Leslie Lafoy (16 page)

“And be mindful of bugs,” she added. “Remember that they survive just as well on paper as they do on decaying trees. Don’t put your hands anywhere you aren’t looking.”

Three heads bobbed in unison even as the bodies they were attached to whirled about and set to work—amid a constant stream of comment. Beside him, Sera smiled at them, and it took every measure of his self-restraint not to reach up and trace the curve of her cheek.

Sera forced herself to swallow and breathe. Never in all her life had she been so acutely aware of a man’s appraisal. It slid over her slowly, caressingly, warming her skin in the most incredible, wondrous way. There was no denying—at least to herself—that she liked the sensation. Of course, the attention of a handsome man was always flattering. A fact of which Carden Reeves was no doubt very much aware, she reminded herself sternly. It wouldn’t do to let him know how deeply and pleasantly his consideration affected her.

And it most certainly wouldn’t do to ever let him know that she’d found herself missing his company during the last several days. She’d sufficiently embarrassed herself with how frequently she’d looked over her shoulder, hoping to find him standing there. She’d die of mortification if he ever found out.

“Are you about settled in?”

“Yes, finally,” she replied, pleased with the evenness of her voice. “With the exception of the miscellany to be organized in the greenhouse, this is the last of it. I can’t believe how long it’s taken us to unpack and properly put things away. I distinctly recall that it took me only a single day to crate everything up.”

“Have you discovered anything damaged and needing to be replaced?”

Good Lord, even his words were caressing. Hoping that he couldn’t hear the frantic beating of her heart, she breezily replied, “Nothing beyond clothing the girls outgrew while we were en route. And, thanks to your generosity, that need has already been addressed. They are so excited, Carden.”

His eyes brightened at her casual use of his name and she felt some measure of control mercifully returning. Until he cocked a dark brow and gave her one of his quirked grins. Heaven help her, when he looked at her like that all she could think about was melting into his arms.

“No pouting over the lack of a bright red dress?”

It took all the self-discipline she could muster, but Sera put away the wanton mental images and blithely replied, “Mr. Gauthier would do well in Her Majesty’s diplomatic corps. He easily placated her with a rosy pink in silk faille.”

“Speaking of placating,” he countered, slowly turning with a broad gesture toward the large sheets of paper spread out on the table. “Lady Caruthers’s conservatory plans.”

Sera stepped up to peruse them, grateful for the distraction. It lasted mere seconds, until Carden stepped up beside her, placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward to look at something in them that had apparently caught his interest. Just as she’d been so vitally aware of his appraisal only moments ago, so she was now of his physical presence. His cologne was spicy and woodsy, deliciously exotic. His shoulders, so close that she could feel the warmth of them … They were not only broad, but thick. Were she so bold as to try, she doubted that both of her hands would be big enough to encircle his upper arm. And his hands … Large and yet gracefully constructed, they looked to have the deliberate but sensitive strength common among sculptors.

From the deepest recesses of her brain came a fleeting whisper bearing a profound and certain truth. Whatever Carden Reeves touched with his hands, he understood to its essence, claimed to its core. And she ached for the wanting of being possessed so completely, so wholly and reverently.

But not temporarily,
she added over the wild hammering of her traitorous, foolhardy heart. Aghast at her careening sensibilities, she took a steadying breath, deliberately focused her vision on the lines and spaces in front of her, and firmly closed the door on her troublesome emotions.

“It’s a stunning structure,” she said after a moment, genuinely impressed. “Lady Caruthers is blind for not seeing it in the drawings just as they are.”

“Thank you.”

How two simple, softly spoken words could ignite the temptation to reach out and touch … “I especially like your use of the repeating arches in the side walls,” Sera added quickly, trying to keep her thoughts focused and her hands where they belonged. “It adds so much to the sense of height and space while, at the same time, establishing a timeless elegance. It’s all very graceful and light. Just as a conservatory should be.”

She straightened and stepped back, her hands primly at her sides. “You’re a very good architect, Carden Reeves.”

He shrugged and looked down at the drawings. “It’s nothing more than trestle engineering using slightly less substantial materials and on a much smaller scale.”

“Lady Caruthers isn’t worthy of your talent.”

