by Jayne Castle
"Hmm." The saleswoman hesitated and then motioned to the assistant. "Bring in Midnight, Jennifer."
"Yes, ma'am."
Jennifer disappeared for a moment. When she returned she carried what appeared to be a shapeless length of fluid fabric in a shade of blue that was so dark it was almost black.
"This gown is not one of Finella's own designs," Mrs. Davies said hesitantly. "That is why I haven't shown it to you until now. The majority of our most important clients insist on wearing only creations designed by Finella herself. She is, of course, a goddess in the world of couture."
Melanie frowned at the limp material. "Who designed this one?"
"Finella's new apprentice, Charles, a gifted young man whom she feels has great potential. It will require a certain degree of daring to wear this gown to the Restoration Ball, however, precisely because it is not a Finella original. Most of the other women will be in dresses created by her or one of the handful of other exclusive designers in Cadence."
Melanie narrowed her eyes and tapped one toe. "I see what you mean. Going to the ball in a dress by an unknown designer is risky but it could turn out to be a brilliant move if the gown works." She motioned to Lydia. "Try it on. What have we got to lose?"
Lydia eyed the unprepossessing material draped over the assistant's arm. "Are you sure?"
"Let's get you into it and see what we've got."
Lydia peeled off her business suit, stepped out of her pumps, and allowed the assistant to pour the midnight blue gown over her head.
When it was properly fastened, the assistant stepped back.
"Yes." Melanie got to her feet and walked in a circle around Lydia. "Oh, my, yes, indeed. This is the one."
Lydia turned to study her reflection. For the space of a couple of heartbeats she did not recognize the woman in the mirror. Then it hit her that she was looking at herself and for the first time that day, her attention was riveted on the project at hand.
"Good heavens," she whispered. "I feel like Amberella in this gown. All I need is a couple of wicked stepsisters and a fairy godmother and I'll be all set."
"Don't know about the wicked stepsisters," Melanie said, "but you've got me for a fairy godmother."
Lydia grinned at her in the mirror. "It doesn't get any better than that in my neighborhood."
Midnight was stunningly simple in design, a narrow column of fine, liquid material that discreetly hugged her slender frame. It was cut demurely high in front and plunged deeply at the back. Long, slim sleeves fell to her wrists. The hemline hit at her ankles. A cleverly designed opening trimmed with a dashing ruffle made movement possible. The overall effect was sophisticated, exotic, and mysterious.
She caught sight of the saleswoman's face in the mirror. Act as though you buy clothes like this all the time, she told herself.
"It'll do," she said crisply to Mrs. Davies. "Thank you. You've been very helpful."
"My pleasure." Mrs. Davies was clearly as surprised as everyone else in the room by the effect of the gown, although she struggled to conceal her reaction. "It is absolutely perfect for you and for the occasion, Miss Smith." She flapped a hand at the assistant. "Jennifer, go get Charles. I want him to see this."
A moment later a slender young man with delicate features and dark, curly hair appeared. He hovered shyly in the entrance.
"You sent for me, Mrs. Davies?"
"Miss Smith will be attending the Restoration Ball with Mr. Emmett London, the new head of the Cadence Guild. She will wear your Midnight." Mrs. Davies gestured toward Lydia. "I thought you would like to personally oversee whatever minor alterations are needed."
Astonishment and then joyous wonder transformed Charles's finely boned face. "My Midnight will be going to the Restoration Ball with Mr. London?"
Lydia smiled at his expression. "Well, it won't be going alone. I'll be inside your beautiful gown, Charles, but I'll try not to detract from it too much."
Charles blushed furiously. His smile lit up the room. "I don't know what to say. Thank you, Miss Smith."
"I'm the one who should be thanking you," Lydia said sincerely. "Left to my own devices I might have ended up looking like a high-class hooker."
Charles glanced at the row of rejected gowns and raised one brow. "The silver lame?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Don't worry," Melanie said. "I would never have let her buy that one. Anyone can see it would have been all wrong for her. Now, then, let's talk about accessories. I'm thinking gold. What do you think, Charles?"
"Yes." He nodded approvingly. "Nothing else but gold and not a great deal of it."
"And my amber, of course." Lydia glanced at her bracelet.
"No," Charles said with absolute conviction. "No amber. Just gold."
"He's right," Mrs. Davies said. "You must limit the accessories to gold. Anything else will interfere with the statement that the gown makes."
"Carry your amber in your purse," Melanie advised quickly when she saw Lydia open her mouth to argue. "You don't want to ruin Charles's creation, do you?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Relax, you're going to be stunning," Melanie said.
"Don't get too excited," Lydia warned. "I clean up okay but I don't do stunning."
"You will do stunning in my Midnight," Charles said very quietly.
An hour later, laden with shopping bags, Lydia and Melanie exited the boutique.
They ran smack into a throng of reporters. Cameras popped and flashed. Microphones were thrust forward. The questions came fast and furious.
"Which one of you is London's Mystery Mistress?"
"Is it true London is going to take you to the Restoration Ball tomorrow night?"
"Where did you two meet?"
