Nor did it explain why, the few times she'd caught sight of him, she'd walked the other way.
It seemed silly and childish—and wrong somehow—and each time it happened, she swore to herself it would be the last. But after all, it took two to play the game. She suspected that, like she, he'd been surprised by the strong connection they'd felt while waltzing. Surprised and dismayed. For both their sakes, nothing like that must ever happen again.
If only things were different.
According to Griffin, although the incessant rain had delayed completion of the new pipeline, the pump was ready, and Tris would be leaving after they installed it tomorrow. A full day before the ball, just as planned. Griffin was jubilant, but her feelings on the matter ran to melancholy mixed with relief.
Well, she told herself sternly, staring into space wasn't going to change anything. With another sigh, she opened her book. But she hadn't read two paragraphs when her attention was claimed by the prolonged creak of a slowly opening door.
Apparently she wasn't the only one finding sleep hard to come by this night.
She heard furtive footsteps, followed by a soft knock and murmured conversation. Her sisters, she was sure of it. Puzzled, she waited for them to fetch her too, but instead their voices receded down the corridor, leaving her feeling very much alone.
In the next quarter hour, she read the same page of Mansfield Park countless times while wondering what Juliana and Corinna were up to and why they hadn't invited her to their middle-of-the-night rendezvous. Now hurt warred with all her other emotions. Only pride kept her from seeking them out.
Until she heard movement in the dining room, which was directly below her chamber. A thud, as though perhaps someone had stumbled. And other muffled noises.
Curiosity overcame pride.
Without thinking too much, she set her book aside and climbed from her blue-draped bed. She tied a wrapper over her nightgown and, taking the candle, tiptoed from her room past her sisters' open doors and downstairs.
Walking through the picture gallery toward the dining room, she considered what she should say when she found Juliana and Corinna. Should she act wounded or surprised? Disapproving or conspiratorial? Would she join them or suggest they return to their beds?
She'd play it by ear, she decided, depending upon their attitudes. Hopefully, they'd all have a good laugh. That could go a long way toward releasing some of her tension.
Anticipating a little sisterly mischief, she rounded the corner into the dining room.
And stopped short, bobbling the candle in her hand.
Her sisters weren't there. Instead, Tris stood with his back to her, barefoot, wearing a long dressing gown of rich burgundy brocade belted loosely around his waist.
Though he was more than decently covered, the sight of him in such intimate clothing made her mouth go unnaturally dry.
Standing by a gothic mahogany side table, he was devouring what remained of the little chocolate cakes she'd left there yesterday morning. The embroidered cloth she'd laid over them sat crumpled on the floor.
He had yet to notice her. Recovering her composure, she laughed softly and walked closer, determined this time not to flee in the opposite direction. "Sneaking sweets, are you?"
The last cake in his hand, he turned to her. "Alexandra."
Placing the candle on the side table, she knelt to retrieve the cloth. "We missed you at the last few meals. But you could have asked if you wanted more." She straightened, setting the cloth on the table, too. "I'd have sent them to you in the workshop."
He tilted his head, giving her a look so calculatedly innocent—his smile vague, his eyes deliberately blank—that she laughed again. "I'm going to tell everyone you're a sweet thief."
The cake fell from his fingers and landed with a little plop on the carpet. "Alexandra," he repeated and reached for her, dragging her into his arms.
Though stunned, she went willingly. Her heart seemed to roll over in her chest as his mouth came down on hers. His lips were soft, but also demanding, insistent. His tongue sought hers in a gentle dance of desire, and a shiver of pure want rippled through her.
Although she hadn't thought it possible, this kiss was even more thrilling and intimate than their first one. It wasn't new to her, so she didn't hesitate this time. Instead she allowed herself to sink into the experience, responding to his desperate tenderness with breath-stealing explorations of her own. His mouth felt like hot, wet silk. He tasted of sugar and chocolate and Tris, a blissfully sweet combination.
One of his hands cradled the back of her head while the other splayed flat against her back, pressing her against his hard body. She wrapped her arms around him, scandalized to discover he wore nothing beneath the dressing gown—nothing besides skin so warm it radiated heat through the fine fabric. She skimmed her hands over his back, feeling muscles earned by the hard work of a man who was much more than an idle aristocrat.
Much too much for her.
Reluctantly, she pulled away. "We cannot," she whispered.
The look he gave her was so odd and intense, it seemed to go right through her.
"I—I need to go back to my room," she stammered. When he didn't reply, she added, "I'm sorry," even though she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for.
He nodded, his lips curving in a sad almost-smile.
"We should both go back to our rooms," she said more firmly. "Good night."
"'Night," he echoed and turned to exit the far end of the room.
Almost against her will, she followed him to the doorway and watched him slowly traverse the long length of the torchlit great hall, standing there until he disappeared into the dark corridor that led to the guest chambers.
He didn't look back.
She released a long, shuddering breath before retrieving her candle and starting upstairs. All the way down the picture gallery, the little flickering light reflected off the canvases on the walls—all her solemn, disapproving ancestors.
She shouldn't have
