George checked his pocket watch for the fifth time. Drina was nine minutes late. Glancing around, he wondered if she’d gone to the wrong tower, but then he heard the light sound of her footsteps.
“What took you so long?”
She shook her head. “I could hardly leave in the middle of a dance without drawing attention to myself.”
“Who were you dancing with?” he demanded, in a tone not unlike his father’s.
“Why does that matter?”
It doesn’t.
Shouldn’t.
But he’d still like to know.
George breathed in deeply to calm down, but his nose filled with the scent of Drina’s honeysuckle perfume. It caught him by surprise and he coughed.
“Let’s go, then.”
“I can hardly go into town dressed like this,” she said, gesturing to her gown.
George didn’t need any reminder of her shocking dress. He was already all too well aware of it.
“No,” he agreed. “Best not to dress like a lady at all, come to think of it.”
“What am I supposed to dress like, a gentleman?”
“Excellent notion.”
“I was only joking,” Drina protested. “I don’t have any men’s clothing.”
“You can borrow some of mine,” he said, leading the way back to his room. There was no gas lamp lit in the room when they walked in, but the fire blazing in the hearth provided enough light. Drina stood in the doorway, her enormous skirt filling the entire opening.
“Come in, I won’t bite you,” he said.
“I’m not afraid of your bite,” she said, blushing fiercely—which suggested quite the opposite. “I’m not afraid at all.”
George felt his own color rising. “I promise you that I’ll turn around.”
She took a step into the room and closed the door behind her as George rummaged through his drawers. He didn’t usually take his own clothes from the wardrobe—that was a job for his ornery valet, Mr. Humphrey. But it seemed inadvisable to call for help at this particular moment.
George took off his jacket and waistcoat, untucked his shirt and began to unbutton it. He glanced up to see Drina watching him across the room with wide eyes. He fought down the urge to flex his muscles for her.
He took off his shirt and put another on, one that was less fine. His trousers were too fancy, but he wasn’t about to take those off in front of her. George haphazardly tied his cravat and put on a dark, plain jacket.
“Your turn,” he said.
Drina stood frozen. George rummaged through his wardrobe again, pulling out a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a coat. He laid them on the bed and walked to the window, leaving his back to her. He heard her light tread on the carpet as she walked to the bed.
“I can’t take off my dress.”
He turned to face her. “I promise you I won’t look—”
“The buttons are in the back,” she choked out, her face as crimson as her dress.
“Oh.” George gulped. “I suppose I can help you with the buttons.”
She turned around as he walked toward her. He could smell her sweet honeysuckle perfume again. His heart beat faster and his hands felt as hot as if they were holding a burning poker. Swallowing, he began to undo the small buttons on the back of her dress, but his sweaty fingers felt clumsy and overlarge for so intimate a task. And there had to be at least a hundred little red buttons!
He finally exhaled as he undid the last one. “There,” he said, trying not to stare at her sharp shoulder bones above her corset.
“And the necklace,” she said.
He tentatively touched the back of her beautiful neck, almost a caress, and fumbled with the clasp. It took much longer than it should have to undo it. The top of his hands brushed against her flaxen hair—it was so soft, like the finest silk. He longed to touch it again. She made an impatient sound and he recalled himself, holding out her necklace.
Drina took out her ruby earrings and handed them to him. “You’d better put them both in your pocket,” she said. “We can’t leave them out. Mama would have my head if they were stolen.”
George obediently pocketed them both and stared at her.
“Now turn around,” she said impatiently.
He spun around faster than a wooden top. He heard her silk dress slide to the ground and he steadfastly resisted the urge to peek. And then he heard the most intriguing noise—metal scraping. But again, he resisted the urge to look.
Not long after, she said, “You can turn back around.”
Drina looked smaller in his clothes. The trousers were too large at the waist and the coat looked enormous on her narrow shoulders, but still it was unable to hide her chest. She’d laced up a pair of his boots that were obviously too large, almost clownish. When she saw him watching, she shrugged her shoulders, and George’s attention was brought to the odd metal circles on the floor beside her.
“What is that contraption?”
“A crinoline cage,” she explained. “It ties around the waist and gives your skirts shape. It saves a lady from wearing stacks of petticoats.”
George marveled at the size of the large metal hoops, stepping closer to the contraption. He picked up the smallest ring and the crinoline expanded like a bird cage. “It’s enormous,” he said. “You could fit a small village under it.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” she said. She picked up her crimson dress and laid it carefully across his bed, then placed her long gloves on top of it.
She picked up his best hat and squashed it over her curls. “Shall we go?”
“After we wash your face.”
“My face?”
“Your mouth,” George said, pointedly not looking at her plump red lips. He held out his handkerchief. When she was done wiping her lips, she handed it back to him. He stuffed it in his pocket and put on one of his other tall top hats.
“Are we ready now?” she asked.
George nodded and fervently prayed that his valet wouldn’t come into the room before they got back. There was no way he could properly explain about the dress, let alone that enormous metal contraption on the floor.