Dressed to Kiss

by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens

  He did not think he made excuses for himself. Other than finding a way to keep Giles from deploying his smiles and charms on women, and short of imprisonment there was no such possibility, the sins here were mostly his brother’s. He had sworn to himself ten years ago that he could not and would not take responsibility for Giles’s excesses and sins, yet here he was once more thinking he should do so, and allow them to govern his own inclinations where Selina was concerned.

  Perhaps that was because that history led him to conclusions he wanted to explore. He could not escape the reality that, in taking the moral high ground regarding that bargain with Giles, he had deprived Selina of the kind of support and security that a duke’s mistress enjoyed for life. So now she labored for hours every day, making other women’s dresses.

  He laughed at himself. Ah, the power of desire to shade one’s thinking. By tomorrow I will have convinced myself it was a sin not to proposition her.

  They paced into the garden together. It appeared her thoughts were on many things, least of all the man by her side. He, on the other hand, noticed little else besides her, and saw nuances previously missed. The very tops of her cheeks possessed a faint natural blush all the time. The sun showed her chestnut hair to have dozens of colors in it. Her dress, less fitted than the blue one, had a square neckline that revealed silken ivory skin and a most attractive meeting of the neck and chest, with little valleys above her collarbone that begged for kisses.

  “I admired the blue dress, though this one has its own attraction,” he said.

  “This is for serious work, like fitting. I move a lot, so the sleeves must be loose. And today I knelt on hard floors, so it is best if simple fabric is used.”

  He pictured her on her knees, pinning and bothering with Edeline’s dress. “Surely a pillow at least—”

  “The maid said they were all silk. I will bring my own next time.”

  “You will not. You already carry too much here. Next time you will use any pillow you choose, and no one will say a word. Trust me on this.”

  She bent to examine a group of jonquils. “By the duke’s command? How generously you wield your power.”

  He felt foolish then, for announcing that like an arrogant ass, as if a woman like this would be impressed with such a thing.

  “Mrs. Fontaine, I would like to make amends for my brother’s ignoble treatment of you.”

  Her attention turned to him. “That is kind of you. However, you would not be making amends, but giving a gift. I have some pride left and could not accept.”

  “You might listen to my suggestion first. I hope you are not too prideful for that.”

  She stopped walking. A shrubbery with tiny flowers framed her. Give her a basket and a bonnet and she would make a fine painting.

  “I think you should go back to your family, and your village. I will go, too, and explain to everyone how my brother behaved badly and took advantage of your youth and trust. In one afternoon we will rehabilitate your reputation and undo the worst of the damage.”

  “I am charmed that you think this would work.”

  Charmed? An odd word. A less than flattering one. “Of course it would work.”

  “Do you really believe that you can tell people to ignore all that they heard and all that they saw and their own rational conclusions, and it will be so? More likely they will grow suspicious of your interest in the matter.”

  “It is a hell of a thing to learn everyone does not just believe dukes. My father never warned me about that.”

  She laughed. A lovely sound. It reminded him of delicate chimes. Two birds in the garden began chirping as if they liked the sound, too.

  “If he had not married Edeline, I would make him marry you,” he said, removing any lightness from his voice. “That is the only compensation that would be fair.”

  Her gaze warmed. “Could you have done that? Is that one duke’s command that would really work?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would not have liked that, even if done with the best of intentions. Did you command he marry Edeline instead?”

  “Giles found little Edeline all on his own. Her father’s wealth made her very appealing, as did her young age.” He glanced back at the house, a good distance away. The garden was large, and they had walked deeply into it. “He does not know what he has in her. No one does. Right now she is silly and vain. He should hope she remains so, and never matures in her mind.”

  “I expect they will work it out over the years, as most couples do.”

  What an optimistic thing to say. The truth was that many couples did not work it out.

  Their path ended in a little grove of apple trees. Pale pink flowers decorated the newly leafed branches. Some of those petals had fallen to the ground.

  “Do you like the theater?” The question just came out, without choice or decision. Only he was picturing her in one of the gowns she made for other women, sitting in a box, looking even more beautiful.

  “A friend and I attend sometimes. We tell ourselves we do so to study the dresses worn by ladies of the ton.”

  “You can see those dresses better if you sit where the women who wear them do. Come with me as my guest and you will.”

  “Are you inviting my friend and me to join you in your box?”

  He took her hand and held it between his. “I am inviting you alone. Edeline can be your chaperone.”

  So there it was. Unexpectedly. Without making a decision, he actually had.

  She looked at her hand, then at him. He sensed that she weighed what danger he presented. Possibly a good deal of it. If she were young or dim, if she did not understand the risks, and had not learned the hard way the protection that discretion gave, he would not do this. Nor would he want her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I will attend the theater with you.”

  Then, lest their hands not make his interest clear enough, he kissed her.

  The Duke of Barrowmore, a man she hated a mere fortnight ago, was kissing her. She could not imagine why.

  Not that she worried over the question. She did not think about much at all while that mouth pressed hers and forced a new intimacy between them. He continued holding her hand, but his other palm lay upon her face, guiding her to receive and accept.

