“But, my dear, I must protest. I have a reputation to uphold where matters of dress are concerned.”
“And surely you must understand that given your size, we were limited in our selection of gowns?”
“Yes, but still—” he protested. “You cannot expect me to wear that.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Tis hideous.”
“Mrs. Fitzherbert obviously does not think so.”
“Is that who you pilfered this from?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the dress critically. “Mrs. Fitzherbert must have been a great deal smaller when she was younger.”
She gave him a look of reprimand. “She is a very dear woman who was most kind to give me this dress.”
“What if it doesn’t fit?”
“It will fit,” Elizabeth reassured, taking the dress off the peg on the door. “I had Polly alter it to your size.”
Yes. He most definitely needed to dismiss Polly.
“Here,” she said, handing him the gown.
He took it, the cloth actually scratchy to the touch. She smiled like a cat with a mouse in its mouth. “Enjoy yourself,” she said, turning to leave the room.
“But are you not going to help me put it on?”
She paused, turned, lifted a brow. “Phibbs is going to help you.”
“Phibbs? What does he know of lady’s dresses?”
She smiled. “I suppose you two will find out.”
She turned again, heading for the hallway door. He couldn’t believe she would really make him go through with it. He truly couldn’t. Perhaps he’d been in denial up until then, but as he watched her head for the door, he realized she did, indeed, intend to see this through.
“You shall regret this, my dear.”
She didn’t turn, just placed her hand upon the door handle.
“I shall look hideous.”
She swung the door wide.
“I shall frighten the staff into quitting.”
She paused, turned back to him. “You have half an hour.” Then she gave him a smile, a smug, self-satisfied smile just before she turned and exited the room.
Lucien narrowed his eyes. She would come back any second, he thought to himself. Come back and tell him it was all a hum.
He didn’t move.
One minute faded into two.
Any second now.
Two minutes faded into three.
Come on, now. Open the door.
But five minutes later she hadn’t returned.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed as he crossed to the bellpull to ring for Phibbs.
* * *
If Lucien thought his daily toilette as a man tedious, ’twas nothing compared to a woman’s. New respect and admiration for the opposite sex filled him as he donned an itchy chemise, tight petticoats, and—worst of all—a whalebone corset surely used in medieval times to torture unsuspecting women. It didn’t help matters that his charming, ever-so-thoughtful Phibbs seemed determined to turn him out as spectacularly as a woman as he would a man, flitting and fussing here and there.
“Phibbs,” he grunted, as he pulled upon the corset. “That is quite enough.”
“Just trying to make your waist smaller,” the man grunted.
“Well, enough is enough. Get to the dress, man.”
His pique must have reached Phibbs because the pressure on his corset lessened. Enough so he could breathe at least.
Phibbs came around the front of him, eyeing him up and down. “Would you like me to dampen your petticoats before you don the dress?”
“Yes, please,” Lucien drawled sarcastically before he erupted with, “Of course not, you silly man. Just put the bloody dress on.”
“As you wish, sir.”
The dress was fetched, the servant opening the neck hole. “Duck your head.”
Lucien eyed the dress one last time. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” he muttered, ducking his head only immediately to straighten with an exclamation of, “Ouch. Damnation. The bloody corset stabbed me.”
“If you use your knees, it will not pinch you then,” Phibbs said matter-of-factly.
“Phibbs, your familiarity with women’s clothing is quite disturbing.”
“I was married for thirty years, sir. Alas, I did not make enough coin to hire a lady’s maid for my wife. I often helped her to dress.”
Lucien wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a jest, wasn’t sure because the world became a brown sea of fabric as the gown was lifted over his head, and he couldn’t see the man’s face.
God’s teeth, he couldn’t believe he was going through with this.
Phibbs went around to his back side, pulling the dress tight as he did the catches.
“I see you have no pelisse,” Phibbs observed dryly.
“Demme, if there was a pelisse, I would set it afire.”
Phibbs didn’t say anything in return, merely finished his task, then bent down to pick up two pairs of slippers.
“Black shoes or brown.”
“Brown,” Lucien gritted out. Unbelievable. Slippers, too.
Phibbs bent, slipping the things on. They were a perfect fit, which made Lucien wonder which female on his staff had elephant feet.
“Very good, sir. I believe we’re done.” The servant stepped back and eyed him critically.
“Well?” Lucien snapped.
“You would need a bonnet to be truly fashionable.”
“Devil take it, Phibbs. Do not be ridiculous. I’m not trying to be fashionable.” He turned to the mirror, and gasped. “Good Lord, I look like—”
“Beau Brummel in a dress,” Phibbs finished.
“A strumpet,” Lucien corrected, outraged. “You’ve given me cleavage, Phibbs. Cleavage.”
“Indeed, sir. Corsets can do wonders for a flat chest. I believe that is the point.”
Lucien couldn’t pull his gaze away from the dressing room mirror, staring in mute horror at the picture he made in Mrs. Fitzherbert’s brown dress. The thing had a wide, dark brown sash just below his—his eyes narrowed—masculine breasts. Off-white lace garnished the neckline and wrists. It had long sleeves and a straight-cut skirt that brushed the floor at the perfect length.
