The Wedding Trap (7 page)

Eliza shifted on the bench and let her lashes sweep downward. What she thought was that he was large and male and took up far too much space inside the limited confines of the room. Anyway, why was he here? Had they sent him in to work on her as well, despite the impropriety of such an action?

“Yes, I suppose. But that does not change the fact that you should not be here. This is a ladies dressing room,” she insisted, “and I’ll thank you to leave.”

“Not until we’ve talked.” He moved closer and startled her by sliding onto the bench. His thigh brushed her skirts as he settled himself, the clean scents of milled soap and bay rum drifting across to tease her nostrils. She caught herself before she gave in to the urge to lean closer and sniff him like some rare, exotic spice.

“Well now,” he said, resting his gorgeous hazel gaze upon her. “Tell me what is awry.”

She plucked at a crease in her skirt. “Nothing.”

“Must be something. I understand you’ve refused to try on the dresses? Why is that?”

“Because I do not wish to try them on, that is all.”

“Don’t you like them?” From the corner of her eye she saw him look toward the pair of gowns hanging from a built-in wooden rod. “They seem pretty enough to me, though I confess I’m only a man and don’t know all the finer points of fashion. Jeannette lost me somewhere around the time she started discussing Gabrielle sleeves and palatine tippets.”

“She lost me well before that,” Eliza confessed, peeking up long enough to meet his grin. Finding his humor infectious, she couldn’t help but smile back. “She barely listens to my opinion.”

“Is that what’s wrong? You’d like to be consulted?”

“Not really. It’s…”

“Yes?”

She studied her boots again, falling silent.

Heavens, she really wished he would go. She couldn’t think sensibly with him so close. He took up nearly the entirety of the bench, his wide shoulders barely an inch distant from her own.

“Come on, Eliza, tell me,” he coaxed when she failed to answer his query. “I am sure whatever it is we can see it resolved. Surely it can’t be as bad as all that.”

It is,
she silently bemoaned.
It’s worse.

“You might as well get it out.” He stretched his booted feet in front of him. “Otherwise the day is going to grow very long indeed while the two of us sit here together.”

Catching the tilt of his chin, she realized that he meant every word. When Kit decided on something he could dig in tight as a burrowing scallop.

She sighed and linked her fingers in her lap. “It is the color,” she whispered.

“What? I didn’t quite hear.”

“The color,” she said, forcing herself to speak louder. “I can’t wear those colors.”

Kit studied the dresses again. “Why not? The colors seem fine to me.”

“But they’re purple and gold!”

“Yes, and so they are,” he said in an agreeable tone. “Don’t you like purple and gold?”

“I do, but…”

“But?”

She hung her head, wishing she hadn’t said a word. Wishing she could take it all back so she did not have to discuss her fears, especially with him. Kit would think her foolish. He might even laugh. Dear God, what if he laughed?

Suddenly she wanted to sink into the floor—or better yet, close her eyes and disappear. What a miraculous power that would be, she mused with real longing. How lovely to just wish for invisibility and find oneself fading away until nothing remained but air.

But as impossible as that might be, so too would be hiding this from Kit. She didn’t even need to sneak a glance to feel his keen gaze upon her, to sense his calm patience as if it were an actual touch.

She waited for him to press her further, to keep on with the questions and the demands. Instead he said nothing, a quiet, steady presence at her side. One full minute ticked past, then a second, and yet he made no impatient moves, gave no sign he wanted to be anywhere other than where he was at that moment.

An odd resignation stole through her. “They’ll stare,” she finally murmured.

He leaned close, his voice deep and kind. “Who will stare?”

“Everyone.” A shudder rushed through her. “If I wear those gowns, the whole of Society will stare.”

And find me lacking, think me ridiculous as a plain brown sparrow trying to pass myself off as a brilliantly plumed jay,
she concluded silently. Only a woman of daring could hope to wear such rich, vibrant, utterly captivating shades. What was Jeannette thinking to put her in such eye-drawing gowns? To tempt her with finery that was quite obviously unsuited to a girl like herself?

“Even if they do stare,” Kit stated, “it will be with nothing but admiration.”

She met his gaze and shook her head. “No, it will be in derision and scorn. They will laugh at me and wonder who I am to attempt such splendor. Everyone knows plain women should not wear bright colors.”

