Dressed to Kiss

by Madeline Hunter, Caroline Linden, Megan Frampton, Myretta Robens

  He leaned forward on pretext of adjusting his chair, scanning the theater all the while, and finally picked her from the crowd. There, in one of the lower boxes. Her gown glowed under the lamplight, and her face was bright with interest as she studied the rest of the crowd.

  He let out a breath of relief even as he recognized the danger he was in. God help him. She was in trade. His mother wanted to employ her. But in trade or not, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She made him laugh, she challenged him—and won—and she made him think, as the gas lamps were lowered and the performance began, that if he did nothing and she disappeared from his world, he might spend the rest of his life searching for another glimpse of her.

  “Thank you for bringing me, Henry.” Felicity gave her brother a smile as they made their way into the theater. She felt a twinge for coercing him into coming with her to this benefit, but only a very small one. Without his escort she would have had to refuse when Lady Marjoribanks offered the use of her box for the evening, and Felicity really wanted to go out.

  For days now she’d done little but worry about Follette’s future, including too many hours spent pining for the shop in Bond Street and wondering if maybe, somehow, she could afford the rent. Tonight she wanted to think about anything other than shop rents or which of her seamstresses might leave her first or—most importantly—what the Earl of Carmarthen might do next. She had neither seen nor heard from him since the disastrous day on Bond Street. As much as Felicity told herself she should expect nothing else from him, it was unsettling how much she wished he would stop by, just once more, so they could part on better terms.

  “I’m sure it’s good for you to get out of the shop,” said Henry.

  “And for you,” she replied pertly. Henry must be as worried as she was about Follette’s, though in his own way. Besides, Henry looked so handsome tonight, and the Kilchester family would be in attendance.

  The Kilchester ladies had patronized Follette’s for years due to some service Felicity’s grandfather had done the previous Lord Kilchester. Lady Euphemia, the eldest daughter of the family and a true beauty, had commissioned several gowns for herself, and also one for her companion, a young woman named Katherine Grant.

  Miss Grant was the sort of client Felicity adored: She had wonderful coloring and a lush figure, and cost was no object to her because Lord Kilchester was paying for the gown. She also had no sense of her physical attractions, judging from the drab and ugly dress she’d worn to her first fitting. Felicity had put her in crimson, cut to display her magnificent bosom, and Miss Grant had looked dazed when she stepped in front of the mirrors.

  But when Felicity mentioned the handsome bill she expected to collect from Lord Kilchester for Miss Grant’s gown, Henry’s face had turned bright pink. Normally when she spoke of the Kilchesters, he merely nodded, as Lord Kilchester was one of the few aristocrats who paid his bills on time. She wasn’t surprised to see her brother all but gape at Miss Grant when they met the Kilchester party in the theater’s main salon. And it was so rare to see Henry look mesmerized by a woman, as he did now, that Felicity impulsively linked arms with Lady Euphemia and walked away from her brother, to let the full impact of Miss Grant’s crimson gown soak into his obstinate male brain.

  “Thank you,” whispered Lady Euphemia as they walked. “Doesn’t Katherine look lovely tonight?”

  Felicity smiled. She’d known Lady Euphemia for years. “She does.”

  “And Hen—Mr. Dawkins looks very handsome in his evening clothes.”

  “He does,” she agreed.

  Lady Euphemia sighed happily. “Just as I intended!”

