As she entered her apartment several minutes later, the first person she saw was Felix. He lounged on her favorite window seat, one gleaming spurred boot resting on the cushion, the other stretched out lazily before him, and he wore a sage-green coat and brown-and-white-striped waistcoat.
He smiled. “I thought you might need rescuing, or at least I hoped you would.” He nodded down in the direction of the summerhouse, which was clearly in view from the window.
She was suddenly defensive, suspecting him of some trickery. “Am I to understand that Madame Colbert’s assistant has not arrived?”
“Would I say that she had if she had not?”
“Yes.”
“Now I’m hurt,” he murmured, leaning his head back against the window embrasure, his dark eyes half-closed as he studied her, “especially as the wretched creature awaits you in your dressing room at this very moment.”
“Oh.”
“I may forgive you, if you are kind to me.”
“Kind?”
“I wish to see you in your new togs.”
“I do not think, under the circumstances, that that would be appropriate, sir.”
“Why? You sound like a bride fearing to see her groom on her wedding day. No, worse, you begin to sound like a stranger, Bryony St. Charles, and that is the last thing you are—now.”
She flushed a little. “We are strangers, sir, and that is how I wish the situation to remain.”
“Something cannot remain if it no longer exists,” he said softly, “and when I look at how prettily you color and how you try to avoid my eyes, I know that you realize it full well yourself. Now, then, run along in and try on your new gown, and I will then give you the benefit of my considered opinion, an opinion which has been greatly sought in the past, I promise you, for I’m not without judgment in these things.”
“I would rather you spared yourself the trouble, sir. Indeed I would rather you left this apartment immediately.”
“I’m afraid that I’m exceeding comfortable here, enjoying the interesting view, so you will either have to endure my tiresome requests or make a dreadful scene—which I doubt you wish to do.” He glanced from the window again. “Which reminds me, how is my cousin? As attentive and determined as ever?”
She stared at him. “I wish you would leave me alone, sir, for I am nothing to you and it ill becomes you to conduct yourself in this way.”
His dark eyes swung back toward her. “How can you say you are nothing to me?” he asked softly. “Are you party to my every thought? Do you know what I feel in my heart? No, you don’t know anything about it, so please do not presume to offer me what is, after all, merely your opinion. Now, then, your gown is waiting for you, as I am waiting for you.”
Madame Colbert’s assistant was a short, dumpy woman, her gray hair tugged back into a severe knot and her rosy-cheeked face somehow at odds with the somber black of her gown. Helped by Sally, she drew the gown from its thin muslin cover, and they displayed it over their arms for Bryony to see. Madame Colbert had excelled herself, for it was the most beautiful gown Bryony had ever seen, made of a snowy-white silk which was so fine and soft that it seemed to spill to the floor.
It was embroidered on the bodice, tiny sleeves and hem with swirls of silver-green rosebuds and leaves, while the long, elegant train was sprinkled with more of the same embroidered flowers. It was a gown from which dreams are made, and under any other circumstances Bryony would have been in ecstasies at the thought of wearing it, but somehow she could not join in with Sally’s gasps of delight as they removed her primrose muslin and finally did up the last little hook and eye at the back of the white silk. They then stepped back to admire her.
Sally’s eyes shone. “Oh, Miss Bryony, you look lovely.”
The assistant beamed as well, “It’s one of Madame Colbert’s finest creations, quite perfect, and not a single stitch will need altering!”
On impulse Sally picked up a comb and some pins, gathering Bryony’s long hair together and combing it quickly before lightly twisting it up into a loose knot. “There, now you look more as you will on the night of the ball. Oh, I can just see you now, making your grand entry and looking like a princess. There’ll be no one to hold a candle to you, Miss Bryony, not even Lady Delphine or Lady Petra.”
The assistant had been busily tweaking out the folds of white silk, but now she straightened. “Shall we go through to show his grace? He told me that you’d expressed a wish for him to see the gown, so that he could give you his opinion.”
Had he indeed? Bryony was angry and for a moment thought of refusing, but that might have looked strange and would certainly have aroused the assistant’s curiosity. Oh, how she wished Felix, Duke of Calborough, would take his scheming elsewhere and leave her alone!
