“Not from here. Florizel, the Stage Manager, keeps a change of clothes in his office down on the second floor. We’re of a similar size. I’ll borrow those.”
“Fine.”
“Need help untying your laces?”
His cheeky question brought another flush to her skin. “No, thank you. I’ve grown accustomed to undressing without the help of a maid. I don’t require any assistance.”
He sent her a theatrical bow. “In that case, I’ll be back shortly. Try not to get into any more trouble in my absence. A protest and a rainstorm is quite enough excitement for one night, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER7
Lucy waited until she was sure Arden had gone before she began to remove her clothes.
She’d left her shawl back in the carriage, and her evening dress had taken the full force of the rain. The lilac silk was drenched, sticking to her body like a second skin, and she gasped in horror as she caught sight of herself in a huge gilt-framed mirror that had been propped against one wall.
Not only was the fabric covered in dark smudges and cobwebs from the tunnel, but the rain had rendered it practically transparent. The cut hadn’t required a corset or stays, and her nipples were clearly visible through the silk and her thin chemise.
Dear God, it was a miracle Arden hadn’t made some sarcastic comment.
Then again, he probably hadn’t even noticed. He was doubtless more attracted to that headless mannequin than toher.
Feeling exposed in the huge space, and a little unnerved by the darkness beyond the circle of lamplight, she stepped behind a folding screen and stripped hastily. Cool air rippled over her naked skin, and she shivered as she slipped the dress she’d chosen over her head.
The gown, surprisingly, was a perfect fit, and she couldn’t prevent a gasp of delight as she positioned herself in front of the mirror again. The scoop neckline was almost scandalously low, exposing the top curves of her breasts, and the midnight blue fabric shimmered in the lamplight like a raven’s wing. The skirts were full, in the fashion of the previous century, and the way they swirled around her legs made her feel like a princess.
Would Arden think she looked pretty?
She gave herself a swift mental kick. She shouldn’t care what he thought. Her goal was to meet the Phantom and discover his name.
She draped her ruined dress over the arm of a velvet chaise longue that had been placed next to the dressing screen, and turned her attention to her hair.
It was a disaster.
Most of the pins had fallen out of the upswept style, and rogue tendrils had started to curl around her face and neck as they began to dry. She’d been tempted to cut it all off a hundred times during her travels, purely for practicality, but had always changed her mind at the last minute. Her hair was one thing she liked about her appearance.
Pulling out the remaining pins, she gathered the wet mass in her hands and tried to pile it all back up on the top of her head, but it was impossible without assistance. She abandoned the task with a sigh, and let it drop back around her shoulders just as a shadow moved behind her in the mirror.
The Phantom stepped out of the darkness.
Lucy whirled around in alarm. How long had he been lurking in the shadows? Dear God, had he spied on her while she was naked? A hectic flush swept over her skin and she resisted the urge to fan herself.
“Heavens!” she gasped. “You gave me a shock, sir. I didn’t hear you approach.”
He took another step, into the circle of light, and his lips quirked below his mask as he casually lowered himself onto the chaise longue.
“I wouldn’t be much of a phantom if I clomped about like a herd of elephants, would I? Stealth is an integral part of the job.”
Lucy felt her own lips curve up, even though her heart was pounding against her ribs at his unexpected appearance. Her whole body seemed to hum with awareness, with excitement.
“True. Although I’ve heard of ghosts who make a terrible racket. Perhaps you should consider expanding your repertoire?”
“By rattling some chains? Groaning and shrieking? No, thank you. I’ll leave the dramatics to the actors on the stage.”
He was dressed as he had been the previous night, in black, with a white shirt and cravat. His hair was slicked back, off his forehead, and the familiar black mask covered the top half of his face.
“Arden—Lord Ware, will be back soon,” Lucy warned, a little breathless.
A low chuckle escaped the Phantom. “I’m afraid not. He’s been . . . waylaid.”
