Romancing the Countess (20 page)
With a sense of stepping over an invisible line she’d only previously contemplated, Leah nodded and placed the box in Mrs. Neville’s hands. “Yes.”
“Helen,” Mrs. Neville called to the girl at the other end of the room. “Put down that skirt for now. Please help Mrs. George undress.”
Leah submitted as the assistant removed her veil and bonnet, then unbuttoned and pulled the dull black dress over her head.
At a table in a nearby corner, Mrs. Neville clucked her tongue appreciatively as she opened the box and lifted Leah’s gown out. She turned to Leah with a sly smile, her hands smoothing over the fabric. “I believe I’m beginning to understand what you wish, Mrs. George.”
Soon, with Helen’s help, they lowered the organza gown over her head. Even without the alterations made, Leah couldn’t help but be pleased as she glanced in a mirror set against the opposite wall. Although it was black like all of the other dresses she’d worn since the carriage accident, the customary white trimmings were missing from the high neck and around the wrists. The organza wasn’t crisp against her skin like bombazine or wrinkled like crepe; it was soft, the skirt shimmering blue with the light, fluid and supple in her hands. In contrast, the petticoats beneath felt too stiff, too restrictive.
Mrs. Neville began taking measurements around her waist. As she moved to the back, Leah could feel her fingers skimming over the long line of pearl buttons. “What would you like me to do with these, madam? I could sew them around the edge, if you like.”
Leah considered the mirror and the bold woman within. For the first time in a very long while, she met her own gaze without flinching away. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Mrs. Neville.”
After half an hour, the dressmaker finished with the other measurements to the bodice and shoulders and stepped back. “Very good, Mrs. George. I don’t believe it will take me long. I’ll have it delivered to you by six.”
Leah nodded, took one last glance into the mirror, and smiled.
“She’s a fine mare, but no better than Lord Derryhow’s. I saw her at Ascot last year, when her left leg turned lame shortly after the first turn . . .” Any words Sebastian had meant to say next disappeared as Leah walked into the drawing room.
“But her bloodlines are far superior. Why, her sire was—”
Sebastian blocked out the sound of the voice of Baron Cooper-Giles, who apparently hadn’t yet seen the beautiful woman who’d just entered.
“Lord Wriothesly?”
Sebastian gestured toward the doorway. “I believe Mrs. George has returned from preparing her surprise for this evening.”
A surprise that required her to leave her guests for most of the morning and early afternoon. Whatever she’d done, she appeared quite pleased about it, her eyes sparkling despite her attempt to match the somber tone of her mourning clothes. Sebastian turned his head, fingering the curtain of the window he leaned against as he glanced outside. No matter how much he’d tried to stay away from her yesterday, his memory teased him mercilessly with reminders of their kiss and the desire he’d witnessed in her eyes. Sebastian released the curtain to look at Leah. Or perhaps he’d only imagined the desire; he certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of it since.
“I apologize for not telling you before now,” she said, “but I wanted to make sure all the details were in place. Tonight, after dinner, I’ve arranged for musicians to come. We’ll finish both the dinner party and the house party with dancing.”
Although murmurs had risen when she appeared in the drawing room, guesses made regarding the surprise for the evening, her announcement about dancing withered every voice in the room. Each moment of silence pulsated with the question in everyone’s minds: would she dance as well?
Jaw clenched, Sebastian waited with them for the answer, although he already suspected the truth. While he understood Leah’s quest for freedom and might have encouraged it otherwise, if she did decide to dance, the rumors created in the wake of the scandal could escalate dangerously. It was possible they wouldn’t extend to Ian and Angela, nor then to Henry’s legitimacy. Possible, but Sebastian wasn’t comfortable with the idea of
possible
.
possible
.
Leah inclined her head, the ribbons of her widow’s cap swaying with the motion. Her posture, her expression, every movement she made bespoke modesty and meekness. Sebastian crossed his arms and watched her, looking for any nuance that would give her thoughts away.
