He gave one of those slow, crooked smiles that had such a disturbing effect on her. “I know.” He turned her around again and said, “Don’t be missish, they’re only buttons, and I am your husband.”
He was right. It might only be a paper marriage, but she was a mature woman and she could be rational about this. As he’d said, they were only buttons.
There was no such thing as “only buttons” she decided two minutes later. She could feel every movement he made as his long fingers undid tiny button after tiny button. There was no sound in the room, only the crackling of the fire and the sound of his breathing. She could almost feel his breath on the nape of her neck, though that was silly. He wasn’t standing that close.
She glanced across at the beautiful looking glass that hung over the fireplace. She could see him in profile, frowning with concentration over the buttons, his face part in shadow, part in light.
His fingertips brushed her skin and she shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“A little,” she prevaricated. The shiver had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with…him. His touch.
“Then let us stand closer to the fire.”
They moved, and now she could see him in the looking glass even more clearly, as he bent to the task of the fiddly buttons.
He worked his way downward, and she felt the dress coming away at the back. She clutched it to her breasts to keep it up.
“Shall I lift it over your head or would you prefer to step out of it?”
“Neither, thank you. I will do that later. If you could just unfasten the hook and the laces now…”
She saw his mouth quirk in the slow smile she found so irresistible, but he said nothing and set to work on the corset.
“I don’t know why you women do this do yourselves,” he muttered. “It must be deuced uncomfortable.”
“It’s not,” she assured him. “It was made for me, especially to wear with evening dresses, my wedding dress in particular.”
“You did look beautiful in it,” he said and met her gaze in the mirror. She realized then that he’d known all along she’d been watching him.
“You look even more beautiful out of it,” he murmured and parted it. Without taking his eyes off hers in the mirror, he drew one long finger slowly down her spine, from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. Even though she was still wearing her chemise she arched against his finger as if it were flesh against flesh.
She quickly stepped away and turned to face him, clutching her sagging wedding dress and corset to her like a shield. “Thank you for your help,” she told him. “I shall manage on my own now.”
She couldn’t see the expression in his eyes, they were in shadow. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to move, but then he simply bowed and said, “I shall leave you alone then.”
The door shut behind him and she let out a huge sigh of relief. At least she told herself it was relief. She felt a bit…hollow.
She dropped her dress and corset, stepped out of them, then picked them up and draped the dress carefully over a chair. She stretched and gave her ribs a brisk rub. The corset wasn’t uncomfortable but it was tight, and it was lovely to be free of the constriction.
There was some lukewarm water in a jug on a small table and she used it to give herself a quick rub over with a washcloth and soap in front of the fire. She would have preferred a bath, but with no servants in the house, that wasn’t possible.
She looked through the chest of drawers for her nightgown. She’d bought several on her shopping expeditions, but none of them were there. She went through the drawers twice. No, whoever had packed her things had forgotten nightgowns.
She would have to sleep in her chemise, she decided. Her eye fell on the silk nightgown Tibby had given her. It was scandalously thin, but the bed was soft and warm and, after all, one should use a gift in the spirit in which it was given. She slipped out of her chemise and into the nightgown. It slithered softly down her body, like a cool flow of water.
It felt lovely. She glanced at her reflection in the looking glass. Heavens. She looked virtually naked. She could see the smudge of darkness at the apex of her thighs. She stared again. It looked like her breasts were slightly different sizes. Surely not. She squinted and yes, they were, not by much, but definitely there was a difference. She looked down at them. How had she never known that? Or had it just happened recently?
She’d never really looked at herself naked in a mirror. In the palace the only looking glasses in her apartments were in the dressing room, and there she’d always had at least one maid with her, dressing her and undressing her. And although she could have stared at her reflection if she’d wanted, it was an embarrassing thing to do when someone was watching.
Now she was alone and free to look, and look she did, turning herself all around, twisting her head to see herself from behind. She was a bit fat, she decided, especially her backside. It didn’t look so big in dresses, though. Maybe it was the nightgown. Experimentally she lifted the nightgown and looked at the reflection of her naked buttocks. Definitely fat, she thought. Certainly not “beautiful” as he’d said. She sighed. Gallant compliment number eighty-seven.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door and she leapt in fright, dropping the nightgown back guiltily and covered herself with her arms.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Gabriel, of course,” said a familiar, deep voice.
