Dressed to Kiss
Page 6
“How suspicious you are. This little theater outing is merely to show my gratitude for all the grief she has spared me. She has Edeline well in hand. I daresay when all is done I will save hundreds, as she disabuses the dear girl from the more extravagant sartorial monstrosities of which Edeline dreams.”
Clarice regarded him carefully. “I am relieved you have no designs on her. My brother entertained such notions, briefly. I convinced him it would not be wise to pursue her.”
“Did you warn him off so your gowns would not suffer from her absence in that shop? That is rather selfish.”
“I discouraged him because she is not made of the stuff to live that life and be the better for it.”
“To play devil’s advocate in your brother’s name, one wonders how she could be the worse for it. She may be surrounded by silks and lace in that shop, but in the end they grace other ladies’ bodies. Furthermore, it is hard work that takes a toll on a woman’s health and eyes.”
Clarice glanced back at Mrs. Fontaine. “Look at her. One does not need to be told that all the baubles in London would never salve her shame if she became any man’s mistress.”
“Your brother would not have been the typical protector. Women of the best blood have been mistresses of dukes.”
Her eyes narrowed, dangerously. “You have been working it all out in your head, haven’t you? How your interests would not debase her? I warn you, Barrowmore—”
“Warn away, dear lady. I am not your brother, and you cannot henpeck me.”
She turned on her heel, and strode to Mrs. Fontaine. Rand could not perceive what the deuce she said. He was able to see Mrs. Fontaine’s face, however. She smiled serenely while Clarice spoke.
He extracted Edeline from her group of girls, then collected Mrs. Fontaine. Together they all took seats in his box.
Edeline perused the program. “Giles always takes me to the theater when the shows are fun and not so serious. I much prefer comedies.”
“Then let us hope he returns forthwith, so you can laugh with him once again,” Rand said.
You do know that his intentions are not honorable, don’t you?
That was what Lady Clarice had said in the salon outside the boxes. Then, lest Selina not understand, she had outlined exactly how the seduction would unfold, and how the duke would lure her into perdition.
Selina had suffered it because Lady Clarice’s intentions had been most honorable. She had spoken as a friend, too, not a patron. Lady Clarice was truly concerned.
There had been little to say in response. Certainly the truth would not do. Thank you for your interest in my welfare. I must confess that I suspected as much, and am half way to thinking I might as well agree.
They could both be misunderstanding, of course. If not for that kiss in the garden, all of this might be explained away.
In the box Edeline sat between them. Anyone looking over would assume Selina was Edeline’s guest, not the duke’s. Edeline chatted to each of them in turn whenever her attention wandered from the drama on stage, which was frequently. To Selina she pointed out dresses in other boxes that she either admired or abhorred. Selina nodded each time, but their tastes proved to be totally opposite on the dresses in question.
A few friends of the duke visited the box during the first intermission. The men smiled kindly and the women examined her dress. The duke suggested they retreat to the salon during the second intermission, to get some air. Edeline almost groaned with relief, and upon entering the large chamber went looking for her friends.
“It is kind of you to keep watch over her,” Selina said.
Barrowmore turned his head to do just that, and find Edeline in the crowd. “She only turned seventeen a week before the wedding. With Giles gone, and my sister in Scotland, I had no choice. It is too easy for young women to get into trouble in London if no one is protecting them.”
“Surely there is an aunt who would take up the charge.”
“Several. I was tempted. However, much as I find my new sister a trial at times, I could not do it to her. Should you meet these aunts, you will understand what I mean.”
“I expect they are like the matrons here who are glaring at me when they deign to look this way at all.”
“Much like them. Notice how they deign fairly often. Watch that one there, in the blue. She can’t resist looking. She screws up her face in its haughtiest disapproval, but she looks. That head keeps turning our way.”
Just then the head turned once more as the matron in blue snuck another peek. Barrowmore caught her eye, smiled, and made a short bow. Red-faced, the matron quickly curtsied and looked away.
“That was naughty of you,” Selina said, trying not to laugh.
“If Lady Trumball wants to see your dress better, she should come over and pretend conversation so she could have a good look.”
“She was not interested in my dress. You know it, too. She was dying of curiosity about you, and why you have allowed a nameless nobody to stand by your side this evening. To come over would mean an introduction to someone she finds suspiciously inappropriate.”
He gazed down at her. “You still do not understand, do you?”
“Understand what?”
“No woman who attracts a duke’s favor is a nameless nobody. By definition she is a woman of interest. Tomorrow, when ladies write for appointments at the shop, it will not only be because of the dress they saw you wear tonight.”
“Then I will not mind the pointed glances sent my way, if it will help us at the shop.” What else could she say? Not one word of his explanation had insinuated anything. Even the use of “favor” only made reference to his allowing her into his circle of attention. And yet— She felt herself blushing, because it had sounded like a declaration of his interest, not Lady Trumball’s. Mostly that was due to the way he looked at her as he spoke those careful words. His eyes had implied much more. At least she reacted that way.