He tilted his head to meet her gaze. His smile, the twinkle in his eyes, was devilish. “You’re probably right. Which means I’ll truly enjoy charging her an outrageous sum.”

The spark was instant. It bloomed just as quickly, revealing the truths within it. He was the most roguishly handsome man she’d ever met. She admired his spirit and enjoyed his irreverence. And all of it went into why she was drawn to him in a most provocative way.

What to do about it? she wondered, searching his sobering gaze. Pretending to be unaffected was out of the question. Carden Reeves could well recognize the signs of feminine fascination. To claim she wasn’t would be laughable.

But to surrender to temptation? No. Pride, self-respect, and wisdom wouldn’t let her do that, either. On the other side of an affair lay the certain humiliation of rejection. He wouldn’t set her aside unkindly, she knew. Carden Reeves wasn’t a callous man. He was simply the kind of man who didn’t believe in forever. And whether it was rational or not, there was disgrace and shame in not being woman enough to change him.

He could see it in her eyes; she would eventually be his. The usual thrill of impending victory came with the realization, but it came wrapped in an emotion that he couldn’t quite identify. It was solemn—not in a heavy, grieving sort of way, though. No, it definitely wasn’t a sad feeling at all. Whatever it was, it intensified his hunger most remarkably. If the girls weren’t there, he’d take her in his arms and kiss her into sweet oblivion. She’d let him; she was every bit as aware of the connection between them as he was.

From the doorway came the usual throaty trumpet heralding Sawyer’s arrival.

“Let me guess,” Carden said, his gaze still locked with hers. “Mr. Gauthier is here with a mountain of boxes.”

“And a supporting cast of hundreds, sir.”

The girls squealed in unison and bolted for the door in a flurry of petticoats, auburn curls, and streaming ribbons. Sera blinked, breaking the bond, and whirled about. Over their girlish squeals and exclamations, she called, “Slow down! Ladies do not run!”

They didn’t so much as pause, forcing Sawyer to jump out of their path or risk being trampled. Carden laughed outright as, in the very next instant, Seraphina hiked her hems and took off after them. God, he loved how she could be so prim and proper one moment and so freely herself in the next.

“Is anything injured except dignity, Sawyer?”

“Mercifully no, sir.”

“Good. Would you please have the coach readied. We’ll be going to the park for a fashion debut. The girls will be down as soon as they’ve changed.”

“Thank you for the warning, sir.”

Carden smiled and headed to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy. He splashed a small amount into the snifter and glanced at the clock. Ten minutes at the most, he decided. Once Sera discovered what he’d done … He grinned and filled his glass to the rim.

*   *   *

The girls having been gently admonished for their having almost killed Sawyer and then put into the capable hands of the dressmaker’s assistants, Seraphina made her way to her room to see what the courtier had managed to complete of her wardrobe in the last several days. Most of it, she expected, since she’d chosen relatively simple designs and serviceable fabrics.

She froze just inside the room. Mr. Gauthier stood between the side of her bed and the armoire. Open boxes and tissue littered the coverlet. In a vague way, she noted that three of the dresses she’d ordered had been draped over the edge of the bed. It was the one the courtier was placing on a satin-covered, padded hanger that stunned her—a vibrant amethyst silk with jewel-encrusted cascades of dyed-to-match ribbon flowers at the shoulders. Or what shoulders there were. There certainly wasn’t any décolletage to speak of. The whole of the full-skirted marvel hung from the hanger by two tiny ribbons.

“Mr. Gauthier?”

He looked up from his task and beamed. “Yes, madam?”

She took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. “That’s a beautiful gown, but it’s not mine.”

“Yes, madam, it is,” he declared, then promptly turned and hung it in the armoire.

“No, Mr. Gauthier,” she pressed. “I would definitely remember ordering such an extravagant dress. It’s not mine.”

“Lord Lansdown ordered for you, madam,” he said, popping the lid off another box. Tissue went sailing as he added, “I believe he meant for it to be a surprise.”

“Well, it certainly is,” she admitted, her hand pressed to her midriff in the hope of settling the butterflies that had taken wing in her stomach. Why had Carden—

“I hope you’re as pleased with the others.”

