Chapter Twelve
Tristan remained stoic and silent as they reached her room. Felicity was shaken by the evening, as if the excitement and anxiety of revealing her face and the drastic outcome that was hurtling toward her were now being realized.
All she wanted was to take comfort in Tristan, but she could tell he was already pulling away.
He knew Lord Hugstead. She could tell by the way they’d spoken together, and now Lord Hugstead stood as a specter of truth between them.
Their time together, this glowing time of trust and affection was coming to an end.
But she wasn’t ready to let Tristan go. Not yet.
She was not an engaged woman yet, not in her mind or heart.
Their magical day was not over, not until midnight. Tomorrow could wait a little longer.
Tristan unlocked her door and pushed it open gently.
“Goodnight, Flick,” he said in a monotone.
Felicity peered around the hall. “Will you come inside for a moment?” His gaze met hers and she swore she could see pain there, and her heart lurched. “Please?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“I need you to. I can’t get this gown off by myself.”
His gaze wandered over the dress, and her body responded like he’d touched her, further engraving the idea that was forming in her mind.
She’d revealed her face to the Den, but Tristan deserved more, and she wanted to give it to him.
Without him she’d never have this kind of bravery. She’d still be cowering in fear.
“Ring for Milly.”
“I don’t want Milly. I want you.”
His eyes met hers, intense and dark, nearly black in the dim hall.
“Only for a moment,” he said coldly.
Felicity nodded. She waited for him to step inside first and followed, just in case he changed his mind. She closed the door and locked it.
He turned to face her, folding his arms.
“Will you tell me why you’re angry?” she asked.
“Is it necessary?”
“I’d like to know.” She turned and presented her back. There was a line of tiny buttons.
He sighed and began to work the small closures speedily. “There.”
“Sit down, Tristan.”
“Why?”
Lord, but he was being a petulant child.
Didn’t he understand that now was not the time to pull back, but to hurry?
Their time together was running out and she couldn’t face her future if she didn’t feel like they had finished this .
. . whatever this was. She was afraid to think too heavily on the matter.
“I need to talk to you about tonight,” she pleaded.
He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
“You know who Lord Hugstead is?”
He folded his arms. “We met a time or two when we both served in the military. And he’s the person I delivered the package to this morning. I have a feeling the incentive she gave him was you.”
Felicity shrugged her shoulders, and her bodice sagged. His focus switched to her bosom with predatory focus.
“Flick.”
“I can’t be given to anyone.” Felicity pulled her arms from the sleeves and pushed the dress down to her hips. All she wore now was her chemise and short stays.
He leaned back on his hands, unabashedly watching her.
“What are you doing, Flick?”
“I’m trying to seduce you.”
That got a smile out of him. “Trying? You’re succeeding.”
“Good, then you’ll stop being so grumpy and finish undressing me. I know this night was hard for you. It wasn’t easy for me, either. I couldn’t have done it without you. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Tristan.”
His gaze hardened as he stood. He approached her, the space between them swallowed in two steps in her tiny room.
“I don’t deserve you.”
She raised a brow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Are you sure you want to continue down this path? I think we both know what happened tonight. Lord Hugstead is a good match for you. As much as I hate him right now, he’s a man of solid character.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“But you know, don’t you?” He set his hands on her hips and pushed the dress down. “You will.”
“Not tonight. The only man I will allow to claim my body tonight is you.”
He drew in a slow breath. “Flick, you don’t know what you do to me.”
“Then show me.”
“No, this has always been about you and your pleasure. Healing the wounds you carry so that you can—”
“Heal me, Tristan. I need you tonight and no one else.”
He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. “Flick . . .”
“Only you can make this better.”
His hands possessively moved up her sides. “But tomorrow you may have an offer of marriage. An offer you should accept.”
“Tomorrow is still tomorrow. Tonight, I’m here with you. I’m not the property of any man solely because he’s touched me. If that were true, I’d still be in Winter’s Well.”
He cupped her head, and his mouth caught hers.
Felicity sank into his embrace, his warmth and steady strength surrounding her.
His other hand cupped her bottom and pulled her hips to his.
