Page 25 of How to Seduce a Viscount (Wed Within a Year #3)
W ren pressed a hand to her stomach as if a touch could calm the excited butterflies that fluttered within. She was school-girl giddy as Rose laid out the dress for the assembly that night. She’d hardly eaten a bite from the tray Mrs Hartley had sent up after her bath.
She knew her reaction was positively silly but knowing didn’t seem to be an antidote.
Neither did it seem to matter that she’d danced with Russian princes, Austrian nobles, French ambassadors and assorted heads of state during the years she worked for the earl’s network.
None of them were Luce Parkhurst. None of them were her own choice.
None of them had set her pulse pounding and her heart racing the way he did any time he was near.
When he was near, anything was possible, as yesterday had proven—on the ancient table where anyone could walk in and in the hallway where anyone could pass.
It had been decadent and delicious to tease and taste and tempt one another.
Tonight, there would be more of that. Then she’d go. Off to find Stepan. Off to disappear.
She told herself there would be relief in leaving, in moving beyond the temptation to tell her secrets.
The mission weighed on her daily, intruded on her pleasure.
She could not look at Luce and not think about it.
But there would also be grief at all she was leaving behind and all she could never come back to.
After this, she and Luce could never be the same. His trust would be broken.
Wren touched a finger to the ribbon they’d purloined from an unwearable gown in the attic. ‘I think we’ve prettied this dress up enough for the assembly.’
It was certainly not on par with the gowns she’d been sent to Paris and Vienna with, but neither were the assembly rooms on par with Parisienne ballrooms. There wouldn’t be a single crystal chandelier insight tonight.
‘You will be the added touch. Your beauty will finish out the dress,’ Rose assured her.
‘You are too kind.’ Wren blushed. She was not used to sincere compliments. Men flirted with her, spoke flattery because they wanted something in return, because seduction was one of many games played in continental ballrooms.
There was a knock on her door and Luce poked his head in. ‘I see I am just in time.’ He was still dressed in his day clothes and he carried a large white box. ‘This has arrived for you.’ Luce set the box on the bed. ‘Go on, open it.’
Wren removed the lid, thinking to find a cloak inside, something warm to wear.
She was not prepared for what lay beneath the tissue: A gown in ice-pink silk, trimmed in delicate falls of lace.
Simply but elegantly done. One might wear this to a local assembly or a modest London ballroom and not feel out of place.
She glanced at Luce. ‘Wherever did you find this?’
‘I didn’t find it. It was made—altered—for you. It had been left behind by a friend of the squire’s daughter who had visited last year. The dressmaker couldn’t imagine anyone else looking finer in that fabric than you. I do apologise there aren’t any ruffles and trimmings. Time was a factor.’
She drew it from the box and held it against herself.
‘It’s perfect just the way it is. Luce, thank you, it’s perfect.
’ She held his gaze. Would he see in her eyes that the real perfection wasn’t the gown but his thought for her?
She was deeply touched—that he’d known her desire to look her best tonight, that she’d been happy to make the gown she had work, but that she was concerned it might not be enough.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ Luce said quietly, taking out his pocket watch. ‘We have only a little time. I’ll be back in a half hour to collect you.’
The gown fit to perfection. If it had been meant for someone else, left behind and altered for her, Wren didn’t care.
It was hers now. Chosen for her by the man she…
loved. She tried the powerful word out as Rose finished with the fastenings.
Love. Four simple letters. One frightening word.
Of course, she loved the earl. Her affection for the old man was real.
What she felt for Luce was a different type of intensity, one that she’d never felt before, but she knew what it was. She loved him .
All the more reason to leave him. Love never worked out well, never lasted. It was fragile and too easily tarnished. Yet here she was, dressed up in ice-pink silk, breathless at the thought of being in love anyway.
‘How shall we do your hair, Miss?’ Rose asked.
‘We’ll leave it as it is. I want to wear it down tonight.
’ It was a little unorthodox given her age to wear her hair down, but this was not London and she would eventually leave here.
If anyone chose to gossip about it, she wouldn’t be around to be bothered by it.
‘You’ve done well, Rose, thank you. I don’t think there’s anything else I need.
’ She smiled to reinforce the friendly nature of the dismissal.
‘I’d like a moment to myself before Lord Waring returns.
