For the Love of Lila (21 page)

The carriage door opened and Tristan stood outside, offering her his hand. “This inn looks comfortable, does it not?”

“Quite nice,” she said without enthusiasm as she slipped her fingers in his. Trying to ignore the tingling that his touch aroused, she stepped onto the gravel.

They walked to the door arm in arm, though she knew they must look awkward. Something about his demeanor—his stiff posture, his indifferent expression—advertised his resistance to her. She believed the staff last night had sensed it, and everyone here would as well.

Within moments of their entrance, the proprietor emerged from a busy dining room. A dashing older man with graying temples that foiled jet-black hair, he bowed and gave Lila a broad grin. His black eyes gleamed. “
Bon soir, madame
.”

Flattered by the apparent admiration, she smiled and nodded.

He turned to Tristan and bowed again. “How can I help you,
monsieur
?”

Tristan dropped her arm, leaving her feeling conspicuously isolated. Pulling out his billfold, he said, “My wife and I will require a private dining room and two of your best bedchambers for the night.”

She looked down, unable to meet the stare she sensed coming from the innkeeper. Naturally, he assumed that a request for such chaste sleeping arrangements must have originated with her, the woman.

The man cleared his throat. “I am afraid we have no adjoining rooms available. We do, however, have a splendid suite that you might enjoy, encompassing a bedchamber and a dressing area. I assure you it is singularly commodious.”

“The rooms need not adjoin each other,” Tristan said, his mouth sagging at the corners. “What other single rooms are available?”

In the silence that followed, Lila shrank, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. Luckily, all in the dining room appeared engaged in conversation.

She ventured a peek at the innkeeper.

The man scratched his head. “I have two fair-sized rooms on the second floor. They are not quite so sumptuous as the other, but you will find them comfortable.
Madame
, would you object to a chamber at the rear of the inn?”

When he looked at her, she noticed the gleam in his eye had dulled. Instead, he stared down his aquiline nose at her, his upper lip curling slightly, no doubt with disdain.

Warmth flooded her cheeks. She did not want to be thought of as sexless. Blast it, she did not want to
be
sexless. In truth, she wanted to sleep with Tristan tonight. What would the innkeeper think if he knew who the real cold fish was?

She turned to look up at Tristan. “The
suite
sounds charming to me.”

Instantly she lamented her rebellious tongue. How could she unman him in public? She had never intended as much. On the contrary, she wanted to make him feel
more
of a man.

Lord, she wanted to, with all her being.

When he met her gaze, the hardness in his eyes made her cringe. She realized she had put him in an impossible position. If he opted for separate quarters now, the proprietor would think him unnatural.

“I’m sorry.” She scoured her mind for a way to right the wrong. “I know my snoring kept you awake last night. Truly, you cannot afford to lose more sleep, my dear. We will take the other rooms. I don’t mind the rear of the inn.”

He stared at her, then looked away without responding.

“The suite has a comfortable couch in the dressing area,” the innkeeper said, his air once more congenial. “If
monsieur
has difficulty sleeping, he can move into there. I will provide extra pillows and blankets. Then you need not separate from one another.”

“Very well,” Tristan said, addressing the innkeeper. “We’ll take the suite.”

Without another glance at Lila, he paid in advance and commissioned a footman to fetch their belongings from the carriage. During their entire trek upstairs, he would not meet her gaze. When they got to the room, he took the bags from the servant and shut the door. Finally he turned to her and glowered.

“I am so sorry, Tristan.” She swallowed. The ribbons of her bonnet dug into her neck, and she reached up to loosen the tie. “Once I had opened my mouth, I couldn’t fix what I’d said. I did try to.”

“And what were you trying to achieve when you opened your mouth in the first place?” He whipped off his hat and gloves and threw them on a chair.

“I don’t know. That man gave me such a look. I simply couldn’t stand the idea of what he must think of me.”

He stared at her. “Any other time you couldn’t care less what the world thinks of you. What can the opinion of one stranger, whom you’ll never see again, signify?”