His gaze still demanded all of her attention. He looked into her eyes so she could not escape. A little daze claimed her, and as she accepted his escort back to the box, it refused to lift. She barely noticed when the actors resumed the drama.
“Isn’t he boring?” Edeline whispered during the final act. “Barrowmore, I mean. How dreadful this must be for you. Of course one cannot refuse a duke his invitation, but if he does this again and you want to say you are ill, I will confirm that indeed you are.”
“I am enjoying myself. I am not bored.”
“Only because I am here. Imagine if you were stuck alone with him. That is what I face in that house.” She sighed dramatically. “I will be so happy when Giles returns.”
Selina could not stop herself. “Do you anticipate his return soon?”
“Do not tell the duke, but I do. He wrote to me. Do not tell the duke that either. He expects to return in a fortnight or so.”
“That sounds less than definite.”
“Perhaps he meant three weeks. Maybe four. You must meet him when he comes back. He is ever so much fun.”
Selina admitted to herself that, on the face of it, Giles was more fun than Barrowmore. Giles took nothing seriously. Life had been a string of jokes for him. Whoever dined with him laughed all evening. He made himself the center of attention with his wit.
The problem was that in never being serious, he said things that could be misunderstood. A passing flattery might be taken as true admiration. A poetic expression of emotion might be heard as a declaration of love. Musing speculations could be considered promises and future plans.
Oh, yes, Giles had been ever so much fun.
She looked past Edeline, at the duke. Not so glib with his wit, but also not so frivolous with his words. She doubted he would leave his new bride in the care of a brother and disappear for weeks on end. He would not leave debts all over a small town, so the people who laughed with him paid dearly for the entertainment. He would not court a woman publicly and let the world think he intended marriage when he did not. If he purs
ued a woman at all, he would make his intentions clear enough when it mattered.
Barrowmore looked over and caught her watching him. She should look away, but she did not. Warmth entered his gaze. Again he drew her into a silent moment of intimacy. A thrill spiraled through her.
He stretched his arm behind Edeline’s chair, and reached to lift the edge of the blue wrap. Ever so carefully he raised it so it covered Selina’s shoulders, to offer protection against the box’s chill. It was a thoughtful gesture, quite caring, but his fingertips glossed over her back and arm in the process. The thrill turned into a whirlwind.
She turned her attention to the stage, maintaining her poise with effort.
Edeline was right. Barrowmore was not much like Giles. Giles had been a boy still, in his essence. Barrowmore was a man.
Rand really wished Edeline would disappear. At the least he wanted to foist her onto someone for the ride back to the house. He did not want to pretend to be the magnanimous duke when he and Selina entered that carriage. He wanted to grab her and—
With great effort, he pushed his urges out of his mind. There was no way to get rid of Edeline. This meant he would have to bring Mrs. Fontaine home first, and not have a single moment alone with her.
The short ride proved torturous. He sat across from the ladies, and it seemed to him his desire filled the compartment. It poured off him, an emotion he could not contain in his person. Every time Mrs. Fontaine looked over at him another wave began until he had inundated them both.
Edeline remained an island in that storm. She chatted away about some gossip one of her friends had shared. He nodded, grateful that she was too young to understand what was happening between her two companions. An older woman would have sensed it at once.
Mrs. Fontaine did, he was sure. She tried not to look at him, but kept doing so anyway. Little clues spoke of her nervousness. The way she grasped that reticule. The manner in which she kept pulling that wrap closer. The quiet, distracted tone of her voice when she responded to some comment from Edeline. She might be surprised and she might be frightened, but she was not unaware. Nor, he was almost certain, was she unmoved.
He insisted on being the one to hand her down from the carriage. He also escorted her to her building’s door. He wanted to kiss her so badly that he thought he would explode from it. Kiss her and caress her and take her up to that sad apartment and make her promise to let him take care of her.
Instead they had an awkward parting with the glow of a gas lamp nearby making any privacy impossible.
“Thank you, Your Grace. It was a wonderful treat for me, and I appreciate your generosity in inviting me.”
It was the kind of thing that everyone said to a duke, damn it. He did not know what the hell he expected instead, but her polite appreciation annoyed him.
“I did not intend it as a treat for you. I did not intend it as generosity. I did it as a pleasure for me. And you were the one who was generous, in agreeing to share your company.”
She appeared taken aback.
He took one step forward, no more. Already he had dallied at this door enough to have Edeline wondering why, if she bothered to notice at all. “It was not a duke who invited you, but a man. Does that man find any favor with you?”
Her mouth fell open a bit. She visibly flustered. Then a stillness came to her. She looked right at his eyes. “Yes, I think he does.”
He touched her hand, barely, the one near the door and out of sight.
She entered the building, and he returned to the carriage. He climbed in, and took his place across from Edeline. He cursed. Then he laughed.
All that discretion had been unnecessary. Edeline had fallen asleep.