“As I said before, I know this isn’t a usual house party, but with this being the last night, I wanted to do something to express my appreciation for your presence. Ian always enjoyed dancing. Tonight, I hope you will, too.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. She focused on
their
enjoyment,
their
dancing, but she didn’t say she wouldn’t be joining them.
their
enjoyment,
their
dancing, but she didn’t say she wouldn’t be joining them.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I believe our other guests will be arriving in a little over an hour. I must get ready for dinner.”
As Leah turned and exited the drawing room, he had to admit it was very well done. In only a few sentences, she’d been able to raise even more speculation: she would attend the dinner—that much was clear—but would she also attend the dancing? And if so, would she participate or simply observe?
It was the perfect way to heighten excitement about the evening. Unfortunately for her, it was also the perfect way to ensure he would corner her before the dinner began and discover her true intentions.
Almost as soon as Leah left, the other women departed for their own preparations. The men took the opportunity to lounge about and chat about horses and the upcoming fox hunting season before they had to return to their rooms as well.
Sebastian didn’t wait, however. Excusing himself, he made his way to the opposite wing and shortly found the mistress’ bedchamber. Looking down both ends of the corridor to make sure no one saw him at Leah’s door, he knocked once, then twice more.
As if to torture him, an image of Leah undressing immediately arose in his mind.
Grimacing, he knocked again, then stepped to the side when he heard footsteps near the door. Even though it was likely one of her maids, he didn’t want to take the chance of accidentally spying Leah in her undergarments. Or, God forbid, seeing even one inch of her bare skin beyond her face and hands.
He heard the door unlatch; then a round face peeked out at him from around the doorframe. Her lady’s maid blinked. “Yes, my lord? How may I be of assistance?”
Sebastian straightened away from the wall. “Please tell Mrs. George—”
“Oh, is that Lord Wriothesly?” he heard her call from inside the room.
The maid peered over her shoulder. “Yes, madam.”
There was a rustling sound, and soon the lady’s maid disappeared. Leah appeared in her place, wearing another of her ordinary black crepe mourning gowns. However, no widow’s cap covered her head. Instead, most of her hair was hanging down, as if the maid had just begun to work on it. Light brown locks gleaming like golden amber flowed over her shoulders and caressed the side of her face. The same locks he’d made the mistake of touching only a few nights ago.
Leah smiled as she looked at him, all of the vulnerability and insecurity she’d revealed to him before now hidden behind the curve of her lips. Sebastian suppressed the urge to reach out and touch her hair again, to stroke her mouth with his thumb, to see the pretense of her expression fade away.
“I expect you want to know if I’ll be dancing with everyone else tonight,” she said, her gaze meeting his evenly.
“Are my thoughts so transparent?” He studied her face, willing himself to find Angela in the contrasts between their features. He could see Angela clearly when he was alone; though he tried to dismiss her memory, she was everywhere he looked. He would spy her profile in the pattern on the wallpaper, or imagine her reclined on his bed at night, the voluptuous curve of her back turned toward him. If he attempted to squeeze his eyes shut and block her from his thoughts, her image clung to the black slate of his vision, taunting him, refusing to let him forget her.
But the picture of Angela that came to his mind now was faint, less than a shadow, disappearing before it could fully form. All he saw was Leah, slender and pale, too exuberant and full of life to be suffocated by the expected mourning rituals. The rituals he would now ask her to continue observing.
“Not transparent,” she answered, tilting her head to the side, “but you have become rather predictable.”
“Have I?” he asked, searching her eyes to find the awareness she hid so well behind this disguise of polite cheer. If her maid weren’t there behind her, he would have backed her into the bedchamber and kissed her again.
“As to the question of whether I’ll be dancing tonight . . .” Her smile grew wider and she leaned in—only a few inches, but Sebastian felt the air quickly become thinner, her presence stealing the oxygen from his lungs. “The answer is yes,” she said, then turned and shut the door. The lock clicked loudly into place.
