“Oui, Madame,” Amélie replied as she rose to her feet. “I can certainly find something for the lady.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied as she turned back to Charlotte. “I will be back to direct you in a few moments.” Then she left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Come, mademoiselle, remove your cloak, please. I must see what might work best.”
Charlotte did as she asked, tossing the cloak aside, but noted with a hint of confusion, “I’m afraid Mrs. Dove-Lyon has not had a chance to fully explain what she intends for me to do. What kind of costume will I be wearing? And for what purpose?”
She didn’t even realize she’d slipped into speaking French until the other woman stared at her with wide eyes and a spreading flash of teeth.
“Ma petite, you are Parisian!”
Charlotte smiled. “No. But I lived there a great deal of my life.”
“Ah, but your accent is perfect. It makes me so homesick. Come, ma chérie, let me see you properly dressed.”
Amélie led her to a wardrobe which she opened to reveal clothing in a stunning array of textures and designs. But everything was in black. Withdrawing one piece, she held it in front of Charlotte and tilted her head. “If the madam brought you to me, she can only mean to have you play the role of the fearsome mistress.” She turned to replace the dress and search for another as she continued explaining in rapid French. “The woman who commands her lover in all ways and in all things. She rules over his pleasure. And his pain, if that is what he needs. She possesses complete authority and her lover surrenders to it willingly—non—desperately,” she corrected with a sultry look over her shoulder.
Charlotte was starting to get a sense of what Mrs. Dove-Lyon might be arranging. She had heard of such intimate practices inParis. She understood that there were some people who enjoyed their sensual relationships and experiences to have an element of domination and submission. Though Charlotte was not totally inexperienced in matters of sexual congress, she had never enjoyed a man enough to commit to a full-time arrangement and certainly had never felt compelled to participate in something that would require so much trust and vulnerability.
The idea of engaging with the Marquess of Redington in such a way…with her in the role of thefearsome mistress…
Sangbleu.
A fine ripple of excitement spread throughout her body, igniting delicate nerves along the way, sparking sensations she’d never experienced. She realized with a shock of inner awareness that she would very much enjoy having the arrogant lord under her command.
But she couldn’t imagine the marquess would ever go along with it.
“Ah! This one.”
Amélie turned around holding a silky black chemise that was clearly nothing more than an undergarment. Charlotte’s uncertainty must have shown in her face as Amélie chuckled warmly.
“Do not worry. We will dress it up a bit. You will see.”
Amélie assisted her in removing her clothes and replacing them with the black chemise to which she added black silk stockings secured around Charlotte’s thighs with satin garters and a black lace corset that cinched Charlotte’s waist and lifted her full breasts. Amélie considered adding various pieces of jewelry but ultimately decided less was more. Especially when she twisted Charlotte’s thick brown hair into a messy chignon that allowed for soft tendrils to caress her neck and bare shoulders.
“You are stunning, ma chérie,” the Frenchwoman exclaimed as she brought Charlotte to the mirror. “Just a few final touches, oui?”
After lacing her into slim-heeled black ankle boots, Amélie fitted her with a black silk mask that covered all her face except for her mouth and jaw. “You look like a fearsome mistress indeed,” she exclaimed, stepping back to view Charlotte from head to toe.
Charlotte felt like someone else entirely. Though odd, it wasn’t a terrible feeling. In fact, as she turned to view herself in the full-length mirror, she experienced a shock of exhilaration. For months, she’d been fighting the dark weight of grief that constantly threatened to swallow her from the inside out. Nurturing her anger had been the only way she’d managed to keep her from falling apart. But it had been a tenuous control at best.
But as she stared at the mirror, she saw the physical embodiment of the fortitude she’d been trying so hard to cultivate inside herself. The woman staring back at her was breathtaking. She was stronger than Charlotte had ever felt and she was totally in command of herself. Confident and seductive and utterly fierce. It was exhilarating.
A knock at the door preempted Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s entrance. The veiled woman swept forward to view Charlotte’s transformation. After a moment, she gave a short “hm” before turning to Amélie. “Thank you, mademoiselle. Leave us for a moment, please.”
Amélie nodded and gave Charlotte a final smile of encouragement before slipping from the room.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon stepped to the vanity and picked up a small jar before turning back to Charlotte. “You need a bit of color, my dear.”
After she applied the lip rouge, she stepped back and gestured for Charlotte to look in the mirror again. The bold red color added an additional hint of danger to Charlotte’s appearance.
A frisson of doubt arced through her. Could she really play this part? And to what end? She wanted to humble the man, but this…
Thisfelt far more complicated.
“The snare is set,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said softly behind her. “Your prey awaits.”
“But how…” Charlotte began. “How did you convince him? Does he know what is to come?”
