She should be mine,he thought almost dizzily. She lifted a hand, fingering her full lower lip in a way that maddened him.
Then, Madeline coughed sharply and dropped her hand.
“That was a mistake,” she managed faintly. “I should not have… We… You can’t… ahem. Excuse me, Your Grace. I mean, Tristan.”
With that, she plunged headfirst toward the exit. He stood still, letting her rush away as if the hounds of hell were after her. For a moment, he stayed where he was, listening to her footsteps retreat. By the sound of it, she was not returning to the ballroom. He would guess that she was going to her room to calm down.
She isn’t angry,he thought.She felt some desire, I’m sure of it. But what could a naive, pampered girl like that understand about desire? For all she’s a wallflower, she’s been raised by a wealthy, doting father. I imagine she could have anything she wanted.
One thing seemed very clear to Tristan, and it was this—if Madeline had only a little more confidence in herself, she could have taken Society by storm.
He allowed himself a faint smile at that, imagining Madeline as the Diamond of the Season, admired by all, envied by women, and pursued by men. She would have had hearts laid at her feet, piled up all around her.
Swallowing hard, Tristan sank into the armchair again, trying to steady his nerves. It was almost amusing.
That is the most a kiss has ever moved me in my life,he thought faintly. He had lost count of the kisses he had exchanged, most of them deeper and more passionate than that one. Juliana Bolt, for example, was an excellent kisser—or it had seemed so at the time. But now, those kisses that had seemed so very excellent only seemedserviceable.
And poor sweet Madeline had not even done anything! She’d only placed her hand on his chest, more out of reflex than anything, no doubt. And yet it had lit a fire in him that was not easily going to be quenched. Tristan groaned aloud.
What in heaven’s name have I done to deserve this? It is just my luck that the woman who moves me most is the one who wants nothing to do with me.
And she had madethatclear, at least. She had run out of the room in horror, never once looking back.
Well, Isaac had said more than once that it did Tristan no good to get what he wanted all the time. Perhaps he was right about that.
When Tristan’s desire had cooled to something more manageable, he got up with a sigh, straightened his waistcoat, and prepared to return to the party. His bride had disappeared, but at least one of them had better show their faces at the party.
Moments later, Tristan found himself wandering through the crowded ballroom, a smile pasted on his face. He exchanged pleasantries where he could not avoid it, but generally kept himself walking forward, and people sensed that it was a bad idea to get in his way.
“You look rather busy, old chap.”
He flinched at the familiar voice, glancing over to spot a tall gentleman making his way out of the crowd, a glass of whiskey in each hand.
“I thought you’d fancy a drink and a conversation that isn’t uncomfortable,” the man commented, pushing one glass into Tristan’s hand.
“Ah, James,” Tristan responded, taking the glass. “I thought you weren’t coming. It would be highly irregular for my own cousin not to be present at my wedding.”
“Of course I am coming,” James responded with a laugh. “Here, let’s talk in this corner. It’s quieter, and if people see you deep in conversation, they might leave you alone.”
“No hope of that,” Tristan responded with a snort. He followed his cousin anyway, finding a quiet corner with a pair of seats. They settled down with a sigh, and Tristan allowed himself to relax, just a little.
“I haven’t seen your beautiful bride yet, actually,” James commented. “I caught a glimpse of her at the wedding, of course. Marvelously pretty girl. Although she is a duchess now, I suppose I should not call her amarvelously pretty girl. I should call herYour Grace.”
Tristan pursed his lips. “She doesn’t stand on ceremony much.”
In his mind, he had a sudden vision of Madeline staring up at him, eyes wide, lips parted, a sheen of moisture over her full lower lip. He wanted to touch her lips so badly it made him ache, but she was out of his reach. She was taking care toalwayskeep out of his reach.
James drained his glass of whiskey and began looking around for another. “Where is your bride, by the way? I didn’t expect her to be stuck to your side all night, but I thought I would see her alittlebit.”
“She’s gone to her room, I think.”
James blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Truly? Heavens, Tristan, have you driven her away already? It’s far too soon for your bride to be running away from you.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “You are lucky that I am your cousin, or else I might strike you.”
“I am lucky,” James agreed, chuckling.
They relapsed into comfortable silence. James was a Lovell, of course, but he did not resemble Tristan and Anthony at all. James was tall, but very thin, with nut-brown hair and large, sad, puppy-dog brown eyes. He was charming and handsome enough, and had attracted several ladies who would have liked to marry him, but James had always been very firm about what he wanted in a wife.
