by Darcy Burke
The footman bounded down, unfolded the carriage step and held out his gloved hand. Imogen descended, her skirts in hand and lifted high above the strangely brownish yellow muck lining the London street. Kate followed catching sight of a shoe that someone had apparently abandoned in the quicksand-like substance.
Stepping onto the slightly smoother ground just before the shop, Kate gawked at the storefront. The glass windows shone, and the outer walls were pristine stone. Finally, she’d arrived.
“Now, my dear, don’t let your mouth hang open like that.”
Kate snapped her lips closed. Oh dear, she’d been gawking like a country mouse. But the windows! Gowns of pink and blue stood in the casings. Lace dripped from them like sugared frosting, and the embroidery! Why it was as if the dresses were alive with flowers.
Regardless of their wealth, her father never encouraged extravagance in women, and Percy. . . well, he used as much as possible on himself. She’d dreamt of wearing gorgeous gowns, and now she was going to buy every blasted thing in the shop if she wished.
They entered the shop and were ensconced in elegant silence. The scent of roses and lavender wafted around them. Soft chairs of ivory and gold were positioned artfully about the room as were tables of white marble with gold legs.
A lovely young girl bustled towards them, her violet silk gown plain yet perfect on her slender frame. The girl smiled brightly, clearly anticipating a very worthwhile customer. “Bonjour, Lady Cavendish. A delight,” she purred in a soft French accent. “As always.”
“Bonjour,” Imogen replied. Gesturing towards Kate, she said, “I have come for several gowns for my friend.”
The young assistant turned from Imogen to Kate.
Much to Kate’s surprise the shop girl’s pale face lit with interest as she looked her up and down. After a moment, a smiled tilted the girl’s pink lips. “Oui, madame!” She gestured towards Kate’s middle. “May I?”
She nodded, curious as to what exactly had caused the young woman such gratification.
The girl’s slender hands circled Kate’s middle, and then she looked into Kate’s face with fascinated dark eyes. “But madame, why have you hidden your beauty?”
Kate sputtered, unsure if she should feel flattered or insulted. “Men,” she said flatly.
The girl tsked. “Mais oui. Men are so much trouble, yes?” She stepped back and clapped her hands. “We shall make your beauty shine. I assume you wish many gowns?”
Kate nodded, caught up by the fact the shop girl thought her pretty. Most of her life, she’d been led to believe she was rather plain. It was tremendously exciting to hear otherwise, even if the girl was being polite. “I do need one for this evening.”
The girl’s eyebrows shot up, and her pink mouth pursed. “This evening?”
Kate’s elation dimmed a little. Apparently, she was too blunt. But the duke, he’d been blunt. It had been marvelous, his candor. Kate had a suspicion that to survive in London she was going to have to flower her speech. “It is terribly important. Couldn’t a young woman of your talents help me?” she coaxed.
“Expense is not a question,” Imogen added quickly, her voice honeyed with compliment.
The smile beamed right back into place on the girl’s face. “I am certain I can find something. Now,” she said, gesturing to the door festooned with pale, grey silk curtains. “Let us have you fitted.”
***
Hunt was in a foul mood, and Ryder was glad to be shuck of his company. There’d be no dealing with him until they could both drown themselves in drink and women.
The bill had died the slow, torturous death of one drowning in sludge.
The conservatives were terrified of giving rein to the people. They kept citing France and the present rebellion taking place. But in Ryder’s opinion it was the very strictness of the French nobility that had led to its downfall. If England wasn’t careful, they’d find themselves only a few steps behind.
In any case, Hunt had begun to shout during the session, something he had never done till he involved himself in politics. The opposing party shouted back and then both sides rushed each other. In the fracas, Ryder’s coat had been torn. Nothing like two groups of men going for each other’s throats in the House of Lords.
Ryder made his way up Bond Street on foot, glad to be free of his servants for the afternoon. The country was the only place a man might really find freedom from constant attention, but he hated the country. Immensely.
