She’s right. I didn’t see the side of Monty she’d mentioned on our initial journey. Yet I did get my wish about seeing a deeper side of him. I witnessed an emotional rawness, an openness, a vulnerability he hadn’t shown before. I watched tears trail down his cheeks during the ceremony. I felt his arms wrap around me in the kind of embrace I’ve never shared with anyone. I got to laugh and dance and climb upon tables with him. And then, of course, there was the mirror foreplay…
My cheeks heat, so I swallow the rest of the bite down with a gulp of tea, then fan myself as if the liquid was too hot.
“You were a respectable gentleman all weekend,” Angela says. “It was almost unsettling. You didn’t flirt with anyone, nor did you dance. Though I know how you feel about dancing.” She says the last part with a wry glance at me, as if I too know of his disdain for it. But I don’t. I’ve only experienced the opposite.
Ilikedancing. With you.
Angela continues. “I daresay there were several disappointed ladies who’d been trying to catch your eye all night. Yet you didn’t so much as offer them a conciliatory glance. I thought perhaps you were too distracted looking out for our dear Daphne here, but even after she departed the ball, you didn’t relax or flirt with a single soul.”
Monty’s gaze finally leaves mine as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
I, however, radiate with smug satisfaction. It never occurred to me that he might take a lover for the night after I left, but hearing how aloof he was during my absence gives me far more pleasure than I could have imagined. Even if nothing untoward happened, I know what a flirt he can be. Was he merely trapped in his sorrowful mood? Or…
That spark of hope lights in my chest again, and I try not to let myself consider what it means. How badly I want to be the reason for his restraint. But perhaps he was trying not to be an asshole at his best friend’s wedding, simple as that.
“I wasn’t in a flirtatious mood,” Monty says, his tone light. “Being someone’s best man is a serious job.”
“I suppose your work ethic has grown strong, considering you’re an employed man now. I’m proud of you.”
“My dear sister is proud of me for not causing a scandal or acting like a lecherous swine. I think I’ve earned the pinnacle of respect.”
She rolls her eyes at his dry tone, then faces me. “How did you enjoy the wedding? Did you manage to finish your illustration?”
“I made great progress,” I say, swelling with pride. After I left the ball, my mind was too active for sleep. So I stayed up and worked on my sketch of the figures. When I told Monty I needed his help finding the right pose before the mirror, I meant it wholeheartedly. Even though our activities turned to pleasure, the sight of us together is forever emblazoned upon my mind’s eye. I took that memory and sketched it. Not the part where I was a boneless mess, half reclined upon him while he worked my sex, but before that, when I first guided his hands, one lifting my hem, the other alighted upon my shoulder, his head angled to the side as he looked at me. My inspiration was stronger than ever before, and by the end of the night, I had the clean sketch perfected on my canvas, along with the background I’d sketched of the ballroom.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Angela says. “I’d love to see it! Or any of your illustrations.”
I nearly choke on my sip of tea. The last thing I want is to show Angela a sketch that was inspired by her brother in such a suggestive pose. I’m not sure either of us told her what kinds of illustrations I do.
“Sorry, Angie,” Monty says, coming to my rescue with a lie. “Daph is under contract. She can’t show off designs for the covers she’s working on.”
Her lips pull into a pout. “That’s a shame.”
“A true shame,” Monty agrees. Then his eyes lock on mine, a wicked gleam in them. “Especially since I’d like to hang her latest work-in-progress in my bedroom.”
I purse my lips to hide my smile. There’s that shameless flirt I know and love, all signs of his strange mood from the other night erased.
My heart stutters as my mind reverses, lingers.
Know and…love.
I echo the sentiment again and again, my chest tightening. Then loosening as I realize, without a doubt, that it’s true.
After we finish our snacks,it’s time to return to the passenger car. Angela goes on ahead while Monty heads to the smoking car. I, meanwhile, use the lavatory. Once I exit the lavatory compartment, my gaze snags on the passing scenery, a blur of green, gold, and blue. We’ve already entered the Earthen Court and will soon pull into Jasper City Station. As beautiful as the Star Court was—as well as the many other courts I’ve visited—I’ve always loved the Earthen Court the most. I love the lush fields, the evergreen mountains, the freshness of the air, the spring rainstorms and mild summers. I linger in the corridor and prop my arms on the windowsill, admiring the landscape.
“You’re still here.” I startle at Monty’s voice. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, but it must have been long enough for Monty to have returned from the smoking car. He strides down the corridor and stops beside me. “Watching the view?”
I nod. “I must have lost track of time.”
“Shall we return together? We’ll be arriving?—”
The train’s momentum shifts, slowing as it rounds a bend and causing the car to jolt. I stumble, my feet losing purchase beneath me. Monty’s hands come around my waist, even as he too loses his footing. We shift to the side just as the train’s motion levels out again, and Monty catches us against the wall beside the window. One hand remains braced at my lower back while the other clutches the windowsill. My back presses against the wall, his front flush with mine.
It takes me a few seconds to gather my bearings, but when I do, I notice the placement of my hands. One is pressed over Monty’s chest, splayed over the pounding drum of his heart hidden beneath his unbuttoned waistcoat. The other is clenched around his open collar. Neither of us has moved, and once again, our lips are merely an inch apart.
Our breaths mingle as our gazes tangle, neither daring to break away. The tempo of his heart increases, slamming against my palm.
How easy it would be to lift my chin and claim his lips. Why should I wait for him to do it? Why should I let him take the lead in declaring what we are, what we can be? I’m well beyond the realm of denial. Even though I told him our sexual pleasure didn’t have to mean anything—and it’s true; it didn’thaveto—he’d already begun to mean a lot to me before that moment. It’s just that now I’m starting to understand the word that goes along with these feelings. With this desire.
