Page 69 of Wickedly Yours
‘You should always wear red, my love.’
Warmth burst over her chest inciting her heart to beat with joy at her husband’s regard.
“It’s from your husband, my lady?” Edith was peeking over her shoulder and Arabella hastily tucked the card up her sleeve.
“Yes.” Carefully she unfurled the ribbon, wishing to draw out the pleasure as long as possible. No one had ever gifted her in such a lavish way. She supposed her dour manner hadn’t allowed anyone the opportunity. Another shaft of sunlight spilled through her entire being at the thought of Rowan invading Madame Moliere’s on her behalf.
Lifting the lid of the box she was greeted by a swath of tissue paper. Pushing the paper aside, Arabella sat back in wonderment.
How beautiful.
Inside the mound of tissue sat a stunning gown of crimson velvet.
“Oh, my lady,” Edith whispered in awe. “Tis the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen.”
Tiny bits of gold dripped from the bodice to the folds of the skirt where the delicate strands formed an intricate pattern. The hidden pattern would shimmer and flash as the wearer walked, and fairly sparkle when she danced. Gold braid decorated the hem and sleeves. The neckline was rather scandalous and would hug her breasts and push the tops into view. The color of the gown was the perfect foil for Arabella’s sable hair and dark eyes. Rubbing her hands across the velvet, Arabella mused the gown must have cost Rowan a small fortune.
“Oh, Rowan,” she whispered under her breath. “Maybe you love me just a little.”
“My lady, did you say something?” Edith held out another box to her.
Arabella shook her head. “I fear my husband is rather extravagant.”
The box she opened next contained gloves to match the dress. But the third box caused Arabella to wave the girl away. “Take the dress upstairs immediately so that it doesn’t wrinkle.”
Edith took up the box containing the dress. “I’ll be right back, my lady.”
Once the maid retreated, shutting the door behind her, Arabella pushed aside the tissue. A crimson chemise of pure silk lay in the box. Gold thread shot through the silk, mimicking the design of the gown. The very sight of the chemise conjured up a host of erotic thoughts in Arabella. She pressed her thighs together to staunch the delicious ache. Rowan would not be home for several hours.
What a wicked man I’ve married.
The remainder of the undergarments were equally scandalous. Another box held sheer black stockings and a matching garter. Just as the door opened to Edith, Arabella picked up the final box. Smaller than the rest, Madame Moliere’s initials did not grace the top.
Tugging at the ribbon, she opened the box to find a small jewelry case and another note.
‘I will always come for you.’
Reaching inside, her fingers curled around a thin gold chain from which a blood red ruby dangled. The teardrop shaped stone was surrounded by gold filigree and fairly glowed as it caught the sunlight streaming through the parlor window.
“Shall I have the rest of the boxes brought to your rooms, my lady?” Edith was smiling at her, nearly as thrilled as Arabella with the array of gifts littering the room.
“Yes.” She felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes.
He has turned me into a watering pot.
“I’ll carry this up myself.” She closed the small box and held it to her heart, fairly skipping up the stairs to her room.
39
Arabella’s earlier joy slowly turned to dread as the day wore on and Rowan failed to appear, nor did he send a note. As the hour grew later, she declined the offer of a tray in her room, certain Rowan would arrive at any moment.
He did not.
She ate alone in the large dining room, ignoring the curious looks of the servants. Barely tasting her food, she nibbled at the roasted duck which she’d asked Cook to prepare especially for her husband. When she could not drag out the meal any longer, Arabella made her way upstairs, the taste of the duck lingering bitterly in her mouth. Her stomach knotted and rolled as if she were aboard a ship during a storm. As the hour grew later, her anxiety increased.
Unable to sleep, she finally decided to go down to Rowan’s study and work on a stack of ledgers sitting on his desk. Reviewing the columns of numbers had a calming effect and she hoped after an hour or so she would be able to sleep. Or that her husband would return home.
Settling herself in Rowan’s chair, she breathed in the scent of tobacco and leather, two things she always associated with him. His delay in returning home, she told herself, was probably due to a late meeting. He’d merely forgotten to send a note to her. Opening the top ledger which had to do with cotton shipments, Arabella went to work, making careful notes along the margin for Rowan to review later.