Unlike the majority of his peers he actually liked to do everyday tasks, and he damn well wasn’t going to pitch his coat at his valet when he could take it to Bond Street himself and have it fixed.
He paused as he passed Madame Sophie’s. It had been Jane’s favorite store. She’d loved to take him in and look over the colorful fabrics, teasing him that it was a husband’s position to ensure his wife was properly dressed.
He glanced through the window. His eyes widened. For there standing with Imogen Cavendish was. . . her.
She stood at an angle to him, her face almost in profile. Under the morning light, her hair shone with hints of red and honey. She smiled brightly at the shop girl, causing her cheeks to glow with a rosy hue. And once again, she was in that ridiculously plain grey gown. It hugged her voluptuous frame, but aside from its form-fitted simplicity, it was a gown meant for a plain woman, not the fiery woman who had the cheek to demand he seduce her.
His gloved fists tightened as he looked up the street. He should keep walking to his tailors. The thought was definitely there, urging him to move on, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking back at the woman who managed to captivate him. Even more disconcerting, his feet refused to cooperate by moving up the street, and he kept staring like a boy transfixed by the candy shop. Candy meant to delight the eye and cause one to enjoy the moment in which it touched the tongue.
The young shop girl, Lisette, who had waited upon him and Jane almost five years ago now, beamed at his mysterious lady. As Frenchwomen were so apt to do, she could see past the dowdy gown and see the beauty of the woman before her.
The ladies entered into the inner sanctum of tedious fittings, and the next thing Ryder knew, he was stepping into the shop, unable to pull himself from the space she had just occupied. Amidst the colorful drapings swathed in every corner of the room, he felt like an undertaker in his black, but color hadn’t touched his frame since Jane had been laid in the dark earth.
“Monsieur, les duc?” Ami bustled into the room, her pink shepherdess costume a perfect match for her coal black hair and doll-like beauty. “It has been far too long.”
The unspoken words of sympathy hung between them for several seconds, and he was damned tempted to turn and bolt from the store.
But as if an actress on cue, she batted her long lashes up at him, and her lips parted in a coy smile. “Whatever can I help with? Perhaps you would like to see a costume modeled for you, non?”
Ryder barely glanced at her, shoving aside the memories before they rushed in. It wasn’t as if he would let himself go to pieces in a woman’s shop.
His gaze fell on a bolt of opalescent silk shot through with silver thread. It was almost an exact match to her wild eyes. Instantly, he could see his mysterious lady swathed in the shimmering fabric, her legs bare and her breasts barely covered like some Aphrodite bathed in silvery waters.
“The young woman with Lady Cavendish,” he said, his voice growing tight at the image of his lady barely clad, her nipples teased to hardness by the rich fabric. “Can you make her a gown in that color?”
Ami stared blankly for a moment then nodded. “We have a gown prepared in that color, but it is not finished.”
“Show it to me.”
She bobbed a curtsy and swept into the back room.
Ryder shifted on his boots and clasped his hands behind his back. Then blinked. What the hell was he doing? Damn it, he was buying a dress for a woman he planned to avoid, that’s what he was doing.
His blood hummed, a
nd his gaze darted to the curtains that led to the fitting rooms. Was she still dressed? Or were her smooth thighs naked? She’d worn stockings of plain wool, and if he had to guess her corset had been just as simple. Lord, how he would love to see her with white silk stockings tied with red ribbons and a corset of wine brocade.
He snorted. She’d never wear such a thing. She was inexperienced and good. That had been clear on her beautiful face. Like. . . Jane. Ryder swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment.
Like Jane, this young woman seemed untouched by the selfish and cruel ways of the women he knew. Women, who bedecked themselves in clothing purely meant to incite a man’s lust. It was for the best she was no doubt choosing another simple gown. Hadn’t he sent her off to keep her from himself and the decadence of the women in his world? Yet, here he was about to buy a beautiful gown for her. A hint of shame rolled through him. But he kept standing there, waiting.
