TO ALL READERS: If you are interested in learning about how Tristan and Evalette came to be married, please refer to my other story Blueblooded Betrayals, which is exactly that. This one-shot is simply an epilogue/accompaniment to that multi-chapter fic. Thanks =D

Bedroom Eyes

The party was in full swing.

Of course, like many old-fashioned aristocratic soirees, upbeat waltzes played by the live orchestra, and dozens of couples decked out in only the finest Victorian gowns and tuxedoes peppered the dance floor, swaying to the music in a perfect harmony. There were, however, a few pairs who had chosen to sit out this particular dance, and one included Tristan Aylesbury and his wife, Evalette. Tristan stood near the punch bowl, discussing the latest cricket scores with his good friend Ben Nottingham, who, despite the current atmosphere, was known for his wild, adult-free house parties. That he was hosting this pinched, perfect ball was rather surprising, but Tristan was enjoying himself.

"How on Earth did your parents convince you to have a fifteenth-century party the week after you moved into your bachelor pad?" asked Tristan, half-impressed and half-bewildered.

"Bribery, the usual," sighed Ben, taking a swig of Grey Goose. He grimaced after. "I hate the taste of these richy-rich wines. Why can't we just have beer?"

Tristan chuckled. "It's your party, Ben. You should be calling the shots."

Ben looked in the direction of his parents, who were gliding gracefully along the floor. "I doubt they'd listen."

Tristan thought about it for a minute. If his mother had told him to do what Ben's parents had, he would've told her to go and fly a kite. But then again, he'd disobeyed one of the fundamental rules she'd set for him: to marry an upper-class aristocrat and save them from humiliating bankruptcy. He'd thrown that out of the window when he married Evalette.

Tristan looked around. Speaking of which, where was his beautiful new bride?

"Looking for someone?" Ben grinned.

"Yeah... have you seen Mrs. Aylesbury?"

"Your mother or your wife?"

Tristan grimaced. "My wife, of course. I haven't spoken to my mother in almost a year."

"She's talking to my sister at the moment, probably comparing notes on your bedroom abilities," teased Ben. Tristan scowled. Ben was only a bit protective of his sisters, who were both older than him, but Tristan had taken advantage of the fact that he visited the Nottingham Manor often, and seduced the both of them. Of course, that had been years ago, before his engagement to Adina had been cemented in stone. In truth, all of Tristan's friends had been more surprised that he'd married Evalette than that he'd dumped Adina at the altar, probably because they were aware that Tristan didn't love her as much as he thought he did. It was funny – in a very not-amusing way – that Tristan was the last to figure it out.

Tristan looked across the ballroom, where his wife – now that sounded funny, the idea of Tristan having a wife – stood, wearing a less extravagant gown and munching unabashedly on some shrimp. Ben's sister Penelope looked a bit scandalized, and the mere detail that Eva simply didn't notice the effect she was having on her pseudo-sister-in-law was rather amusing. Tristan chuckled a bit, marvelling at the unique, unconcerned beauty that was his wife.

"I suppose Eva doesn't like those gowns, does she?" asked Ben, referring to the poufy, hoop-skirted monsters many of the women were wearing.

Tristan shook his head. "I don't like them either. It's so difficult to get them off..." Ben shook his head, laughing.

"Still the same Tristan. Is she the same mind-blowing Eva?"

"Do you call her Eva because it's easier than saying Evalette?" demanded Tristan. "And yes, she hasn't changed a bit."

Ben was smiling in a way that was more smug than anything else. "I call her Eva because I thought full-name privileges were for the husband only. I'm her friend, so I use a nickname. You're her husband, so you call her Evalette."

"What kind of backwards logic is that?"

Ben shrugged. "I'm lazy."

"Figures," muttered Tristan.

"Oi, Tristan, look." Tristan glanced up to where Ben was pointing: Evalette was looking over at him, wearing an expression that immediately shot tremors of arousal to his stomach. She sipped her punch slowly, the red liquid staining her lips as she gazed at him without breaking contact.

