Neliem, page 15
Automatically, Tristan pulls back, his face white, his eyes intense, his hands blocking the wench.
My jaw drops as the wanton creature squeezes his thigh, licking her lips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. If left to her own designs, they would be disrobed and rolling on the carpet. “Is this all that master would desire?”
I slam my hand to my mouth to stop from gasping.
She wants him.
He laughs, shaking his head in that way of his. “Yes, Soriee. That will be all.”
To confirm it, he backs three cautious steps away. My heart stops hammering, and I remember to breathe. He’s not interested. And I shouldn’t really care either way. What I should be is petrified. Tristan, my Tristan, is here, right now. Worse, if what he proclaims to be true, he is Ezra’s wayward brother, the one who wants to stop our nuptials and send me packing to Madera without so much as a second thought.
Moving as quietly as possible, I lift the book to the desk and focus. There are five exits and three windows wide enough to leap out of if pressed upon. As well as a servant’s exit, which perchance leads to an alley, where I can escape unnoticed. Then I recall the walls with barbed wire and the guard fully armed, most likely trained to fire at will. As well as a pair of ravenous dogs to hinder any such attempt.
Like a trapped animal, I can’t move, let alone come up with an escape plan. For the first time, the spirit of Neliem has deserted me completely. I’ve been reduced to a sniveling coward, one who huddles behind the dark cover of bookshelves, hoping that I can slip passed unnoticed the moment the corridor is cleared.
Heavy footsteps stomp louder on the hardwood floors, and I know without looking that others have joined him. Daringly, I open one eye to spy. Henric, Landis and another fellow with equally blond hair are greeting Tristan warmly. They hit his back affectionately, swarming him, their mood both jovial and affectionate.
“Tristan,” Landis lunges at him like a bear, for the first time with no mask to shield his emotions. He smiles brightly, like a star, and for a moment I’m captured in his brilliance. The mood is contagious. Even the sour aftereffects of Cassia’s proximity have vanished from Henric, who follows suit, not only squeezing the life out of Tristan, but lifting him a few inches in the air as if he weighed no more than half a stone.
“And where have you been?”
“Where haven’t I been?” Tristan, his usual cocky self, mocks. And it’s the same self-assured Tristan that I know only too well. For a horrifying second, I fret that he might mention his latest conquest and have a good belly laugh at my expense.
The grandfather clock ticks rhythmically, propelling the wheels in my head to spin faster.
I know one thing; I can’t stand here spying anymore. I need to run. Like a rat who’s wise enough to bail out of sinking ship, I need to make my exit. Quickly. Without a sound, I slink to the ground, clutching my fist so tightly that my nails cut into my palms.
“Heard about your heroics …” I think it’s Henric who snickers. A shiver crawls down my spine. My chest tightening, I glide across the thick woven carpet, kicking off my shoes.
“So did I, very amusing,” The one I don’t know adds.
Tristan laughs it off. Compelled by some unnamed impulse, I turn my head.
“Diving into a channel, this time of year? The water must’ve been freezing.” Landis again. “Not to mention what was in that water.”
“All for a worthy cause; the horse is eternally grateful.”
More laughter, and I finally dare peek through the doorjamb.
“Not for a fair wench?”
I wince at the perfect opening to brag about his exploits. Namely, how I let him kiss me.
“No, but the horse and I are officially engaged …” I gasp and cover my mouth to prevent from laughing along.
Then, anxiously, Tristan’s gaze drifts toward the stairs. “And where is my brother and his plain country bride?”
Landis shifts in his stance, his gaze just as intense. “She’s nice enough. Pretty.”
Henric, the bastard, rubs his nail up and down the banister. “Quite dull for my taste.” And then lower, so that I have to strain to hear, “Everything is set?”
They all slowly nod, reading some expression on Tristan’s face that I can’t see. Then everyone lets out an audible sigh, a wave of relief washing over them and leaving me in the dark as to what’s about to unfold.