Polly.
“She will pay for this,” he muttered.
“You look charming, sir.”
And so would his wife. “I look like a fool,” he corrected.
“That is the point, I believe, sir.”
“Do not remind me.”
“Shall I fetch her grace?”
“Yes. Let her come up here and get a good look. The sooner she does, the sooner this bloody nonsense will be over.”
The servant bowed. “As you wish.” He turned to the door.
“Phibbs, if you tell anyone how I looked in this gown, you will be dismissed on the spot.”
“Of course, sir,” the unflappable servant said with a nod. Lucien glared at him in warning, but the moment the door closed, he went back to eyeing himself in the mirror, spread his skirts wide, swished them a bit just out of curiosity. Even tried a curtsy. How in God’s name do they move in all this rot?
But five minutes later Phibbs returned, and was it Lucien’s imagination, or did the man’s countenance all but sparkle with—could it be amusement?
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but her grace wishes for you to come downstairs.”
A horrible suspicion filled Lucien then. Ian’s words came back to haunt him.
“Phibbs, how much do you enjoy working at Raven’s Keep?” He dropped his skirts hastily when he noticed he still held them and that Phibbs stared at him oddly because of it.
“Very much, sir.”
“Then you understand I need you to be completely honest with your response to the next question.” He tried to intimidate the man with a moment of silence, despite the dress. “Is the household staff assembled at the foot of the stairs?”
Phibbs bowed. “They are, sir.”
Lucien hopped up and d
own, all but tripping on his hem as he stomped around. “Rot and bother.” He clenched his hands in his skirts. “Blast that woman. She truly means to humiliate me.”
“She does, sir,” Phibbs agreed, not meeting his eyes.
Well, they would just see about that.
“Is the duchess with the staff?” he clipped, calling upon the intellect that had gotten him in this whole mess in the first place, which wasn’t terribly reassuring.
“No, sir. She is in the drawing room.”
“Ah. Good.” There was only one drawing room, and two ways to enter it; a staff’s entrance and the public entrance. He took a step forward.
And fell flat on his face, his hands slapping the floor with enough force to make his eyes water.
“Damnation,” he cursed, shaking his stinging palms.
“I believe you need to pick up your hem, sir.”
Lucien contemplated firing the man on the spot. Bloody hell, I should fire all of them. What happened to their loyalty? What happened to their love for me? Since my wife’s appearance, they’ve turned.
“Thank you, Phibbs. I believe I’d gleaned that for myself.”
Phibbs didn’t reply, just offered him a hand. Lucien wanted to slap it away, except he’d suddenly realized that the corset wouldn’t allow him to move, not to mention that his skirts appeared to be twisted around his petticoated legs.
“She will pay,” he muttered again, his eyes widening in horror as he realized he was about to fall out of his own bloody gown. He had to adjust himself when he stood.
Five minutes later—and a near tumble down the servant’s stairs later—Lucien had worked up a truly good head of steam. So much so, that he very nearly didn’t spy the man who stood a the base of the narrow corridor.
“Going somewhere?” that person asked.
Lucien froze, his skirts clenched in his hands, little brown slippers peeking out from beneath his gown (although he still wondered where Elizabeth had gotten them from. The things were huge).
John eyed him up and down, a low whistle escaping from between smiling lips.
“Ach, Lucien, you make a passably fine-looking woman.”
Lucien dropped his skirts, hands clenching, charging the man before he knew what was good for him. Unfortunately, his legs got caught up in his skirts again. He almost fell to the floor, but his tormenter saved him.
Hearty chuckles greeted him as he helped him to straighten. “Lord love you, Lucien. Your wife had a notion you might try this. She positioned me here in the event you did come this way. I’ve half a mind to take pity on you and tell your wife I didn’t see you pass, or forcing you out in the main hallway so you can face the consequences of your wager.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Lucien growled, noticing John’s black jacket and buff breeches with envy.
“Wouldn’t dare what?”
“Make me face my staff like this?”
John eyed him up and down. “Ach. I’m half-tempted to do so. Truth be told, I never thought ta see the day when my flirting with a woman o’ yours would produce such dramatic results.”
“You were not flirting. You were all but drooling.”
“Aye, but only because she asked me to.”
Lucien stiffened, his corset tightening around him uncomfortably. “I beg your pardon?”
John nodded. “I ought not to be tellin’ you this, to be sure, but the sight o’ you in that dress raises tears of pity in me eyes. Either that, or the devil in me makes me want ta stir the kettle a bit.”
“Drop that Scottish brogue of yours, John, and tell me what you mean,” Lucien clipped.
John smiled. “Your wife came to me yesterday afternoon,” he said in perfect, unaccented English, a trick he did remarkably well, thanks to Eton. “Said she wanted to knock you off your pedestal a bit. Asked me to help her by acting smitten with her at dinner.” The smile grew. “I confess. Her grace made it easy.” He shook his head. “Whatever made you teach her that trick with the banana?”
Lucien merely stared at his friend. No. Ex-friend. “It was all a hum?” he asked.
“A big hum,” John admitted.
