Seeing her reflection in the wide oval mirror above the hearth, she hardly recognized herself. The lady in the looking glass wore an exquisite dress of emerald silk embroidered with floral sprigs. The décolletage was low but tasteful, leaving her shoulders bare, and the sleeves were two delicate puffs. The bodice fitted closely to her waist before flaring into full skirts overlaid with fine gold netting that added subtle sparkle to her movements.
Her dark auburn hair had been parted in the middle, soft braids dangling over her ears and woven into a coronet at the back of her head. As she had no jewelry, her only adornment was the thin gold ribbon Bertha had artfully woven into her coiffure.
Maggie had never felt more elegant in her whole life.
“I wish I was old enough to go,” Glory said wistfully. “I would love to see the beautiful gowns and the dancing.”
“It’ll be your turn one day.”
Even as Maggie said the words, she wondered what her daughter’s future would hold. The closer they came to finding the treasure, the more her hopes climbed. Although they’d hit a snag at Gruenwald’s, they’d had a reply from Tessa: Ming would be available to talk to them tonight before the ball. Once they knew the location the Chinese characters were referring to, Maggie was certain that they would find the key to the goldsmith’s vault.
The nights of passion and days of companionship had only strengthened her love for Rhys. Her heart was unalterably and forever his. Perhaps it was the optimism of a woman in love, but she couldn’t help but hope that his feelings for her might go beyond caring one day…that he might come to love her in return.
Even if she could win his heart, there was still the fact that he was a duke and she the commonest of commoners. She couldn’t lie: the idea of living in his world intimidated her. But, for Rhys, she’d work her hardest to be the sort of woman he’d be proud to have as his duchess.
Tonight would be a test. Rhys had explained that while Tessa wasn’tbon ton(a fact that actually made Maggie more at ease with the lady), her husband came from a family with aristocratic connections. Apparently, Harry Kent’s sisters were infamous for marrying well, and since the Kents were a close-knit clan, some of them would likely be at the ball. Therefore, Maggie knew she would be rubbing shoulders with thecrème de la crème, and she didn’t want to let Rhys down.
At that moment, Rhys entered the room; by all rights, Maggie ought to have been accustomed to his male perfection, but the sight of him in formal evening attire made her feel swoony. The stark black and white emphasized his height and virile leanness. His hair gleamed in tamed waves, his mustache and beard trimmed to dashing perfection. A diamond stick pin glittered in the snowy folds of his cravat. He was every inch a duke.
But he still had a pirate’s eyes. The smoldering possessiveness in them made her heart stutter.
“How stunning you are,” he murmured, bending over her hand.
“You look rather fine yourself,” she said breathlessly. “Very, um, ducal.”
His smile flashed white against his beard. “One tries.”
Glory ambled over and looked up at him. “Will you be dancing with Mama tonight, Ransom?”
“Only if they play the waltz, poppet.”
Maggie froze. “I’ve never waltzed before.” She only knew some simple country dances.
“I’ll lead, and all you need to do is follow,” he reassured her. “Now, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak to you in private before we go.”
“We were just leaving, Your Grace.” Hypatia ushered Glory out.
Alone with Rhys, Maggie said, “Do you really think I’ll do?”
“Now that I take a good look at you, your ensembleismissing something.” He stroked his chin. “The dress needs adornment.”
She flushed. “I don’t have any.”
His eyes smiled at her. “Could it be that, for once, I’m the one who is prepared?”
He withdrew a flat box from his jacket. When he opened it, her eyes widened: nestled against black velvet was the most beautiful and striking necklace she’d ever seen. Translucent green stones carved into exotic blooms were held together by intricate links of solid gold. The clasp, a blooming golden chrysanthemum, was a work of art itself.
“The necklace was my mama’s,” he said. “The jade is antique and of the highest quality.”
“It’s too much, I couldn’t possibly—”
He twirled a finger. “Turn around.”
She did as he asked, swallowing as she felt the weight of the necklace against her skin. She shivered when his lips touched the back of her neck just above the clasp. His hands on her bare shoulders, he turned her to face the mirror on the wall.
“Now your ensemble is complete.” His gaze met hers in the glass. “How magnificent you are.”
Eyes on the gilt-framed image, shefeltmagnificent. The extravagant collar of stones brought out the color of her eyes, the creaminess of her décolletage. It elevated her ensemble from fashionable to regal. Yet what truly made her feel special was the man standing behind her.
