Page 10 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)
CHAPTER 10
T he morning light filtered through the thin drapes, casting a warm glow across the room. Agatha woke with a start, gasping as memories of the previous night flooded back to her in vivid detail. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images away, but they came anyway—the laughter, the champagne, and the moment she saw Bea emerge from one of the private rooms. She was striking, with dark auburn hair fashionably cut into soft curls that fell just below her chin. Her skin had a radiant golden hue, and her bright gray eyes sparkled with life.
Bea’s gentleman was also dashing and handsome. She had introduced him as Mr. Brandon Armstrong. His expression had been one of unmistakable satisfaction, and Bea’s cheeks had reddened under his regard, and his murmured promise that he would call upon her tomorrow night.
Agatha had blurted out without thinking, “I am so happy I’m not the only one who blushes!”
Bea had laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and invited Agatha to her chamber on the second floor. There, they had sat together, chatting, sipping champagne as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Agatha remembered how the bubbles had made her feel light and giddy, her usual restraint slipping away with each sip.
At some point during their conversation, she had found the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at her since she stepped foot in the pleasure palace. Gloria’s reply had been too vague, and she wanted the knowledge from another woman.
“ What was the first time like for you? Was it here at Aphrodite? ”
Bea had hesitated, her expression thoughtful as she swirled the champagne in her glass. “ It was a few years ago. I fancied myself in love with a barristerandthought he would marry me. The entire affair pleasant enough ,” she’d said after a moment, but then she glanced away, her voice softening. “ But truth be told, I hardly remember anyone before Brandon Armstrong .”
Something in her tone had made Agatha pause. Bea’s voice had softened with tender affection, and at that moment, Agatha realized Bea loved Mr. Armstrong. The way her cheeks flushed when she spoke his name, and her eyes darted away as if she were ashamed of the admission ...
“ Are you in love with him? ”
“ I love him something fiercely, but he cannot love me even if he wants to .”
Agatha’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She felt for Bea, the yearning and loneliness wrapped in those few words.
Then Bea’s mood had shifted, her expression turning serious, almost sad. “ You must always guard your heart, Agatha ,” she’d warned. “ When you give your body and pleasure to a man, it is as if he steals a part of you , especially a man who cares about your enjoyment and comfort . It’s easy to fall in love with a man who treats you well, but the men who visit the pleasure palace will never marry a woman from this place. ”
The forlorn tone in Bea’s voice had pierced through Agatha’s drunken haze, planting a seed of caution in her mind. For a moment, the thought of falling in love—of giving herself over to something so consuming—had seemed impossible, something that could never touch her. But as she stared at Bea, at the sadness in her eyes, she realized it could happen to anyone.
Agatha’s heart ached for her, for the pain of longing she clearly endured. Agatha had known then that despite the laughter and enjoyment each lady she met showed, despite the gilded rooms and the beautiful gowns, there was a heaviness here—a weight that each woman carried in her own way.
“ I will never allow myself to be so foolish as to fall in love .” Either with her tutor or the gentleman who wins her at the auction.
Bea had nodded. “ Good .”
Agatha shoved aside the coverlets as she slowly sat up. Could she do what was required without getting lost in the illusion of affection and desire? The answer was far from clear. But one thing was certain—she couldn’t be swept away. No matter how tempting the idea or how warm and thrilling the sensations might grow, she had to remember why she was here.
Agatha’s thoughts drifted to Thomas. She cringed, remembering her tipsy antics in the hallway, the way she’d pinched him to see if he was real, called him the ‘devil of temptation,’ and—oh dear—how she’d curled up against his chest, snuggling into his arms.
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “What did I do?”
And then, a small, treacherous part of her mind whispered that she had liked it—that his scent and the strength of his arms had felt too good, too comforting. Earlier, when he asked about her day, she felt a deep longing to talk with someone without the weight of expectations. She had never been able to share her fears with Gloria or Maggie; they relied on her strength, and if she faltered, they would crumble, too. At that moment, Agatha had been so tempted to return to Thomas, to sit in his lap and talk.
Absurd and nonsensical .
Agatha pushed herself out of bed, her feet touching the cool floor. Today, her journey continued. But she would face it with a more guarded heart.
Thank you for the warning, Bea.
Nearly an hour later, a servant hastened to inform her that Lord Radbourne had sent his carriage. Dressed in one of her best gowns, Agatha gathered her composure and stepped into the waiting equipage. The ride through London was brief, and soon they arrived at High Holborn, where the streets bustled with elegant carriages, well-dressed ladies, and gentlemen strolling in the afternoon light.
As she descended from the carriage, she saw the earl framed in the doorway of a shop. He looked impeccable, every inch the powerful, commanding figure she had come to expect. His coat was perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, and his sharp and assessing gaze held an air of quiet authority. Agatha’s pulse quickened as she moved toward him, following his silent beckon inside.
Once within the shop, she was greeted by a woman dressed in a sleek, dark blue gown that perfectly highlighted her fashionable figure. Her hair was pinned up in soft waves, and her sharp eyes immediately began appraising Agatha with the keen precision of someone who had mastered their craft.
“There are no other patrons today,” Agatha remarked, glancing around the quiet, luxurious shop.
“I arranged it that way,” Thomas said, his voice cool and measured, his expression as aloof.
Agatha nodded, feeling a slight flutter of nerves. The modiste introduced herself as Daphne, her movements fluid as she gestured toward the plush fitting room. She led Agatha to a table to look at fashion magazines. She trailed her fingers over the pages of the fashion print, her eyes widening at seeing the stunning ball gowns on display. The colors were exquisite—soft pastels and rich jewel tones, each gown more breathtaking than the last. There was a delicate lavender gown with silver threadwork along the bodice, a deep emerald creation that seemed to shimmer in the light, and a soft blush-pink gown with intricate lace detailing on the sleeves. The high-waisted gowns were carefully arranged to give the gowns a sense of elegance and grandeur. Every detail, from the scalloped hems to the delicate embroidery, whispered of wealth and refinement.
