Eight
PORTIA
Morning light spilled through a gap in the shutters in my bedchamber. I stood over the clothing Albie had left neatly folded on a wooden chair. I chewed on my lip as I thought back to every historical movie and TV show I’d seen.
The clothes had to go in a certain order.
The thin, folded garment on top was a snowy white. That had to be a chemise, which meant it went underneath everything. I picked it up and shook it out. The fabric was transparent.
Yes, definitely underwear.
The next garment was a pair of white bloomers trimmed with ribbons and lace. When I held them to my waist, they hit right at the knee. And the crotch was missing, the fabric split wide enough to showeverything. No zippers. No elastic. Just…access.
I muttered a curse.
Setting the bloomers aside, I examined the rest. Two white petticoats. A brown skirt made of sturdy wool. White stockings. A flower-patterned corset with stays, and a dark green jacket with long sleeves and a row of tiny hooks running down the front. The stockings lacked elastic, and it took me a minute to realize they tied with black ribbons just below my knees.
The scent of bacon drifted from downstairs. Muffled men’s voices followed.
I jolted into action, stripping out of the nightgown and pulling on the chemise. The linen was soft as a cloud, and it seemed to whisper as it settled against my skin. The bloomers came next, and I tried not to think about the slit as I tied the ribbons at my waist.
Shifters weren’t shy about nudity. We couldn’t afford to be when we spent half our lives trading skin for scales. If anything, my kind were more aroused by what was hidden than what was revealed. But the bloomers were a reminder that I wasthree hundred yearsin the past. Women were commodities in this time. I couldn’t even vote. I probably couldn’t own property.
I pulled on the petticoats, then the skirt. Cursing, I realized I’d forgotten the stockings, and I hopped on one foot as I hiked up the skirt and stepped into them one by one. Ribbons secured, I let the skirt drop back into place. The fabric swished around my ankles as I moved, and I twirled once, a smile tugging at my mouth when the skirt flared in a wide arc.
Men’s voices sounded again.
I shrugged into the corset and reached behind me to tighten the ribbons. My fingers fumbled. The angle was all wrong, and I rotated in an awkward circle.
“Dammit,” I muttered, craning my head over my shoulder.
A knock sounded at the door.
I froze.
“Princess?” Albie’s voice was soft and polite.
“Yes?”
“I thought you might need help dressing.”
I looked down. The tops of my breasts swelled above the chemise, but the corset covered everything else. I was more covered than I’d ever been in my life, buried under yards of linen and wool.
I crossed to the door and opened it.
Albie’s eyes widened. “You look beautiful.”
Heat pooled low in my body, and my dragon preened under his attention. He was a big man, I realized. It was only Tavish who made him look small. And he was gorgeous with his big brown eyes, golden stubble, and that glorious hair women from London to Edinburgh would pay hundreds to replicate.
I cleared my throat as I gestured helplessly to my loose corset. “I couldn’t figure out the laces.”
“Ah.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “An easy enough fix.”
He moved around me, and I held my breath as his fingers brushed my back. Even through the layers of linen, his heat seared my skin. Tingles raced down my spine.
Stop it,I told my traitorous body.
He tugged and tightened, ribbon whispering against wool as he laced me up with deft skill that made me wonder if he’d done it before.
