Nodding acquiescently, he turned to the door. “Hunt will have breakfast up soon. You are joining me, yes?”
She placed the pen down. “Of course.”
“Ariadne, may we come in?”
Turning before her mirror, clad only in her underthings and chemise, Ariadne called out. “Come in.”
Her sisters, all clad in white but with different styles of fit, Celestine had a square neck and a jutting bell skirt frothing to the floor, Marigold wore a sensible column dress that gathered under her bosom with puff sleeves, while Isolde had a gown that held old Scottish notes with its bell sleeves, a bodice and shoulders that look styledà la militaire.
“You’re not dressed yet?” Celestine gaped. “You know the ball has started?”
“I do,” she replied. “But I have heard it is best to have a fashionably late entrance.”
“We need to get you dressed,” Celestine tutted, lifting the pressed gown from the bed.
With an efficiency borne of practice—growing up without the benefit of many maids, they’d always dressed one another—the girls set to work to get the gown over her head.
While Celestine straightened the bodice, Marigold worked on the discreet ties on the back, and Isolde crouched to adjust the skirts of her petticoats.
Twirling, the gown, edged with frothy, sea-green lace, lifted like air and gave the illusion of a tide rolling to shore.
“You look like a princess.” Marigold swooned. “Like a faerie queen sitting in a glen of clovers.”
Isolde rolled her eyes, “You’re such a romantic.”
Narrowing her eyes, Marigold glared at her sister, “God forbid I have some whimsy.”
A knock on the door had Ariadne looking up. “Come in, Cedric.”
“Good evening, ladies,” Cedric nodded as he strode into the room.
Ariadne smiled at how breathtakingly masculine he was in his formal clothes. The cut of the dark blue wool emphasized the width of his shoulders, his frothy cravat and pale grayish-green satin waistcoat made his green eyes seem all the more vivid. His trousers skimmed down his narrow hips, and muscular legs ticked into gleaming Hessians.
He was not smiling, of course, for it was not his habit to do so, yet his green eyes were warm, his lips relaxed as he looked over her.
“I forgot to give you something earlier,” he said, and only then did she realize the flax box in his hands.
Opening it, he revealed a box of jewels. Nestled within the white velvet, the necklace glowed like a secret treasure— five square emeralds glowed with the deep green of forest glades, all of them framed by a constellation of diamonds.
“Cedric….” Her voice trailed off. “You shouldn’t have.”
“They were my mother’s,” he said, “I only had them cleaned and restored to their bright sheen. I want you to wear them tonight.”
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Marigold clamp a gloved hand over her mouth. Ariadne said nothing, merely smiled, and turned her back at him. She lifted her hair, the silken mass of it dripping through her fingers. “Will you please?”
“I—”
“It will take two minutes,” she said. “Please.”
With the weight of three sets of eyes on him, all thoughts of making an excuse and escaping from the room fled from his mind. Cedric took the necklace and slung it around her neck.
The pale skin of her nape gleamed, so translucent and flawless that it reminded him of oriental silk just woven off the loom.
His gaze roamed lower, down the supple slope of her ack back and narrowed as to how the dress clung to her plush backside, emphasizing generous hips and a full, rounded backside.
From his vantage point, he could see the dangling emeralds resting just over the shadowed crevice between her breasts, and the only comfort he had was that the necklace was going to cover that dip. As far as he was concerned, that place was for his eyes only.
His hands grasped the delicate gold clasp and closed it while her hair teased him with a fresh, blossomy scent. He ached to spear his fingers into her luxuriant mane and kiss her, but he was not going to scar her sisters with such a thing.
