“Oma?” Ophelia called into the bathing room.
The maid popped her head out of the room, then hurried toward Ophelia.
“Yes, Miss Wexley?” Oma asked, holding the empty bucket.
“When did this arrive?” Ophelia asked, rubbing the black ribbon tied around the box.
Oma’s brown brows drew down as she frowned at the package.
“In truth I do not know,” Oma said. “How strange. Perhaps I should ask one of the one of the footmen? Though I do not know why they would bring it to your rooms. They know they are not allowed in your quarters. I shall speak with Mr. Potter straightaway.”
Ophelia kept her smirk inside, knowing that it was no fault of her staff that the package mysteriously appeared in her rooms. Tristan’s guards were blindly obedient and one of them had no doubt found a way in. Such knowledge should have disturbed her. Made her angry. Yet all she felt over such an invasion was a tingling thrill.
“No need to go to such measures,” Ophelia assured Oma, “Now that I think of it I believe I brought this up myself. Please, takeno notice to my absentmindedness. I apologize from taking you away from your work.”
“No apologies necessary, my lady,” Oma offered, looking relieved at Ophelia’s explanation. “We are nearly finished filling your bath. I shall get back to it straight away.”
Ophelia murmured her thanks and took the package and a lamp into her closet. She opened it with growing anticipation, and gasped as she pulled the new dress out of the box. The cobalt blue silk gown had an overlay of fine black lace, and followed the same over-the-shoulder design as the gown she had worn to the ball where she had danced with Tristan. She pressed the gown to her bosom as her eyes caught something sparkling at the bottom of the box, and she reverently reached down a hand to pick it up. It was a glittering, delicate silver choker; just long enough to wrap tightly around her throat.
Her heart throbbed as the thin, cool metal warmed instantly in her palm. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was…her.Ophelia drew it around her throat without a second thought, then tore open the red envelope.
One last night.
Tomorrow at 10.
Be ready.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You are not going to watch me tonight?” Ophelia asked.
From across his desk, Tristan just gave a terse shake of his head as he kept his eyes on the papers laid out before him. He’d gone too far and he knew it. He was supposed to be pulling back from her. Had told himself to do so all week. Yet when he’d come across the choker that now graced her beautiful throat, he could not help himself. He’d purchased it as if he had no control over himself and had laid it in the box along with her new dress.
A dress that he was now cursing himself for, because it looked even better on her than the first one did. The precious dusting of freckles atop her shoulders now teased him endlessly, and his lust was begging him to walk over and sink his teeth into the little cluster of light brown spots. Everything he did now seemed to edge him closer to her instead of farther way as he had intended.
So no, he was not going to watch her over her shoulder tonight. He was not going to tempt himself. And when the final piece wasfinished, he was going to say goodbye. To her. To the project. And to his ever-growing need to be close to her.
“Tristan. Look at me.”
Ophelia’s voice sent a tremor though his hands, and he looked up before he could tell himself to disobey the order. He was instantly riveted by her green eyes, and felt his aching manhood stir in his trousers. His fingers tapped restlessly against the top of his desk as his heart began to pound.
“What?” He grit out.
Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.
“What ails you?” She asked.
Tristan lowered his eyes back to the paper work, even though he could not focus on the words written there.
“I am perfectly fine, thank you,” he said brusquely.
“You are not,” Ophelia countered, “You barely looked at my sketch before you approved it!”
“It contained suitable subject matter,” he all but growled, lifting his eyes to glare at her, “Now get on with it!”
Ophelia braced her fists on her hips before she gave him a challenging stare.
“What is the subject matter?” She asked.
