Chapter Eight
Tristan was away most of the day, seeing to some unsettled business with a lord who believed he didn’t need to pay his debts. By the time evening had settled in, he was rushing to clean up and meet Flick in the ladies’ gaming area. But when he got there, Milly delivered a note from Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Miss Brandon is unwell this evening. She will not need your services.
Was Flick having second thoughts? He wouldn’t blame her if she did.
Last night had been a terrible shock. Tristan had tried to find the man who had recognized her.
After leaving Flick and recovering form that soul-searing kiss, he’d gone to the wolf pack, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s cadre of former military brutes who acted as security for the club.
Jasper Grange had been his name according to Titan, the leader of the wolf pack.
He’d left shortly after his encounter with Flick.
Tristan contacted one of his messengers and sent him to find Grange and if he couldn’t, to make his way toward Winter’s Well and see what the vicar and Chadwick Revere were up to.
Tristan considered going there himself and making them regret every evil word and action toward Flick, but he couldn’t get away from his duties at the Den, and he wouldn’t risk leaving Flick alone.
Tristan made his way toward Flick’s room, to see if she was all right or if she needed anything from him. He waited until the hall was clear and knocked gently on her door.
Her soft voice came through the door. “I’m resting.”
“I know,” Tristan said. “I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”
For a moment she didn’t answer, then he heard her steps, and her door opened a crack. “Tristan?”
He stepped closer. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “Is anyone out there?”
Tristan looked around. “No. The hall is clear.”
She opened the door wider. “Come in. Quickly.” She grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him in.
Closing the door, she leaned against it as Tristan pretended to look around her small room and not stare too intently at her.
Since the moment she’d asked him to help her feel passionate intimacy, he’d been in a steady state of fever.
He didn’t know when or where their proposed arrangement might begin, but his body didn’t seem to care.
He wanted. He craved. He suffered in need of her.
He’d told her to think about it and he meant it.
As for him, he’d done enough thinking about her already and didn’t need a second more consideration.
He’d take anything she offered, give her anything she wanted, and he’d deal with the heartache later.
“I thought about what we discussed last night,” she said.
“Good.” He steeled himself for disappointment.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I sent Milly to tell Mrs. Dove-Lyon I wasn’t feeling well and that I’d take the evening off.”
“That seems wise.” Tristan tugged at his collar.
This room was getting smaller, and he was overheating.
He glanced at her. She was in a dressing robe and her hair was down around her shoulders.
His banked desire roared to life as he took in her lovely, disheveled state.
Was she wearing anything under the robe?
Wait, she said she was unwell. He shouldn’t be thinking about her naked.
But she didn’t look sick. She looked soft and seductive.
“I told Milly I did not want to be disturbed all night.”
“Forgive me then. I just wanted to check on you, but I can go.”
She pushed away from the door, closing the small distance between them. She studied his face, fidgeting with the tie of her robe.
“I don’t want you to go.”
His blood heated, but he tried not to read into what she was saying. “What is it you want?”
“I want to . . . I’d like you to begin to teach me what we discussed last night.”
Now his blood boiled with need. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yes, as ludicrous as that sounds, I am. I’ve thought about it like you said. I promise I did. I’m not a rash person. I don’t behave impulsively, except . . .”
“When you’re running for your life? That’s hardly impulsive—that’s instinctual.” He stepped closer and took her hands. His heart was pounding but his head was clear. What was it about this woman that made him feel so . . . certain?
“If this is what you want, then I’m with you,” he said.
She searched his eyes. “Where do we begin?”
“Well”—he had to keep his passion in check—“we’ll start slow. Simple touches. Flirting caresses on safe areas like the hands and arms.”
She frowned. “My hands?”
He smirked. “Every inch of skin can be used for pleasure, Flick.”
Her breathing hitched and her cheeks turned red. “Do we start right now?”
“If you’d like. No one knows I’m in here and we won’t be disturbed, but it is up to you.”
She nodded. “I want to start now. The anticipation is like ants under my skin.”
Tristan smiled. “Then turn around.”
“Why?”
