She was ready.
Chapter Sixteen
Tristan feltlike an idiot in the formal wool coat that Jos had found for him.
It was much longer than he was used to, lined with silk and closed with a row of heavy silver buttons. Thank the gods he was able to wear his usual black leather breeches and jerkin underneath. Hopefully, nobody would notice his heavy boots, but nothing was going to induce him into heeled dancing shoes.
He would need to play the part of a minor noble to accompany Nim, while everyone else would wear their dress uniforms but stay outside as backup. They wouldn’t be able to come inside wearing their black cavalry uniforms, and they certainly couldn’t pull out their old Blues without being instantly spotted by the new palace guards.
Reece had disappeared for nearly an hour but finally returned with the invitations that they needed, and then he and the rest of the Hawks had left to tend to their respective tasks.
Which left Tristan in the room where they’d eaten dinner. Alone. Waiting.
Waiting and thinking about how little they knew, how vague their plan was, and imagining all the hideous things that could go wrong. What the consequences would be for Nim if it did.
He hated going into conflict without a firm plan and at least two backup plans. But they simply didn’t have enough information. Val was hanging on the wall in the main hall; that was all they knew. If it was true.
And their plan was even more vague. Get in. Stay out of sight. Free Val and Tor. Somehow escape without dying. Keep Nim safe.
Fuck. He didn’t know what he’d done to earn her trust, but it was the most precious gift anyone had ever given him. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and drag her away, not lead her straight toward the very men that had set him to hunt her. He was taking her to the single most dangerous place she could go, and all without any kind of real strategy.
He paced the length of the room, then stuck his hands in his pockets and paced back again, scowling at the clock ticking loudly on the mantelpiece. Feeling the unhappy rumble of his beast vibrating in his bones.
How long could one woman possibly take to get ready? The longer he stood around, the more time he had to think about everything that could go wrong.
He glanced at the clock again. They needed to arrive at the palace with the crush, just when the guards at the gates were at their most overwhelmed and least likely to look at his face. He was wearing his formal court clothes and had let his too-long hair fall loose over his collar, but it was hardly a disguise.
He turned and paced the room once more, and then, finally, heard a noise on the stairs and turned to face the door. There was a gentle knock, and he called out a stern, “Come.”
Nothing could have prepared him.
He had seen her naked just a few hours before, and he still wasn’t prepared. Gods. Nim’s dress seemed to glow softly in the lamplight as it caressed her sensuous curves and lifted her breasts in a way that made his mind immediately fill with a multitude of carnal images.
She tilted her chin up, and the light caught on her sparkling eardrops, making him want to pull the lobe into his mouth and worry it with his teeth while his hands ran up her thighs, lifting that sinful skirt. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to take her hand and pull her upstairs and lock the door.
The very last thing he wanted was to take her to the palace looking like that.
He could feel the tension in his jaw as he clamped his teeth together and tried to get his thoughts together.
The corners of her mouth tilted up as she watched him. Every other woman he’d ever known would have sulked that he hadn’t complimented their dress, but Nim seemed to know exactly what he was thinking despite his silence. And she was amused.
She tilted her chin further. “How is your tongue?”
“What?” He had no idea what she was talking about.
Her smile widened. “Did you swallow it? Mel assured me you would.”
“Uh… I….” He had no response, so he scowled at her instead.
And Nim, being Nim, merely laughed and gave him a mocking curtsey.
Jos had left a soft hooded velvet cloak for Nim—dark gray and lined with silk—and he helped her into it before holding out his arm.
He was grateful when she took it and pressed herself neatly against his side. His need to protect her was almost overwhelming, and having her close settled him just a little.
He led her through the back door to the stables, where Mathos and Rafe had finished preparing the borrowed carriage. It was a sturdy, comfortable-looking carriage with an open top and soft leather seats, suited to a prosperous innkeeper looking to advance his family.
It wasn’t as ornate as he would have liked, but the men had polished the metalwork until it shone and littered the seat with plush gold damask cushions.
