Chapter 16 #2
“Splendid! The Duke of Duskwood is found by Lady Christine, and I think we’re all familiar with the rumors flying about the two of them. It is fate!”
Christine pulled off the blindfold, blinking in the candlelight. Her expression shifted from surprise to something softer, almost shy.
Tristan bowed. “May I have the honor?”
She placed her hand in his. “You seem to have it already.”
As they began to dance, the rest of the room blurred into background chatter. Christine’s laughter, low and unguarded, carried across the music.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Tristan asked.
“Is that a loaded question?” Christine replied.
Is it? Am I spoiling for a fight because of jealousy?
“No,” Tristan half-lied, “you were laughing.”
“I am enjoying myself…” Christine began.
She suddenly felt swept along by Tristan. Her feet responded without orders from her mind, without conscious control. His physical presence made it seem he would be an awkward and clumsy dancer in such a close hold. Her words faltered, a lie to counter his.
She had spent too much time watching Tristan to enjoy herself. Too much time worrying about what would happen when the games were over.
Am I to marry, even if it is in name only? Am I to take residence at Dukswood?
That led to a succession of lurid thoughts that set her heart racing and constricted her chest, making her breath come quick and fast. She felt color rise in her cheeks. In full sight of Tristan, which just made the blush even deeper.
“You were saying?” Tristan asked drily.
“I am having a wonderful evening, following a wonderful day.”
“Wonderful? I wish I could say the same.”
“Why not wonderful?”
“Because I am still in this ridiculous Hunt.”
“Ridiculous? I thought you were doing so well.” Christine said as Tristan executed a turn that pulled her closer.
His eyes filled her world, his presence overwhelmed her.
Do I do the same to him? That face is so stony. I cannot tell.
But her doubts were swept away in the graceful elegance of his movements. The room whirled around here, glittering as though polished, as though melted glass had been poured over everything. She half felt it had flowed over her as well, leaving her skin sleek and shining and alive with heat.
“Tell me how well I am doing,” he said in a voice so low it rumbled through her, vibrating in the core of her body.
“You came here a single man,” she gasped, feeling as though words were being snatched from her against her will.
Those eyes, his strong hands, the magnetic pull of his physique, drew forth thoughts that she wanted to keep hidden.
“I am still a single man.”
“You have obtained an agreement from me.”
“To act as my wife. To pretend.”
“When one pretends at something long enough, it can become…” Christine started, willing the words back but unable to contain the growing thrill pulsing from her heart.
The music ended, but Christine and Tristan did not stop. They glided, surrounded by their own music, unaware of the others. Until the Dowager Duchess clapped her hands.
“Well, what a display! Let us have a round of applause for the Duke of Duskwood and Lady Christine of Southbria!”
Now Christine was truly scarlet. Tristan stood stiffly amid the polite applause. He still held Christine’s hand, and she found herself holding onto his fingers, willing him not to let go. He looked at her, and they shared, in silence, her unspoken words.
What do you feel about them? You are looking at me as though I have struck a grievous blow against you. As though you are angry.
The Dowager Duchess bustled past them, unaware of how loud she was.
“Of course, I brought them together. The wolf and the lamb. What a feat! Such a pair has never been seen, and it is all due to me.”
Christine smiled at her innocent conceit.
“I must give her credit, though it is dragged from me,” Tristan said.
“If we had not been invited here, then your plan could not have succeeded,” Christine said.
“Yes. I doubt Lady Gillray would have granted me an audience with you, let alone given away your hand.”
“Not if it did not benefit her.”
“I would have made sure it did.”
They took seats at one of the tables that lined the room. Several ladies and gentlemen paused to give their compliments on the excellence of their dancing. Christine felt pleased. Tristan looked furious. She put her hand upon his and tried to ignore the thrill that ran through her at that contact.
“Try to look less like you would like to kill them,” she said.
That brought forth a wolfish grin.
“I would not go that far,” he said.
“Not so far as to look happy? Or not so far as to want to kill them?” Christine said with a sweet smile.
Tristan’s reply was a wordless baring of teeth.
There was something in his face that was deliciously roguish.
The sly joke had landed with him, and he seemed to appreciate her humor, though she knew that anyone else in the room would have been utterly scandalized.
She felt something between them click into place, a part of a complex mechanism coming together.