Her admission touched him. Of course such things mattered to women, and what they wore affected their views of themselves. That Padua carried herself withconfidence even when dressed in ugly gray did not mean she did not feel conspicuous in her lack of stylish dresses.
“You should have a new wardrobe, so you always feel that way,” he tried.
She did not reply to that. He cursed inwardly. It was a hell of a situation. He had bought wardrobes for women he barely cared for, but this woman would not permit it.I am not that kind of woman.Damnation.
She turned on her side and looked at him. “Surely you have had lovers whom you did not keep. I prefer this be like that. Did you buy wardrobes for the ladies in those affairs?”
It was his turn to withhold a reply.
“Oh,” she said. “You have never had an affair like that before, have you? Just a lover, not a mistress.”
He would regret this. He just knew it. “Such entanglements are full of complications.”
“What kind of complications?”
“Unspoken ones. Expectations. Obligations. Sensitive topics.”
“Such as the expectation that you marry, like you mentioned this afternoon?”
“In some situations, yes.” Or the expectation that there is love.
“Surely that does not apply when the woman is an adult.”
“If she is married, no. Widowed, no. Known to be worldly, no—”
“Worldly like your opera singers, you mean.”
“Different from them. Just independent minded. More like you, actually.”
“And yet you want to buy me a wardrobe. If I permit it, will that reassure you that I will not be complicated?”
If I let you make me a whore, will that make you happier?She did not say it. Perhaps she did not even think it. He could not deny the implications of the conversation, however.
“You were correct. I have not had lovers, only mistresses. However, I do not want to buy you a new wardrobe so that you can be considered the latter in my mind.” He did not think that was why, at least. That he very much would like her to be his mistress was a thing apart, and had reasons other than this. He would like that because then he would know she was his, only his, for at least a while.
“I understand,” she said. “Men like it when their women are lovely.”
The conversation exasperated him. An innocent offer of a gift had becomecomplicated. “That is not the reason either. I find you lovely all the time. I only want you to know that you are, and I am not sure that you do. If it takes pretty dresses to convince you, I want you to have them.”
She went very still.
She sniffed. Hell. He reviewed what he had just said, to make sure he had not unintentionally either hurt or angered her.
“You aren’t crying, are you?”
“A little.” She sniffed again. “That was a sweet thing to say, Ives. I am sure no one has ever thought me lovely before.”
“What nonsense. Of course they have, unless they are blind.” He gathered her into his arms. Yes, complicated. She kissed him so tenderly that he decided he did not mind that so much.
She tucked against him and fell asleep. He decided to stay awhile longer, until he had to leave for discretion’s sake.
***
Lance raised his musket. A shot broke the morning peace. In the distance a grouse dropped out of the sky. He handed the weapon to a nearby servant, who in turn handed him another one, loaded and ready.
Ives watched the brush for more birds to take flight.
Lance returned his own attention to the hunt. “Miss Belvoir received another letter today.”