Felix rose slowly to his feet as she entered the drawing room. The admiration was clear in his eyes as he swept her from head to toe. “You never cease to surprise me, Miss St. Charles,” he said softly.
“Good.”
He smiled a little, turning to the assistant. “I’m pleased with the gown, but of course you may only tell Madame Colbert that in my opinion it is tolerable.”
The assistant’s eyes widened. “Oh, your grace, I would not dare to tell her such a thing!”
“Very well, I will be lenient with you, you may tell her that I think the gown is delightful, but you need not tell her also that I sent you down to the kitchens with Miss St. Charles’s maid to enjoy a glass or two of my finest wine.”
“Your grace is too kind,” replied the assistant, unable to conceal her pleasure.
Felix nodded at Sally. “You may go.”
Her maid looked questioningly at Bryony, knowing that she did not wish to be left alone with him, but Bryony had no real choice but to nod. “It’s quite all right, I shall not need you for the moment.”
When they had gone, she immediately moved away from him. “‘You presume a great deal, sir,” she said coldly, “and I do not find it pleasing to have you conducting yourself as if you have my consent to everything. Nor do I like it that you continually contrive to be alone with me. I have told you that I don’t wish to have anything to do with you, and that is still my wish.”
He smiled. “Come now, I’m sure you do not mean that.”
“But I do!” she snapped angrily. “Don’t bother employing your wiles upon me, sirrah, for it will avail you of nothing!”
“I employ no wiles,” he said softly, “for I mean every word I say to you. I admit to having behaved poorly, to having caused you distress, but I also admit that I regret it most sincerely. I hold you in great regard, Bryony.”
She stared at him. “Do you? I seem to recall your saying quite the opposite.”
“I want you to forget my sins, Bryony.”
“Don’t call me by my first name, you do not have my permission. And don’t expect me to forget all you said to me, for I cannot. I know that you meant every word—it was written too clearly in your eyes.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Please go now.”
“Not until you say you forgive me.”
“Very well, I will leave.” She moved toward the door, but he caught her hand.
“Bryony, I cannot accept that you hate me. Nor can I accept,” he added softly, “that you are going to be my damned cousin’s wife. I will not relinquish you to him.”
She twisted her hand away. “Relinquish me! You presume too much again, sirrah, for you cannot relinquish that which was never yours in the first place! I am going to marry Sir Sebastian, and it really is immaterial to me whether you accept it or not. I am here beneath your roof, but that does not give you the right to say or do as you please where I am concerned, and if you will not cease conducting yourself in this way, then I shall ask Sir Sebastian to take me away from here.”
Something passed through his eyes, but she could not tell what it was. Then his smile returned. “Trust me, Bryony.”
“I’ve looked into the mirror, Felix Calborough, and I’ve seen your false reflection.”
“What you see is not false.” He came closer. “Is Liskillen your only reason for marrying Sebastian?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you love him?”
Hot color flooded into her cheeks. “No!”
His dark eyes rested shrewdly on her. “No? Very well, let us agree that Liskillen is the pivot upon which all this turns. But is my cousin the only man who can save it for you?”
“No,” she admitted after a moment, “he isn’t the only man who can, but he’s the only one who will.”
“Is he? Look at me, Bryony St. Charles, and then say again that he’s the only man who will.”
She stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“That I want you very much, too much to let my cousin have you.”
Renewed anger darkened her face. “And you think Liskillen’s debts are my price?”
“Liskillen is your reason for entering into a loveless marriage of convenience.”
“Don’t say any more,” she breathed, “for I know only too well what your next move will be.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, yes,” she said quietly, “you’ll offer to settle my father’s debts if I’ll consent to give myself to you. And if you say that, sirrah, I’ll refuse you, for I will not be any man’s mistress, not even if that man be a duke!”
“You’re making a mistake, Bryony, for I promise you that there could be infinitely more pleasure in an hour spent with me than there could be in a lifetime spent with my cousin.”
“Please leave,” she said in a voice which quivered with fury, “I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
“You will, Bryony. In the end, you will.” He left her.