Chapter Seven
There are certain times in a woman’s life when she has to make important choices, the kind that will affect her life forever.
Selina knew she faced such a moment soon when a letter arrived from the duke the next day. She received it before she left her home for the shop. In it he invited her to join him on his yacht the upcoming Sunday. They would venture up the Thames. No mention was made of Edeline.
She pondered her decision on the way to the shop. Once there, a debate churned in her head while she kept most of her mind on business. The question was a simple one on the face of it. Should she encourage the duke? Did she want what he might be offering her?
As he had predicted, a few letters arrived in the morning post from new potential clients. Did one of the dressmakers have time for a consultation in the next day or two? By noon enough had come that Felicity pulled Selina into the office to discuss them.
“We will not be able to accommodate all of them,” she said. “We should choose which ones we prefer.”
“Not all of them will result in commissions. A good many may not,” Selina said. “Some of those ladies want to consult about me, I fear, and have no intention of commissioning dresses. They want some information to feed to the gossip snake. The duke warned me of this.”
“That complicates our responses. How do we find the ones truly interested in our craft so we do not waste time?”
“Perhaps Lady Clarice would agree to guide you. If you wrote and asked her to visit tomorrow for that purpose, she may say yes.”
“Excellent idea. I will write to her at once. I am sure she knows all these names, and the characters attached to them.” Felicity rose to leave.
“You did not appear surprised to learn that gossip might be abroad about me now,” Selina said. “Did you expect it, despite your reassurances?”
“Curiosity is not really gossip, and curiosity was our entire goal.”
“We hoped for curiosity about the shop, not me.”
“You were the one in the dress. As for anything beyond that, I am sure you and the duke did nothing to invite speculation.” Felicity shuffled the letters and looked nonchalant. “Did you?”
“I am sure we did not, but I fear dukes always invite speculation when they give any woman any attention.”
“It will pass. He will not tolerate unfounded gossip. When you are not seen in his company again, it will— Are you blushing?” Felicity peered closely. “You are. Is there something about this that I do not know?”
Selina hung her head and nodded.
“What? Tell me now, I insist.”
“He has shown some interest of a … romantic nature,” Selina murmured.
“Did I hear correctly? Stop mumbling into your chest. Did you say he has shown romantic inclinations toward you?”
Selina nodded. “He kissed me in his garden.”
“No.”
“He wants to see me again. I received an invitation this morning.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I do not know what to do. There is no way this pursuit is honorable.” Selina stood and paced. “I will have to decline, of course.”
“Are you sure that you are thinking clearly on this? He is a duke, not some clerk. Whatever his interests, this is no ordinary pursuit.”
Selina almost stomped her foot. “I do not know what to do. I am out of my depths.”
“I wish my mother were here. I cannot advise you as well as she could. However, it seems to me that there is one question you must ask yourself. Do you find him attractive?”
“Who would not? His attractiveness is visible to the world.”
“I did not mean that, and you know it. Does your heart flip when you see him? Do you lose track of time when you look in his eyes? Did that kiss bedazzle you? Do you want him to kiss and hold you again? All of the honor and all of the benefits of his title and position will be meaningless if you feel no attraction of that kind. There are women who would suffer much to obtain a duke’s generosity, but I doubt you are one of them.”
Yes, her heart flipped and his gaze disarmed her. His kiss and his slightest touch did much more. She suffered not at all when Barrowmore made his interest known.
“It is not the physical part that makes me pause,” she said.
Felicity did not speak with scorn, of either Selina’s birth or the more flexible morals of the best. She simply described what she saw through eyes inherited from her French mother, and she saw very clearly, it appeared.
“I think you should enjoy this duke’s attention while you can, for as long as you can,” Felicity said. “You make no promises by seeing him again. You make no decision either. If the day comes when he requires one of you, then you can make your choice.”
“You are as always very sensible,” Selina said, smiling. “You are correct. Why worry about a choice that I may not have to make.”
Felicity came over and embraced her, then gave her cheek a little kiss. She turned to leave. “Oh, you will have to make a choice. I am sure of that. Just not right away.”
A carriage called for her Sunday morning. A bright, warm sun bathed her as she entered it. The carriage brought her to the dock where Barrowmore’s yacht was moored.
The yacht’s sails remained down. Oars showed through holes in the hull. As she neared she saw a canopy on the deck, and beneath it a little sitting room complete with a divan, and a table with two chairs. It appeared to be just the sort of floating vessel one would expect a duke to own.
The duke appeared from below deck and saw her. He came down the little gangway to greet her and handed her on board. “We are in luck. The day is fair. No damp, no clouds, no rain, no cold.”
“Luck? I assumed you commanded the weather to cooperate,” she teased.
“Alas, even I cannot arrange that.”
“What good it is to be a duke, then?” She paced around the little domestic vignette. All around them the crew prepared the yacht. The duke gave a nod and men began to cast off. How foolish she had been to worry they would be alone. A little navy would serve as chaperone. “This is charming.”