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.”

Lord Aiden’s gaze went back to Tristan. “I’d have a word with you, Montigny.”

“As you like.” Tristan’s tone was flat.

The other men noticed the lack of honorific and their eyebrows rose. As I followed Tristan back into the box, I met Bouchard’s gaze and rolled my eyes as though the tension were nothing more than the posturing of young men, and nothing to be concerned about.

“No interruptions,” Aiden muttered to the other guard, but allowed Fred to follow us in.

The door clicked shut, but it was magic that drowned out the voices in the corridor and the musicians tweaking their instruments in the pit. Fred frowned, and his hand drifted to the pistol at his waist.

“Don’t,” I said, and the flames of the massive chandelier overhead flared brightly. Fred blinked, then turned to me, incredulity written across his face. “And don’t you dare look at me like that,” I snarled. “Not after what you did.”

“It was for your own good,” he said. “I was only trying to help you.”

My head jerked from side to side in furious denial. “Say you did it because you don’t agree with the choices I’ve made. Say you did it because you wanted to stop me from freeing the trolls. Or because your loyalty is to him.” I jerked my chin in Aiden’s direction. “But don’t you dare claim that you did it for me when we both know you did it to control me.”

“Cécile.” He reached for me, voice pleading, but I stepped back. “Is that why you hate our mother so much? Because she didn’t make choices you liked? Because she wouldn’t change to be the person you wanted her to be?”

It was a low blow, but as I watched Fred blanch, I found I was too angry to care.

“That’s not the reason,” he stammered. “You’ve got it backwards. She made me choose between her and Father. And when I wouldn’t take her side…” He swallowed hard. “She made me pay for it.”

“And now you’re doing the same to me.” I went to stand next to Tristan, who leaned against the edge of the balcony, feeling my anger fuel his and his fuel mine. No good can come from this…

“What do you want from us?” I snapped at Aiden, struggling with the desire to have my own revenge for what he had done to me, for what he had intended to do to my friends.

“Tell me why you killed her,” he demanded. “You could have taken the book back and gone. Catherine was only a pawn – she didn’t need to die.”

I frowned, more surprised at his sentiment toward the dead woman than his accusation that we were her murderers. It had seemed to me that he’d despised her – had only allied with her out of sheer necessity. But perhaps I’d been wrong. “I thought you hated her.”

He leveled me with a dark stare. “I needed her.”

Of course.