Page 53 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
Christine, reaching at that very moment, stumbled forward, her hands landing squarely against Tristan’s chest. The room went still for a heartbeat. Tristan caught her wrists instinctively, steadying her. She gasped, blindfolded still, sensing who it was before she spoke.
“Tristan,” she whispered, “I followed your voice.”
“Christine,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “I thought for a moment you were destined for him.”
She hesitated, then smiled under the silk. Out of the circle, Windemere met Tristan’s gaze and winked. It was conspiratorial, teasing, yet with an edge of respect. The Dowager clapped her hands.
“Splendid! The Duke of Duskwood is found by Lady Christine, and I think we’re all familiar with the rumors flying about the two of them. It is fate!”
Christine pulled off the blindfold, blinking in the candlelight. Her expression shifted from surprise to something softer, almost shy.
Tristan bowed. “May I have the honor?”
She placed her hand in his. “You seem to have it already.”
As they began to dance, the rest of the room blurred into background chatter. Christine’s laughter, low and unguarded, carried across the music.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Tristan asked.
“Is that a loaded question?” Christine replied.
Is it? Am I spoiling for a fight because of jealousy?
“No,” Tristan half-lied, “you were laughing.”
“I am enjoying myself…” Christine began.
She suddenly felt swept along by Tristan. Her feet responded without orders from her mind, without conscious control. His physical presence made it seem he would be an awkward and clumsy dancer in such a close hold. Her words faltered, a lie to counter his.
She had spent too much time watching Tristan to enjoy herself. Too much time worrying about what would happen when the games were over.
Am I to marry, even if it is in name only? Am I to take residence at Dukswood?
That led to a succession of lurid thoughts that set her heart racing and constricted her chest, making her breath come quick and fast. She felt color rise in her cheeks. In full sight of Tristan, which just made the blush even deeper.
“You were saying?” Tristan asked drily.
“I am having a wonderful evening, following a wonderful day.”
“Wonderful? I wish I could say the same.”
“Why not wonderful?”
“Because I am still in this ridiculous Hunt.”
“Ridiculous? I thought you were doing so well.” Christine said as Tristan executed a turn that pulled her closer.
His eyes filled her world, his presence overwhelmed her.
Do I do the same to him? That face is so stony. I cannot tell.
But her doubts were swept away in the graceful elegance of his movements. The room whirled around here, glittering as though polished, as though melted glass had been poured over everything. She half felt it had flowed over her as well, leaving her skin sleek and shining and alive with heat.
“Tell me how well I am doing,” he said in a voice so low it rumbled through her, vibrating in the core of her body.
“You came here a single man,” she gasped, feeling as though words were being snatched from her against her will.
Those eyes, his strong hands, the magnetic pull of his physique, drew forth thoughts that she wanted to keep hidden.
