Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her, and she turned to Tristan with a thoughtful expression. “Tristan, I realized that we have spoken much about my family and past, but I know so little about yours.”
Tristan’s smile was tinged with a touch of melancholy as he met her gaze. “My family’s history is not as rosy as one might hope, I am afraid.”
Intrigued, Seraphina’s eyes held his, encouraging him to share. “Please, if you are comfortable, I would like to know.”
His gaze softened, and he began to speak, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia and pain. “My mother passed when I was only a boy of thirteen. Certainly old enough to feel the loss of her keenly. She was a warm, lovely person taken well before her time. My father passed about a year ago.”
The tone he used when speaking about his father certainly did not broker any further questions on the subject. She could not help noting the vast differences in how he spoke about each parent. Something about him hardened just at the mention of his father. They must not have had a very good relationship with one another.
“I was fortunate enough to have my father’s housekeeper, Mrs Thompson, who became a mother figure to me in my mother’s stead after she passed,” Tristan concluded.
Seraphina’s heart ached at the sadness laced in his words. She reached out and gently touched his arm, offering a silent show of support. She wanted to question the dark look that flickered over his features. There was a hidden depth of pain there; she could feel it. But then, just as quickly as it had come, he pushed it away once more.
Tristan’s lips quirked in a wistful smile. “Mrs Thompson was the one who furthered my education of the arts, knowing how important it was to my mother that I be well rounded. She pushed me further into the world of books, art, and intellect. She instilled in me a love for learning, which has been a constant companion throughout my life.”
Seraphina listened intently, her admiration for the man beside her deepening with each word he shared. “It sounds like she was a remarkable woman.”
He nodded, his expression a mix of gratitude and longing. “She was. They both were. But, alas, life has a way of moving forward.”
Seraphina sensed there was more beneath the surface, questions she longed to ask. But before she could, Tristan’s gaze shifted, and his posture tensed slightly.
“I apologize, Seraphina, but I believe it is time we return. The servants will be arriving soon, and I would not want to cause a scandal.” Tristan’s bright, charismatic mask was back in place.
Caught off guard by his abrupt change in demeanour, Seraphina nodded and offered a gentle smile. “Of course, Tristan. Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your past with me.”
“Actually,” Tristan took her hand and cast a glimpse over his shoulder, ensuring they were alone and no other eyes were on them. “While the other pair is occupied, we might be able to steal a moment for ourselves as well if we hurry. It will not be long before the servants return to the carriage … we can surely beat them.”
He picked up pace without warning, Seraphina forced to gather her skirts up in her hands and jog after him with a giggle bubbling on her lips. Tristan hurled open the carriage door and hastily helped her up inside it, shutting and locking the door from inside. He tugged the curtains closed, and before Seraphina could properly process what was happening, he reached forward and took her by the waist. His fingers indented into her skin softly as he pulled her up and onto his lap, and her mind nearly short-circuited.
He bunched her skirt up over her legs, only far enough to allow her to manoeuvre her legs to either side of him, and her breath trapped in her chest as she allowed herself to be moved by him.
“I have been thinking of this all afternoon … over and over again, I have plotted this moment and the ways I would make it happen …” Tristan confessed with a sigh before he kissed her. “You have no idea how badly I have wished to have you alone, dear Sera.”
Seraphina shuddered at his confession, at his total mercy as he slid her closer to his body, her knees pressed on the small, padded seat of the carriage, surprised by just how easy it was to fit their bodies together in this fashion. His hands traced the line and curvature of her spine reverently, over her shoulders and down her arms where they jumped the gap, one to her waist and the other to her breast as he deepened their kiss.
She attempted to summon courage, to permit herself to touch him, to let her fingers memorize the curve of his jaw and the way the hint of stubble on his skin felt against the satin of her gloved hands. She did not know if they had time to remove them, but she wanted to lose her fingers in his unruly dark hair, to feel the tresses against her skin when she curled them into her fist, but she would settle for this for now.
Tristan’s nose pushed her back, exposing her throat to him as he groaned in satisfaction, pressing himself up into her, providing friction in a place that she had never dreamed of needing to seek. That pooled desire normally only a source of heat but now held the promise to be so much more as he touched her, her body automatically seeking more of that contact as his hand guided her hip to roll down and forward, giving her what she wished — friction.
He kissed her neck, trailing teeth down the column of her throat, and lavished attention on her collarbone. He moved over her décolleté until his hand moved from her breast back up the path his lips had just been on.
“I shall never tire of your skin and the way it flushes such a perfect pink,” Tristan whispered; she could feel the rumble of his words against her skin.
A knock on the carriage door interrupted their antics. “My Lord? Are you in there? Are you well?”
Tristan’s footman. The servants had returned.
With a reluctant groan and a final, searingly intense kiss, Seraphina pulled off of his lap. It was becoming harder and harder to remove herself from him.
Chapter 24
The grand ballroom of Lady Susannah’s opulent estate was a sight to behold. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm and golden glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Seraphina’s heart raced with anticipation as she and her parents entered the room, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting. The grandeur of the event was breathtaking, and she could not help being swept up in the excitement of the evening.
Her gaze scanned the crowd, her eyes searching for Tristan. Anxiety and anticipation churned within her, causing her stomach to flutter. She hoped to catch a glimpse of him, to share a smile or a knowing look that would ease the tension that had settled within her. The version of herself from months ago before she had met him would not be able to recognize the version of her that stood here today, desperately searching his aunt’s ballroom for a glimpse of him.
She broke away from her parents as they went to fetch wine, muttering excuses that she wished to go and find Elizabeth so they could socialize. Her mother looked at her strangely, practically accusing her of having ulterior motives, but mercifully, the older woman did not comment. There was a twinkle in her mother’s eye as she slipped her arm into her father’s and hummed softly before parting.
No doubt Seraphina was not being half as subtle as she liked to think she was. She milled about the edge of the dance floor, hoping to catch sight of him. It was his aunt’s ball; certainly he would not be late for such an important event.
