There. The cravat was a start. Now, the stairs. One at a time.
Step. She’d worn a deep wine-colored gown tonight. The color flattered her creamy skin and dark hair and eyes. Hadn’t she worn a similar color, the first night he’d seen her? Yes. He’d thought at the time the color echoed her scent, that faint hint of black currants.
Step. Lovely. Always she was lovely, yet tonight she hadn’t looked the same to him. Other gentlemen watched her, admired her. Cam saw the way their eyes followed her, and he wondered why none of them noticed something was missing.
The spark, the flash in her dark eyes.
Step.He’d noticed, as he should. He was the one who’d stolen it from her.
More steps, more sharp clicks as the bottom of his shoes hit the cold marble. Endless, these stairs.
Onestep at a time.
She’d left the ball early, claiming fatigue, but her sudden departure had more to do with whatever her sister had said to her out on the terrace. Two dances elapsed before they returned, and when they did, Eleanor’s face was pale and her eyes red, as if she’d been crying.
Step. He hadn’t objected to leaving early. No doubt she was fatigued. God knew he was. It exhausted him to pretend, to play this never-ending game of charades.
Cam reached the second floor landing at last. He drew a deep breath and turned right, toward Amelia’s bedchamber. He opened the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.
“Denny? I’m awake.”
He’d known she would be, but Amelia expected the usual mild scold, so he indulged her. “You should have been asleep long ago, minx.”
Amelia sat upright, propped against a mound of pillows. “I wasn’t tired.”
“You will be tomorrow.” Cam sat down on the edge of the bed. “You can’t stay up until all hours and wait for me to return when I go out in the evenings.”
Amelia fiddled with one of her pillows. “I know. I promise this is the last time. Since Iamawake, though, won’t you tell me about your evening?”
“I’ve heard that promise before.”
Amelia turned appealing dark eyes on him. “Please?”
He gave her his best stern look. “Very well, then. But this is the last time.” They both knew it wouldn’t be, but he always said so, and Amelia always nodded in agreement. “All right, then. What do you want to know?”
“What did Lady Eleanor, that is, Ellie—what did Ellie wear tonight?”
He’d known Amelia would ask questions about Eleanor. He’d tried to brace himself for it, but it hurt to talk of her. To think of her. “A wine-colored silk gown. Short lace sleeves and a square neck, with a scalloped lace edging.”
Amelia nodded with approval. She insisted upon hearing every detail of the gowns. “Color of the lace?”
“Black,” he answered promptly. Amelia had trained him well.
“On the skirt, as well? Did she have a sash?”
“Not a sash, really, but there was some black ribbon or cording, I believe, on the waist and sleeves. The skirt did have lace, yes, in a narrow pattern down the front and along the hem.”
“Jewels?”
“A ruby necklace, and hair combs, rubies and diamonds.”
“She wore her hair up, then. Simple or fancy?”
Cam drew a deep breath. Her heavy dark hair had been gathered into a loose knot at the back of her head, and the long white nape of her neck had driven him mad all evening. “A simple chignon, with tendrils trailing over her shoulders.”
Amelia sighed with delight. “Oh, my. Did she look beautiful?”
“Yes.” She’d looked beautiful, that quiet, wan Ellie. That Ellie who wasn’t Ellie at all.