Tristan’s eyes catch the light just so. And for a split second, I’m positive that I’ve been caught. “So, she’s quite dull, is she? As I suspected. I suppose now that dear Ezra will stop playing the monk and finally frequent a certain brothel to whet his appetite.”
The anger seethes through me, pulsating red hot in my veins. Neliem springs to life as I’m ready to pounce. I scrutinize my adversaries cautiously. Two will go down easily, one will run, and Tristan, Tristan I will save for last. I relish how I’ll make him suffer, prolonging the torture until he begs for mercy.
Henric laughs like a hyena, spitting out his words, “I wish I was there right now. Why haven’t you been?”
Tristan eyes him suspiciously, about to say something, but collects himself at the last moment. “Missed my exquisite company?”
“Need you ask?” Henric glares. “You are the one constant in this world of inconsistencies.”
For a moment, the curtain draped around Henric since we met, loosens. What stands before me seems almost human. Tender even, showing a side he hides better than choice jewels: fierce loyalty. And perhaps, if I had the inclination to scrape below the surface, something else entirely: admiration.
Processing the exchange, my gut clenches as if I swallowed sour rind. The truth hits me, almost making me lose my balance. Henric was just betrothed and already has absolutely no interest in his wife. First, there was that business outside of the teashop. That girl telling him to leave her alone. And even though I loathe Cassia with every fiber in my being, I know betrayal like the raw sting of a belt across my backside one too many times.
That little part of me that wishes for the impossible can’t help but fear this is how it will be for Ezra and me. One minute he offers sweet words of devotion, the other dismissed while he seeks his pleasures elsewhere.
Landis shakes his head and laughs. “Seriously, where have you been?”
“Need you ask?” Tristan confesses, “Why, chasing my heart’s desire.”
It’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room. Everyone grows deadly silent. Even the hallway clock seems to pause. Then the other boy, the one I don’t know, speaks up, “Since when do you chase anything? I thought they all chase after you? Or rather, your purse.”
It seems to be an inside joke. One that’s been used at Tristan’s expense quite often, I suspect.
Not in the least affected, Tristan is all sly smiles. “Ah, this one, I fear, knows how to run.” He brushes off some lint that Soiree missed off his cuff. “Rather too fast.”
Henric turns pale, and once again looks like a child. “Should we be worried? I mean … you …”
Landis hits him playfully, teasing, “Tristan, you said you would sooner be boiled in oil and have your inners pulled out through your nostril and left to wither in the sun than take your vows.”
Tristan’s face contorts as if actually contemplating this. Then that familiar spark flickers like thunder against a storm. “There is definitely something to be said about being boiled in oil and having your inners pulled out of your nostril and left to wither in the sun.”
All three men stare at him, dumbfounded. Tristan turns his gaze toward the patio breaking from the circle, his pulse spiking just as mine matches his. “Enough of this; where is my brother?”
Without waiting, Tristan strides purposely outside, leaving his cousins on his heels, rushing like schoolboys after a treat. Once the footsteps fade, I unclench my fists that have turned white, my nails leaving little crescent moons embedded in my palms. My head spins so hard that I collapse against the wall to gather my thoughts, which are darker and bleaker than they were a moment ago. The ticking grandfather clock in the hallway resumes its taunt, the seconds amplified as realization dawns.
Through some cruel trick of nature, Ezra and Tristan are brothers. Brothers. The same blood, the same expressions. Those blazing blue eyes, calm one moment and the other … Like a whirlwind it all comes together; all the bits and pieces of information that should’ve alerted me sooner.
Frustrated, I slam my hand against the wall, upsetting a statue of a goddess swallowing a bird. Its wingspan shakes, then stills. It reminds me of my eagle soaring through the heavens. The answer to this drama is obvious. I might be Neliem, one who fights to the death, never shirking from danger, but in this situation, there is no course available but immediate escape.
As luck would have it, the library windows face a park, separated by merely a low retaining wall. Only a small unguarded gate lies between me and impending freedom. I count the steps that it would take to slip out the window and leave unnoticed.
