Next to the divan was a dressmaker’s raised platform. Plush red carpeting covered the dais and the three steps leading up to it. The customary looking glass was absent; Emma supposed there was no need for it given the field of surrounding mirrors.
“Up you go,chérie,” Madame Marieur said.
Hesitantly, Emma took the steps up to the dais. As she stood there, images of herself flashed around the chamber, and her breath grew choppy with self-consciousness. The dressmaker rummaged in a cupboard before joining Emma on the stage.
“I have just your size.Eh bien,turn around, and we’ll get you undressed.”
Emma’s cheeks burned as the dressmaker proceeded to strip her with the efficiency of a hunter skinning game. Soon her gown, petticoat, and stays lay in a discarded pile. Left only in her chemise and stockings, Emma shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
“The chemise comes off too,” Madame said.
“Surely that’s not necessary—”
“Oui.Only the closest fit will do.”
With no choice, Emma let her arms fall to the sides as her last layer of protection was removed. Lungs pulling for air, she tried not to look at her naked reflection dancing over the walls. Relief came when Madame fitted a corset over her torso.
“Take a deep breath.Un, deux, trois...”
Emma’s breath whooshed out as the dressmaker yanked the strings. Her eyes bulged, not from the lack of air but at the sight of herself in the most wicked garment she’d ever beheld. Constructed of fuchsia satin, the corset was trimmed with a column of little black bows down the front and black lace along the edges. It molded her figure into a sensuous shape, cinching her waist and pushing her breasts up so that they nearly spilled from the pleated cups.
“Fits like a second skin,” Madame said with satisfaction. “Now for the stockings.”
As the Frenchwoman held up the sinful black scraps, Emma focused on breathing in and out.
Do not lose your nerve now. Remain steadfast in your purpose.
She tried to think. “Madame, did anyone accompany Lily here on her visits?”
Marieur tied on one frilled garter—fuchsia to match the corset. “Of course not. That would defeat the purpose of the visit,non?”
“Defeat? In what way?”
The other’s eyes formed obsidian slits. “You are certain Lily sent you to me?”
Dash it.“Yes, of course. She spoke highly of your services,” Emma said quickly. “Said you had exactly what I’m looking for.”
Seeming mollified, Marieur finished with the other garter and rose. “Success takes the both of us. You, Miss Kendall, must put in the effort as well. Today is a test: I work only with those worth my time,comprehendez-vous?”
Beneath the pleasant tone was a distinct warning.What does Madame Marieur mean bytest?Emma had the intuition that she was on the cusp of an important discovery. At the same time, goose pimples spread over her bared skin.
Warily, she said, “Yes, I understand.”
The other pushed the remaining hosiery into her hands. “Finish with these. I’ll return shortly.” In a swish of black skirts, she disappeared from the room.
Alone, Emma sat on the edge of the dais. She slipped on the black silk stockings, securing them to the garters. As she sat, her naked bottom against the plush carpeted platform, outfitted in the most debauched ensemble she could possibly imagine, trepidation rolled in with the swiftness of fog from the Thames.
What am I doing? I ought to have gone to Ambrose or Alaric instead of coming here alone...
She’d gotten carried away by the excitement of possible success, of her impending discoveries. Her gaze swung to the heap of her clothing. There was still time to throw her gown back on. Make a quick escape before the dressmaker returned.
Voices came from outside the chamber. Madame Marieur...but she wasn’t alone. A wave of panic washed over Emma as she heard low, deep tones that were unmistakably masculine—and they were growing louder, headed toward her room.
Dear God. Have to run, hide. But where?
The door was opening. With a squeak, Emma crossed her legs, slapping her hands over her exposed womanhood. A man strode in. Wintry green eyes bored into her, and relief welled... followed swiftly by alarm.
“Strathaven,” she whispered.
