Page 78 of Duke of Wickedness
David, too, looked torn between relief and disappointment—and how bittersweet to realize that she could read him so precisely.
“Come,” he said abruptly, pushing back from the table before she could so much as blink. “I have something for you.”
David couldn’t be certain whether the aching place inside him felt empty or full, but he was staggeringly aware of the place in his chest where his heart was beating a relentless tattoo.
He wasn’t sure what had compelled him to tell her the truth, except for the simple fact that she had asked. He didn’t talk about his parents. Percy knew some of it, but not even he knew everything that David had just revealed to Ariadne.
But it felt… Well, it felt like something. He thought it might be good.
He tried to shake himself out of his melancholy as he led Ariadne back inside the study, then across the hall to the adjoining room where he had left his gift for her. Tonight would be his last night with her. This might even be his last moments with her, because hewouldremind her that she had a choice.
It might kill him if she chose someone else. But he would give her the choice.
He wouldalwayslet her choose.
It was the only thing that might make her worth the praise she’d leveled in his direction. The praise that she had—and this partdidbring a little smile to his face—threatened him with.
“Now, I don’t want to sound like a spoilt little princess,” Ariadne said, a teasing lilt to her voice, like she intended to prod him out of his ill temper if he couldn’t get there himself. Which, ofcourse, she did, the perfect little thing. “But youdidmention a gift?”
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in for a quick kiss. If this was his last chance with her, he was going to make the most of it.
“I do have a gift for you. Surely you didn’t think I was going to make you wear the same gown twice?”
He said it with mock horror, just to see her smile. When she did, it lit him up.
“Now, David,” she said, leaning back against the arm that was still around his waist, her hands pressed against his chest so she could look up at him. “I know I was the one who brought up the idea of being spoilt, but now I feel I must tell you—you do realize that dressesarereusable, no matter what Society might want you to think.”
He tucked a strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. It wasn’t about reusing the gowns, though a selfish part of him hoped she never did wear either of his gifts again. The idea of her wearing them for another man…
It burned, hot and acidic.
“My sweet,” he said, hoping the endearment didn’t give too much of himself away. “Tonight is for you, do you understand?Tonight, you get everything you want. Anything you want. And that starts with a new gown.”
“You might have sent it, like you did the last one,” she said, gesturing her hand down the gown without pulling away. “I am already dressed.”
“Ah, yes.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear. “But just because you get everything you want tonight doesn’t mean that I don’t getsomeof the things I want. And I want to be the one to get you ready.”
She blushed bright, andGod, how he loved making her blush. He loved that he still could make her blush, even with something comparatively innocuous, given all the things they’d already done together.
He wanted to keep seeing that blush for?—
He stopped the thought before it could go any further.
“Yes,” she said, because she was his brave little bird, and she flapped her wings no matter what wind blew her way. “I—I would like that.”
David released her without a word, leading her over to where the gown was laid out and waiting. He feared that if he said anything, he would say something he shouldn’t.
Before the gown she was wearing now, the one that made her look like an elegant silver swan, he had never purchased a gown for a woman. Oh, he had given gifts to lovers, of course. Such a thing wasde rigueur. But clothing…
There was an intimacy there. A line, probably one that he should not have crossed. He’d known it when he’d purchased the first gown, had felt it every second he had spent in the discreet modiste’s shop that was a favorite of the demimonde.
But he’d known she needed to have it as soon as he’d laid his eyes on the vibrant silk, just a few shades off from what she’d worn at the ball where she had lured him into the garden.
He’d asked for the feather motif to be repeated in this gown, even though he’d recognized that this touch of pride was perhaps more about him than it was about her.
So be it. She would be vibrant, gorgeous. A bird of paradise, taking flight.
“Oh,” she said when she saw it. Just the one word, and then an expectant, happy silence.
