Page 41 of My Rogue, My Ruin
She came to a stop, her arm still tucked under Gray’s. She flung her arms about his neck and held him tight. “Promise me one thing?” she said.
“Anything for you.”
“That you will fall in love with the most wonderful woman and not care a whip for propriety and titles and fortunes. This way, at least one of us will have a guarantee of true happiness.”
She could not imagine consenting to a betrothal or marriage to Bradburne, but she knew if she refused him, her mother would be injured beyond repair, and Brynn’s name would become fodder for the gossip columns.
“I promise,” Gray said as Lana hurried into the foyer with her coat and hat in place, one glove on and one off. “Now, go before Mother has an outburst. Give Madame Despain my regards,” he said with an irrepressible grin.
Madame Despain was one of the most celebrated dressmakers in London, and the fact that Gray knew her well enough to send his regards spoke volumes about how many ladies he had likely escorted there. Brynn was more than aware that her own brother had the reputation of being a rake himself and was never short of female company. Secretly, she hoped that he would make good on his promise to marry for love, but in their tier of society, such things were a rarity.
Her mother prattled for the entire ride, considering and discarding fabrics and colors and potential necklines and waistlines. Brynn listened halfheartedly, making the appropriate sounds of agreement or disagreement when necessary. However, she spent the majority of the ride staring out the window.
She saw a pair of well-heeled women striding along, arms linked and parasols overhead. They had their heads bowed together as they conversed and smiled. Brynn wasn’t wondering what they spoke of. She was wondering if they valued their station in society more than they did true affection. Had either one of them accepted a suit simply because it wasagreeable? What an emotionless and shallow word that was. She wanted…well, more. She wanted passion. She’d felt the stirrings of it with the marquess, not the duke. How could any woman ever settle for a man who was simply agreeable?
Hawksfield was the furthest thing from it. And his kisses, even more so. She wouldn’t use that word to describe any facet of him. Passionate, masterful, driven, yes. Certainly notagreeable. But Hawksfield hadn’t been the one to send her flowers. Or rubies. Or anything at all. Instead, he’d left her with one kiss, one that still burned her lips, binding her to him more potently than any lilies could ever do. No, he was Hades incarnate, and his gift had been a kiss of pomegranate seeds.
The carriage pulled ahead, leaving the two women on the sidewalk behind, and Brynn surfaced from her train of thoughts. She should have never allowed Hawksfield to kiss her on that balcony. She could have fought. Could have stomped his foot or screamed or bit his lip until it bled. But she hadn’t. Like Persephone, she’d devoured those pomegranate seeds willingly.
“Brynn, my dear, are you unwell?” her mama asked, scattering away all thoughts of the marquess and his devastating kiss.
“Not at all,” she answered quickly, her tongue dry.
“Good. Which reminds me, do not even think of wiggling out of the duke’s dinner with one of your episodes. I shall not believe you if you try.”
Blast. She should have thought of that before asserting that she was perfectly well.
Mama had sent Colton on horseback to alert the dressmaker of their arrival, and Madame Despain had gracefully accommodated them. Like her location, Cora Despain had an equally exclusive and dedicated clientele, whom she would not be able to retain if she weren’t as amenable to emergencies as she was. A petite and stylish Frenchwoman, she was known for always having the latest fashions from Paris.
Lana stood at her side while her mother spoke with the dressmaker, her hands gesticulating wildly. “From a gentleman bandit to a dancing duke,” Lana whispered. “You are setting London on its head, my lady. Look at all these beautiful fabrics. You will be the toast of the town. The belle of the ball. The…the…”
Brynn fought the urge to snort. “Tea at the tea party?”
“Laugh all you want, but any maiden would switch places with you in a heartbeat.”
“Including you?” Brynn asked.
Something intense and secretive swept through Lana’s eyes before they returned to their usual, open brightness. “Even me, my lady.”
Brynn was distracted from asking Lana what that meant when two assistants approached her with armfuls of silks, satin, and lace in a rainbow of colors. Madame Despain flipped through a copy of a book, her lip caught between her teeth, and then pointed to a page. “Ca y est!That is it,” she exclaimed. “It is the latest style that is sweeping Paris. His Grace will not be able to take his eyes off you,n’est-ce pas?”
The dress she was pointing to was a Grecian-style gown that left one shoulder shockingly bare. Brynn frowned. Even from the picture, it seemed far too revealing. She was certain that her mother would select something else. But surprisingly, her mama was nodding. Madame Despain was holding up a buttery fabric that shimmered when it caught the light. Brynn stood still while the lustrous silk was tucked and pinched and pinned all around her. She stared into the tall, framed mirror before her, appreciating the dress as it came together, but dreading having to wear it.
After nearly an hour, Madame Despain finally announced that she was content and would have the dress delivered to Bishop House later that afternoon.
By the time they returned home and she’d had her bath, with Lana fussing over her all the while, Brynn was exhausted. The thought of dinner made her want to weep.
But at half past seven, she slipped into the golden confection, delivered as promised just before sunset, and Lana immediately began preening over the already perfect dress.
Catching sight of herself in the mirrored glass, Brynn sucked in a breath. While not as daring as the silver satin she had worn to the masquerade, the ball gown was unquestionably lovely. It draped over one shoulder and fell in graceful folds to the floor, golden scallops fastened with creamy roses all around the hem. A braided belt hung around her waist, also adorned with tiny rosebuds. In no time at all, Lana had swept Brynn’s reddish-blond hair into an updo at the crown with glossy curls cascading down her back.
Lana handed her a matching gold stole and elbow-length gloves. “You look like a Grecian goddess.”
“Dipped in buttercream frosting,” Brynn said drily. “Perhaps I should fetch my bow and arrows and channel Artemis.”
“You will do nothing of the sort,” her mama exclaimed as she bustled into her bedroom. Unabashed pride filled her face. “You look beautiful. Madame Despain has truly outdone herself.” She turned to Lana adding, “As have you tonight.” Lana flushed, clearly pleased with the compliment.
The carriage ride to the duke’s residence on Park Lane was one of the fastest of Brynn’s life. Granted, Hadley Gardens was practically a stone’s throw from Bishop House, but her nerves had made it seem as if more than just her heart was speeding. Her mother was speaking more rapidly than usual, and her father was blinking and clearing his throat more often. Apparently, they were nervous as well.