She rubbed her forehead, accidentally knocking off her bonnet. “I don’t know how to explain. The French are so full of passion, and here I am, a young woman, apparently unwilling to sleep with her own husband. ‘Tis not natural.”

“Except I am not in fact your husband,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I don’t know what came over me.” She picked up her hat and tossed it on the bed, a large four-poster that dominated the room. “These last two days have been trying. I’m suffering under great emotional stress. Surely you feel the same.”

He shot a glance heavenward, then focused back on her. “And bedding down like this is supposed to relieve the tension?”

Stepping to the center of the floor, he gestured from the bed in the main chamber to the couch in the dressing area. The passage between them had no door. “Lila, if you do nothing to protect your virtue, indeed throw yourself in my way, how I am to behave honorably? Though I endeavor to live by higher standards than many men, I am by no means a monk.”

“I truly am sorry. I know this is not what you want.”

“What I want?” He snorted. “What I want is simply to pass this night sleeping. Unfortunately, your presence makes it difficult. Even when you’re not falling on my bed—as you did our first night together—I can scarcely forget your proximity. When a woman is sharing a man’s bedchamber, the fact doesn’t slip his mind.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You believe men alone are subject to desire?”

“That’s not what I said. And I don’t speak of mere desire but torment.” Yanking off his jacket, he slung it amongst the rest of his things. “I can’t stand knowing that you lie so near me but still out of my reach.”

But I am not out of your reach
. Knowing he had reason to be angry, she kept her thoughts to herself.

“Listening to the sound of your breathing, imagining the fall of your nightrail over your body...” The furrows in his brow tightened into lines of anguish. “Longing, the whole while, to get up and join you.”

The strain in his voice made her wince. She sighed in exasperation. “Then
join me
.”

“Good God, Lila.” He stopped amidst loosening his cravat to stare at her. “I don’t want to make you a mistress. And I can’t understand why you, who refuse to submit to marriage, would settle for something yet inferior. Forget my own aversion to scandal and consider what you deserve. I know you believe marriage robs women of their freedom, but being my mistress would rob you of respect.”

She shook her head. “Those who cannot respect my decision would not have to know about it.”

“But
you
would know about it. Keeping such a secret would be bound to take a toll on you. Covering up one of the chief facets of your life, lying to acquaintances, having to wait until heads are turned—how long do you think you could do all this and still respect yourself?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps not for long.” She cast her gaze downward, then forced herself to look him the eye. “I only know that I could do it tonight.”

For a long moment he studied her, unblinking. At last he turned and walked to the window, still silent.

She watched him in frustration. “Tristan, do you truly believe that our making love the other night was wrong?”

“Yes,” he said without turning around. “In some ways, yes.”

“Do you wish it hadn’t happened?”

“Yes.”

She stepped closer, stopping inches behind him. His broad shoulders beckoned to her, but she resisted the urge to touch him. “I am not versed in lovemaking, but it must be quite an art if what you and I shared didn’t stand out as extraordinary.”

He neither spoke nor moved in response.

Barely breathing, she said, “For me, the experience surpassed anything else I have ever known. Even if I could combine the greatest wonders of my life—the most beautiful sight, the sweetest taste, the richest comfort, the deepest insight—the sum would not match what I felt united with you. I don’t regret what we did in the least. I would never wish away that experience, not for the world.”

He stood motionless another minute, and then his head drooped forward. Slowly, he turned and faced her.

“I don’t wish it away either,” he said in a hushed tone. “If I could wish away realities, I would wipe out the risk to my political career or to your philosophy...not to mention the risk of your conceiving.”

“I know. I know we have much to fear if we are together.” Wandering to the foot of the bed, she sat down on the edge. “But I am so afraid of being apart.”

