifted, pulling herself upwards on the sofa.
“We should be careful,” she insisted, still feeling rather wobbly. “I would like us to be careful. I… I am very grateful for your services, but…”
“Services? Have a care, duchess. If you start talking of services and favors, I might start to demand some of you,” he responded tartly.
Madeline felt like a clodhopping fool. She closed her eyes, momentarily riding out her embarrassment.
While she was regaining her composure, Tristan heaved a sigh. When she opened her eyes, he was staring off to the side into the fire, a light frown on his face.
“I suppose I should not blame you for not wanting to let me near you,” he murmured. “My reputation is not good.”
“Well, you wanted the same thing, didn’t you?” she shot back. “You wanted nothing to do with me. What changed?”
His gaze fixed on her again. With the firelight flickering over his face, there was a thrilling darkness there that made her shiver.
“Changed? You think I have changed in that regard? Oh, my dear duchess, you do not know me at all, do you?”
She sat up a little straighter, primly smoothing out her skirts.
“No, I suppose I do not.”
“What if this strange relationship between us changed?” he asked after a moment. “What if we considered a more traditional marriage? What would you say to that?”
Madeline took a moment before responding. Was he joking? No, she didn’t see any mirth in his eyes. Could he have meant what he said?
“And for how long would it last?” she said at last.
Tristan frowned. “My fidelity, you mean? Do you imply that I am such a rake that I could never promise anything permanent?”
“What? No, I…”
Before Madeline could say more, to clarify that she only meant that the women in her family were not long-lived, a key clicked in the lock, the mechanical sound cutting through the silence.
Tristan scrambled to his feet with an almost comical expression of fury. Madeline leaped to her feet—her knees were still a little wobbly—and shook out her skirts frantically. Oh, how she prayed that she looked respectable.
The door swung open, revealing Dorothea, hands on her hips, frowning at them both.
“I am only letting you out early because the housekeeper and butler both begged me to free you,” she said curtly. “And because you might have begun to panic or do something stupid, such as climbing out of the window. I had not thought about whether one of you might need to answer a call of nature.”
Tristan let out a long, furious sigh. Glancing up at him, Madeline saw that he was struggling with his temper.
“You locked me in a library, Mother,” he snapped. “And my wife!”
Dorothea had the grace to look embarrassed.
“Well, I thought you needed the opportunity to talk. Have you talked?”
Tristan growled, low in his throat. “Mother, this will not happen again, do you hear me? I cannot go through my house with the constant fear of being locked in or locked out. Never again, do you hear?”
“Well, I…”
“And what is more,” he interrupted, “you won’t intervene in my marital affairs again, do you hear? You are not discreet.”
Dorothea deflated. “I… I suppose that is fair.”
Tristan grunted and went striding out of the room without even a backward glance. Dorothea’s sad gaze turned to Madeline.
“Are you angry at me, too, then?” she asked, sounding almost tired.
Madeline swallowed hard, willing her wobbly legs to carry her to the door.
“No, I just… I wish you had not done it, Dorothea,” she said at last.