Ami popped back into the room. He snapped his eyes open to the sight of her black curls bouncing as she hefted a blue silk box. She carefully placed it down on the table at the far end of the room. “Please, monsieur?” She gestured with her small hand for him to join her by the box.
He came up beside her and gazed down, waiting for her to reveal the costume.
She pulled the ribbons and lifted the lid. “It was meant for a duchess, but the color did not suit.”
Ryder gazed down at the contents. The silk shone with the colors of an opal, purple, pink and silver were shot through the ivory silk. Seed pearls lined the bodice and were scattered over the lush skirt. He had chosen gowns for countless women as presents. But this one was perfect for her. With her stormy grey blue eyes, the gems’ colors would light her eyes to the color of silver. He waved at the concoction of frothy elegance. “Take it into her.”
“Oui,” Ami bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Only do not inform her who it is from.” The last thing he wanted was her to show up at his door front in the dress waiting for him to unwrap her like a present. He’d sent her away once; twice would be damn well impossible.
Ami closed the box and hurried into the next room. Ryder turned, allowing himself to linger for a few more moments, envisioning the surprise and joy on her face as she opened the box. He wouldn’t think of her sliding the fabric over her arms and legs. Nor would he think about the fabric he touched pressing to her breasts.
Ryder drew in a slow breath then headed back out onto Bond Street. She’d enjoy the gown, and that would have to do. It was one thing, the only thing, he could give her.
Chapter Five
“No dancing?” Kate exclaimed, just as the carriage bounced over a particularly large hole in the cobbled street.
Imogen’s eyes sparkled as if she knew some great sin but was refusing to reveal it.
The carriage pulled to a stop, and Kate resisted a frown. Her first London party and no dancing. She’d dreamed of dancing for years, and lord knew she had practiced enough with her old aunt. The poor dear had many a blue toe from Kate’s blunders, but now she was quite proficient, thank you very much. And well, she very much wanted a chance to finally employ all her practice.
Imogen patted a hand to her hair which had been curled and twisted until it towered in a fascinatingly beautiful way above her head. Her hand sparked with ruby and diamond rings. “Never fear. There shall be other amusements.”
The footman opened the door, and the sounds of an orchestra and loud voices, laughing and talking poured in. Kate froze for a moment. Lord, they weren’t even inside yet.
Her heart pounded with excitement as she stood on the edge of the most sinful set of London. She was about to make her entrance, and she was going to make it as memorable as possible. After all, how many other young women would die to be in her diamond trimmed slippers right now. And truly, she couldn’t wait to not only see exactly what these other amusements were but to participate in them as well.
As it was, she felt like a duchess. It had been incredible luck that whoever had ordered the gown had canceled. It fit to perfection, and she truly felt magical in it, as if it had some secret power. A secret power that would have men at her feet and women gaping at her in envy, and it felt marvelous.
She had to admit her hair, which had taken a good hour to arrange, and her new shoes were a bit intimidating. Imogen had no problem stepping down in her high, backless slippers of crimson brocade. A velvet red rose was pinned into her blonde locks. Feathers peeped up from behind the flower and curled coyly up to her temple.
Well, if Imogen could make it down the steps in those ridiculously high shoes, Kate could. So, without further doubts, she took the footman’s hand, clenched her toes into the bottom of her lavender backless slipper and stepped onto the rickety carriage step then onto the royal blue rug which had been rolled out onto the street to protect the guests’ footwear. Smiling that she had not indeed tripped and fallen face forward in her precarious slippers, Kate glanced up at the house.
Towering at least four stories high with colonnades, lanterns lined every window. There were at least two dozen footmen in purple and gold livery lighting the walk with torches.
As soon as their carriage pulled away, another pulled right up. And the walk was full of people making their way up to the entrance. “Good lord, Imogen.” Her lips twitched. “Has half of London been invited to this exclusive party?”
Imogen lifted a hand to her slender throat and laughed. “It would seem so.”
