My eyes went to his wrists, where the sleeves of his coat and shirt pulled up ever so slightly. Instead of skin between cuff and glove, there was black fabric wrapped around his wrist. I turned my gaze back to the stage before he could catch me looking, but my stomach still clenched. Five days, and still not better. It was past time I ask him to let me try to heal the injuries.

A waiter brought glasses of wine, and Tristan leaned back in his seat and sipped at his, never taking his eyes off the stage. What did he think, I wondered, at this display of humanity? Of the color and the vibrancy, of the filth and the beauty, of the faces and features so wildly different from those in Trollus? Did it change the way he felt about me?

Fingers brushed against mine, and I started, the wine sloshing back and forth in my glass. Never taking his eyes from the stage, Tristan locked his fingers in mine, our hands hidden in the folds of my skirt.

He shifted almost imperceptibly my direction, and, keeping watch on Bouchard out of the corner of my eye to make sure he didn’t notice, I did the same. My shoulder brushed against his arm, and heat trickled through my veins, building low in my stomach. I took a sip of my drink, the lights on the stage seeming bright and unfocused. His knee bumped against mine, and I inhaled deeply, feeling my breasts press tight against the bodice of my dress. My skin flushed with desire that had no outlet, slowly filling me until I could think of nothing else. Would he ask me back to the hotel tonight? Should I ask him?

Abruptly the curtain dropped and the lights went up. Tristan dropped my hand as though it were on fire, looking at me in surprise. Intermission, I mouthed, and he nodded slightly. We all rose and stepped out into the corridor. As we did, I noticed a wave of bows and curtsies coming in our direction, but I was too short to see which of the peers was in the house tonight.

Tristan was not. A vicious wave of his anger filled me, and I held tight to his arm, rising up onto my tiptoes to see who it was – just in time to watch Lord Aiden’s eyes light on Tristan. Fred and one other guard stood behind him, and I watched the expression on my brother’s face darken as he realized whom I was with. The men surrounding us bowed low and I dropped into a curtsey, hauling on Tristan’s arm as I did. He bowed, but only just.

“You’re far from home, Montigny.” His eyes went to me. “Well done, mademoiselle. I underestimated you.”

“You are not the first, my lord,” I said. The corridor had gone from slightly chilly to hotter than midday in the height of summer, and I dug my fingernails into Tristan’s arm, praying he would not react any more than that. “And undoubtedly, you won’t be the last.”