the sweet scent of the brandy, along with something intoxicating that was only him. His gaze focused on her lips and she found herself licking them, unsure, nervous, but filled with anticipation.
He drew her closer and pressed her fully against him. He was so hard, so firm – everything she had imagined in the last year. Her own eyes fastened on his mouth. His lips were dark in the night and as they moved lower she hesitated, then stretched up to meet them.
The first touch was soft, a kitten’s nose butting for attention. He drew back slightly and it was she who pressed forward, bringing their lips more firmly together. How could anything be so sweet, so gentle and yet so strong? She moved closer, lured by his retreat. Her entire world became the caress of his lips upon hers, the glide of silk and velvet.
She hardly noticed when his hands slipped behind her, clasping her until there was no space left between them. His mouth firmed beneath her and the gentle teasing grew more impatient. His tongue darted out and caressed her upper lip.
She pulled back a moment shocked. What was he doing? Kissing was lips, not tongues. His arms tightened around her and allowed her no escape. For a moment fear flickered, but then abated as his kisses gentled, again moving to the corners of her mouth and then drawing back.
He moved back an inch, then two. Held firm. Again she felt his breath against her face, smelled the essence of him. She opened her eyes, when had they shut? His gaze was warm, fire ignited within. His pupils were huge within his eyes and even in the dark, deep emotion glowed from them.
She reached up and ran the tip of a finger over the lips that had so recently caressed her own.
It was a moment of wonder.
A moment far too long in coming.
A second of complete enchantment.
She had stepped back in time.
All her dreams could come true. She had been kissed. Well and truly kissed.
Suddenly a large group came out the door.
Tristan stepped away, and they stared into each other’s eyes for an endless moment, the emotions of the kiss still sending shocks between them. Then, as the group moved closer, he led her back to the ballroom. Back to the reality of her life.
What had come over him? Where had the tenderness and wonder come from? One dance should not change the course of things. One dance would not change the course of things. Nobody had glanced at him amiss when he followed his wife into halls he had not previously graced. Further, it had been taken as accepted practice that having followed his wife he need only pay her polite social attention and then pursue more masculine activities. A husband’s infatuation was only expected to extend so far.
So what had happened during the dance? It was such a simple matter to give in to her wishes and lead her to the floor. A quick waltz around the room, then he would seek out Huismans again. There was something about the man that raised his hackles.
He scanned the room. Damn. He didn’t see Huismans anywhere. He should have resisted Marguerite’s allure. He was allowing her to distract him from his purpose.
She gained him entry into polite world and in return he protected and cared for her. Desire was not involved.
Her hand was still clasped about his arm. She turned, her top-most golden curls brushing his chin, her skirts swirling against his leg. The almost imperceptible scent of lemon surrounded her. His body quickened with desire.
She was his. It would not be denied.
He halted, just for a fraction of a second, allowing his gaze to wander over her. She was exquisite. The hair, paler than moonbeams, the flawless skin, the slender yet curvaceous body. She reminded him of a newly risen Venus.
She gazed up at him, her bottomless blue eyes innocent, yet guarded. Her brows drew together in question. Why had he stopped?
She was beautiful.
He was a man.
A vigorous man.
Desire was natural.
He should have accepted it from the start. He had made a miscalculation in avoiding her bed on their wedding night. It had created a situation that could not continue, but was awkward to end. He could not simply show up at her bedroom door with no warning.
But, perhaps he had made a mistake in assuming that she would not welcome him. That kiss had been – well, it had been very definitely reciprocated. Could it