"How long have you been seeing each other?"
Lydia froze.
Melanie, however, was unfazed. "Don't look at me," she said to the hungry crowd. "I'm not your mystery woman." She waved gracefully in Lydia's direction. "Allow me to present Lydia Smith, Mr. London's date for the Restoration Ball."
The gaggle of reporters and cameras swerved toward Lydia and the questions rained down upon her head with the force of hailstones.
"… How would you describe your relationship with London?" a female reporter with short blond hair demanded.
"Tell us what it's like to date the boss of the Guild," gushed another woman.
"According to my sources you aren't from a Guild family," someone else called out. "Does that mean that marriage is out of the question?"
The word marriage pierced the spell of immobility that had gripped Lydia. Pull yourself together, she thought. Think of this group of reporters as one giant illusion trap that has to be untangled before it explodes into a full-blown alien nightmare.
Melanie grabbed her arm and started to drag her toward a cab. "Miss Smith doesn't have any comment for you."
"Oh, yes, she does." Lydia dug in her heels, forcing Melanie to come to a halt. She drew herself up to her full height and gave the cluster of journalists her most sparkling smile. "As a matter of fact, Miss Smith has a very important comment for the media."
Chapter 13
The desk intercom burbled, interrupting Emmett's conversation with Verwood, the head of Guild Security. Irritated, he punched the button.
"I thought I told you that I did not want to be disturbed, Perkins."
"I assumed that you would make an exception in case of an emergency, sir."
Emmett gripped the phone a little tighter. He did not need any more problems.
"What is the nature of this emergency?" he asked evenly.
"I'm not sure, sir, but according to Miss Smith, there definitely is one in progress. She insists on speaking with you immediately."
Lydia's name in the same sentence with the word emergency made him go cold.
"Put her through, Perkins."
"Yes, sir."
Emmett picked up the phone. "Lydia? What's wrong?"
"I'm really sorry about this, Emmet
t. I don't have a good excuse. But I don't think it will do too much harm. Honestly, the time will go by before you know it, what with you being so busy and all these days. You'll hardly even notice."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, of course, I'm fine, why?"
"Perkins said there was some sort of emergency."
"Yes, that's what I'm trying to explain."
He called on what was left of his store of patience. "What the hell is wrong?"
"It's a long story. You see what happened was, Melanie and I came out of the dress shop and there were all these reporters waiting in front."
He allowed himself to relax a little. "Honey, they were bound to find you, sooner or later. It's not like we've tried to keep our relationship a secret."
"I know." She cleared her throat. "The thing is, they wanted a comment about us, Emmett."
"You should have told them to call my office."
"I'm sure you'll be hearing from the media at any moment," she said dolefully. "Because I gave them a comment. That's why I'm calling you now. To warn you."
Confusion was starting to take the place of concern. "Warn me about what?"
He heard her take a deep breath on the other end of the line. "I hope you won't be too upset about this. I guess I was just feeling cornered. They were going on and on about the Mystery Mistress thing and I just couldn't take it anymore. It's embarrassing."
"What did you say to the press?" he asked, spacing each word very carefully to get her attention.
"I told them that I was not your mistress."
For an instant it seemed as if the whole world went away. She had denied their relationship.
He stared blankly at the view of the Dead City outside the window. He was aware that Verwood was looking at him with concern.
"I see," he said softly.
"I'm really sorry about this, but I don't think it will do too much damage."
The only damage being done was to him, he thought wearily. Well, what had he expected? He had known from the start that his connection to the Guild would be a huge issue for her. The media circus surrounding the Mystery Mistress had probably pushed her too far.
"Emmett? Are you still there?"
"I'm here."
"I've made an appointment at the registrar's office for three o'clock this afternoon." She sounded crisp and assured now. A woman with an objective. "I know you're awfully busy, but it won't take long. Can you make it?"
He was definitely not tracking here. "The registrar's office?"
"The clerk said they would make an appointment so that we wouldn't have to stand in line."
"Why do we have an appointment?" he asked.
"Something was said about being only too happy to do a favor for the Guild, as I recall."
"I meant, why do we need an appointment at the registrar's office?"
There was another brief pause. "I thought you understood. I just got through telling the media that I was your fiancée, not your mistress, and that we were going to file for an MC this afternoon."
The world snapped back into focus. "You told the press that we're getting married? Today?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I see," he said again.
"How mad are you?" she asked, sounding resigned.
"I'm not mad. Just a little surprised, that's all." More like stunned, but there was no reason to tell her that.
"I realize that I probably should have talked to you first," Lydia said apologetically. "But like I said, the reporters caught me by surprise and I just couldn't stand all those stupid questions about the Mystery Mistress."
"It's okay. I understand. Don't worry about it."
"I know a year sounds like a long time but it will go by before you know it and it's not as if you and I weren't spending a lot of time together, anyway."
"I said, don't worry about it." He glanced at his watch. "I'll meet you at the registrar's office at three."
"You're okay with this?"
"I'm okay with it."
He hung up the phone and looked at Verwood. "Congratulate me. I'm getting married this afternoon."
