However, Winderton wasn’t the reason the room had goneveryquiet.
Kate Addison hugged Winderton’s arm, but this was not the Kate Bran had left this morning.ThatKate, in her modest day dress and properly styled hair, could have passed for a Lady of Quality.
ThisKate was the conjuring of every erotic image any man had ever held.
Beneath a wide-brimmed hat with no fewer than three bouncing purple ostrich plumes, riotous curls framed her face and tumbled down past her shoulders as if she’d just risen from her bed. Her breasts were mounded up and over the smallest bodice Bran had ever seen. They appeared as if they were being offered on a platter to the slack-jawed gents in the room.
And the skirt—
Bran had never given much thought to skirts before. He did now. In a room full of the tastefully soft colors of innocence or the deep, jeweled tones of properly married women, Kate’s skirt of wide blue-and-white stripes almost obscenely outlined the feminine curve of her hip, the indent of her waist, the length of her legs.
Her hand was wrapped around Winderton’s arm with unseemly closeness while her other hand held a shepherd’s crook festooned with colorful ribbons, a warning if ever there was one that she was here to gather souls.
She was bold. She was beautiful. And there wasn’t a man in the room who wasn’t having fantasies, Bran included... because he could recall too well the perfection of her figure.
However, Winderton’s smug expression brought Bran to his senses. He’d ordered Kate to leave. It would have been the easiest path for her to choose.
Instead, she chose to defy his command and twist his ward around her little finger.
A challenge was being issued. A challenge he would meet.
“God in heaven, what has just arrived?” Crisp asked in round, awed tones.
“Balfour’s worst nightmare,” Mars suggested. He shot a wry glance toward Bran. “What are you going to do? And do you need help?”
His smile grim, Bran ignored the latter question, but answered the first, “Why, I shall welcome her, of course.” He moved forward.
Chapter Six
Kate had made a magnificent entrance at the Cotillion Dance. There wasn’t an eye in the room that wasn’t on her. And now Brandon Balfour knew she wasn’t going to let him run her off.
She was inordinately proud of her costume. It had turned out brilliantly. She rarely wore her hair down and even she was surprised at how long it had grown. Mary had done an admirable job of curling it.
The pièce de résistance to her ensemble were her green buckle shoes. In defiance to current fashion, they had a small heel to make her even taller than she was. They curled up at the toes. She remembered she had found them on some tinker’s cart and had thought them fun and possibly useful for any part that called for a witch... or a siren.
Granted, when the duke had arrived to escort her, he had appeared a bit taken aback at her costume, and yet he’d not made a complaint. He was too inexperienced to put a woman, especially one accustomed to her own decisions like Kate, in her place.
He’d stumbled over his compliment and had struggled mightily not to stare at her bosom, which was there for all to see. Mary had cut the bodice very low.
To his credit, he hadn’t leered. Hehadswallowed hard several times, partly from the expanse of skin and partly because this was a village dance. Kate had taken pity on him and informed him of his uncle’s threats.
From that moment on, Winderton became her ally. He’d even insisted on returning home so that he could change his own clothes to something fancier. “Let us both give Maidenshop a vision they will never forget,” he’d declared and Kate had agreed.
Consequently, they were one of the last couples to arrive. Their appearance could not have been more perfect.
Kate had to give the duke credit, it took courage to defy his uncle... courage to offer her his arm. A lesser man would have suggested they not go out. A ruder one would have other ideas.
And it made her quite like the young duke, in spite of his directing her actors.
A hush had fallen around the room. The ladies hid their shocked expressions behind their fans. The men hid nothing at all.
If Kate had any doubts about her ensemble, they vanished as soon as she saw Mr. Balfour heading in her direction with a very determined step. “Prepare for battle, Your Grace.”
The duke nodded, squaring his young shoulders.
The room seemed to hold its collective breath, watching, anticipating, expecting a scene that Kate was ready to deliver.
She leaned even closer to Winderton.
