Page 71 of Wicked Ends

“What kind of arrangements?”

I direct her attention to the antique privacy screen standing in the corner, its dark mahogany panels inlaid with subtle Art nouveau patterns that catch the firelight, near which are arranged carefully on mannequins, are five evening gowns in different styles and colors. Beside them stands Mrs. Bright, her hands folded primly in front of her, expression stern.

“Mrs. Bright!” Rose exclaims. “You’re still here? I thought you’d left.”

“I serve the academy, Miss Smith,” Mrs. Bright says in her clipped, no-nonsense tone. “Not any particular administration.”

Rose looks from the dresses to me, then back to Mrs. Bright. “Did you conjure these?”

“At Mr. de Lacroix’s request,” the older woman confirms. “He provided rather specific instructions.”

I incline my head slightly. “Mrs. Bright has an exceptional talent for textile conjuration.”

Rose approaches the gowns slowly, reaching out to touch the fabric of a deep red silk creation. “These are incredible.”

“I’ve taken into account your coloring, your figure, and the occasion,” I explain. “Each one would be suitable.”

Mrs. Bright adjusts the drape of a midnight blue gown. “Will there be anything else, Mr. de Lacroix?”

“That will be all for now. Thank you, Mrs. Bright.”

The woman nods once, then leaves, closing the door behind her softly. Rose and I are left alone, the gowns standing like silent attendants between us.

“You did all this for me?” She reaches out to touch the silk of a gown.

“I’ve attended more formal balls than I care to remember. The rules have changed over the centuries, but certain things remain constant.”

She smiles. “Well, thank you. I was freaking out a little.”

“Shall we begin?” I gesture to the privacy screen. “You can change behind there.”

Rose selects the red gown first, taking it carefully from the mannequin. She disappears behind the screen, and I listen to the rustle of fabric as she changes. The scent of her skin grows stronger as her clothes come off, and I force myself to remain perfectly still, hands clasped behind my back.

“I think I need help with the back,” her voice calls out after a few minutes.

I approach the screen. “May I?”

“Please.”

I step around to find her with her back to me, the gown hanging open to reveal the smoothness of her spine. The sight of her bare skin sends a surge of desire through me. I’ve seen her body before, touched every inch of it, but there’s something about this situation.

I keep my touch impersonal as I zip the dress, though my fingers brush against her in the process. “There.”

She turns, and I step back to appraise her. The red is striking against her dark hair, the cut emphasizing the fullness of her hips and breasts.

“Walk toward me,” I instruct.

Rose takes a few steps, looking uncertain.

“It’s lovely on you. Do you like it?”

She shrugs.

“Try the blue.” This time, I’m prepared when she asks for assistance with the fastenings.

The midnight blue is even better than the red, and it brings out the warmth in her skin and complements her eyes. The bodice is fitted, with delicate beadwork that catches the light, and the skirt falls in soft layers to the floor.

“Turn,” I tell her.