Kate arched a brow. “How many others do you think have a good bit of gossip on this woman?”
“Hundreds,” Imogen drawled. “After all the countess and scandal are dear friends, but she is an artist at keeping the sharpened tongues of the ton dull.”
“Well, on we go,” Kate said, eager to see what awaited.
She swept up the path, Imogen just behind. As she neared the stairs Kate resisted the urge to adjust her elaborate coif. Her hair, laced with diamond broaches, was curled high upon her head. Unlike Imogen, she hadn’t allowed the maids to powder it, which she realized now made her stand out amongst all the sugary curls of the men and women around her.
A group of ladies, their towering powdered hair leaning like a badly built tower, whispered behind their fans as she and Imogen stepped forward. But she didn’t care, if anything it was rather exciting. Her own towering curls felt so precarious, she had to walk with a perfectly straight spine which pressed her breasts tighter to her corset. Oh, if only those country biddies could see her now. The old dears would fall into a fit of vapors unlike any Shropshire had ever seen.
The moment they entered the large and crowded foyer, all her senses were assaulted. Orchids and roses poured from the balustrades and crimson silks had been hung festively from the walls.
The countess stood at the center of it all, her black hair towering with flowers and feathers and jewels the size of robin’s eggs. Kate forced herself not to gape. It was positvely amazing. The woman stood like a goddess descended amongst mortals. She looked bored beyond all belief, and yet she managed to have half the room staring at her.
Her gown was deep purple with delicate embroidery all along the bodice and borders. The stomacher was so low, the barest hint of pink nipples peeped out above the gold edging. A small boy stood behind her, holding her long and heavily embroidered train. Her eyes, slanted like a cat’s, perused the room even as she talked to those who greeted her. Full lips pouted as if she was permanently teasing the opposite sex. This woman exuded a sexual prowess which Kate had never seen before. Not even in Imogen.
It was fascinating and horrifying at once.
Straightening her shoulders, Kate walked forward and extended her hand, ready to throw herself into the arena. For as exciting as this was, she was beginning to realize this world was just as wild as ancient Rome. Lions might attack at any moment.
“My lady,” she said, her voice surprisingly low, as if she was tossing out some unseen challenge.
The countess stopped, her full lips curled into a
predatory smile. With agonizing slowness, the woman raked her gaze over Kate. “Such delightful freshness,” she purred, opening her fan and waving it slowly before her plumped up breasts. “How amusing.”
Kate’s hand froze in the woman’s surprisingly firm grip.
“I do hope you shall enjoy being devoured.” The countess pulled her close and whispered in Kate’s ear, her breath warm on her skin. “Perhaps I should take the first bite.”
Kate started to tilt her head to the side, but stopped immediately as she felt her heavy coif move with her subtle gesture. Instead, she glanced at the woman through veiled eyes. “But my dear countess, I really wouldn’t wish you to choke. . . on my lock.”
Imogen’s eyes rounded, and her fan snapped open faster than prinny’s breeches at the sight of a fleshy woman.
Kate held her breath for a moment, almost not believing she dared to be so crude. But it felt bloody marvelous.
The countess blinked and then laughed. She turned to Imogen. Leaning forward, she kissed the air just by her friend’s cheek. “What a gem, you have brought to us,” she said with cool charm. “I think she will be able to lift our recent ennui.”
Imogen placed a hand to her bosom and smiled coquettishly. “I think you shall find she is full of surprises.”
“I do hope so.”
With that, Imogen grabbed Kate by the arm and led her through the hall into the salon. All the furniture had been removed except for a few lone couches in the darker corners of the room. Each and every one of them was occupied by couples lounging in the shadows and in some cases there were three or four men and women entwined in conversation. Tables with chairs had been set up all about the center of the room. Lords and ladies stood about them, throwing ivory gaming chips down onto the tables. Their voices and laughter filled the room with raucous passion, masking the quartet set discreetly in the farthest corner of the room.