A trickle of disbelief turned into a flood of it as he eyed John. His back stiffened in outrage. How could she do something so low, so underhanded, so utterly crafty? Why, it made him incapable of speech. But following his pique came a spurt of admiration for her cunning. What a stroke of genius to ask John for his help.
“Where are you going?” John asked.
Lucien hadn’t even realized he’d picked up his skirts and turned. “To change, then find my wife.”
“Oh. Aye,” John said, chuckles escaping as he watched him head back upstairs. “Won’t mind me peeking in the keyhole when you confront her, will you?”
“Do as you like,” Lucien called. “But we shall not be in the drawing room for long. I’m taking her to the bedroom.”
And to that, John said nothing.
Phibbs helped him change at a rate of speed he wouldn’t have thought possible given the intricacies of female dress. Less than fifteen minutes later he pushed open the servant’s door.
Elizabeth spun on an armchair’s dark green seat, her breasts nearly spilling out of the dress she wore. A large, black brooch was pinned on the red bodice of the gown, right beneath the V of her cleavage, the dress’s white skirt accentuating her narrow waist. Clever puss thought to distract him with her breasts, did she? “Where’s your dress?” she asked, her expression clearly disappointed.
Lucien moved toward her slowly. “I had an interesting conversation with John just now,” he said smoothly. “One that made me change out of the dress I spent an hour lacing myself into.”
She lifted a black brow, the morning light allowing ribbons of sunlight to streak her black hair. It played with her eyes, too, turning them more purple than blue.
“Oh?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he said. “Would you like to know what he told me?”
“No,” she answered, and he could tell she’d discerned something was very, very wrong. Her eyes even darted to the door as if seeking an escape route.
“He told me about an interesting conversation he had with you yesterday afternoon,” he said, ignoring her.
She tensed, though one would hardly notice it if one hadn’t been looking closely. But he could see in the way her fingers flexed. The way her eyes widened just a bit.
“What conversation?”
He contained a triumphant smile. The mouse was about to be caught by a very large, very fierce cat. And though it surprised him to admit it, he rather admired the handy way she’d orchestrated everything. If John hadn’t shared what had happened to him, he’d be parading in front of her in a dress instead of a brown coat and buff breeches.
“My dear, there is no sense in denying it, for I heard directly from John about the deal you made.”
Not by word or deed did she give her misconduct away.
“What is more, I believe him. John—while boyish-looking on the outside—is something of a reprobate. ’Tis why we get along so well.”
She licked her lips, something he knew from experience meant she felt nervous.
“But there is no sense worrying about it, for I shan’t punish you. After all, the penalty for cheating on a bet is simply that you forfeit the bet. Thus I win.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you owe me a night of pleasure.”
She shot up from the chair. “I do not.”
“Ah, but you do.” He smiled. “You cheated, Elizabeth.” He lifted a brow. “Or do you deny your perfidy?”
He had to give her credit. In his experience, a woman lied as easily as she changed gowns. And yet Elizabeth didn’t. He could see the battle being waged within her, see the moment when she realized truth would likely be better than fiction.
“Very well,” she said softly, her shoulders thrusting proudly. “I cheated. But only because you deserved to lose, Lucien. How da
re you suggest I seduce your friend?”
“You agreed to the wager.”
She lifted her chin. “Yes, I did. You deserved to lose. Whatever the cost.”
Honesty. How refreshing. He smiled, a very naughty smile, for it was time to make his move. He held out his hand.
Her eyes widened. “No, Lucien.”
He invaded her space, leaning toward her a bit. “My dear, Elizabeth. You see before you a man who honored a wager no matter what the cost. Call Phibbs if you do not believe me. Five minutes ago I was wearing a dress. And I wore it proudly as penalty for losing my bet. Will you do less in honoring the loss of your wager to me?”
“Yes,” she shot.
He almost smiled. “Then I suppose I must take matters into my own hands.”
Pupils dilated as he suddenly lifted her in his arms. “Lucien,” she cried.
He smiled down at her, the sweet smell of her filling his nostrils. “We are going upstairs,” he said.
“No, Lucien. This, this wager is void. Defaulted,” she gasped. “Rendered moot. You can’t do this,” she huffed, as he opened the servant’s door. Nobody stirred beyond, likely because the whole traitorous lot of them were at the foot of the main stairs all agog as they waited for the duke of Ravenwood to come down the bloody steps.
“Elizabeth, will you be still? You shall break both our necks if you cause us to fall.”
“I should be so fortunate,” she huffed.
He looked down into her panicked eyes. Panicked, not frightened. “Relax, my dear. ’Tis only for a night.” He allowed his smile to spread farther up his face. “Or a day, as the case may be.”
She began to struggle in earnest.
“Elizabeth, settle down. You act as if I am about to rape you.”
“Aren’t you?” she gasped.
He stopped in his tracks. “No, Elizabeth, I shall not.” She looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I will end it right now, if you but ask. I’ll set you here where we stand. But I will be sorely disappointed in you if you do. I thought you woman enough to accept your fate. As I was man enough to accept mine.”
She didn’t blink. Didn’t move as she processed his words. He could feel her body tremble. Could see the way her pulse beat at her temple.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.
Seduced Page 18