Sebastian stared at the door, gritted his teeth, and raised his fist to knock once more. No answer came. “Mrs. George,” he said quietly through the door, glancing down the corridor again. Still no answer. “Mrs. George,” he called, this time a little more loudly, his tone more strident. “Mrs. Geo—”
A noise came from somewhere toward the end of the hallway, and Sebastian stepped back. No good would come of him being caught outside Leah’s bedchamber, especially if it was a scandal he wanted to prevent.
With a final glare at her door, he pivoted and strode to his own guest chamber to prepare for the dinner. Leah might have convinced herself she would dance tonight, but she would find it impossible to do so when no partner offered his hand.
Dinner was a success. All of Leah’s guests were witty and charming, the women dressed in gorgeous gowns and the men handsome in their evening wear. When they moved to the salon for the dancing, the musicians played better than any she’d ever heard before. Even without her organza gown on yet, the night had taken on a glittering, dreamlike luster to Leah. It was a night that she had never imagined orchestrating, a night she’d never imagined at all, one in which she defied all the rules.
From the time she was a little girl, her mother had told her stories each night when she brushed her hair. These weren’t bedtime stories to fill a girl’s head with princes and princesses and happily ever afters. They were stories about other little girls, daughters of Adelaide’s friends who had done something wrong. One had been caught playing in the mud with her brothers, another hiding a puppy beneath her bedcovers. As the years passed, Leah learned not only what was expected of her, but also what was frowned upon by her mother, who seemed the moral representative of all of England.
One must not stare. One must not belch. A lady should brush her hair no more and no less than one hundred strokes every night. Never be alone with a gentleman. Always sit up straight. Wear white for your debutante ball and black for an entire year when in mourning. Maintain a proper figure—not too plump and not too skinny. Smile when you don’t feel like smiling, dance when you don’t feel like dancing—but no more than twice with the same man—and practice perfection until you achieve it.
And never, ever—ever—break the rules.
Tonight, Leah’s only intention was to break the rules.
She smiled up at Sebastian, not because she felt like smiling but because she simply couldn’t help herself. Tonight she didn’t try to ignore the wonderful feeling that burned low in her stomach when his eyes held hers; she didn’t try to escape from his presence—at least, she wouldn’t right now. With one foot tapping the floor and the taste of the wine from dinner still sweet on her tongue, she felt as light as air. Happy. Free. And for once, she believed the lie in his eyes that said she was desirable. Tonight, it was the truth.
“You should go dance,” she told him as they watched the other guests in a reel.
“I prefer to stay beside you.”
Leah laughed; he didn’t even try to hide the suspicion in his voice, although his words were lovely. “Is my company so appealing, then, my lord?’
His head turned from the dance floor, his gaze landing on her mouth before rising to her eyes. “It is everything about you that is appealing, Mrs. George.”
Leah pressed her lips together, ignoring the blush that was surely spreading all the way to her fingertips, She watched Miss Pettigrew dance with Mr. Dunlop. “You’re very handsome tonight, my lord.”
“What’s this? A compliment from the lovely widow?”
“A mere observation.”
“Why do I suspect that you had too much to drink at dinner?”
A corner of her mouth lifted, and she looked at him sideways beneath her lashes. “Perhaps I did. Or perhaps I’m finally being honest.”
Her words erased all amusement from his face. He leaned close, and she opened her mouth to warn him not to incite gossip, but he spoke first. “Be careful, Leah, or I’ll start being honest as well.”
Her pulse leapt as she remembered his speech on the stairs about wanting her. He stood so close now that his arm almost brushed against hers. Leah lifted her hand and pretended to wipe a fallen hair from his shoulder. Just a little touch to indulge herself—one that before she couldn’t even admit she needed. “I’ve been careful all my life. It’s begun to grow a bit dull, I’m afraid.”
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