Page 111 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

“We’ll have no further presents. I couldn’t keep up. I already didn’t know what to get for the man who’s got it all.”

The comment hadn’t been intended to hurt, and yet the look Mordaunt gave her was pained. He opened his mouth to speak, but Aurienne pressed her hand to his lips. Laughter had just rung in the corridor.

“I think that’s Aedan,” she whispered. She peered over the edge of the box. Aedan was indeed no longer near the orchestra. There was ageneral shuffle and noise as everyone regained their seats for the third act.

She discovered that Mordaunt was kissing her gloved fingertips.

“Hide,” said Aurienne.

“Where?” said Mordaunt.

“You’re the Fyren,” hissed Aurienne. “Work it out.”

He did work it out. He shadow-walked to the nearest shadow.

Which happened to be under her gown.

Aedan returned, accompanied by the other couples, who resumed their seats in the box.

“Sorry for disappearing,” said Aedan to Aurienne. “Ran into some colleagues. Are you all right?”

“Oh, fine,” said Aurienne, as a full-grown man attempted to make himself small between her legs. Thank Fria she had worn one of her most voluminous gowns. “I’ve been keeping myself entertained observing royal fashions.”

“Lovely pearls,” said Aedan. “I hadn’t noticed them before.”

“Thank you.”

The lights began to dim. A hush fell upon the audience as Madame Florimont returned to the stage. Aurienne stood awkwardly at the balcony ledge.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” whispered Aedan.

“Back pain,” whispered Aurienne. “You sit and enjoy.”

“Erm—can’t you heal it?”

“If I could’ve done, I would’ve, don’t you think? I’ll just move to the side here so I don’t block anyone’s view.”

Aurienne shuffled to the farthest corner of the box, a bit awkwardly, given Mordaunt between her knees.

There she stood, like some sort of moron. The curtains parted. The players took their places and the third act began, and for the first five minutes, Aurienne thought that things were going all right, all things considered.

After ten minutes, she realised that there was a problem in the making: there was a Fyren between her legs and he was growing bored. His fingers rapped impatiently against her calf to convey the fact. She swatted at the approximate location of his head within her skirts.

Mordaunt was quiet again for a bit after that. But only for a bit. The first brush against her inner thigh Aurienne thought accidental: there wasn’t much room for him to manoeuvre under her dress. The second touch was higher up, and lasted longer. The third was definitely deliberate. Fingers traced at the garter on her left thigh.

The hormones from the grotto that morning surged back into her.

Hugely inappropriate. She wouldn’t allow it. She would cross her legs.

The players gambolled across the stage. Madame Florimont piped away.

Aurienne still hadn’t crossed her legs. Nor had she swatted at him again.

A single finger slid up her inner thigh.

She couldn’t possibly allow this. There were people in the box behind her, Aedan among them.

The lights were low. No one would see.