“A question I am asking myself,” he mused dryly, moving over to make room for her.
“Oh, you two,” Theo sighed as Ophelia climbed in beside Tristan, “Must you always be at odds?”
“No,” they muttered in unison, then cast one another a narrowed glance as they both sank further down into the carriage seat.
As they did so their knees brushed against one another’s. Tristan felt another jolt move through him at the small touch, and he wondered if Ophelia did as well for in an instant, they were both sitting up straight again and at opposite corners of the carriage.
“Children,” Theo scolded, “Petulant children the two of you are. Well, do not worry. You only need to ride together. Once we arrive at the ball you may go your separate ways. Certainly you can manage that.”
Neither of them responded to Theo, but Tristan did turn his gaze toward Ophelia. Her light brown hair had been curled and let free on either side of her face, with the rest pinned into a stylish bun on the back of her head. Her lashes has been curled and there was a touch of rouge on her cheeks and lips.
Her effort to look more beautiful was not all he noticed, however. There was a nervousness in her green eyes, and he was sure that it was not entirely from the fact that he had been an unexpected guest in the carriage. The woman who had sworn off marriage was husband hunting for the first time in her life, and she did not look at all comfortable with such an effort.
“You look lovely this evening, Ophelia,” he stated politely.
Not as lovely as you did the other night when you were with me, but still, lovely.
Tristan startled at the unbeckoned thought that had just popped into his head. Then nearly jumped again as Ophelia shifted her wary gaze back to him, as if she had heard his thoughts.
“Thank you,” she stiffly replied, then dragged her eyes down his midnight blue suit and sky blue blue waistcoat and cravat.
“Your cravat matches your eyes,” she then muttered, then turn her gaze back to the window.
Across from them Theo clapped her hands like a proud mother, making them both roll their eyes.
“There you go!” Theo praised, “An excellent effort. And Tristan, Ophelia is right. Your cravat does match your eyes! Oh, and Ophelia? I just realized, Tristan’s jacket matches that shade of your dress! Is that not a strange coincidence?”
Tristan could have sworn he saw a blush form beneath the rouge of Ophelia’s cheeks and it made him curious. He had chosen his suit because it had reminded him of the dress he’d had made for her. Had she chosen the cloak and gown for a similar reason?
He thought of the other night. Of how he’d snapped at her. Of how he’d caressed and massaged the curve of her graceful throatto make up for it. He’d massaged plenty of women after using them thoroughly. He enjoyed it- but with them he’d had consent. With Ophelia, he’d let his anger get the better of him, and he hated himself for roughly he’d grabbed her throat.
“I will never do that again,” he murmured aloud.
“What was that?” Theo asked as Ophelia’s eyes widened at him.
Realizing he’d just spoken his thought aloud, Tristan panicked as he cleared his throat.
“I said here we are again,” He stated, louder than necessary.
Ophelia, Alistair, and Theo all gave him a confused look.
“Where…are we again?” Alistair asked tentatively.
At that moment the carriage stopped, and Tristan let out a subtle breath of relief.
“At the party, I mean,” he said, waving toward the large estate outside the carriage window, “I meant yet another dull party to attend. Surely we are all tired of these things?”
Alistair chuffed and smirked.
“Quite right,” he said in agreement. “I cannae wait until we are settled down for the winter. I need a break from this society.”
“Indeed,” Tristan said with a nod of his head. Theo and Ophelia were still staring at him oddly as the carriage door was opened for them.
“Come on, then,” he urged, “Let us get this over with.”
Tristan could not stop staring at Ophelia once she handed her cloak over to the door man. Her new dress, just as he’d suspected, was the exact same shade as the one he had purchased for her. It was not made up of lace as the other had been, but this one, he decided, was equally alluring. The soft, dyed fur that trimmed the fitted, off-the- shoulder bodice brushed lightly over Ophelia’s cream complexion and settled just above her cleavage; revealing the barest swell of her breasts. It was the cut along the shoulders, though, that drew his eyes the most.
Ophelia’s strong, proud shoulders; small and angular, were bare. A small dusting of freckles nestled atop each perch; looking absolutely delectable enough to lick. The dress also showed off the graceful arches of her collarbone and the hollow of her throat. He imagined lying her down, dribbling wine into the little cove, and lapping it up slowly.