With infinitesimal care, I tuck my shoes under the table. It will be much faster with bare feet. Then, on tiptoes, I slink toward the drapes. My fingers press the latch to pry open the window, when I realize it’s stuck. The lock jammed. I hold my breath and gently jab it open with a fingernail. It creeks, moaning like an old woman in pain.
Straining, I tug harder. It shakes, then gives. But the squeaking’s enough to wake the dead. Outside, the cloud cover lifts, the spring shower having subsided. Rich Untouchables stroll in the cool of the day. Ladies immaculately dressed and carrying dainty parasols and gentlemen in top hats and fine coats. In the park, children ride tricycles, some playing with colorful hoops.
The slick cobblestones beckon me forward.
All I need is another push to snap open the screen, and I’m free. In answer to my prayer, the window with a shudder finally gives. My fingers reach for the screen when a hand comes down hard on my shoulder, turning me around in one fluid movement.
Stormy blue oceans rage.
“What the dickens are you doing here?” Tristan’s voice pierces. Then, closing his eyes, he embraces me tight. “Thank God.”
His demeanor in the blink of an eye shifts from irate to tender. He glances behind his shoulder, then steps disarmingly closer so that our noses almost touch.
I know two things: he’s happy to see me, and he doesn’t want a scene. At least, not yet.
Every nerve in my body quivers. But a strange relief washes over me. I breathe. He’s here, and I should be running for my life. Instead, I gawk like some infatuated schoolgirl. The same girl who averted capture her entire life has fallen into the simplest of traps. At once I realize my mistake; my back was to the only two entrances in the room.
To make matters worse, I’m completely disarmed. A stupid, stupid mistake not worthy of Neliem.
I close my eyes in prayer. Once, not too long ago, a carriage falling off a bridge was sent from God in answer. Perchance a fire, or another large enough explosion will save me now.
By the look of sheer determination on his face, most likely not.
In the span of seconds, I pray to every saint who ever lived. Both alive and martyred. Holding in a breath, I glance toward the servant’s exit, but my fellow Neliem is standing too close to attempt any form of escape, his hip touching mine as if to say, ‘Try it.’
In two small steps, I could leap to safety and race down the avenue. Just as the thought crosses my head, his hand clamps down on my waist, pinning me against him.
“Oh, Tristan … is that you?” I use the smile I’ve been practicing, my hand carefully placed over my heart to convey surprise.
His arched eyebrow informs me at once that my act couldn’t fool a blind beggar. Make that a blind, deaf beggar who hasn’t eaten in a week.
The blaze in Tristan’s eyes could melt lead. It isn’t a storm, rather a tempest. One I’m about to be swept into. “Don’t, ‘Oh, Tristan is that you?’ to me, young lady. Where the dickens have you been?” He points his finger accusingly, and it takes everything in me not to snap at it.
As if reading my thoughts, he darts his finger away. Footsteps recede from the foyer, distracting him. But his grip doesn’t falter. With ease, he pulls me deeper into the library.
Only then does he allow his defenses down.
He takes a moment to collect himself, the relief of finding me enough of an incentive to explain, “I would have you know that sixteen copies of the frock you were wearing were sold last week. And I had to go through nine somewhat terrifying, yet exhilarating, experiences to find out that sadly, none of which were in your possession.”
I stammer, “Nine out of the sixteen …”
“In various sizes, mind you. Your size had ten frocks. Nine of which I had to painstakingly interview in excruciating detail.”
He runs a trail of hot kisses from my hand up to my elbow, then repeats the process on the other, frowning when he sees the self-inflicted marks on my palms. He lowers his head as if in prayer and tenderly smothers a kiss on each one as if a caressing a bud about to bloom.
And something delicious builds in my loins.
Tristan catches this, then just as quickly shakes his head. “Enough of this; what is your name?”
I cannot help it. “Oriana.”
He smiles, relieved. “Thank Heavens it wasn’t Prudence. She was the tenth appointment today.”
