Page 61 of What a Scot Wants
Imogen turned to stare at the maid. “It’s from him, isn’t it? How did he get up here? That’s where I sleep…”
“I’ll get rid of it, my lady, and replace the sheets.” Hilda shook her head and then handed over two large boxes. “Oh, these came for you. It’s from one of the stores we visited, don’t worry. It must be from the shopping earlier.”
Maybe it was because of the lily, but every hair on Imogen’s body stood up in warning. With shaking hands, she opened one box, and her erratic breathing evened out. It was a royal blue bonnet she’d admired, though the shopkeeper had insisted at the time that it hadn’t been for sale. Perhaps he’d changed his mind. The second box was rectangular, and she took comfort in the fact that it wouldn’t be more jewelry. Imogen flung off the cover and felt bile gurgle into her mouth.
A doll lay there. A porcelain doll with pink cheeks, green eyes, and brown hair. Its resemblance to her was uncanny, but that wasn’t what made her breath hitch. The toy was dressed in a pale green gown with pink embroidered peonies. An exact replica of the dress she’d worn when Silas had proposed.
She remembered the day clearly because he had taken her on a picnic and he’d told her she looked like a forest fairy. Imogen shivered. He’d always had the gift of a silver tongue, making her feel special and wanted. But he’d done the same to Belinda and, as it turned out, other girls as well.
Another bit of card stock lay tucked at the doll’s feet. Imogen almost didn’t want to read the card, but she had to.
I dream of that day. You still have my heart. -SC
Her stomach dropped. Oh, sweet God in heaven, the man was demented. How could he possibly imagine that they were still connected after all this time? He’d lied to her, manipulated her and others, only to return without a care in the world, as if no time had passed, and he expected to be welcomed as lord of the manor? It was unconscionable. If he thought her a nitwit or an easy target, he was wrong!
With no small amount of fury, Imogen slammed the cover back and met Hilda’s eyes. “Burn it. Burn all of it.”
When the bath was ready, she soaked until her skin was waterlogged, and when she finally came back into the bedchamber, the bed had been stripped and remade and there was no sign of the box or its contents.
A somber Hilda wrapped her plump arms about her. “Do you still wish to attend the ball this evening? I can tell Lady Kincaid that you have a megrim.”
“I won’t let him, or any man, chase me into a corner, Hilda.”
Hilda looked worried. “You do realize he might put in an appearance. As he did at the opera. And Lord Kincaid still holds him in fond regard.” She shook her head. “More fool he for not knowing what that man did to you.”
The thought had occurred to Imogen in the bath. It had made her belly ache, and a part of her had wanted to dodge any confrontation, especially to avoid any hint of scandal for her parents’ sake at least. But another part of her—the part that had seen countless women stand up and fight against men who’d taken things from them without consent—had decided it didn’t want to give in. She had to be strong for every girl who had her voice stolen from her.
“I realize that,” Imogen said softly. “No, I will attend. Instruct the servants to inspect every package.”
“Yes, my lady, I will check them myself from now on,” Hilda said. “And for the evening, might I suggest the silver satin.”
Imogen nodded, feeling indignant rage start to build. Tohellwith that man. “That’s exactly the one I was thinking.”
Two hours later, Imogen was ready. The silver satin gown had been meant to be a lark. She’d commissioned the thing from a Parisian designer for a Grecian masquerade she and Emma had been toying with as a fundraiser for Haven. While the ball hadn’t quite come to pass—she’d needed her dowry for the expenses—the dress had been sewn and delivered. Imogen had no idea why Hilda had thought to bring it to London, but she was grateful all the same.
The gown itself was sumptuous, the satin draping across her body like a glove and leaving one shoulder scandalously bare. The low-cut bodice was edged in silver lace, adding to the illusion of bare skin, even though she was completely covered. Nipping in at the waist, it fell in voluptuous folds to the floor, molding to her hips and outlining her thighs with each movement. She’d decided to forego extra petticoats for the occasion.
“I think you’ll break hearts tonight, my lady,” Hilda said, her cheeks red. “Or other organs.”
Heat rushed into Imogen’s own face. “Hilda!”
“Well, it’s true, my lady. You better hope your Highlander doesn’t throw you over his shoulder and cart you out of there.”
Imogen felt a flicker of hesitation. “It’s not too much, is it?”
“No. It’s perfect. You’re a sight to behold.”
The maid’s heartfelt words filled her with confidence, and as Imogen descended the curving staircase to the ballroom, she let it buoy her spirits.
Ronan had sent a terse message earlier with his valet that he would be arriving late because of a business meeting. A part of her wondered howhewould react to the dress. Her fingers plucked at the shimmering, clingy fabric that whispered against her legs with every step. The gown was sultry and over-the-top and more risqué than anything she’d ever worn. She had a strong feeling the duke wasn’t going to approve. Imogen squared her shoulders. She wasn’t there for Ronan’s approval or disapproval. She was there for one purpose only—to send Silas a message once and for all.
She wasnotto be trifled with, and she was no man’s bloody doll.
At the entry to the ballroom, Imogen smiled at the majordomo, whose white eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Rogers had known her since she was a child, so she sent him a saucy wink and twirled.
“Lady Imogen Kinley,” he intoned, sounding like he was choking for a brief moment.
If his reaction hadn’t prepared her for how she looked, the lull in conversation and the stares she garnered from the guests did. Imogen felt nothing but dark satisfaction as Silas’s eyes bulged upon seeing her.Good. That high-handed, smarmy bastard was here. Chin regally high, she walked over to where her parents were standing.
