In any case, Hunt had begun to shout during the session, something he had never done till he involved himself in politics. The opposing party shouted back and then both sides rushed each other. In the fracas, Ryder’s coat had been torn. Nothing like two groups of men going for each other’s throats in the House of Lords.
Ryder made his way up Bond Street on foot, glad to be free of his servants for the afternoon. The country was the only place a man might really find freedom from constant attention, but he hated the country. Immensely.
Unlike the majority of his peers he actually liked to do everyday tasks, and he damn well wasn’t going to pitch his coat at his valet when he could take it to Bond Street himself and have it fixed.
He paused as he passed Madame Sophie’s. It had been Jane’s favorite store. She’d loved to take him in and look over the colorful fabrics, teasing him that it was a husband’s position to ensure his wife was properly dressed.
He glanced through the window. His eyes widened. For there standing with Imogen Cavendish was. . . her.
She stood at an angle to him, her face almost in profile. Under the morning light, her hair shone with hints of red and honey. She smiled brightly at the shop girl, causing her cheeks to glow with a rosy hue. And once again, she was in that ridiculously plain grey gown. It hugged her voluptuous frame, but aside from its form-fitted simplicity, it was a gown meant for a plain woman, not the fiery woman who had the cheek to demand he seduce her.
His gloved fists tightened as he looked up the street. He should keep walking to his tailors. The thought was definitely there, urging him to move on, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the woman who managed to captivate him. Even more disconcerting, his feet refused to cooperate by moving up the street, and he kept staring like a boy transfixed by the candy shop. Candy meant to delight the eye and cause one to enjoy the moment in which it touched the tongue.
The young shop girl, Lisette, who had waited upon him and Jane almost five years ago now, beamed at his mysterious lady. As Frenchwomen were so apt to do, she could see past the dowdy gown and see the beauty of the woman before her.
The ladies entered into the inner sanctum of tedious fittings, and the next thing Ryder knew, he was stepping into the shop, unable to pull himself from the space she had just occupied. Amidst the colorful drapings swathed in every corner of the room, he felt like an undertaker in his black, but color hadn’t touched his frame since Jane had been laid in the dark earth.
“Monsieur, les duc?” Ami bustled into the room, her pink shepherdess costume a perfect match for her coal black hair and doll-like beauty. “It has been far too long.”
The unspoken words of sympathy hung between them for several seconds, and he was damned tempted to turn and bolt from the store.
But as if an actress on cue, she batted her long lashes up at him, and her lips parted in a coy smile. “Whatever can I help with? Perhaps you would like to see a costume modeled for you, non?”
Ryder barely glanced at her, shoving aside the memories before they rushed in. It wasn’t as if he would let himself go to pieces in a woman’s shop.
His gaze fell on a bolt of opalescent silk shot through with silver thread. It was almost an exact match to her wild eyes. Instantly, he could see his mysterious lady swathed in the shimmering fabric, her legs bare and her breasts barely covered like some Aphrodite bathed in silvery waters.
“The young woman with Lady Cavendish,” he said, his voice growing tight at the image of his lady barely clad, her nipples teased to hardness by the rich fabric. “Can you make her a gown in that color?”
Ami stared blankly for a moment then nodded. “We have a gown prepared in that color, but it is not finished.”
“Show it to me.”
She bobbed a curtsy and swept into the back room.
Ryder shifted on his boots and clasped his hands behind his back. Then blinked. What the hell was he doing? Damn it, he was buying a dress for a woman he planned to avoid, that’s what he was doing.
His blood hummed, and his gaze darted to the curtains that led to the fitting rooms. Was she still dressed? Or were her smooth thighs naked? She’d worn stockings of plain wool, and if he had to guess her corset had been just as simple. Lord, how he would love to see her with white silk stockings tied with red ribbons and a corset of wine brocade.
He snorted. She’d never wear such a thing. She was inexperienced and good. That had been clear on her beautiful face. Like. . . Jane. Ryder swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment.
