Page 24 of How to Seduce a Viscount
‘No stabbing tomorrow, Wren. Just dancing. Promise me?’
‘You’d better make sure I don’t get bored, then. Perhaps they will have an alcove or two we can use between dances, or perhaps we can bring some brandy…’ She paused, delighting in the obsidian darkness of his eyes. ‘For the punch bowl, of course. What did you think I meant?’
Luce grabbed her by the hips and drew her to him. ‘You know very well whatyoumeant, Minx.’ He kissed her hard. ‘You’re insatiable.’
‘As are you.’
‘What a fine pair we are then.’ His gaze lingered and banter was no longer enough to protect her from the reality. Tonight she’d lie in his arms. Tomorrow they’d dance. He’d waltz her around the dance floor like she’d always dreamed of. Dreams really did come true. And like all dreams, this one too would end.
Perhaps if she could give his brother back to him, it would be worth it. This would be her compromise just as Tillingbourne would be his. Partial happiness was better than none at all.
‘Go on, Wren, go see to your gown and slippers.’ He smiled against her mouth, his forehead pressed to hers. ‘I have letters to write, but we’ll dine at seven in the library. Yes?’
‘Yes,’ she answered softly, her breath catching. For a moment she was a real wife—hiswife—he was her husband and there were no secrets that would come between them. This was their home and this was their happy ever after—a dream that didn’t end because it had come true.
Chapter Twelve
Wren pressed a hand to her stomach as if a touch could calm the excited butterflies that fluttered within. She was school-girl giddy as Rose laid out the dress for the assembly that night. She’d hardly eaten a bite from the tray Mrs Hartley had sent up after her bath.
Sheknewher reaction was positively silly but knowing didn’t seem to be an antidote. Neither did it seem to matter that she’d danced with Russian princes, Austrian nobles, French ambassadors and assorted heads of state during the years she worked for the earl’s network. None of them were Luce Parkhurst. None of them were her own choice. None of them had set her pulse pounding and her heart racing the way he did any time he was near.
When he was near, anything was possible, as yesterday had proven—on the ancient table where anyone could walk in and in the hallway where anyone could pass. It had been decadent and delicious to tease and taste and tempt one another. Tonight, there would be more of that. Then she’d go. Off to find Stepan. Off to disappear.
She told herself there would be relief in leaving, in moving beyond the temptation to tell her secrets. The mission weighed on her daily, intruded on her pleasure. She could not look atLuce and not think about it. But there would also be grief at all she was leaving behind and all she could never come back to. After this, she and Luce could never be the same. His trust would be broken.
Wren touched a finger to the ribbon they’d purloined from an unwearable gown in the attic. ‘I think we’ve prettied this dress up enough for the assembly.’
It was certainly not on par with the gowns she’d been sent to Paris and Vienna with, but neither were the assembly rooms on par with Parisienne ballrooms. There wouldn’t be a single crystal chandelier insight tonight.
‘You will be the added touch. Your beauty will finish out the dress,’ Rose assured her.
‘You are too kind.’ Wren blushed. She was not used to sincere compliments. Men flirted with her, spoke flattery because they wanted something in return, because seduction was one of many games played in continental ballrooms.
There was a knock on her door and Luce poked his head in. ‘I see I am just in time.’ He was still dressed in his day clothes and he carried a large white box. ‘This has arrived for you.’ Luce set the box on the bed. ‘Go on, open it.’
Wren removed the lid, thinking to find a cloak inside, something warm to wear. She was not prepared for what lay beneath the tissue: A gown in ice-pink silk, trimmed in delicate falls of lace. Simply but elegantly done. One might wear this to a local assembly or a modest London ballroom and not feel out of place. She glanced at Luce. ‘Wherever did you find this?’
‘I didn’t find it. It was made—altered—for you. It had been left behind by a friend of the squire’s daughter who had visited last year. The dressmaker couldn’t imagine anyone else looking finer in that fabric than you. I do apologise there aren’t any ruffles and trimmings. Time was a factor.’
She drew it from the box and held it against herself. ‘It’s perfect just the way it is. Luce, thank you, it’s perfect.’ She held his gaze. Would he see in her eyes that the real perfection wasn’t the gown but his thought for her? She was deeply touched—that he’d known her desire to look her best tonight, that she’d been happy to make the gown she had work, but that she was concerned it might not be enough.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ Luce said quietly, taking out his pocket watch. ‘We have only a little time. I’ll be back in a half hour to collect you.’
The gown fit to perfection. If it had been meant for someone else, left behind and altered for her, Wren didn’t care. It was hers now. Chosen for her by the man she…loved. She tried the powerful word out as Rose finished with the fastenings. Love. Four simple letters. One frightening word. Of course, she loved the earl. Her affection for the old man was real. What she felt for Luce was a different type of intensity, one that she’d never felt before, but sheknewwhat it was.She loved him.
All the more reason to leave him. Love never worked out well, never lasted. It was fragile and too easily tarnished. Yet here she was, dressed up in ice-pink silk, breathless at the thought of being in love anyway.
‘How shall we do your hair, Miss?’ Rose asked.
‘We’ll leave it as it is. I want to wear it down tonight.’ It was a little unorthodox given her age to wear her hair down, but this was not London and she would eventually leave here. If anyone chose to gossip about it, she wouldn’t be around to be bothered by it. ‘You’ve done well, Rose, thank you. I don’t think there’s anything else I need.’ She smiled to reinforce the friendly nature of the dismissal. ‘I’d like a moment to myself before Lord Waring returns.’ She still had to strap on her stiletto and she couldn’t very well do that in front of Rose or Luce, who had expresslyforbidden it. But she’d be damned if she went anywhere without it.
She’d just finished buckling her sheath about her thigh when Luce returned.
‘You look stunning,’ he said complimenting her.
She blushed. She felt stunning.
Luce looked well himself, turned out in black evening wear, his waistcoat a pale pink damask.