Exasperated Tristan disappears and what faces me is puppy-dog infatuated Tristan. The one that I can’t resist. He lifts my face and kisses my cheek. The tingle spreads, sending a path of fire down to my chest. He steps back only to watch my reaction. Satisfied, he grins, his eyes mocking in that way that makes me want to smack him upside his head and kick him down a flight of stairs.
“Thought so.”
I’m too stunned to speak. It’s the same effect as before. My flesh burns hot and even through I’m terrified, my body springs to life.
I stutter helplessly, “I’m glad you are well.”
It was, after all, my wish. To see him again and part as friends.
Even though this is like no friendship I’ve ever experienced.
He all but ignores my formality, his eyes roaming all over me as if I had on nothing more than the sheerest petticoat. “And this frock I rather like. Of course, I’d love it better off.”
How does he say these things without me wanting nothing better than to beat him soundly? I still don’t know where to begin, but something tells me that parting as friends might not go as well as I’d hoped. “It’s good to see you, Tristan. Really.”
“And here we are. At a family function of all places.” He rolls his eyes. “My family function.”
“Yes, about that …”
Tristan wanders toward the bar and pours himself a brandy, miraculously without letting go of my hand. He explains, “My brother is marrying some horrific fortune hunter, which I intend to abruptly put a stop to, but that shouldn’t change our plans.”
I rip my hand from his violently. “Really?”
His head tilts toward the door, scolding me, “Keep your voice down. Yes. But don’t fret. We will casually make our way upstairs within the hour for a much-needed rendezvous. There are conveniently locks on these bedroom doors, unlike other homes.” He pauses me to give me the once-over. “And I still haven’t forgiven you for taking off.”
Horrified by his intent, my jaw drops.
“You missed an opportunity of a lifetime.” He makes a motion to nuzzle against me as I sidestep his advances. “Rescuing the ambassador’s wife and resuscitating her.” He leans in, and murmurs against my ear, “For the better part of an hour, mind you.”
I almost spill the drink, a bubble of laughter escaping my lungs so hard that my sides hurt. “She must have been eternally grateful and rewarded you appropriately. Don’t tell me, you have sired a male child. He will be impossibly handsome to make up for his lack of discretion.”
Tristan’s resolve breaks, and for a moment he looks so young and vulnerable. His breath catches, about to say something when he pulls me into a tight embrace. His heart hammers against mine, and for a moment, I don’t wish to be any other place than in his arms. I inhale deeply, mischief and spice and storm. The lump in my throat pulsates, telling me to end it now. As it is, I can barely move, the heat radiating from his body intoxicatingly sweet. So playful, so Tristan. “She’s eighty. God, I’ve missed you.”
Outside, a door slams, alerting him that we are not alone. When he shifts his stance, I take the opportunity to move away, contemplating how to announce myself as the devious fortune hunter who’s tricked his brother.
Tristan’s hot gaze trickles over me like warm milk, his eyes lingering on the gown, but most likely what’s concealed under the fine satin and lace. “And I’m relieved to find you once again unblemished.”
Softer than feathers, his fingers glide down my face, and I’m rendered paralyzed. There’s something about how he looks at me, one moment deadly as a cobra, the next as gentle as a lamb. Both equally irresistible. And for the life of me, I still don’t know how he can tell that I’m still pure.
“How can you tell that, just by looking at me?”
He squints as if also perplexed. “Yes and no. There’s just something about you …” He absentmindedly brushes his finger over my nose, and tries again, “It’s this scent, almost, like a whiff of heaven, or what I suppose heaven to smell like.”
His boyish innocence makes him even that more dangerous. Awkwardly, I stare down at my shoes, tucked under the table, which I haven’t bothered to put back on. This morning, before I woke up, a box was on the empty pillow by my head. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes to find Ezra at the doorway, with that sweet anxious look on his face. I quickly unraveled the ribbon, opened the box, and gasped. There they were. The most perfect shoes on the planet, adorned with golden bows. Ezra waited patiently for my reaction, not daring enter my bedchambers without an invitation. The truth was that I was so touched, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