  They settled into Lady Marjoribanks’s box. Lady Euphemia tended to attract admirers, and she was soon occupied with them, chatting and laughing. Felicity busied herself with examining the crowd, scrutinizing every dress that caught her eye. It was such a shame when modistes took advantage of their patron’s desire for the latest style, she thought, feeling a spike of pity for a petite woman in a nearby box. The poor lady was overwhelmed by the decoration on her gown, from the puffed sleeves and lace collar to the rows of ruffles that covered her skirt—all in a strong shade of pink that made her fair coloring fade almost to blandness. Felicity spent a moment picturing a pale blue gown with subtle embellishment, cut to emphasize the lady’s graceful arms and neck. Oh, what she could do for that woman…

  With a blink she moved on. To have a chance to clothe more ladies like that, she had to establish Follette’s as the place for personal style instead of an ordinary shop that produced unimaginative copies of fashion plates. Her own gown tonight was part of that effort, cut from a sinfully luxurious bolt of peacock green silk after a customer canceled the gown it was bought for. It had been an extravagance, to be sure, and she’d hidden the bill from Henry to pay it out of her own funds, but already she had noted several women openly admiring it. All she needed was one person to ask where she’d got it.

  The lights grew dim and the play began. Since it was impossible to see anyone’s gown now, she let herself get lost in the farce, about two young ladies determined to win the hearts of two handsome brothers by any means possible. It was silly but witty, and ended happily, so there was a smile on her face as the lights came up at the interval.

  Lady Euphemia went to rejoin her family, escorted by a Lord Waddell, who looked dazed to have her on his arm. Felicity was just beginning to wonder where her brother had gone to when a firm knock sounded on the door of the box.

  “Good evening, Miss Dawkins.” It was the Earl of Carmarthen. He stepped in, seeming to fill the tiny box. His piercing blue gaze locked on her.

  Felicity’s heart almost stopped; why was he here and why was he seeking her out? Heart pounding, face flushed, she curtsied. What is wrong with you? she chided herself silently. It was a benefit performance, open to all; she should have anticipated the chance of seeing him. As to his reason for seeking her out…

  She summoned a smile. “What a pleasure to see you, my lord. Are you enjoying the play?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Burton is superb.”

  “She is.”

  Silence descended. Felicity waited for the earl to explain why he had come, but he only looked at her. It wasn’t a bold or rude gaze, but searching, as if he was trying to puzzle out something about her. It made her unaccountably anxious, and with a tiny jolt she realized she wanted him to see her favorably again—as a woman. A woman who spent far too much time thinking about him, and whose breathing became alarmingly erratic whenever he was near. Of course he was attractive—she had known that since the moment he walked into her salon—but even more, she liked him. He was clever and amusing and he listened to her. And in the draper’s shop, when she’d held up a bit of blue damask and looked into his eyes…

  Felicity knew what desire could do to a woman when it caught her in its coils, and as a result she’d spent most of her life avoiding it. Which was not to say she hadn’t had flirtations, even an amour; a handsome soldier had won her heart years ago, but their romance only lasted as long as his regiment was in London. A lace merchant had once suggested she marry him, and one of the tailors who used to work for Mr. White, whose tailor shop had been across the street from Follette’s, had tried to kiss her several times before Henry put his fist in the man’s face. Her mother had taught her to keep men at bay, whether they were lustful husbands or brothers—or in one case, a father—of a client at Follette’s.

  She had a good idea what a man like Lord Carmarthen would offer her: an affair, perhaps even something formal with a house and a carriage. Follette’s clients had included more than one kept woman, and Sophie-Louise had taught her daughter not to judge any woman’s choice too harshly. After the last few years of hardship, wondering if she would lose her shop and home, Felicity understood quite well why a woman might take the security and riches offered to her. She had never thought it would suit her, though.

  But if Lord Carmarthen asked her to be his mistress…

  “
I have a favor to ask,” said the earl abruptly, putting an end to her dangerously tangled thoughts. “Might I present you to my mother and sister?”

  Felicity’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “I would be honored, my lord.”

  He bowed his head and offered his arm, and slowly she put her hand on it. What could he mean by this? She didn’t understand it, but as she walked out of the box on his arm, she felt an almost giddy swell of excitement.

  “Thank you,” he said as they made their way through the crowd. “They have been admiring your gown all evening, and are wild to examine it up close.”

  She forced a laugh. So that was why he’d come to her. The little bubble of unfounded hopes burst silently in her chest, which she instantly tried to discount. She should be pleased he was willing to present her to his family for any reason, let alone one that would benefit Follette’s. “How flattering! It’s one of my favorites.”

