“Not very high but enough to break bones given the paving at the bottom,” he whispered, “were you contemplating throwing yourself into the void?”
“Don’t laugh at me!” Christine said fiercely.
“Then do not give me such a ludicrous scenario at which to laugh.”
“I fell by accident.”
“Because you were trying to eavesdrop.”
“You were following me!”
Tristan was silent. Christine felt his shrug. His shoulders were so muscular. So powerful. She was reminded strongly of the physique of a mountain wolf, with its thick, bunched muscles and dense mane of hair.
This close, she could smell the leaves that had brushed him, the disturbed soil beneath his shoes as he braced them both. The scent that was just him and him alone.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was breathing him in, breathing in deeply, and feeling light-headed. Her hands rested upon his chest, finding the edges of his coat lapels and touching the fabric of his shirt beneath. It was starched and stiff, but could not disguise the physique beneath.
His every word was a warmth in her face. It meant they were so close that his lips might touch hers with the pronunciation of a particular syllable.
Her body was hungry. She knew that she should remove herself from him, maintain a respectable distance. But, he evoked something primal in her that would not let her push herself away. It wanted her to hold fast to him. To cling to him. Her fingers bit at him, pressing as though to feel him through the clothing that separated them.
“You were going the wrong way. I didn’t want you to get lost.”
“I could hardly get lost in the grounds of a house like this.”
“You’d be surprised how easy it is to lose your way.”
“Well, it would be a rare treat compared to my daily life for the last seven years. One cannot be lost when one’s world is a single house.”
“You were really kept prisoner?”
“Yes.”
Christine’s response was brief. She did not want to rely on anyone, but at that moment, she craved a protector. Someone to shoulder the burden of worry.
He will do that. Carry it all and leave me free of anxiety. Except for Charles. That is the one subject on which I cannot trust him. Can I?
“Then, for God’s sake, accept me!” Tristan said with hot urgency.
His hands tightened their hold, clutching her closer to him. She was aware of every muscle he touched and every muscle of his that she did. She did not answer. Behind them came Blanche’s laughter, Lord Thynne’s booming voice, Elizabeth’s arch retorts. The world of gaiety, of ordinary society. But between Christine and Tristan stretched a tension like drawn steel.
“Did you overhear them too?” she asked, whispering as their friends’ voices drew closer.
“Who?”
“A coachman and his girl, presumably a maid. I think I have spoken to her, though I cannot think of her name. They are in trouble. In distress. Something to do with wanting to marry but being unable to.”
“She is probably in trouble,” Tristan said.
“All the more reason to help if they cannot help themselves,” Christine said.
She heard Tristan breathe out, long and slow. “Must you be savior to everyone you come across?” he muttered.
“If they need a savior and have none. Yes. I know what it is like to be defenseless and without hope.”
“Then accept me, and I will do what I can. If you can identify them,” Tristan said.
“Ho! There in the shadows! Stop lurking before I call the constables!” Ernald boomed through the night.
