Page 110 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
“No. What are you doing here?”
Mordaunt swept elegantly towards her in a cape of black velvet. “Having a night out.”
“You can’t simply barge into my box,” said Aurienne.
Mordaunt looked offended. “I don’t barge into boxes; I slide in, invited.”
“Aedan is here.”
“Aedan is there,” said Mordaunt, and he pointed to Aedan, who was chatting with someone next to the orchestra, far below.
Aurienne’s alarm persisted. “He can’t see you here. He thinks he recognised you at the Stánrocc the day Tristane escaped.”
“Did he? The brat.” Mordaunt flicked back his cloak. “How are you enjoying the performance? I’m not one of the cognoscenti; you must tell me if madame is in full form or not—”
Aurienne ruthlessly amputated the small talk. “What do you want?”
“It’s a beautiful old building,” said Mordaunt, looking at the opera house’s gorgeous blue and gold ceiling. “I’ve an urge to buy it, but I can’t afford it anymore. Because ofyou.” A profound sigh followed. “It’s so trying to be poor.”
“What do you want?” repeated Aurienne.
“A moment of your time.”
Aurienne peeked towards the orchestra. Aedan was still safely chatting below—and being observed with interest by more than a few finely dressed ladies.
When she turned around, Mordaunt had produced a flat lacquered box of amourette wood. “I’ve been holding on to this, waiting for the right moment. But you taught me that I must be more like you, and make the moment.”
He opened the box. “You spend a lot of time clutching your pearls when you’re with me, so—”
Within the box’s white satin interior lay a necklace, wrought in delicate white gold. The pendant adorning it consisted of three large pearls haloed in diamonds.
“Atlantean pearls,” said Mordaunt. “Allegedly.”
Aurienne stared at the necklace with an open mouth. “This is for me?”
“Yes.”
“I—I can’t take this. I don’t accept presents from patients.”
“I’m not a patient,” said Mordaunt.
The pearls gleamed under the house lights. So intense was their brightness that they made the white satin seem grey.
“If you will permit?” asked Mordaunt, holding up the necklace. “I will break into your quarters to leave it on your desk if you refuse.”
Aurienne bit her lip. She presented her back to him and lifted her hair out of the way. She had removed Amagris’ hagstone tonight; its simple rusticity wasn’t a fit for the event.
Mordaunt slipped the necklace on. He was deliberate about it, and slow, as one savouring the moment. He stood very near; she felt his breath at her ear. His gloved fingertips drew the clasp round the back of her neck and drew a caress along with it.
He let his fingers dally for a long time before the clasp clicked shut.
She spun back towards Mordaunt—only he was close, and there was no spinning, only friction against him.
Mordaunt ran his gloves along her arms. He tilted his head, as one taking in a particularly lovely sight. “Like a fool, I’ve gilded the lily.”
“Thank you.” Aurienne touched the pendant where it dipped between her collarbones. “This really wasn’t necessary.”
Mordaunt’s thumb spun the signet ring on his index finger. “There are other things I’d give you, but one must remain in the realm of the possible.”