Like Jane, this young woman seemed untouched by the selfish and cruel ways of the women he knew. Women, who bedecked themselves in clothing purely meant to incite a man’s lust. It was for the best she was no doubt choosing another simple gown. Hadn’t he sent her off to keep her from himself and the decadence of the women in his world? Yet, here he was about to buy a beautiful gown for her. A hint of shame rolled through him. But he kept standing there, waiting.
Ami popped back into the room. He snapped his eyes open to the sight of her black curls bouncing as she hefted a blue silk box. She carefully placed it down on the table at the far end of the room. “Please, monsieur?” She gestured with her small hand for him to join her by the box.
He came up beside her and gazed down, waiting for her to reveal the costume.
She pulled the ribbons and lifted the lid. “It was meant for a duchess, but the color did not suit.”
Ryder gazed down at the contents. The silk shone with the colors of an opal, purple, pink and silver were shot through the ivory silk. Seed pearls lined the bodice and were scattered over the lush skirt. He had chosen gowns for countless women as presents. But this one was perfect for her. With her stormy grey blue eyes, the gems’ colors would light her eyes to the color of silver. He waved at the concoction of frothy elegance. “Take it into her.”
“Oui,” Ami bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Only do not inform her who it is from.” The last thing he wanted was her to show up at his door front in the dress waiting for him to unwrap her like a present. He’d sent her away once; twice would be damn well impossible.
Ami closed the box and hurried into the next room. Ryder turned, allowing himself to linger for a few more moments, envisioning the surprise and joy on her face as she opened the box. He wouldn’t think of her sliding the fabric over her arms and legs. Nor would he think about the fabric he touched pressing to her breasts.
Ryder drew in a slow breath then headed back out onto Bond Street. She’d enjoy the gown, and that would have to do. It was one thing, the only thing, he could give her.
Chapter 5
“No dancing?” Kate exclaimed, just as the carriage bounced over a particularly large hole in the cobbled street.
Imogen’s eyes sparkled as if she knew some great sin but was refusing to reveal it.
The carriage pulled to a stop, and Kate resisted a frown. Her first London party and no dancing. She’d dreamed of dancing for years, and lord knew she had practiced enough with her old aunt. The poor dear had many a blue toe from Kate’s blunders, but now she was quite proficient, thank you very much. And well, she very much wanted a chance to finally employ all her practice.
Imogen patted a hand to her hair which had been curled and twisted until it towered in a fascinatingly beautiful way above her head. Her hand sparked with ruby and diamond rings. “Never fear. There shall be other amusements.”
The footman opened the door, and the sounds of an orchestra and loud voices, laughing and talking poured in. Kate froze for a moment. Lord, they weren’t even inside yet.
Her heart pounded with excitement as she stood on the edge of the most sinful set of London. She was about to make her entrance, and she was going to make it as memorable as possible. After all, how many other young women would die to be in her diamond trimmed slippers right now. And truly, she couldn’t wait to not only see exactly what these other amusements were but to participate in them as well.
As it was, she felt
like a duchess. It had been incredible luck that whoever had ordered the gown had canceled. It fit to perfection, and she truly felt magical in it, as if it had some secret power. A secret power that would have men at her feet and women gaping at her in envy, and it felt marvelous.
She had to admit her hair, which had taken a good hour to arrange, and her new shoes were a bit intimidating. Imogen had no problem stepping down in her high, backless slippers of crimson brocade. A velvet red rose was pinned into her blonde locks. Feathers peeped up from behind the flower and curled coyly up to her temple.
Well, if Imogen could make it down the steps in those ridiculously high shoes, Kate could. So, without further doubts, she took the footman’s hand, clenched her toes into the bottom of her lavender backless slipper and stepped onto the rickety carriage step then onto the royal blue rug which had been rolled out onto the street to protect the guests’ footwear. Smiling that she had not indeed tripped and fallen face forward in her precarious slippers, Kate glanced up at the house.
Towering at least four stories high with colonnades, lanterns lined every window. There were at least two dozen footmen in purple and gold livery lighting the walk with torches.
