Heat blasted through Ophelia’s cheeks as she felt unable to look away from the sudden intensity of Tristan’s gaze.
“I am discovering that I am enjoying many things since I have come into your employ,” she confessed.
She gasped softly as Tristan’s hands tightened on her, his touch making her dizzy and warm.
“Would you like to discover more, Ophelia?” He asked, dipping his head closer as pulled her into the next dance step.
Ophelia suddenly struggled for her breath as Tristan kept his deep blue eyes locked on hers; kept his body so very close.
“What are you talking about?” She breathed.
He twirled her around, taking both her hands as his warm breath fanned over her neck and ear and began to lead her into the next step.
“Would you like to step into my world?” He whispered, “Explore your true limits and lack of propriety while you still have time?”
“I,” she breathed, struggling to capture her thoughts. “I would not know where to begin.”
Her heart jumped as she felt the tip of Tristan’s nose skim the tip of ear, heard the soft chuckle in his throat.
“I can help you with that,” he whispered, “If you wish.”
“Why would you do that?” She asked. “You hate me.”
“I never hated you, Ophelia,” he whispered into her ear. “You just drive me madder than most.”
Ophelia’s body reacted to his words as if it were the greatest of compliments. She slowly forced her gaze from their joined hands to they ballroom around them. They were surrounded by mostly bored, unhappy couples on the dance floor. They weren’t looking at one another, were not whispering as she and Tristan were. Their stares were vacant and faces were set in dull expressions. They looked…miserable. One day soon, she would be just as miserable as they were.
She twirled in Tristan’s arms of her own accord, not caring if it was the proper step or not.
“Very well then. I wish,” she whispered, giving him an imploring look.
The music stopped then, and polite applause rose from their peers. His hand still holding hers, Tristan took a step back, and bowed.
“I will send for you in two days,” he murmured, “be ready.”
As he placed a kiss on her hand, Ophelia waited for the usual sense of revulsion she felt when a man did so. None came, and instead, her lower belly began to pulse the same way it had when he’d kissed her lips.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Alistair, are youcertainthat was not him?” Tristan demanded.
It was late. They had all left the ball hours ago. Tristan had returned to the new location of theDevil’s Masqueradeto help set up, but he left before he could finished, too bothered about too many things. He’d left the new location more frustrated than when he’d arrived, and found himself at Alistair and Theo’s.
Presently he and Alistair stood in Alistair’s office, the man looking as if he was on the verge of wringing Tristan’s neck.
“You interrupted my sleep for this? I told you at the ball,yes,I am certain it was not Perley,” Alistair insisted. “Besides, you heard him! Hejustarrived in London last week from the Americas. He is not our man, Tristan.”
Tristan grit his teeth, everything in his body telling him otherwise.
“What is this really about, Tristan?” Alistair, all but flopping into his office chair.
Tristan’s brows furrowed as he took in Alistair’s exhausted and annoyed expression.
“What do you mean what is this about? I am certain I have made myself plain!”
“Watch ye tone, friend,” Alistair warned, raising a wary brow. “Ye and I may have settled our differences from the past, but I’m weary enough right now to ignore that and thump ye. Now ye know what I mean because I saw ye and Ophelia on the dance floor and I let me assure ye, that look ye were giving one another? That twas not the usual hatred you glare at one another. That was something else.”
Tristan lowered his hands to Alistair’s desk, meeting his warning glare with his own.