"I think your wife's calling you," said Ben. He turned back to Tristan and groaned. "Is that what you do when she turns on the charm? What happened to the 'nothing can faze Tristan' bravado?"

"What was I doing?"

"You were looking at her as if she's an ice cream on a hot day."

"Well," said Tristan, "she sort of is..."

"Be a man," Ben interrupted. "Don't be such a submissive, you git – does she dominate you in bed, too?"

Tristan took offense to that specific remark. "Alright, now you've stepped too far. I command the bedroom and I am always the one in charge," said Tristan forcefully.

Ben held up his hands in defense. "You're right, you're completely right." But he was smiling smugly. "You can't blame me for thinking it, though."

"Yes, I think I can," said Tristan. "In fact, let me demonstrate."

"You are not having sex with Evalette in the middle of this ballroom – I don't care if people would pay to see it," warned Ben. Tristan looked at him incredulously.

"Relax, will you? I'm not going to have sex with Evalette – in the middle of the ballroom." He smirked, leaving Ben alone beside the drinks before the host could say much. The most he caught was a few swear words, but it didn't matter much. He approached his wife with confidence, watching her seductive demeanour evaporate into a coy smile. He kissed her hand politely when they met, and when she spoke, he could hear the amusement in her voice.

"Hello, Mr. Aylesbury," she murmured. That tone of voice always turned Tristan on, the way her tongue wrapped around the words, but right now, he was fantasizing about something a little different.

"Would you come with me a moment, Mrs. Aylesbury?" he replied, graciously taking her away from Ben's sister.

He took her hand and led her away from the crowd, ignoring her questions and objections. When they'd reached a good distance from the ballroom, Evalette was still demanding to know what was going on. Out here, however, Tristan could freely push her against the wall, crushing her lips with his and dominating the kiss just as he said he would.

They'd never really done this – this rough sex. It had always been fun and passionate, never really out of the ordinary. But now, Tristan wanted to see how his wife would react to being pinned and taken by her husband in the darkness of a corridor only barely lit by torchlights. If he went solely from the desperate little moans she was trying to stifle, he could infer that she was enjoying his ministrations very much. Rough sex wasn't Tristan's forte, but it had always been a turn-on for him. That it was a turn-on for Evalette as well was too much for mere words. The thoughts permeating his mind now were incoherent and blurred, overtaken by her intoxicating perfume and delicious, slicked-sweat body, clothed in a beautifully detailed gown.

"How much do you want me right now?" asked Tristan, murmuring conversationally into her ear.

She breathed loudly, a short whimper managing to escape, when he shifted dangerously in between her legs. He looked up at her face as it betrayed her, contorted into one of want and impatient desire. "So bloody much," she pleaded, and he smirked when the filthy word escaped her lips. He loved it when she swore, especially when they were having sex. The fact that it made what they were doing seem so much dirtier stirred him up in an almost embarrassing way.

He pulled her closer by the arse, one hand staying on her firm posteriors while the other snaked up her back to her neck, bare now because her hair was done up in a nice bun. He kissed her hard, no tongues, just lips firmly making contact and titillating each other. She made a little noise in the back of her throat, grinding her hips against his, begging for closer contact.

"Well, then," he whispered, his lips trailing from one side of her neck to the other, nipping and kissing the skin as he did so. Eva was about to hug him closer when he disentangled himself from her grasp, stepping back to survey her sexed-up figure completely. She was leaning against the wall, angry that he'd pulled away and confused as to what he was doing. In her gown, now ruffled and clearly tampered with, she looked like she needed a good shag. And Tristan knew how badly he wanted to deliver it to her. He came in close and pecked her nose.

"You're going to have to wait until we get home," he smirked, disappearing into the ballroom once more.

Heh, heh. :D Please review!

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