As soon as their carriage pulled away, another pulled right up. And the walk was full of people making their way up to the entrance. “Good lord, Imogen.” Her lips twitched. “Has half of London been invited to this exclusive party?”
Imogen lifted a hand to her slender throat and laughed. “It would seem so.”
Kate arched a brow. “How many others do you think have a good bit of gossip on this woman?”
“Hundreds,” Imogen drawled. “After all the countess and scandal are dear friends, but she is an artist at keeping the sharpened tongues of the ton dull.”
“Well, on we go,” Kate said, eager to see what awaited.
She swept up the path, Imogen just behind. As she neared the stairs Kate resisted the urge to adjust her elaborate coif. Her hair, laced with diamond broaches, was curled high upon her head. Unlike Imogen, she hadn’t allowed the maids to powder it, which she realized now made her stand out amongst all the sugary curls of the men and women around her.
A group of ladies, their towering powdered hair leaning like a badly built tower, whispered behind their fans as she and Imogen stepped forward. But she didn’t care, if anything it was rather exciting. Her own towering curls felt so precarious, she had to walk with a perfectly straight spine which pressed her breasts tighter to her corset. Oh, if only those country biddies could see her now. The old dears would fall into a fit of vapors unlike any Shropshire had ever seen.
The moment they entered the large and crowded foyer, all her senses were assaulted. Orchids and roses poured from the balustrades and crimson silks had been hung festively from the walls.
The countess stood at the center of it all, her black hair towering with flowers and feathers and jewels the size of robin’s eggs. Kate forced herself not to gape. It was positively amazing. The woman stood like a goddess descended amongst mortals. She looked bored beyond all belief, and yet she managed to have half the room staring at her.
Her gown was deep purple with delicate embroidery all along the bodice and borders. The stomacher was so low, the barest hint of pink nipples peeped out above the gold edging. A small boy stood behind her, holding her long and heavily embroidered train. Her eyes, slanted like a cat’s, perused the room even as she talked to those who greeted her. Full lips pouted as if she was permanently teasing the opposite sex. This woman exuded a sexual prowess which Kate had never seen before. Not even in Imogen.
It was fascinating and horrifying at once.
Straightening her shoulders, Kate walked forward and extended her hand, ready to throw herself into the arena. For as exciting as this was, she was beginning to realize this world was just as wild as ancient Rome. Lions might attack at any moment.
“My lady,” she said, her voice surprisingly low, as if she was tossing out some unseen challenge.
The countess stopped, her full lips curled into a predatory smile. With agonizing slowness, the woman raked her gaze over Kate. “Such delightful freshness,” she purred, opening her fan and waving it slowly before her plumped up breasts. “How amusing.”
Kate’s hand froze in the woman’s surprisingly firm grip.
“I do hope you shall enjoy being devoured.” The countess pulled her close and whispered in Kate’s ear, her breath warm on her skin. “Perhaps I should take the first bite.”
Kate started to tilt her head to the side, but stopped immediately as she felt her heavy coif move with her subtle gesture. Instead, she glanced at the woman through veiled eyes. “But my dear countess, I really wouldn’t wish you to choke. . . on my lock.”
Imogen’s eyes rounded, and her fan snapped open faster than prinny’s breeches at the sight of a fleshy woman.
Kate held her breath for a moment, almost not believing she dared to be so crude. But it felt bloody marvelous.
The countess blinked and then laughed. She turned to Imogen. Leaning forward, she kissed the air just by her friend’s cheek. “What a gem, you have brought to us,” she said with cool charm. “I think she will be able to lift our recent ennui.”
Imogen placed a hand to her bosom and smiled coquettishly. “I think you shall find she is full of surprises.”
“I do hope so.”