He looked away, then back again. “I concede that separating is hell, but that is a lover’s lot, isn’t it?” Walking to the head of the bed, he took a seat, leaving a good yard of space between them. “Shakespeare himself said so: ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’“

“Yes. He also noted that it never lasts. ‘Brief as the lightning in the collied night that, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth.’“ The comparison brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. Shakespeare had described what making love with Tristan had been to her. She murmured, “‘And ere a man hath power to say “Behold!” The jaws of darkness do devour it up.’“

She collapsed onto her back, arms sprawled across the mattress. “That is what grieves me most, knowing that the moment of wonder is gone and that I will never feel it again. I will never again truly feel love.”

For what felt like a lifetime she stared at the ceiling, descending into despair.

Then she felt his fingers, warm and sound, wrap around her cold ones. The mattress creaked and dipped and suddenly he lay beside her, looking into her eyes. He cupped her cheek with his hand and leaned in to her lips.

As his mouth met hers, she closed her eyes. Keenly aware how rare and precious the moment would be, she savored every detail—the softness of his lips, their warmth, the taste of his tongue sampling hers.

He deepened the kiss, and she stretched her arms around his body, reveling in the expanse of his chest, the unmistakable power in his form. She ran her hands over his back, wishing his waistcoat gone so she could feel the muscles and contours the thick brocade obscured.

All too soon he tapered off his ardor with diminishing kisses. As he tilted his head back to look at her, the intensity in his gaze both heartened and tore at her. She could see that he wanted her, but knowing so only made it harder to accept that she couldn’t have him. She thought back to the sole consummation of their love, her one brief brush with fulfillment.

A hot tear splashed onto her cheek. “Never again.”

His brow creased. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against him. A telltale prodding at her thigh made her gasp. Surprised that he allowed that degree of intimacy, she leaned back to look into his eyes.

He sighed and gave her nose a soft kiss. “Well, perhaps just once more.”

She blinked, afraid to trust her own perception. Did he really mean to make love to her? She didn’t dare ask, unsure if she could bear the answer.

“Maybe, occasionally, lightning does strike twice.” Despite the blithe words, his expression held sober. He bent closer and grazed her lips.

Whatever he meant to accord her, she intended to take full advantage. She crushed her mouth against his, eating him up like a woman starved—not that hunger made her forget to relish the meal. Senses alive, she breathed in the warm scents of his hair and skin. She clutched his body to hers and pulled him partly atop her, rolling onto her back.

He groaned and matched each depth she ventured with her kisses, squeezing her in his arms. Inching further over her midsection, he moved his mouth onto her neck. Sensation shivered through her body with each nibble he took.

When she felt him grapple for the buttons on her back she held her breath. Her bodice slackened and he strung kisses into her decolletage, coaxing a whimper from her. “Oh, Tristan. Never before have I prayed for an electrical storm.”

“Nor was any prayer so likely to be answered,” he murmured at her breast.

Regardless of his assurance, she vowed to add to the tempest. She slid a hand between them, her mind reeling under the spell his tongue worked on her. The large buttons of his waistcoat slipped through their holes with surprising ease. As soon as the garment spread, she advanced to the shirt within.

She peeked down to watch him at her nipple, his eyes closed and features sharp with passion. Bending her neck, she kissed the top of his head and dipped her hand inside his shirt. She drew in her breath over the solid form and luscious heat of his chest. She needed to make love to him again. The first time she had feared the unknown—and he had misunderstood her intentions. This time would be pure: an informed, if mad, choice.

Somehow she got the courage to slide her hand lower, her knuckles skimming the soft warmth of his belly. He contracted the muscles, and a space opened between his body and breeches. She sank her hand into the gap.

They both gasped when her fingertips grazed what she sought. Though she and Tristan had coupled once, her knowledge of this part of him remained sketchy.

“Heavens,” she breathed, tentatively exploring the girth, then the length of him. She could hardly credit how deeply he must penetrate her. A responding heat between her thighs surprised her. Nature performed in a precise dance, and her body knew the steps.

Encouraged by his groans, she grew bolder in her caress. Her heartbeat and restlessness accelerated along with her hunger for him. She pitched against him, and he responded in kind, tantalizing her yet more.