Chapter Eight: Page One
Selphie stirred in her sleep when the door of her bedroom closed with faint finality. She made an effort to snuggle deeper into her lover's warm embrace, only to find him gone. Gone! She pried her eyes open, trying to push aside the muddled fog of sleep and ignore the queasy feeling deep in her stomach. It had all happened as she remembered, hadn't it? The kiss, the vows, the midnight bliss of lovemaking — they weren't just some romantic dream conjured up by the atmosphere of Lord Leonhart's masked ball and the quantity of champagne she'd consumed? She might have been tempted to think so, but for the mild ache of her surrendered virginity and the memory of what potent delight she had found in her lover's arms. That had been beyond the powers of her imagination. When she glanced about the room, hoping for some tangible sign, Selphie spied her lover's black mask lying on the floor with her silver one. She climbed out of bed and picked it up, turning it over and over in her hands.
Why had he stolen away so early, without so much as a kiss of parting? A little shiver went through her when she imagined them rediscovering the pleasures of the night all over again at sunrise. How much might it add to the experience, to be able to feast her eyes on the firm, masculine beauty of his naked body? To see the flicker of carnal admiration for her in his gaze, muting into the soft glow of devotion. She could picture it all. Another shiver followed the first, though far less pleasant. Had she made vows of eternal love with the right man? Had the lover she'd welcomed into her bed been the one she'd intended? In the enchantment of last night, she had been so certain. In the cool, rational light of morning, Selphie feared she might have made a disastrous mistake. Neither could she trust his feelings for her. If he cared as much as he'd made her believe, surely he would not have departed this morning with neither word nor kiss nor any assurance of his identity.
Selphie stirred in her sleep when the door of her bedroom closed with faint finality. She made an effort to snuggle deeper into her lover's warm embrace, only to find him gone. Gone! She pried her eyes open, trying to push aside the muddled fog of sleep and ignore the queasy feeling deep in her stomach. It had all happened as she remembered, hadn't it? The kiss, the vows, the midnight bliss of lovemaking — they weren't just some romantic dream conjured up by the atmosphere of Lord Leonhart's masked ball and the quantity of champagne she'd consumed? She might have been tempted to think so, but for the mild ache of her surrendered virginity and the memory of what potent delight she had found in her lover's arms. That had been beyond the powers of her imagination. When she glanced about the room, hoping for some tangible sign, Selphie spied her lover's black mask lying on the floor with her silver one. She climbed out of bed and picked it up, turning it over and over in her hands.
Why had he stolen away so early, without so much as a kiss of parting? A little shiver went through her when she imagined them rediscovering the pleasures of the night all over again at sunrise. How much might it add to the experience, to be able to feast her eyes on the firm, masculine beauty of his naked body? To see the flicker of carnal admiration for her in his gaze, muting into the soft glow of devotion. She could picture it all. Another shiver followed the first, though far less pleasant. Had she made vows of eternal love with the right man? Had the lover she'd welcomed into her bed been the one she'd intended? In the enchantment of last night, she had been so certain. In the cool, rational light of morning, Selphie feared she might have made a disastrous mistake. Neither could she trust his feelings for her. If he cared as much as he'd made her believe, surely he would not have departed this morning with neither word nor kiss nor any assurance of his identity.
