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24: Keeping his rules
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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
Sold to the coldhearted beast 26: Checking in on her
*Tristan* She has left a lamp burning by the bed. And now I am wondering if she suffers from nightmares, if monsters visit her in sleep as they do me. But then I suspect the existence of monsters is a recent discovery for her. Soon she will add me to the list, if she hasn't already. She appears so innocent in sleep. On her back, but not completely, twisted a little to the side, her hip raised slightly, one bent leg resting over the other. One of her hands lays near her head on the pillow, fingers curled. So trusting, certain I won’t come to her tonight, that I won’t claim what I am owed. I do not know why I am here and not at my club. I had planned to work until dawn, until I was too exhausted to think of her, to want her. Instead the clock had barely struck midnight when I left. Like some misguided fool, I had hoped to find her sitting in the morning room, staring at her father’s portrait, sipping wine or rum or Scotch. I had hoped she had not yet retired, but then she is still n
Sold to the coldhearted beast 27: Bare feet
*Everly* To me the words sound like a challenge. But then from the moment I had awakened to find him standing in my bedchamber, I suspected that something was going on that I didn't quite understand. Orley had always stayed out all night at his clubs. I had assumed Tristan, as the owner, would be occupied until dawn. But then perhaps as the owner he has underlings to do the work. I suspect he is a man who does whatever he wants when he wants. Just as now, in a predatory manner, he moves to sit at the foot of the bed, his back against the post, which can’t be very comfortable. He lifts his legs onto the bed, and I can’t stop my eyes from widening. His feet are naked. Large and naked, with rough soles that look as though he might have run through the streets with no shoes at all. The intimacy of it almost has me crawling out of the bed and going to stand by the window. I don’t know why I am so surprised. He wears only his familiar linen shirt and breeches. I am fairly certain that h
Sold to the coldhearted beast 28: Fate is no friend
*Tristan* I want her flat on her back, with her legs spread. I want to be buried deeply inside her, thrusting, thrusting, until the pleasure carries away the pain of memory. I had told her almost everything, the dark secrets that I have never shared with anyone, that I have been carrying with me since I was ten. I have accumulated more over the years, each one weightier than the one that came before. But if I told her, she would choose the rookeries over me. She would know the blackness that is my soul, the horrors that haunts me, the desperation that had once filled me with dread. Now that desperation is turned toward her. I have never wanted a woman as I want her. If only some of her innocence could wash over me, but it is more likely that my darkness will rub off on her. I hate the thought of touching her, of destroying the light in her eyes, but I hate more the thought of never possessing her. I wait, my patience barely tethered until her fingers are no longer clutching the bl
Sold to the coldhearted beast 29: Her musings
*Everly* As I lie there in my bed I hear Tristan prowling about in his bedchamber. Perhaps he is right. Best to just get it over with. I do take immense pleasure in his kisses. I can only imagine the pleasure I might find in his bed. He isn’t Ekro of the pudgy fingers wanting to probe me, Bermp of the rancid breath making me feel sick, or Pennleg of the wrinkles in the wrong places. She furrowed her brow. Where precisely were the right places ? Are there right places to be wrinkled ? I guess it depends on one's age. It doesn’t matter. Tristan will not have wrinkles. He is young and firm and powerful, so very powerful and strong. But I imagine I would want to hold him, caress him, stroke him. Lying there like a fallen tree is going to be difficult. At least I imagine it will be, especially if he is right and I am enjoying it. Perhaps she should come up with a few rules of her own. Tell him what I want and do not want. I quickly slip out of bed, pads toward the door, and then raise
Sold to the coldhearted beast 30: Gone, and returned
*Everly* The following morning I enjoyed a solitary breakfast. It seemed that Tristan had left early for his club. He doesn’t return that evening or the next. Or the one that follows. No word from him. Is this the uncertainty that will be my life? Curiosity had gotten the better of me one night and I attempted to open the door to his bedchamber, only to find it locked. I had tried both doors, the one that leads into my room and the one in the hallway. I wonder what secrets he harbors in there, what I might learn about him. He is so mysterious, and if he isn’t returning to the residence, how am I to come to know him better? I know all he desires is the bedding. Unfortunately I dream of more. On the fourth afternoon, following a midday meal, I sit in a chair beneath the shade of a towering elm, near the brick wall that borders the massive garden of the property beside this one. From a window at the end of the hallway in the wing where my bedchamber is located, I had been able to g
Sold to the coldhearted beast 31: A ride in the park
*Tristan* I had suggested we should go for a ride because from the moment she walked into the parlor, I wanted nothing more than to lift her into my arms, carry her up the stairs, and ravage her. Like the barbarian the pack wolves accuse me of being. My desire for her had only worsened as I watched the delight play over her features as she viewed one item of clothing after another. And the red… she will wear it. I had seen the temptation of it in her eyes before she shuttered it. I could not have been more pleased with her reaction to my gifts. But when she sees the horse… Something inside of me feels as though it is being torn asunder. I want her to look at me with the same joy, the same pleasure, the same … I am not quite sure what the emotion is. She likes the horse, deeply. Favors it. She strokes it and murmurs to it and smiles at it. I want her to smile at me. Not looking startled and apprehensive when she walks into the room and sees me sitting there. As I keep my horse p
Sold to the coldhearted beast 32: Boat or ship ?
*Everly* I know I am babbling, talking about nothing of consequence or importance. It irritates me that I worry what people think, that I feel as though I move about with a great big M sewn onto my chest. I see many couples parading about. Surely they aren’t all married. And surely if my father had not been ashamed of me, he would have brought me when the park was teeming with people. I don’t doubt that he loved me, but I am beginning to realize that he might not have been as proud of me as he always claimed. He never took me into a dressmaker’s. He never rode by my side through a park. I suppose Tristan Rafe does it without any embarrassment because he is notoriously scandalous himself. I can’t deny that he epitomizes what I imagined would fall into line with most ladies’ dreams… tall, handsome, with just enough aloofness to be intriguing. He would make the women come to him. I wonder if he will expect me to initiate our coming together. I very much doubt it. If he waits on me to
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