“Others?” she repeated on a strangled breath. “There are more?”

“Oh yes, madam. I have brought five today. Another three are yet to be completed.”

Eight? Eight dresses? “Are they all so … so…”

“Exquisite?” He didn’t wait for her to squeak out a response. From the box he lifted a loosely folded bundle of ivory sateen and then, with a well-practiced flick of his wrists, unfurled it for her inspection. If not for the gold and ivory ribbon flowers there wouldn’t have been a décolletage at all on this one. A garland of them was all that passed for sleeves. Another garland of them edged the gauze overskirt—which was sprinkled with little clusters of golden balls and seed pearls.

“Of course they are exquisite, madam. Lord Lansdown has both excellent taste and an eye for beauty.”

She wanted to cry. She nodded in agreement instead and asked, “And the next gown, Mr. Gauthier?”

He laid the bit of heaven aside and flung open another box. From the clouds of tissue he produced a creation in thalo green faille. Bright and yet rich and deep, the décolletage was yet again daringly low. This one had been liberally covered with swirling lines of glittering crystals. Ropes of them were fashioned into narrow, draping sleeves. The whole of it reminded her of the calm, sun-struck waters that lay between the reef and the shore.

“The beads are Austrian crystal. Are they not spectacular?”

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she admitted, pressing her hands tighter against her stomach.

“Thank you, madam. And the third…”

Another box, more tissue, a flourish … This one was ultramarine silk damask. Strong and intensely cool, it whispered of midnight gardens and starlit skies, of champagne and long, languid kisses. Its décolletage edge was softly folded bands of matching satin that also served as the sleeves. It was unadorned except for the glittering diamond brooch set in what would no doubt be the center of her very apparent cleavage.

“Oh my,” she whispered, her knees weakening. Why was Carden doing this? “And the last?” she asked, almost desperate to have the display ended so that she could breathe and think coherently again.

“Lord Lansdown was most specific about this one, madam,” the couturier declared, flinging aside tissue, his grin practically splitting his face. “It was the first he selected,” he said, moving to block her view of the dress as it came out of the box. Sera swallowed down the rising swirl of butterflies. He flicked, flourished, and turned in one smooth motion.

It … It was … “Crimson?” she gasped. A waterfall of tiny, sparkling crimson crystals. On polished crimson satin.

“Is it not sumptuous?”

The décolletage was typically low and heavily encrusted. A fringe of crystal strands served for sleeves. “I’m absolutely speechless.”

“High praise, indeed. Thank you, madam.”

She had to say something polite. Clearly the couturier was proud of his work—and justifiably so. It wasn’t his fault that she had absolutely no use for dresses of this quality. Carden, on the other hand, knew that perfectly well. And she knew precisely what he hoped to reap from her breathless, awed gratitude. The rake!

“Mr. Gauthier,” Sera began with a deep, steadying breath and a smile, “you have outdone yourself. I can only imagine what the other three gowns will be like.”

“I am afraid that you have no choice but to imagine, madam,” he countered apologetically. “Lord Lansdown has instructed me to say nothing of them in any specific terms.”

One of them would no doubt be of utterly transparent gauze. “If you would please excuse me, Mr. Gauthier,” she said, smiling painfully as she backed out of the room. “I really need to thank Lord Lansdown for his generosity.”

“Of course, madam. I will see to the storage of your items.”

She thanked him, but it was a mere courtesy she threw over her shoulder as she turned and headed for the stairs. Carden Reeves had gone too far. If he thought she was going to swoon into his arms …

*   *   *

One look at her as she sailed toward the library door was all he needed. Oh, she was determined. And lusciously, deliciously angry. He took another sip of his brandy, propped a hip against the corner of the table, and with a racing heart, watched her come at him.

She met his gaze at the threshold and held it as she advanced without pause, saying, “Carden, a word with you, please.”

“Just one?”

“Several, actually,” she declared as she came to skirt-swaying halt just in front of him.

He cocked a brow. “Shall I keep count?”

“No.” Her hands went to her narrow waist and her eyes sparkled like sapphires in firelight. His pulse tripped and then surged. “They are beautiful dresses. The most extravagant, decadently beautiful things I have ever seen.”