’ She still had to strap on her stiletto and she couldn’t very well do that in front of Rose or Luce, who had expressly forbidden it.
But she’d be damned if she went anywhere without it.
She’d just finished buckling her sheath about her thigh when Luce returned.
‘You look stunning,’ he said complimenting her.
She blushed. She felt stunning.
Luce looked well himself, turned out in black evening wear, his waistcoat a pale pink damask.
‘I wanted to make sure everyone knew who I was with.’
He grinned and then proceeded to study her. ‘You do look quite fine, Wren, but I think something is missing.’
For a moment she panicked, a hand going to her hair, almost missing the glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he pulled a slim velvet box from his inner coat pocket.
‘A neckline like that needs jewellery.’
She swallowed hard, fighting to hide the inordinate and irrational amount of emotion the blue velvet box raised. Whatever was in there would be on loan only. But like the dress, it was the thoughtfulness that mattered.
She put a hand to the decolletage, doing a little teasing of her own to cover her surprise.
‘Are you suggesting my neckline is too low? This is in keeping with current fashion, and I must tell you that I had gowns in Paris that were cut far deeper than this.’ She slanted him a flirty smile.
‘I had one gown that was cut to here.’ She drew her finger down her breastbone and his gaze followed.
She leaned forward. ‘If a man slanted his gaze very carefully, he could see straight down my gown.’
‘Minx.’ Luce gave a husky chuckle. ‘Then, I’m glad this dress is cut no lower than it is.
No one needs to be seeing any of your charms tonight.
No one except me.’ He flipped open the lid of the box, revealing a simple strand of pearls.
‘Will this do?’ he asked solemnly, all teasing gone as he lifted the necklace from the box.
‘Yes.’ It would more than do. She turned swiftly and gave him her back, lifting the length of her hair. She blinked hard against the tears that threatened as he put the necklace about her neck and fastened it.
His hands lingered at her shoulders. ‘What is it, Wren? Has the necklace upset you?’ She had not been discreet enough to hide her tears.
‘No, just the opposite.’ She faced him, her fingers gently touching the pearls.
There was comfort in their smoothness, their symmetry.
‘It pleases me greatly. No one has ever given me jewellery before, not voluntarily at least.’ She hastily added, ‘Not even for a night. I know I have to return them, that they are merely on loan. Of course, the earl made sure I had jewels but they were for work and this is…not for work.’
Luce gave a quiet grin just for her. ‘That’s right, there’s to be no work tonight. Just fun. Just dancing.’
‘Just dancing?’ She made a coy enquiry and then gave a teasing pout. ‘I was given to understand there might be a little more on offer than just dancing. Did I misunderstand?’ She pressed the flat of her palm to his trousers. ‘Seems like there might quite a bit more than a little on offer.’
‘There most certainly is. Later. Don’t start something we can’t finish in five minutes,’ Luce growled against her throat. ‘I am sure it took more than five minutes to get you into that dress. And we are expected.’
She gave him a knowing smile and a last caress. ‘I will hold you to that.’ The promise would definitely add a delicious edge to the evening.
The evening was made to be enjoyed—brisk, cold and clear.
They took their time with the short drive enjoying the winter air and the bright stars overhead from beneath the luxury of warm fur robes.
Before they reached the village, Luce pulled the horse to a stop.
‘Look, the winter hexagon is out tonight.’ Luce traced the sky with a hand.
‘Show me.’ She used it as an excuse to lean close to him, to breath in the spicy winter scent of him, knowing the opportunity to do so was not infinite.
‘It starts with the star, Rigel, at Orion’s foot.
’ His mouth was close to her ear and he took her hand, raising it to the sky with his, so that they traced the stars together.
‘Then we move clockwise to the tail’s end of Canis Major, on to Sirius in the dog’s chest. Then, to Castor and Pollux in Gemini.
Follow the line to Auriga, then finish at Aldebaran, the star that makes up the eye for Taurus.
For a bonus, Betelgeuse can be found at the middle of the hexagon. ’
‘Amazing.’ Not just the stars, but the man beside her. She sighed against his shoulder, content to linger with the stars, the allure of dancing paling against this quiet moment. ‘How do you know so much and remember it?’ Astronomy had not been among her subjects.