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17: What’s in his room
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Sold to the coldhearted beast 18: Who else would do ?
*Tristan* The skies are overcast. As the carriage rumbled along, I watch the shadows weave in and out, dance over and around her as she gazes out the window. And blast it all if I do not find myself envious of their ability to touch her so lightly. She has rubbed her wrist … the one I had held with my powerful grip … a couple of times now, and it is all I can do not to take her hand, peel off her glove, and press a kiss to where I had felt her pulse thrumming earlier while apologizing. I do not know why I reacted as I had. The door to my bedchamber is locked. She would have not been able to enter anyway. My hold had tightened with the talk about beds and her in them. I had imagined her there, sprawled over the sheets, her loosened hair spread out around her. How long is it ? The braid she had worn last night only hinted at its length. I had almost laughed when she had given me the daring look and said that it is to her advantage to displease me. When was the last time I had laughed
Sold to the coldhearted beast 19: Madame Charlamaine
*Everly* The carriage comes to a stop. Thank God. “And we’re at the dressmaker’s. Let’s see about getting you some proper clothing”. He says. Proper clothing ? As though what I am wearing isn’t proper. But when I step into the shop, my irritation with him dims. I have been in shops before, but never a dressmaker’s. Two well-dressed ladies are at the counter, obviously making their purchases. Another elegant woman is sitting in a plush chair in a corner studying what appears to be drawings of patterns. A large woman bustles toward us. “Sir, how might I be of service ?” Tristan tugs on his waistcoat, as if it annoys him. “I wish to be attended to by the proprietor”. “I am she. Madame Charlamaine”. She purrs. “I expected a foreign accent”. He says. She smiles, her teeth straight and white, her lips as red as cherries. “I excel in providing my customers with the unexpected”. Tristan seems to be taking measure of her. I remember that he said he is a good judge of charact
Sold to the coldhearted beast 20: Sweets for the sweet
*Tristan* Leaving my carriage near the dressmaker’s, I stride with purpose down the street. I need a sweet, a nice, hard, sugary sweet. I can’t recall the last time I had such a craving. I want something to make me feel good instead of like a rotten bastard. Whatever had overcome me to pressure the dressmaker as he had? It was Eve, dammit all. The look of mortification and a wish for death that had crossed her face when she realized that an inconsequential shop owner had determined her purpose in my life … and disapproved of it. Who is this woman to disapprove of anything I do? I am providing Eve with a sanctuary. Yes, she has to pay a price for it, but then nothing in life comes for free. Not even freedom. It is the highest price of all. To make matters worse, I had fallen back on my heritage to get the respect I wanted for Eve. Beta Tristan Rafe. I have not referred to myself as beta since Stephan’s place was secure. I couldn’t be more disappointed in myself. I am my own man. I
Sold to the coldhearted beast 21: She can’t
*Everly* When I hear the bell above the door tinkling, I know it is him. I do not know how I know. It should sound the same no matter who opens the door, and yet I just know. The dressmaker has just finished helping me dress … for which I am grateful. I suspect he wouldn’t care if I am clothed or not. If he wants to see me, He could just barge into the back room and see me. dressmaker arches a brow. “You think it’s him.” “How do you know?” I can’t help but ask. She smiles. “A little shiver went through you. So tell me, is he a good lover?” I feel the heat of embarrassment swarm over my face, over my entire body. “How can you be so innocent?” The dressmaker asks with a small laugh. “I should probably go.” I do not know why I walk with such purpose, why I do not linger. Being back in his company means that I might indeed discover if he is a good lover … I believe I will know tonight. How much of a reprieve is he giving me? It is him. He is studying the bolts of cloth again. He
Sold to the coldhearted beast 22: The truth of it
*Tristan* I am mucking things up. Royally. I can’t remember the last time that I had handled a situation so poorly. Perhaps when my brothers first returned. I remember the hearty hug that Raphael had given Stephan, and how I had ached because the thought of being wrapped that tightly by such strong arms had forced me to distance myself, to shove whiskey into their hands, to give no indication that I desperately wanted to share in such a joyous reunion. I had been angry with them then. I still am, but it was the fear of what they might realize, what they might understand of my past that held me back. I am having a difficult enough time as it is allowing Eve to cling to my arm as we stroll through the rookeries. But I can’t risk anyone thinking that she isn’t with me. I have a reputation down here. I do not come often anymore, but legends grow with absence, and enough people would remember me that I know we won't be accosted. I had come to understand at breakfast that she isn’t f
Sold to the coldhearted beast 23: Brute or savior ?
*Everly* Hope. I had never considered him to be a man who would hope, who would voice that word. My mom had been a mistress, and an alpha had fallen in love with her. Would this man come to love me? I very much doubt it. I would not be happy in the rookeries, of that I am certain. I would not be content. I would be cold, hungry, and dirty. And very much alone. I angle my chin haughtily. “I’m not certain why you felt compelled to bring me here. I gave you my answer last night.” “I must have misunderstood. I thought you were having doubts.” He says softly. Tightening my fingers on his arm, I shake my head. “Good.” He mumbles.He leads me back to the carriage. After he has handed me up, he says something to the servant, then climbs in and takes his place opposite me. He tugs on his waistcoat as though it has become askew. “Why are we not leaving?” I ask. “My servant is spreading around a few coins.” He tells me. I suspect it is a good many more than a few. Eventually, the carr
Sold to the coldhearted beast 24: Keeping his rules
*Tristan* I had wanted to dine on the terrace with candles flickering because it provides more shadows than light, and I have already given away far too much. I do not want her studying me, trying to decipher me. I also do not want the formal attire that is required in the dining room … although it being my home I can wear, or not wear, whatever I want. I am in a loose white linen shirt. My frock coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth is on the floor of my bedchamber. She is still in the hideous black, but she has removed all the pins from her hair and secured it with a black ribbon. The golden tresses reach the small of her back. It is a vision that will haunt me tonight when I return to the club. I can’t remember the last time I have spent so few hours in a day at my establishment. Odd that I have not given it any thought until this moment. She has been my focus for much of the day. I study her over the rim of my wine glass, imagining her in the clothing that the dressmaker is no doubt
Sold to the coldhearted beast 25: Is he good or bad ?
*Everly* I wait several heartbeats, taking in shallow breaths, working to regain my composure. I unfurl my hands. my nails have dug into my palms. I have come close to drawing blood. When I am sure I am no longer needing the wall for support, I walk on trembling legs to the table, lift the wine bottle, and begin pouring what remains into my glass. I am quite glad he is gone. Or so I tell myself. The alternative is to wish he had stayed, and had he stayed, I have little doubt that things between us would not have ended with the kiss. If not for his silly rule, I would have melted against him, entwined my arms around him, might even … to my immense shame … have begged him to carry me to his bedchamber. He is so skilled at stirring heat and passion, such torrid heat and passion. Considering his stiffness, his distance, his aloofness, I had not expected him to send my senses ablaze. Perhaps in the bedchamber is where he unleashes everything. If so, he might reduce me to a heap of cind
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