  His gaze dipped to her bosom. “And rightly so.”

  A shiver ran over her skin. Why did he look at her that way if he only wanted her to show his mother her gown? Lady Carmarthen could come to the shop any day and see it in daylight, without missing a moment of the play.

  “I also wished to apologize,” he said softly as they walked. “I should not have hidden the cost of the Bond Street shop from you.”

  “No,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve not given up,” he added. “But getting what you want may require some creativity.”

  She darted a glance at him. “Of what sort?”

  “I’m still deciding that,” he said vaguely.

  When they reached the best circle of boxes, he opened a door and ushered her inside. Two ladies were waiting, and Felicity would have known them anywhere as his family. He had his mother’s eyes, and his sister’s bright smile was very like his.

  “Mother,” said the earl, “Emily, may I present Miss Felicity Dawkins. Miss Dawkins, my mother the Countess of Carmarthen and my sister Lady Emily Hewes.”

  “Thank you for interrupting your evening to come to us,” said the countess warmly. “My daughter and I were struck, as if by lightning, by your gown. It is a marvel.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Felicity curtsied. “It’s my own creation.”

  “So said Evan,” cried his sister, giving the earl a fond look. “We begged him to secure an introduction.”

  Felicity looked at the earl, who was already watching her. Their gazes connected for a moment, his intent, hers uncertain. “That was very kind of him,” she murmured.

  “Kind to us!” Lady Carmarthen smiled. “I’ve been less enchanted by my dressmaker every season, and the thought of finding a talented new one fills me with delight.”

  Felicity tore her eyes away from the earl. What he thought, and what he wanted, would have to puzzle her another time. She fixed her attention on her potential new client. “Indeed. Whom do you patronize now, my lady?”

  “Madame de Louvier.” The countess brushed one hand down her dress. “She’s very skilled at the latest fashions, but I vow, I’ve never owned a gown that suited me as well as yours suits you.”

  This, Felicity understood. She recognized the covetous look the other woman cast at her peacock gown. With a keen and unsparing eye, she catalogued the failings of the countess’s own gown, and knew she had the perfect opportunity to win Lady Carmarthen’s custom.

  “Thank you, ma’am. None of my gowns come from fashion plates; every item we create at Madame Follette’s is designed solely for the customer who orders it. There is no way a drawing in a magazine can take into account a particular woman’s coloring, nor is it designed to flatter her finest features. Follette’s believes a gown should do both.” She smiled. “Naturally we include the latest fashionable features, but only in creating a gown uniquely suited to the lady who wears it.”

  “So I see.” Lady Carmarthen studied Felicity’s gown with admiration. Obligingly, she made a slow revolution on the spot.

  “Lovely,” sighed Lady Emily. “Mama, may we please visit Madame Follette’s?”

  “We shall indeed, very soon.” Lady Carmarthen bowed her head. “Miss Dawkins, it has been a pleasure. Until we meet again.”

  “Thank you, my lady. Lady Emily.” Felicity curtsied again, and the earl silently offered her his arm. In the corridor, she couldn’t resist. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, unable to keep a beaming smile from her face. “It was an honor to meet your mother and sister.” It would be an even bigger honor to see them wear her gowns in society.

  “One that may soon be repeated,” he said with a slight grin. “I daresay they’ll visit Vine Street within days.”

  “How fortunate you’ve not started demolishing it yet.”

  He laughed reluctantly. “Am I never to be forgiven for that?”

  “Forgiven! Are you admitting it might not be the very best thing that could ever happen to any street in London?” She felt light and happy, which must explain why she was teasing him again.

  “I still believe, unequivocally, that it’s the best thing to happen to Vine Street in years,” he replied. “And I hope some day you will agree with me.”

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye. His profile was calm and assured, but, as if he could feel her gaze on him, he glanced her way. It was a cautious glance, questioning, curious … hopeful.

