“I have donned the corset. Now, what shall I do?”
Phillipe slipped through the curtain. “I must lace the corset…”
Lucy shrieked and shoved him back through the curtain with such force that he tumbled to his backside. She threw an arm across her chest and yanked the curtain closed.
“Sacre bleu!” Phillipe cursed. “She is a devil woman!”
“Do not come in here!” Lucy shouted.
The next voice she heard was Henry’s, and he performed an admirable job of suppressing his impatience. “Miss Locket, please. Phillipe means no offense. He wishes only to help you fulfill your plan.”
“But I am naked!”
Henry chuckled. “I hardly think so. Regardless, view him as a physician simply executing his duty.”
She paused to consider the advice. “Very well, then. He may enter, but he alone.”
As she turned her back to the curtain, Phillipe entered warily. She stared at the ceiling while he laced the corset but otherwise laid not a finger on her. When he finished, a yellow dress appeared at her peripheral vision.
“If you would, mademoiselle, don this dress. I will wait in safety beyond the curtain.”
When Phillipe exited, Lucy slipped the dress over her head and smoothed it against her figure. The fit proved superior to any dress she had worn in more than a decade. Inhaling a deep breath, she slipped aside the curtain and stepped from the alcove. Henry’s eyes went wide when he saw her. She frowned.
“What is wrong? Does the dress look so terrible?”
He exhaled a pent breath and slowly shook his head. “No. It looks perfectly well. I believe the dress will serve sufficiently for meeting the duchess.”
“Perfectly well?” Jacques blurted. “No! It is magnifique! I need only take it in a bit here.”
The Frenchman put his hand on Lucy’s waist to show the spot. Her palm laced his cheek before she realized what she was doing. The man fell back in surprised pain, holding his reddening cheek.
“Mademoiselle!”
Henry stepped near to her. “As a physician. Remember.”
She flushed with embarrassment. “My apologies, Mr. Archambeau. I am not accustomed to the hands of men upon my person. Please forgive me. You may resume.”
Jacques dipped his head in wincing acknowledgment. While he and Phillipe carefully took in the dress with rapid stitches, Lucy repeated silently, “Physicians. Physicians. Physicians.”
After a few minutes, Jacques disappeared, returned with a pair of combs, and pulled Lucy’s hair back into a loose chignon. Her legs ached from standing still for so long before the men completed the dual tasks of dress alteration and hairstyling. Phillipe then led her by the hand a few steps and turned her to face a long mirror.
“Mademoiselle, do you approve?”
She inhaled a startled breath, barely recognizing the woman in the glass. She rubbed a hand down her torso and touched her face with the other.
“Lovely, mademoiselle,” Phillipe commented.
Henry, who had seated himself earlier, rose from his chair. She turned for his assessment with an explosion of doubtful expectation. Despite the open enmity between them, she craved his favorable opinion. For the last decade, she had known only men of low birth or compromised morals who saw her as a mark, a conquest, or an inferior—men she could never trust with her heart. Henry was different. He was refined, principled, and remarkably handsome. And though he considered her a criminal, he appeared to see her as having value instead of something to be possessed or discarded. Against her wishes, she desired his regard. She blinked rapidly as Henry appraised her with wide eyes, before he glanced quickly away.
“That will do.”
He sounded unimpressed. Her confidence flagged, but she forced a rally. She offered the brothers a wide smile and curtsied awkwardly, nearly falling.
“Thank you, messieurs,” she said after recovering her balance. “I shall never forget your kindness.”
Both men bowed low and Phillipe responded with genuine warmth and respect. “It was our pleasure, mademoiselle. Please come again.”
She smiled, having forgotten what it felt like to be regarded as a lady.