“They are all so lovely; I could not choose!”
Agatha had never worn anything like them before. She had been clothed in simple, serviceable, plain dresses made for practicality. But here, in this private room with the finest gowns displayed before her, she could hardly believe she could wear these luxurious garments.
“How many gowns are there?” Thomas murmured.
“Seven,” Agatha said, “Will you help me choose?”
“We will take all of them.”
“All seven?”
“Yes.”
“Surely that is too extravagant,” she gasped.
The earl merely lifted his chin to Daphne.
The modiste looked delighted. “Remove your gown, dear, so I can take your measurements.”
Agatha hesitated, feeling Thomas’s gaze on her. He sat in a comfortable chair, a glass of brandy in hand, watching her with an intensity that quickened her heart. His posture was relaxed, but something in his eyes made her feel exposed before she’d even removed a stitch of clothing.
“Remove your gown and shift,” he commanded. “Remain only in your stockings.”
The modiste’s face remained impassive, giving nothing away, which only made Agatha more certain that she was used to such intimate scenes. There was no shock, no discomfort—just quiet efficiency.
Taking a steady breath, Agatha slowly unbuttoned her worn gown and slipped it off, the fabric whispering against her skin as it pooled at her feet. Her hands trembled slightly as she removed her shift and thin chemise, leaving her in nothing but her stockings. She was grateful she had worn her best pair today, conscious of how the holes in yesterday’s stockings had made her feel so exposed. With deliberate movements, she reached up and unpinned her hair.
She heard the sharp intake of Thomas’s breath.
The heavy tresses tumbled down her back, falling like a dark waterfall to her waist. Agatha gathered some of it in front of her, letting the thick strands cover her breasts. Only then did she peek at her tutor. His fingers tightened visibly around the glass, the tension in his body betraying the calm expression on his face.
The modiste worked silently, her tape measure moving over Agatha’s waist, hips, and shoulders. Agatha could feel Thomas’s gaze on her, the weight of his attention tangible as the fabric that would soon adorn her body. She stood still, her bare skin prickling with awareness, knowing he saw everything—the curve of her waist, the flush rising along her neck, the faint tremor in her fingers, the globes of her buttocks and her thighs.
A few gowns that previous clients had failed to collect were altered to fit her on the spot. Thomas had her feet and hands measured, and the modiste called her assistant from the back room, who went to another shop to purchase boots, gloves, and other fripperies. When she emerged from the private room, she was garbed in a lovely rose-colored, high-waisted gown. New stockings hugged her legs, and a charming bonnet perched atop the chignon Daphne had helped her arranged. Agatha could hardly recognize herself in the mirror’s reflection.
Thomas’s gaze swept over her once, a flicker of approval in his eyes, though he said nothing about her transformation. The modiste assured them she and her team of seamstresses would have the gowns ready in three weeks, and they left her shop.
“Madam Rebecca announced the auction is in three weeks,” Thomas clipped. “She claimed to change the date as the season is drawing to a close, and many of the gentlemen she wishes to attend will withdraw to the countryside if you wait beyond that time.”
“She informed me of it earlier. I believe I will be ready.”
“Good. My carriage will be at your disposal to take you back to Aphrodite or wherever you wish. I will see you in two days for our next lesson.”
Agatha peered up at him. “Why not tonight?”
“I’m escorting my mother and brother to Bath,” he explained, and just as he finished speaking, a carriage clattered to a stop at their feet.
The carriage door swung open, and a young man with a cherubic face popped his head through the window, grinning widely.
“Thomas! I’m heading to your home,” he said excitedly before his eyes landed on Agatha. His expression changed, his eyes widening as he stammered, “She’s ... she’s beautiful .”
Agatha smiled, her cheeks warming. “It’s always lovely when a handsome gentleman pays such flattering compliments. Thank you.”
The young man beamed like she had given him a pot of gold.
Thomas stepped forward. “Agatha, this is my brother, Lord Ronald.” He gestured to the woman sitting next to his brother in the carriage. “Mother, allow me to present Miss Agatha Woodville to you. Miss Woodville, my mother, the Countess of Radbourne.”
Agatha quickly dipped into a curtsy. It wasn’t as graceful as Bea’s or Ellen’s, but she felt she managed well enough. Ronald smiled broadly, but the countess peered down her nose with an air of detached arrogance, her gaze cool and assessing.
Agatha’s stomach twisted under the weight of the countess’s stare.
“Oh, is this a friend, Radbourne? You have never deigned to present a lady friend to me before, most astonishing.”
Agatha flushed, suddenly conscious of how she must appear to Thomas’s family. Did the countess think she was his mistress? The judgment in her eyes suggested as much. Agatha fought the urge to squirm, determined to maintain her composure despite the uncomfortable scrutiny.
“Lovely to meet you both,” Agatha said, keeping her voice steady despite her heart pounding.
The countess nodded stiffly, offering no warmth in return, and Agatha wondered what thoughts were running through her mind. Whatever they were, she knew this encounter had left an impression—one she wasn’t entirely sure was favorable.
“Go,” Thomas said, nodding toward the carriage. “My coachman is at your disposal. He has orders to take you anywhere you’d like in town.”
Her throat tightened, but she managed to smile at the earl and the countess, dipped into a graceful curtsy, and quickly made her way to the waiting carriage, conscious of his stare on her retreating figure.