Verwood, a big, square man with very little neck, did not alter his politely impassive expression. "Congratulations, sir. A sudden decision?"
"No, I've been thinking about it for a while." Emmett picked up the file on Sandra Thornton that Verwood had given him earlier. "I was just waiting to be asked."
Chapter 14
Lydia stood on the second-story terrace of Emmett's newly acquired townhouse, looking out at the view of the green quartz wall and the spires and towers of the Dead City. The night air was cool and damp from the fog that was coalescing off the river. In another hour or two the mist would blanket the Old Quarter.
The house was much closer to the ruins than her own apartment. The only thing between her and the great wall was the large city park down below. Proximity made a difference. Here she was even more aware of the psi energy that leaked from the Dead City than she was in her own place. When she went out on the balcony of her apartment she picked up only occasional stirrings of the stuff. But in this neighborhood it permeated the atmosphere.
She could tune out the little currents of energy or ignore them if she wished but she rarely bothered to do so. It was, after all, a pleasant sensation. The part of her that was sensitive to psi power resonated with the whispers coming from the ruins.
She leaned on the terrace railing and contemplated the events of the day.
Things had definitely not been dull.
The good news was that Emmett appeared to be completely unperturbed by the hasty Marriage of Convenience she had orchestrated. The bad news was that for some reason she could not explain, she was a nervous wreck tonight.
Emmett had arrived at the registrar's office on time, accompanied by a very large, square individual named Verwood whom he introduced as his chief of security. To her astonishment, Emmett also brought along a ring. She experienced a very odd sensation when he slipped it onto her finger. It was as if the simple gold band somehow made the promises they spoke far more binding than the associated paperwork indicated.
It was just a Marriage of Convenience, she reminded herself, not a Covenant Marriage. It would automatically expire in one year, leaving them both free to go their separate ways if they so chose.
The MC didn't really affect their relationship in any material way, she thought. She and Emmett had already been involved in a monogamous arrangement. The formalities were just that—formalities.
Tonight was no different than any other night she had spent with Emmett during the past few weeks.
Except that she had a ring on her finger.
She heard a quiet footstep behind her and turned to watch Emmett walk out onto the terrace through the open glass doors. He carried a bottle of champagne in one hand. In the other hand he held two flutes by their long stems. Fuzz was perched on his shoulder, gnawing on a pretzel.
She glanced at the champagne. "We're celebrating?"
He set the bottle and the glasses on the terrace table. "Don't know about you, but this is my first marriage. Figured it warranted something by way of celebration."
Guilt trickled through her, not for the first time today. "I'm sorry about this."
"Stop apologizing." He poured champagne into the two flutes and handed one to her. "It's just an MC. No big deal."
No big deal. How depressing.
Fuzz finished his pretzel, skittered down Emmett's arm, hopped onto the railing, and sat gazing at the ruins. He opened his second set of eyes, the ones he used for hunting at night.
"I wonder what he sees out there in the park that we can't see," Lydia said.
Emmett smiled. "Maybe a female dust-bunny."
"Huh. Hadn't thought about that." She took a large mouthful of champagne and swallowed it in one gulp.
Something went wrong about halfway down. Probably the fizzy bubbles, she thought. She wasn't accustomed to good champagne.
She gasped, sputtered, t
urned red, and coughed. Her eyes watered.
"You're welcome to as much champagne as you want," Emmett said, slapping her lightly between the shoulders. "But you might want to take it a little slower. You can enjoy it more that way. Not that it matters, but that particular bottle cost a hundred and fifty bucks. Sort of a shame to gulp it."
"Good heavens." She recovered her breath and stared, horrified, at the flute she had just emptied. "You opened a hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle of champagne just to celebrate our MC?"
He shrugged. "I told you, this is my first marriage."
"Well, it's my first one, too, but still, a hundred and fifty bucks?" She frowned. "Wait a second, are you going to bill the Guild for the champagne as well as my new gown?"
"Why not?" He picked up the bottle and refilled her glass. "Just another business expense."
She brightened a little. "Well, in that case, who cares how much the stuff cost?"
He was amused. "I take it you like the idea of sticking the Guild with the tab for your expenses?"
"I know it's small and petty of me, but, yeah, I like the idea a lot. I figure it's the least the Guild can do for me after the way those two hunters refused to take responsibility for what happened during my Lost Weekend."
He nodded.
A long silence descended. Fuzz seemed entranced with the view of the fogbound park. So did Emmett.
She grew increasingly uneasy. Why was it suddenly so hard to make conversation? she wondered. The fact that Emmett was officially her husband for the next year didn't change anything about their relationship, did it? Tonight was no different than last night. Except for the ring on her finger.
She cast about for something to say.
"So," she said, going for casual and blasé. "This really is your very first MC?"
He lounged against the railing and looked out at the night-shrouded ruins. "Yes."
She took a more cautious sip of the champagne and decided that it tasted quite good. The alcohol and the cloak of darkness emboldened her. "You must have had plenty of affairs over the years. Why didn't you ever go for a Marriage of Convenience?"
