“My lady has an important role to play tonight. She must be perfection itself.”
Given the stony stare the old bat aimed at him, James guessed that Evie had told her companion about Lady Vernon. He suppressed a sigh, wishing Harkness wasn’t quite so informed about his private affairs. Yet he wouldn’t begrudge his wife a loyal confidante. He came forward, taking Evie’s hand. Cold, he noted. And she was a trifle pale.
Poor thing is truly nervous at the prospect of dealing with Lady Vernon.
The fact that she was doing so anyway, for his sake, filled him with tenderness.
He brushed his lips over her knuckles. “You are perfect as you are, my dear.”
Roses bloomed in her cheeks, filling him with satisfaction. While he enjoyed making his wife blush, he wasn’t lying: she was a vision tonight. Her golden hair was smoothly parted in the middle and drawn back in glossy twists that framed her face and wove into an intricate coil at her nape. Her coiffure was adorned by a small cluster of orange blossoms. The simple style suited her, drawing focus to her large brown eyes, pert nose, and full lips.
Her gown of lilac taffeta left her pretty shoulders bare and showed a modest amount of décolletage—which was his preference. He didn’t need other men ogling what was his. Of course, any discerning fellow would take note of her delightfully curvy shape, but imagining wasn’t the same as seeing. Call him old-fashioned, but James liked having the exclusive privilege of viewing his wife’s charms. He liked that Evie chose to save the best for him and only him.
He noticed that she wasn’t wearing much jewelry tonight. Her diamond engagement ring and matching band sparkled on her finger, but her throat was bare. He considered this a stroke of luck. She usually wore her mama’s pearls, and knowing their sentimental value, he hadn’t wanted to ask her to take them off. Now he wouldn’t have to.
On that note, he said to Harkness, “If I may have a moment alone with my wife?”
When the woman hesitated, Evie gave her a nod. “Go on and finish getting ready. I shall see you downstairs.”
With clear reluctance and a lingering look at Evie, Harkness departed.
“What was that about?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Nothing. Have I ever told you how handsome you look in formal evening wear?”
Evie’s flirtatious smile distracted him.
“Er, I don’t believe so.”
“Well, you do.” Her expression was guileless. “Even without your lyre.”
“Vixen.” With a grin, he pulled her close. “Must I remind you again of the instrument I carry?”
Gazing into her warm whisky eyes, he had the mawkish thought that he would happily drown in them.
“I am still sore from your reminder this morning. Or reminders, rather.”
“Poor wife.” He rubbed a thumb over her lower lip. “I have been rather greedy of late, haven’t I?”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Her sincerity drew a laugh from him. It also puffed his chest…and other parts. To distract himself from his insatiable desire for his wife, he focused on his purpose.
“I have something for you.” Releasing her, he reached into the inner pocket of his tailcoat and removed the jeweler’s pouch. “I had intended it for our anniversary, but I thought you might find use for it tonight.”
“You needn’t have,” Evie protested.
She always became charmingly flustered whenever he gave her a gift. He’d always assumed that her reaction was due to the financial hardship she’d endured. The years when she’d had to scrape by had naturally led her to question extravagance. However, their raw emotional honesty at the inn had made him consider another explanation: did Evie’s insecurities make her feel unworthy of presents?
This he would not stand for. His wife deserved the best of life, and it was his privilege to provide it. Loosening the strings, he removed the riviere necklace and let it dangle from his fingers. The diamonds formed a loop of flashing white fire, the fluid movement of the setting a signature of Garrard. The sparkling gems were graduated, with the largest trio, each over five carats, positioned to hang just beneath the collarbone.
“James.” Evie’s voice was choked, her gaze wide and fixed on the glittering strand. “It is far too much.”
“It is just the beginning.”
He meant it, metaphorically and literally. He planned to create a parure for her. A full set of jewels that he would present to her, piece by piece, occasion by occasion, to commemorate their life together.
“This is a symbol of our fresh start. We have both made mistakes, but we have a second chance. A chance to rediscover happiness”—he strove for a casual tone—“and love.”
