Linnet stared at the gown laid over the chair. Dull grey silk, high-necked and long-sleeved; it was positively dowdy. It was one her mother-in-law had chosen as being appropriate. And Bolt had been her mother-in-law’s maid, in attendance when the gown had been fitted…and of course Bolt knew who was coming to dinner.
‘That isn’t the gown I asked you to lay out.’ She had asked for the muslin in soft lavender, embroidered with silver.
The maid sniffed. ‘No, Your Grace. But I thought it would be more appropriate.’
She was in mourning after all…but then, despite the downcast eyes, she saw the gleam of triumph in the maid’s expression. Linnet stiffened. She had nearly succumbed meekly to her maid’s decree. Quite possibly to her mother-in-law’s decree. Her father-in-law had been dead six months, she had never even met him and lavender was perfectly acceptable for half-mourning. She drew in a breath. Listening to advice was one thing; being dictated to was another.
‘But then I do not pay you to think for me, Bolt,’ she said coolly. ‘The gown I requested, if you please.’
Mouth primmed, Bolt obeyed. Slowly.
‘And, Bolt?’
‘Yes, Your Grace?’
‘This gown—I find that I do not like it at all. You may keep it.’
Dressed in the lavender muslin, with its elbow-length sleeves, Linnet stared into the mirror, wondering if she had taken leave of her senses. Oh, it was pretty enough. In fact, she thought it might be the prettiest gown she had ever had. But it was so daring! The low-cut, highwaisted bodice, and filmy clinging muslins of dress and petticoat, showed every curve. Not that she had many curves. She swallowed. It was one of the few gowns she had chosen for herself one afternoon when she had shopped with Severn’s older sister, Lady Farnsworth, just before her marriage.
‘Excellent choice. Kester will like that one.’
Severn hadn’t seen it yet. She hadn’t dared. She took a deep breath. If she changed her gown she would be down late. Worse, Bolt would have won. And she still had to choose the right jewellery.
‘Yes. I like it. My jewellery case, if you please. And my gloves. Oh, and the turban that matches this gown.’
The knock at the door startled them both.
Severn walked in. Gorgeous, utterly elegant in satin evening breeches, black coat and a grey-and-lavender waistcoat, a single pearl nestled in his cravat. And then the man of fashion stopped dead in his tracks staring at her, his jaw dropped in a most unducal and inelegant fashion.
Despite the blush that scorched her cheeks, Linnet kept her chin up. ‘Am I late, Your Grace?’ She knew she wasn’t. Perhaps he simply wanted to assure himself that she was suitably attired.
For a moment he said nothing. Just stared, his gaze burning, intent. Then he took a visibly shaky breath. ‘No. Not at all. I…I came to give you these.’ He held out a long slim box covered in shabby green velvet.
Biting her lip, Linnet took the box and opened it.
‘Ohhh!’ she breathed. Pearls glimmered up at her, and in their midst a great amethyst winked in the lamplight. Her hands shook as she lifted the necklace out. She couldn’t speak. The pearls hung in a great rope, caught together by the amethyst which was surrounded by tiny diamonds, a smaller loop of pearls hanging below. It was lovely, beyond lovely, but the lump in her throat defeated her.
She looked up at Severn, saw a muscle in his jaw twitch.
‘Out.’
For the second time in as many hours, Bolt scuttled from the room under ducal decree.
‘I had them reset, but if you don’t like it—’
‘I like it,’ she whispered.
He frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Then, may I—will you permit me to put it on for you?’
Wordless, she nodded. He hadn’t said anything about the gown. Yet.
He stripped off his gloves and came to her slowly, and took her hands. For a moment he was motionless, then his hands skimmed up her arms, her bare arms. Slowly. While her knees shook and her mind melted in pleasure. He paused at the silver embroidered sleeve, and then for an instant one long forefinger slid under the sleeve. The lightest caress on her hidden flesh, yet she had to stiffen herself and swallow to hold back the gasp of pleasure.
A gentleman wants a virtuous wife and mother. Not displays of wanton abandon. Over and over she reminded herself, pretending the deep, aching need wasn’t there.
With a sigh, he shifted his hold to her muslin-clad shoulders, turned her to face the dressing mirror and lifted the necklace to slip over her head. Cool and silky, the pearls slid against her skin, the great central amethyst ablaze between her breasts, just above the bodice. She shivered again as his fingers feathered along her jaw.
‘The…the pearls are lovely,’ she managed to get out.
‘I’ve seen lovelier,’ he murmured, and bent to brush a kiss where his fingers had trailed. ‘Perhaps a kiss, sweetheart?’
Everything inside her melted, yearned, as she instinctively turned towards the temptation of his mouth. Their lips met, hers trembling, his warm, firm, moving gently on hers so that they parted on a sigh.
Abruptly he straightened. Stepped back. ‘That gown—’ His voice sounded odd. ‘I’ve not seen that before, have I?’
‘No.’ Oh, God! Here it came. Was he going to tell her it was shameless? That she was to change? And she had kissed him, for heaven’s sake! Would he think her shameless? Yes, he had meant to kiss her, but she had done it for him.
‘Did you choose it?’ Still that odd, strangled voice.
‘Yes.’ Defiant suddenly, she lifted her chin. ‘But Lady Farnsworth thought it was pretty.’
He shut his eyes. ‘I may have to kill Louisa.’
Her heart sank. ‘You don’t like it, then.’ He had shut his eyes when he’d handed her the towel too.
The blue eyes opened, their expression unreadable. ‘The gown is very pretty. Most fashionable.’ His voice was practically a growl. He reached into a pocket of his coat for another velvet-covered box. Handing it to her, he said, ‘You had better put these on.’
She stared. His hand was shaking.
‘Earrings,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘To match the necklace.’
Taking the box, she opened it. More amethysts winked up at her, each with a dangling teardrop pearl. Carefully she put them on, fumbling. ‘Thank you, Severn,’ she whispered.
He frowned again. ‘You are sure you like them? I thought, well, we are still in mourning for my father, so colours, except for purple, are out, but I didn’t know what you liked, so if you don’t—’
‘I love them,’ she said firmly. Carefully she picked up the turban that matched her gown and set it on her hair, and pulled on her white kid gloves. Tentatively she smiled at him. ‘Is it time to go down?’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘You don’t want to check yourself in the looking glass?’
Her stomach lurched. ‘Is something wrong? Have I forgotten something?’
He stared. ‘No. Not a thing. You look lovely. Come.’ He held out his arm. Shyly she set her hand on it and he led her from the room.