“A new gown?” she asked, untying the ribbons. “After all Janet’s work...” She drew back the muslin. “Black velvet?” She stroked it, but he saw she was still reluctant.
“It’s not a gown.”
She glanced at him and pulled it out. “A cloak! Oh, it’s beautiful.” She swirled it on and hurried to the mirror. “So wonderful. The way it hangs. The figured design down the front. Janet suggested I might find a black cloak in the West End, but Henry and I visited three places and nothing. Even if we had, I’m sure I’d never have found anything as elegant as this.” She pulled up the hood and turned to him, her face and hair glowing in the dark frame. “Thank you.”
She stole his breath. Her strong features and coloring made a perfect whole that was simply Kitty. No wonder Kit Kat had enchanted so many men.
But she was his now. His, and coming to him to offer glowing thanks. He gathered her into his arms, the embodiment of passion wrapped in slithery silk velvet....
But the door was open and it was the middle of the day. He’d not previously been aware of the limitations of his rooms, where little could be truly private.
“If you don’t let me go,” he said, “I won’t be able to give you my other present.”
“More?” she asked. He delighted in her frank acceptance of pleasures—of all kinds.A night in black velvet...
He picked up the jeweler’s box and gave it to her. “You already have some jet, but I saw this and wanted it for you.”
She opened it and smiled again. “Thank you. It’s lovely. Forgive me, I must show Henry!”
Greedy of him to have wanted yet more enthusiastic thanks, and foolish, too, for his control wasn’t absolute. In her absence, after a while, he was able to sit to make notes of the earlier meeting. He’d definitely need them.
There was always the night. As long as Kitty was in London, there would be wonderful nights.
Perhaps he could come to appreciate rural life.
Kitty went into the other bedroom, where Henry was doing mending. “See!”
“A perfect cloak for the theater.”
Kitty turned to swirl it. “Isn’t it? And he’s given me this as well. Look. Every bead is carved into a rosebud, and the central pendant is a filigree heart. There are earrings to match.”
Henry touched the heart. “Exquisite work. Why are you crying?”
Kitty sniffed. “Aren’t women supposed to cry when they’re happy?”
Kitty had heard that, but it had never been the case with her. She was crying because she’d instantly seen the jet as a sign of love, then instantly known he wouldn’t have meant it that way. He was simply concerned with appearances.
Then she’d thought that perhaps in time he might love her, and then realized how foolish she was.
She’d soon be back at Beauchamp Abbey, and he wouldn’t care a jot. It was their arrangement. She must do as she’d promised to do. But she couldn’t help hoping he would mind their being apart at least half as much as she would.
She gave jet and cloak into Henry’s care and returned to the library. She found Braydon had taken her place at the desk and was writing.
“Do I disturb you?” she asked. “I’m ready to eat lunch, if you’d care to join me.”
He rose and smiled. “Of course. Hungry work, tussling with knotty problems.”
“You’re no further forward?”
“Not greatly.”
“I heard something odd today. Is a Bonaparte truly in the line of succession?”
“Yes, but half the noble families of Europe would have to die out before he got a sniff of it.”
“Still, it’s extraordinary. I’m surprised the papers mention it at all.”
“They’re probing the succession as much as anyone, and his presence can’t be denied. He’s merely a three-year-old child.”
