He circled around, and she presented her back to him. The black satin hung loose about her shoulders, and it seemed a shame to hide her skin. But he worked the hook closures, pulling the edges of the dress tight. He rested his hand on the small of her back. “There. Done.”
She turned, and his hand dragged around her waist to settle on her hip. He blinked, looking his fill at the vision she presented, and his fingers unconsciously flexed, digging into her flesh. “No.”
She pressed her palm to her abdomen and sucked in a breath. “This dress was made for someone a bit smaller than me and with much less….” She waved her other hand at her bosom. There was much too much of it on display for his liking.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“So, yes or no?” She strode around the screen to the mirror standing in the corner of the room. She turned sideways and looked at her reflection over her shoulder.
She’d asked him a question, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how to answer. His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth. He’d known what a fine figure Cassie had. He’d run his fingers along it often enough to have it imprinted in his memory. But the gowns she usually wore just hung off of her frame, doing nothing to let a man know what lay behind.
This gown, well, it was bewitching. It brushed against her thighs with every one of her movements, hinting at the delicate vee shape that led to Charles’s own version of heaven. The fabric was rucked over her hips and nipped in at the waist to expose her glorious hour-glass figure. And the bosom….
She was one sneeze away from indecency. She had to change.
“You look lovely, Miss Moore.” Wil stood in the doorway, looking dark and somber in his own domino suit. The agency’s closets had contained several of the costumes, purchased from an out-of-business theatre company, and it had been decided they would all wear them to make it easier to pick each other out in the crowd. But Cassie’s domino gown was clearly not suited.
“Lovely?” She looked bloody beautiful. And much too alluring. “She can’t go in—”
“She can and she will.” Wil pulled a watch from his pocket and checked the time. “There will be other women exposing much more skin than that. That costume will let her fit right in.”
Charles wanted to but couldn’t naysay that. He wanted her to fit in. Fitting in would keep her safe. Though to his eyes she stuck out like a peacock in a room full of hens. “I still don’t see why we’re going to this at all,” he grumbled.
“I’ve thought about that.” Wil put his watch away. “In this type of case, I believe bluffing is in order.”
“Bluffing?” Charles asked. He wondered why Cassie hadn’t. Normally she would be the one asking questions. But she just stared at her reflection, her face expressionless. It was reminiscent of when they’d first met, when she’d hid her true self behind a bland façade. Maybe she needed to start her act now to be ready for the evening.
Wil shifted his weight onto his good leg. “Yes. Drop a few innocuous comments with the attendees about how we are closing in on a suspect. The gossip mill should circulate that information faster than Verity can down a mutton pie.”
“I heard that,” the agent called from the main room.
Wil ignored him. “Of course, we must be careful not to say it to an actual suspect, but the salacious nature of a murder that occurred at the very same ball five years ago combined with the fact that the Bond Agency’s men are nearing capturing a killer, well, that should draw out our man like nothing else.”
“It may cause him to panic.” Charles rubbed his chin. And panicked men became dangerous men. He slid his gaze back to Cassie.
“Let’s hope so.” Wil slapped the doorjamb and turned to leave. “It may be our only chance to find him.”
Cassie picked up her costume’s cloak and trailed out after him.
Cursing, Charles did the same.
“But, sir—”
“I’m off.” Wil plucked a walking stick from the barrel next to the front door. “I need to pick up my own companion for the ball. I’ll see everyone there.”
“But….” Charles was arguing to a closed door. Whoever this companion was, Wilberforce seemed most eager to see her. “Blast.”
“I like this plan.” Hereford raised his foot to his desk chair and slid a slender blade into his boot. “It uses the villain’s own guilt against him.”
Cyrus shook his head. “It requires him to take the bait. It’s risky.”
“What it doesn’t require is your presence.” Charles turned for Cassie and gripped her shoulder. “I’ll drop you off home and—”
“No. I’m going.” She raised her chin and gazed at him steadily.
His gut clenched. He knew that look. Unless he tied her to his bed he wouldn’t be able to stop her from going to the ball.
He narrowed his eyes. Would tying her to his bed be so wrong?