With that, Imogen grabbed Kate by the arm and led her through the hall into the salon. All the furniture had been removed except for a few lone couches in the darker corners of the room. Each and every one of them was occupied by couples lounging in the shadows and in some cases there were three or four men and women entwined in conversation. Tables with chairs had been set up all about the center of the room. Lords and ladies stood about them, throwing ivory gaming chips down onto the tables. Their voices and laughter filled the room with raucous passion, masking the quartet set discreetly in the farthest corner of the room.
“Well, you’ve done it,” giggled Imogen.
Kate couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight before her. It was positively thrilling. “What?”
“I don’t know how, but the countess has decided you are to be reckoned with.”
Kate snapped her gaze to Imogen. “Indeed?”
“She took one look at you, and her claws came out. It means you very well may be the new toy of the ton.” Imogen shook her head. “You are lovely, my dear, but it’s the dress. You look as if you’ve arrived from some heavenly world, and we mortals are lucky to even have you in our presence.”
“If they are foolish enough to believe me a goddess,” Kate lilted, “I certainly will not dissuade them.” If anything she would do everything in her growing arsenal of social weaponry to keep herself so interesting.
“You won’t have to.” Imogen inclined her head to the crowds of people. “Look, it has already started.”
Kate bit back a smile. She’d planned for this for months, and the attention focused in their direction was wonderful confirmation she was no longer a country mouse. Oh, no, she was a woman ready for scandal.
Women were staring, whispering behind their painted fans, and the men were eyeing her, their gazes roving over her face and breasts. All of them seemed to have the same hungry smile, as if one word from her would have them across the room to do her bidding. Kate glanced at Imogen from the corner of her eyes. “Whatever can they be saying?”
“No doubt, it’s already circulating you are Percy’s poor little widow and ripe for the picking.”
“Lovely,” she drawled. The picking part wasn’t so bad, but the last thing she wanted was people feeling sorry for her. Well, she was determined no one would ever know how much it had hurt being foolish enough to believe a man could ever love her for herself and not her hundred thousand a year. “Champagne?”
“Of course.”
A servant walked by, his tray laden with champagne glasses. Imogen plucked up two and passed one to her. “Now, it goes straight to one’s head.” S
he took a long swallow. “So, you must drink as much of it as possible.”
Kate laughed and took the crystal glass. She lifted it to her lips and immediately felt like doing a little dance. The bubbles tickled her tongue, and it was tart and sweet at once. She couldn’t stop the smile tilting her lips. In fact, she was concerned her cheeks would never recover from all this smiling, but her father had only permitted champagne on birthdays and Christmas. Percy hadn’t permitted her the funds for such luxuries at all.
“Ready for your next bit of debauchery?”
“Hmm?” Kate murmured around her glass.
“Gambling.”
Imogen guided her crimson skirts through the press of ladies and gentlemen and went straight to the square cut faro table. She tossed a blue velvet bag of coins onto the table and a large stack of pink, ivory circles were pushed in her direction.
Kate moved in beside her cousin, her skirts pushing a gentleman with a diamond pasted to his cheek aside. He pursed his rouged lips at her, then sniffed and turned back to the game.
“The bet is one thousand pounds, ladies and gentlemen,” the banker said as they began the round.
Imogen slapped her fan down onto the green felt surface as she followed the play of cards. The rouged lord to her right tossed a stack of at least ten rosy chips into the pile, and a lady in a yellow gown, her hair barely visible beneath the forest of feathers upon her head, tossed twice as much.
Kate nearly choked on a sip of champagne as the other lords and ladies circled round the table threw in thousands of pounds. All of them laughing brightly and drinking as they threw their money away.
Imogen’s face brightened as her chance came. Kate had no idea what was really going on, but a set of cards were turned in a box upon the table. Suddenly Imogen squealed. She clapped her hands, and her rings sparkled in the candlelight. “I’ve won!” She bent over, her breasts dangerously close to falling out and over the gold embroidered lace lining her extremely low neckline. “Lovely chips!”
Kate laughed with her friend as Imogen raked in nearly ten thousand pounds. “Well, that will pay for a sin or two.”
My Favorite Rogue: 8 Wicked, Witty, and Swoon-worthy Heroes Page 161