  The kiss answered a question she had debated for a week. Had this man accidentally insinuated himself into her life, because of his duty to Edeline, or had that wardrobe been a mere excuse? The latter explanation seemed so far-fetched that she barely gave it consideration. He was a duke, and their history was not a happy one.

  Yet, whenever he turned up, he was very much there. His presence filled her world then, and her mind. His energy stirred her physically and emotionally. Each meeting became another little invasion, much like the first.

  The kiss did not last long, but longer than she expected. She felt his restraint, and also the current beneath it that spoke of greater passion. She had no illusion that His Grace was courting her. This was different. He had begun a pursuit, and anticipated a specific conclusion.

  She knew all of that while she allowed it. Her soul just knew. She set the problems aside for now and enjoyed the kiss. It had been a very long time since a man had done this, and then not quite so well.

  Nor was she the same person. She was not a girl anymore, all aflutter about a lord’s attention. She was a mature woman, who knew full well what this duke was up to. A woman who could appreciate the sensual power that created arrows of pleasure in her with a mere glance, and much more provocative ones with this simple joining of lips. One who was flattered he had revealed some of what existed beneath his arrogance and hauteur.

  She stopped it and stepped away. He held her hand until he could no longer, then let it go. She turned and hurried back through the garden, to the gate where she had entered. A footman waited there to escort her to the waiting hackney coach.

  Chapter Six

  Felicity bade her turn. Selina took a half step around on the little dais. Felicity
pulled another pin from the cushion tied on her arm and plied it into the hem of the cream silk evening dress.

  “You will put them all to shame tonight,” Felicity murmured.

  Upon hearing that Selina would accompany the duke and their new client to the theater, Felicity had given orders about the dress. This one had been started three months ago for a lady who had abandoned them when a more popular dressmaker found an unexpected spot in her schedule. Now the dress that had caused so much heartache and cost would pay for itself many times over.

  Selina thought the dress far too rich for a dressmaker to wear. She agreed to it against her better judgment. She had not yet decided what to do about the duke, and that kiss.

  Her thoughts returned to that misunderstanding about carte blanche. Ambiguity had led to ambiguity, until her initial reaction had become close to real. If that is what you prefer. A door had accidentally opened that day, and he had now walked through it.

  She would like to believe that she knew her mind on the matter, that of course she would never become a man’s mistress. Had she not avoided such arrangements for years? Only this was different. It should not be, but it was. In the eyes of the world it was, and in her head.

  His title made it different. His stature in the world. Like kings and princes, dukes had mistresses all the time. They always had. Highborn mistresses, often. Not mere daughters of gentlemen, but daughters of fellow noblemen. No scandal really befell such women. Some became celebrated, and most continued through life with no one even blinking at their histories.

  Unlike being the mistress of some middling gentleman, or even of Giles, such an arrangement would not ruin her. Rather the opposite.

  So if she was correct, and a pursuit now unfolded, she would face a decision soon. However, she had not made it yet. As a result, she did not want to look like a kept woman in that box tonight, and she worried that in this luxurious dress she might.

  Felicity glanced up at her, then scowled. “Not one more word from you. You are a dressmaker. If you can’t turn yourself out in a fine dress, who can? You look magnificent, and everyone will be talking about this dress, and they will learn who you are and they will come here for dresses just as lovely.”

  Everyone will learn who you are. That was another thing that she feared. She never drew attention to herself. There might even be people in that theater who knew her family, and remembered Selina Duval.

  “Take it off now. It will be ready by seven o’clock. Go home and bathe and prepare. We will bring this to you.”

  With Felicity’s help, she slid out of the dress.

  She walked home, and asked the one maid in the building to prepare a bath for her in the chamber in the basement reserved for that. She went to her apartment, undressed, and slipped down the stairs in her serviceable undressing gown.

  The maid washed her hair, and she sat by a low fire to dry it.

  “I can dress your hair if you like,” the girl said. “I’ve done it before, and have a hand for it I am told.”

  Selina struck a bargain with the girl, and an hour later they were in her bedchamber. The girl worked her thick brown locks into something fashionable.

  A sound at the door heralded the arrival of the dress. Felicity had brought it herself, along with some pins and sewing materials should they be needed. The bath girl insisted on staying for that, too.

  By nine o’clock all was done. Selina stood in the center of her sitting room in the heavily embellished cream silk dress. Felicity had brought a lightweight cape in a blue wool so deeply hued it almost appeared black.

  “I brought one of my mother’s necklaces,” she said, poking into her reticule.

  “No,” Selina said. “Let the dress speak for itself, and for our shop. We should not distract anyone’s eyes with jewelry.”

  Fit, lines, proportions, and texture. Those were the essence of quality dresses. The shop had outdone itself with this one. She might be a dressmaker, but she felt like a queen. In anything else she might experience awkwardness tonight.

  “A fine coach has arrived,” the maid announced, from her spot at the window. She turned wide eyes on Selina. “It has one of those fancy carvings on the side, the kind that lords have.”

  They all waited in silence, barely breathing. Then a firm knock sounded. The maid opened the door to a footman dressed in the duke’s livery. “His Grace the Duke of Barrowmore requests the attendance of Mrs. Fontaine.”

