Page 17 of The Lord's Icy Temptress
In the depths of the night, Seraphina’s restless mind gave birth to vivid dreams. In her slumber, she was transported to a grand ballroom adorned with opulent chandeliers and cascading flowers. The moonlight filtered through the large windows, casting a soft glow upon the dancers.
And there, amidst the swirling couples, she saw Tristan extending his hand towards her with an enigmatic smile. Unable to resist, she placed her hand in his, and they began to dance. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony as if they had known each other for a lifetime. The warmth of his hand against her waist sent shivers through her, igniting a fire within.
In this dream, they were not the “Unattainable Rose” and the notorious rogue; they were simply Seraphina and Tristan, lost in the moment’s magic. His gaze was tender, and his touch was gentle, making her heart flutter with both excitement and trepidation.
As the dream shifted, Seraphina stood with Tristan under a canopy of stars. The air was thick with anticipation, and their eyes locked in a magnetic gaze. Slowly, he leaned in, and she felt the soft pressure of his lips against hers. It was an intense kiss that stirred emotions deep within her soul. She had felt the static of contact everywhere.
Tristan pulled her further into his arms, his kiss deepening as he eliminated the space between their bodies. His large hand splayed over her back and slowly pushed up to the back of her neck until he could hold her head in his grip. Even in her dream, she was breathless as she was consumed by him.
But as quickly as the dream had begun, it dissolved into the ethereal realm of slumber, leaving Seraphina tangled in a web of emotions upon waking. The remnants of the dream lingered, and she found herself torn between the desire for such intimacy and the fear of letting down her guard.
Her heart raced as she replayed the dream, questioning its significance and the emotions it evoked. A newfound heat curled low in her core that she had never felt before. The dream’s intensity only exacerbated her internal conflict—the longing for connection versus the fear of vulnerability.
In the quiet solitude of her room, she found herself grappling with the tangled threads of her heart, unable to untangle the conflicting emotions that Tristan had awakened within her. The dance and the kiss felt so real, yet, they existed only in the realm of dreams and fantasies.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would once again embrace her and grant her respite from the whirlwind of emotions. But even in the silence of the night, the memory of the dream lingered, leaving her with an unshakable sense of uncertainty and the lingering question of what lay ahead in her tumultuous journey with Tristan.
Chapter 12
It was a bold choice to come to visit with Lady Seraphina for a second day in a row. Mostly because she had not invited him. She had given him very few clues that his presence was even wanted, but he cared not; he had to see her. He hoped his proximity would allow him to continue to break down those barriers she had placed between them.
This time he knew better than to come with something so trivial as flowers or traditional gifts. Instead, he chose to bring something that he thought might appeal to her a touch better. Though, with the book that he had chosen for her, he might be taking a step too far from what he knew she liked. The novel The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe was not a romance, but it was a favourite Gothic novel of his featuring a strong female lead.
It was also one of those from his mother’s collection — just about the only things left in the house he still cared about. His mother’s private parlour filled with all her books, was just about the only room he put the proper amount of care and effort into maintaining, unlike the rooms that belonged to his father.
When he arrived at her home, Lady Seraphina was not taking visitors in the parlour like he expected. He had rather hoped he could continue their conversation about books with this newest addition. But, the moment he was shown out onto the balcony, he was most pleased that she was not.
There, with a paintbrush in hand and seated at a small stool was Seraphina. A canvas and easel were in front of her, with a perfect view overlooking the impressive rose gardens. She had a wide-brimmed hat affixed to her raven hair to keep the sunlight off her face as she worked. A practically untouched lunch spread was forgotten on a table beside her as she seemed intently focused on her work. He could hardly blame her; it was the perfect day for art — though he never would have assumed that she was a painter.
As Tristan grew nearer, he could see flecks of paint on her dress and her bare hands. She had a smudge of red across her cheekbone from where she must have wiped the back of her hand on her face.
He watched in silent reverence as she paused to stretch her arms over her head as if working out a crick in her back from sitting still for too long. Her spine arched and twisted before turning her focus back over the gardens. She lifted her pallet and started mixing the shades of pinks and reds on her board until she found the colour she was looking for. She looked wholly and utterly absorbed by her work.
“I shall just announce you, My Lord,” the butler whispered, and Tristan stopped him with a touch to his hand. He shook his head and smiled softly. He wanted to wait just a moment longer. Tristan folded his arms across his body with the book safely tucked under his arm and leaned against the wall of her home, observing.
The butler bowed and left them to visit with one another in the company of her maid in the distance. He did not know how long he stood there as she worked. She possessed a true talent; there was no denying that. She painted like it was her calling to create — something he had never had the patience to do.
She looked so peaceful. He almost did not wish to disturb her, but he would give just about anything to know what was on her mind. How long had she been painting? Did she only paint nature? What moved her to learn that particular skill in the first place? Whenever he thought he had learned something about her, he was forced to realize he was no closer than at the start.
“You are very talented,” he remarked finally.
Lady Seraphina startled, and her paintbrush jostled from her hand, clattering to the ground below her, and he rushed forward to pick it up for her.
“Apologies, My Lady, I did not mean to startle you. I had merely meant to come to call on you.” Tristan offered the paintbrush back up to her. “Truly, please carry on. It is a rare privilege to witness creation such as yours.”
“Do you often take to surprising young ladies, My Lord?” Lady Seraphina muttered awkwardly, a hint of frosty discomfort in her voice.
“Such are the pleasures of unpredictability, I would suppose.”
Lady Seraphina shook her head and slapped her hands as if clearing the paint from them. “Apologies, My Lord, if I had known I was to have company, I would have been more presentable.”
“I could not dream of it.” Tristan grinned. “I would much rather see you in this state. I would love to see more of your work.”
Lady Seraphina shook her head again as if embarrassed. “No, I never show off my work to anyone. I would never …”
“But you should! You are very talented!”
Seraphina blushed. “It is only because I have such a pretty subject.”