“This first lesson will be sensory. Close your eyes and just feel. I’ll only be touching your hands and arms.”
“Very well.”
She turned and Tristan stepped close to her back and took her hand.
He could feel the slight tremor in her body but then she took a breath and stilled.
He brought her knuckles to his lips and softly kissed the pale skin.
Her hands were lightly calloused from years of sewing, baking, tending to the ill, and generally giving herself to others and not taking anything back.
Flick looked frail, but she was hewn from stone and service to others.
She gave and gave. This time, she would take.
Tristan would give her all the pleasure she deserved.
In any way she needed it. But it would have to be slow.
He brushed her hair back to watch her face.
The pulse at her neck bounced rapidly. Tristan turned her hand over and kissed her palm, slowly, languidly, with just a brush of his lips, no tongue, no assertive press of his mouth.
He wanted to show her how light and effortless pleasure could feel and that at any moment she could pull away if she wanted.
He nibbled his way down to her wrist and she giggled.
“That tickles.”
Tristan smiled against her sensitive skin, his gaze lifting to her profile.
He spread her hand open, and one by one he kissed the pad of each fingertip.
Her lips parted with a soundless gasp. She swallowed and licked her lips and Tristan had to close his eyes and fight the groan rumbling up his throat.
He was hard in his breeches already, his pelvis angled away from the inviting soft swell of her bottom.
Her head tipped back, the arch of her throat begging for his mouth, but he held back.
The loose sleeve of her robe gathered around her elbow as he lifted her arm higher and slowly kissed his way down the sensitive inner skin of her forearm.
“Oh, that feels lovely,” she whispered.
Tristan kissed his way back up, this time adding little licks of his tongue. Teasing flicks to add heat that quickly cooled. He couldn’t go lower than her elbow, not with the sleeve in the way. He kept her left hand tucked in his and shifted to reach for her right hand, repeating the same steps.
From there, he ran out of inspiration that didn’t take this journey quicker than she was ready for.
“How was that?” he murmured, leaning closer to breathe in her scent.
“Pleasant.” She opened her eyes and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “What’s next?”
“I think it best we go slow.”
“We have all night—” she blushed. “Or at least a few minutes longer. Is that all?”
“I don’t want to rush you.”
“We don’t have much time. I have to pick a suitor—sooner rather than later.”
Tristan cocked his head, the mention of another man and the image of that man touching her sparking his jealousy. “What did you have in mind? You are in control. Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know what to ask for,” she said meekly.
Tristan turned away to hide his smile. Was she wound as tightly as he was—hungering and frustrated by this clawing need to be closer?
“You said you’d help me.”
“I did,” he turned back. “Happily—enthusiastically, even. So, tell me, what do you want to learn next?”
She pressed her lips together and frowned at him in concentration. “Kiss me again, but more. I know there is more to kissing than just lips touching. There is movement, and I want you to show me what a love bite is.”
Tristan stepped close again. “So kiss me, Flick.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you having fun with this? Do I amuse you?”
“I’m not amused. I’m aroused. And yes, this is quite fun. Flirtation is fun.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth popped open. “This is flirtation?”
“Flirtation, banter. What does it make you feel?”
“Annoyed.”
He chuckled. “And what do you want to do about it? Toss me out of the room? Or do you want me to do something that won’t annoy you? Perhaps kiss you?”
“That. The last thing.”
“The agitation you feel. It’s different from typical annoyance. More intense, isn’t it?” He stepped closer, his chest brushing her robe.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Like I want to crawl out of my skin.”
“And?”
“And into yours.” She gasped. “That’s horrific.”
He smiled. “You don’t want to crawl into my skin, your body wants to be against mine. May I put my arm around you?”
“Do you have to ask at every step?” she asked impatiently.
“Yes, Flick. Every time. Unless you beg me and demand what you want from me, I will ask before I do anything to you, with you.”
“Then kiss me, Tristan.”
His arm slid around her, and he pulled her against him. His body sang with euphoria. She fit against him perfectly, like she was made for him. Shorter, but not too short. The top of her head came to his nose. Really, she was the perfect height for him.
She looked up at him, breath held in anticipation.