Page 32 of Unmasking a Wicked Marquess
What is wrong with me?
“This way,” Brandon said from ahead of them as he handed their tickets to an attendant at the door, and they entered the opera house seating.
Woodenly, Juliet followed her sister, not thinking about the opera or where she was going. She only thought of Lord Ashton and his offer, as well as the jealousy that had shot through her.
I can’t go. I cannot possibly go and meet him. What would my father say?
Yet as she sat down in the grand circle on the far-right side of the theatre, her eyes were drawn to the left side, where she saw Lord Ashton enter with his mother and sister. He sat in the front row, talking easily with his family. As his eyes shot to Julie’s, showing he was plainly aware of where she was, she jolted, falling into her seat rather than sitting.
“Are you well?” Violet asked beside her, clearly noting her sudden movement.
“Just eager for the performance to begin,” Juliet lied. She couldn’t even glance at the stage as she stared at Lord Ashton across the circle. He brushed his dark hair back from his forehead, and she had this errant idea of running her fingers through those dark locks, thinking of what it could be like to tug on them playfully. He winked at her across the space, and Juliet looked away sharply, angered she had not done so before.
When the show began, Juliet could still not concentrate. Far from watching the performers who took to the stage in their grand costumes, her eyes kept flicking across the space to look at Lord Ashton, where she frequently saw him looking back at her.
Some minutes into the performance, he stood and left, making his way back through the door. His mother and sister were so caught up in watching the performance their heads didn’t even turn towards him as he left.
Breathlessly, Juliet fidgeted in her seat. She could stay here; equally, she could go and throw caution to the wind. She closed her eyes, just having made up her mind to stay where she was when a memory coursed across her mind.
It was of the dream she’d had the night before, where in that dream, Lord Ashton had been in her bedchamber. He’d moved towards her on the bed, pulling back the covers and promising to sate that ache that now existed between her legs permanently.
Her eyes shot open, and she leaned towards her sister.
“I am just going to the privy. I’ll be back soon.”
Violet nodded, her hand in her husband’s as she watched the stage with bated breath, caught up in the aria which was now reverberating around the room and making the candelabras shake.
Juliet slipped out of her seat and along the line of seats, turning towards the door and stepping out into the corridors. She hurried past candles set in sconces on the walls, following the signs that pointed towards a privy. The closer she got, the more her palms grew clammy.
When she rounded the final corner, at the end of the corridor beyond the doors to the privies, she saw the statue Lord Ashton had described to her. She approached it, a thrilling sort of shiver passing up her spine as she neared the statue. What she thought was the shadow of the statue, cast against the wall, moved, and she realized she was wrong.
“Lord Ashton?” she whispered as he reached out towards her. He caught her hand and suddenly pulled her deeper into the alcove. She gasped, her back falling to the wall as he stood in front of her, just a hair’s breadth away. Heat spread through her body as he pressed a finger to his lips, urging her not to say a word.
She frowned, then heard what had made him move so sharply. Someone’s footsteps moved towards the privy. They disappeared inside, and the door swung shut behind them. Lord Ashton smiled and lowered his finger from his lips, smiling at her in such a way that she thought of raising herself on her toes and kissing him to indulge in that feeling once more.
“We should not be doing this,” she murmured with caution instead. “You looked at me with horror the other day. You know we should not even be so much as talking.”
“Not horror.” He shook his head. “Shock, certainly.”
“You are avoiding the matter at hand!”
“Then I’ll speak plainly.” He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her, moving his body so near to hers that she flattened her body to that wall. Her hands itched to rise and pull the lapels of his jacket. To stop herself from giving in to such temptation, she placed her palms on the wall, too.
“I do not believe I can stay away. I don’t care if our fathers despise each other, nor the reason for it; I choose to believe there is something here.” His eyes flitted down to her lips, and she held her breath, realizing he was thinking of their kiss, too. “I cannot stay away. If you tell me you want me to go, then fine, I will, but if you want me to stay … then let me know.”
His voice had deepened so much that Juliet’s heart thundered against her chest. She wondered if it would break free of her ribcage, for such a simple thing as his voice seemed to have such control over her body.
“Don’t go,” she managed to whisper just as he looked as if he was about to retreat.
“Thank God for that,” he murmured and settled himself against his hands on the wall again, coming so close this time that she turned her head up towards him. His eyes grew half-lidded, his face turning towards hers.
She gave in to her temptations, her hands raising and latching around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down towards her. His smile grew as he bent closer and closer to her.
“You can’t stay away either, can you?” he asked, his voice deepening to something almost like a growl.
“No,” she confessed and pulled his lapels another time.
His lips met hers in a deep kiss. Unlike their first kiss, which had started as something tentative, there was nothing slow about this kiss. As Juliet pulled on his jacket, his hands shot from the wall to her waist, his fingers splaying around her and holding her near. She felt her hips brush his as his tongue came out to meet hers, and they danced together.