She could feel him there, the hard length of him like a brand with only her thin chemise covering her skin.
She wanted to be closer, to know the feel of his bare hands on her, to touch him and fill her memories with him.
She might have to marry another man, vow to be faithful and honor him, which she would, but Felicity would have this knowledge.
She would selfishly take these memories with her into her next life, because she knew she’d never feel like this again.
It didn’t matter now noble and kind her husband might be, she’d never want him like she wanted Tristan.
She pushed at his coat. He shrugged his shoulders and let her go long enough to help her remove it before his hands were back on her body.
He did not wear a waistcoat. She tugged at his shirt until he grumbled, stepping back to strip it off.
He tried to take hold of her again, but Felicity put her hands up.
She wanted to look at him. The map of light golden skin stretched over thickly defined muscle from his shoulders and arms, down his chest, to his abdomen where a trail of black hair disappeared into the placket of his breeches.
She reached for him, her fingers trailing over his chest and tracing the fine scars that formed a misshapen star near his left shoulder.
“What is this?” she asked.
“I was shot.”
“When?”
“Smugglers in Dover didn’t want to be caught.”
Felicity leaned in and kissed the scar. He grabbed her hips, not forcefully, and then ran his hands up her sides to the shorts stays laced at her back.
“Do you want this off? I’ve never been a lady’s maid before.”
Felicity smiled as she laced her arms around his neck. “Yes, please.”
He made swift work of it, smoothing the bunched, wrinkled fabric around her ribs, and she arched in heavenly relief as she took a full breath.
“Unnecessary torture,” he muttered.
Felicity hummed in appreciation as she ran her hands over his arms and down his front. When she reached his breeches, he stopped her.
“These will stay on.”
“Why?”
“As a leash, keeping my cock where it belongs.”
“You said I could look at you and touch you.”
“You can. The barrier is for me.”
“But what if I want you to—to be with me?”
“You’re not ready.”
Felicity sobered. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“Perhaps, but I do for me. I won’t just push inside of you. Not without first showing you all the ways your body can feel good. Otherwise, how am I different?”
“You’re different because you’re you, and I want you.”
“Trust me. In this, please trust me.”
“Then are we going to only kiss?”
He grinned, and her stomach fluttered. “There will be lots of kissing, in lots of places.” He tilted his head and leaned in, touching his mouth to her throat.
She got so lost in the feel of his hands and mouth that she didn’t feel the straps of her chemise fall down her arms until she had to lower them so Tristan could pull it off.
The fabric slithered over her hips and Felicity held her breath as she stood naked. His focus was still on her face.
He dragged his fingers lightly down her spine and she shivered, shifting her legs to appease that place between her legs that ached for sensation.
“I want you to touch me, Tristan,” she begged.
He stepped back and sat on her bed. “You’re a feast for the eyes, Flick.”
Felicity stood there, heat washing over her skin as he took in her body. If her blood weren’t humming with need, she might feel more embarrassed and vulnerable in this moment.
“Come sit,” he said.
Felicity fought the urge to cover herself as she sat beside him, and they twisted to face each other.
His movement was slow as he cupped her breast, and the acute memories of their morning carriage ride came back.
His mouth dropped to her shoulder, and she arched her back in invitation.
He put his arm around her and lowered them back until they lay side by side.
He adjusted himself a little lower than her and took the tip of her breast in his mouth.
Felicity squirmed in pleasure as the balance of heat and his velvet tongue scattered her thoughts. Her body hungered for more, arching toward him. He steadied her with a hand at her hip.
“Please, Tristan. Touch me everywhere.”
He lifted his head. “I will, love, but you’re going to guide me. You’re going to use my hand to give yourself pleasure. You’re in control.”
A fever spread over her skin at his words. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Take my hand, Flick.”
She grabbed his wrist.
“Put my hand where you want it, and I’ll stay right here and feast on these beauties.” He licked her nipple, and she trembled. She knew where she wanted his hand, where all her nerve endings were screaming for relief, but could she be so bold? Could she really make him touch her so intimately?
“If you don’t do it, I’ll stop kissing you.”