  And suddenly her corset was too tight and her shoes were too big. She missed a step and stumbled against him, and in a flash his arm went around her waist. Felicity inhaled raggedly as he held her close for a moment, and when she raised her flushed face to thank him, every word fled. Carmarthen’s expression was taut, his eyes burning bright with hunger.

  Felicity knew she should not get involved with the earl, but that gaze incinerated every sane, sensible thought in her mind, leaving nothing but her own desire for him. “Carmarthen,” she breathed, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.

  He lowered his head until his lips almost brushed her ear. “My name is Evan.”

  The warmth of his face, so near her skin, nearly made Felicity’s heart burst out of her chest. To use his given name was unmistakably intimate. She willfully closed her mind to the more contradictory signs and questions.

  They reached Lady Marjoribanks’s box and found it empty. Where was Henry? “My brother seems to have abandoned me,” she said with a nervous smile.

  “I would be delighted to see you home,” said Carmarthen, watching her closely.

  Felicity imagined her brother sharing a tender interlude with Miss Grant, and gave a nod. “That would be very kind of you, sir.”

  They went into the box and the earl closed the door. At the rear it was quiet and dim, although the brightly lit stage lay directly before them and the loud hum of conversation during the interval filled the theater. Without a word the earl reached out and untied the rope holding back the drape that could be drawn to provide some privacy. With a soft shush it fell closed, cutting off the light and sound even more.

  He turned to her, his eyes glowing. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Her heart was beating so hard, her hands were shaking from it. “What will happen if you stay?” she whispered.

  Slowly his mouth curved. “Always direct. I admire that about you.” He raised one hand and touched her cheek. Felicity’s eyes closed and she swallowed hard. His touch felt so good on her skin. “I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice a dark murmur.

  With effort she pried her eyes open. “At times… At times I suspect you don’t like me much…”

  He gave a short, quiet laugh. “On the contrary, Miss Dawkins … Felicity. I like you far too much for my own peace of mind.”

  A shiver went through her at the sound of her name in his voice. She let her head tip slightly, nestling against his palm. “And after the kiss?”

  His thumb stroked her cheekbone. “What do you mean?”

  “Is that all you want?” Her throat was tight, making her voice husky. “A kiss tonight, then tomorrow we
return to sparring over the fate of Follette’s?”

  He moved a step closer. Felicity realized she had unconsciously pressed up against the wall behind her, in the deepest shadow behind the drape. When the earl brushed his fingers over the bend of her waist, she arched her back, all but inviting him to slide his arm around her—which he did without a moment’s hesitation.

  “My dear,” he murmured, drawing her to him. “Don’t you realize you’ve won every match? I’ve no wish to keep sparring with you about anything. After this kiss…” His lips brushed hers, so lightly she gasped. “You tell me what you want to happen.”

  “And… You’ll do it?” She looked at him in disbelief.

  The earl—Evan—smiled. “Yes,” he said simply, and then he kissed her.

  His mouth was soft, tempting, seductive. Felicity’s lips parted on their own and he tasted her, his tongue making love to hers. Every little worry in her mind about getting involved with him abruptly winked out, like candles doused by a bucket of water. He cupped her cheek in his hand and tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss. Her toes curled inside her slippers. Oh, how he could kiss. She sagged against the wall and clutched at his jacket so she could devote all her energy and attention to kissing him back.

  The applause of the crowd made her jump; the second act was beginning. “No one can see us,” the earl murmured, his breath hot on her skin as he kissed her throat.

  She glanced at the drape. It only partially obscured them, but the lights were dimming, and it grew a little darker in their secluded corner. “What do you plan to do, that no one ought to see?” she whispered.

  “This.” He pressed his lips to the swell of her bosom above her gown. Quick and nimble, his fingers undid the fastenings holding the bodice closed in back, and then he eased it forward. “Just a taste,” he breathed. “My God—you’re so beautiful…”