  Someone draped the cloak on her shoulders. She picked up the cream satin reticule Felicity had made, and accepted the footman’s escort down to the coach.

  Mrs. Fontaine entered his coach like a princess. Her gown made faint, pretty noises while she settled herself next to Edeline. His sister-in-law scrutinized the figure beside her, then smiled.

  Edeline had resisted this visit to the theater with Mrs. Fontaine in tow. She made it very clear, in her pouting and in her words, that she thought their guest unworthy to sit in his box. Rand suspected she also worried that Mrs. Fontaine, with her access to every luxury available to dressmakers, would outshine her. The simple cape must have reassured her.

  She did not see what he saw. Edeline would never appreciate the poise Mrs. Fontaine displayed. Nor could she see the slice of dress that flashed when they rode past a street lamp. Ivory colored, its lower skirt showed tiers of fine lace in the palest blue, dripping with pearlized beads.

  “You are feeling better?” Mrs. Fontaine asked Edeline.

  “Not completely. I had to use a good deal of powder on my nose, so it would not look terrible.” Her accusatory tone was for Rand’s sake, he was sure.

  “It was generous of you to accompany us, so I could enjoy this rare privilege.”

  Edeline accepted that gratitude as her due, but added a little sniff that managed to both make her a martyr and also make a comment on the entire enterprise. Then she noticed Mrs. Fontaine’s reticule, a long pale pouch with silk cords. She took it in her hands, and stroked the dangling strands of pearls attached to its top.

  “I have not seen any like this,” she said. “I must have one. Only red, I think, with white strands.”

  “If you like, we can make one for you. As for the color, we can talk about that.”

  Edeline narrowed her eyes. “It must be red.”

  “Then red it shall be.” Mrs. Fontaine cocked her head. “Do you have an ensemble it will complement?”

  Edeline pursed her lips. “I did. Well, I still do, but—” She glared at Rand. “Someone decided I should not wear it.”

  Indeed she should not. The red dress in question had been part of the first wardrobe commissioned for the Season. The dress, as scarlet as could be, suffered not only from its color, but in every way. Edeline had appeared a doll decked out in a harlot’s evening gown. The least elegant courtesans at the theater tonight would look better.

  “Giles likes red,” Edeline muttered, still admiring the reticule.

  The carriage stopped in front of the theater. The footman handed out the ladies. Rand followed and offered an arm to each.

  Once inside, he could admire Mrs.Fontaine’s gown. The fabric fell like weighted liquid, flowing down, its movements anchored by, but not inhibited by, the extensive but discreet embellishments. The form hinted at by her serviceable dresses was now revealed more fully. When she stood still the skirt maintained the same silhouette as all the others in the salon, but when she walked, the flow of the fabric gently glossed the shape of her legs.

  She noticed him noticing. “My employer insisted I wear this, to show the world our shop’s abilities.”

  “As it happens, the dress also shows the world your beauty.”

  She flushed, but also smiled in a manner to suggest she found his flattery more kindness than truth. “I am counting on Lady Giles’s friends asking about the gown more than about me.”

  He doubted that would happen.

  “Mrs. Fontaine!”

  A throaty voice exclaimed the name while its owner descended on them. Lady Clar
ice, Havenstock’s oldest sister, bore down, all smiles and curiosity.

  Rand forced a welcoming smile. He imagined the questions and grins from Havenstock the next time they met.

  “What have we here?” Clarice cooed. “How good of you to give your sister-in-law a night out, Barrowmore.”

  “He insisted I come,” Edeline said. “Or rather, he insisted he come with me, as my escort.”

  Clarice glanced at Edeline “I am sure he did, what with Giles out of town. Do you expect his return soon?”

  Edeline flushed. “Excuse me. I am going to chat with my friend Margaret. I see she just came in.”

  Clarice stepped back to assess Mrs. Fontaine. Her gaze devoured the dress. “Lovely. Unbearably so. Why are you wearing that, and not me?”

  “It was an abandoned commission. We assumed you would be insulted by a castoff.”

  “Of course I would be. I hate to admit I may not have done it the same justice either. Your coloring is better for it.”

  Rand coughed lightly, hoping to be spared twenty minutes of wardrobe discussion.

  Clarice eyed him. Not kindly. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Mrs. Fontaine? I have something I need to tell Barrowmore.”

  Mrs. Fontaine stepped aside. She took a position alone near the wall. Poised and elegant, she appeared not to see the glances sent her way.

  “Feeling democratic these days, Barrowmore?” Clarice asked.

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “I mean her.” She angled her dark head toward Mrs. Fontaine.

  “I fail to understand why you would make such a comment about her. She is a gentleman’s daughter, after all. Nor is this her first visit to the theater.”

  “You appear to have learned her history. How interesting.”

  “One has only to meet her to know her quality. She has been as helpful with Edeline’s wardrobe as you promised, by the way. Thank you for the reference.”

  “Do not try to change the subject. Why is she here? I hope you are not planning to lure my best dressmaker away from her current situation and into another one.”