It was Kit’s turn to stare, but out of pure surprise. He studied her features, thinking at first she must be jesting. But sadly he realized she was not, recognizing the deep lines of vulnerability etched in her face. Obviously he knew of her shy nature but he had never given much thought to its cause. Did she really think people would mock her for wearing pretty colors? Did she equate standing out with being the brunt of jokes and ridicule?

“That,” he declared, “is a load of nonsense. Was it your aunt who filled you full of such tarradiddle?”

Her mouth dropped open. “No, I—well, I don’t know.”

“Of course it must have been she. Who else could have drummed such a bunch of rubbish into your brain?” He grunted, not at Eliza but at the bitter, miserly old woman who had raised her. He slapped his hands against his thighs. “Well, whatever it is she told you about such matters, you are to forget them all. From now on you are to listen to me. I am your mentor, remember? It’s my job to steer you along the right path.”

“And you think these gowns are the right path?”

“If Jeannette believes so, then yes. She has excellent taste, and in this, at least, I trust her implicitly.”

Eliza swallowed, her trepidation still in evidence. “B-but the colors she is choosing are too daring. They aren’t at all the usual thing for an unmarried woman to wear during the Season.”

“True, but then, you aren’t the usual thing either. Forgive my bluntness, but we both know this isn’t your first Season. Since it is not, there’s no need to follow the rules and dress you in the demure pastels and dainty whites most girls wear. When you enter a room, people will look and you will want them to. You’ll appear both striking and dramatic. Men will flock to your side, relieved to be in the company of a girl who has maturity and a brain filled with more than empty-headed fluff.”

Her lips tightened, then quivered slightly. “How can you be so sure? Men have never liked my brain before.”

“Once we are done with your lessons, they will. You’ll have all the skills needed to change their minds, right at the tips of your fingers.”

“But what if I cannot master the lessons? What if the gowns don’t look as you imagine? You haven’t even seen me in one of them yet.”

“Precisely why you need to try one on.”

She sighed, realizing how neatly he had maneuvered the conversation.

“I’ll tell you what,” he offered at her continued reluctance. “You try on one of the gowns and if you don’t look positively splendid, then we’ll jettison the entire plan. You and I and Jeannette will start from scratch.”

She brightened a bit. “Do you mean it? You’ll be honest with me even if the truth is as bad as I suspect?”

“Of course I’ll be honest. You have my word as a gentleman.”

She nodded, his oath apparently relieving the worst of her fears. “Very well. You may send Madame Thibodaux’s assistant back in.”

“Excellent.” He stood and tossed her a smile before crossing to the entrance. Pulling back the golden drape, he paused. “Oh, and Eliza.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever again refer to yourself as plain. You may not be a diamond of the first water like Jeannette and Violet, but that doesn’t mean you lack your own kind of beauty.”

He left her with amazement shining bright as silver in her gentle gray eyes. Resuming his place once more on the curved sofa, he waited for Eliza to emerge, answering only a few of Jeannette’s questions about how he had managed to convince Eliza to change her mind.

He only hoped he’d done the right thing. What if she didn’t look good in the gowns? What if, for all his confident words, she wasn’t able to benefit from his guidance and attract the husband she so obviously craved? As he’d told Violet, he was just a man and not a magician.

Eliza came into the room, her step hesitant as she awaited his reaction, her uncertain gaze darting toward him then away. He sucked in a sharp breath, astonished at the change something as simple as a dress could achieve. He stared and realized Eliza had been right about that—she did make him want to stare and stare some more.

Swathed in a rich shade of dark lilac, she was positively radiant. Her skin looked creamy, her eyes vibrant and her figure…well, her shape was even better than he’d suspected it might be. Always before she had worn gowns that were slightly too big and rather shapelessly made. But this one Jeannette had chosen fit Eliza in a way that emphasized the fact that she was indeed every inch a woman. Femininity fully formed with a pair of small but shapely breasts, curvaceous hips and a slender waist that begged to be encircled by a pair of eager male hands. As for what lay concealed beneath her skirts—well, he could only imagine and assume it must be every ounce as fine as the rest.

Realizing where his thoughts had led him, he forced his gaze toward a display of ribbons near the shop’s front window.

“Oh, don’t you look a picture,” Jeannette declared, striding forward on a rustle of skirt. “I knew that color would suit you perfectly and it does. Look how she glows. Doesn’t she just glow?”

Yes, he agreed, she did glow. In a manner he would never have thought to associate with his sister-in-law’s quiet friend.

“I quite agree, my lady,” the modiste concurred. “An inch off the bottom of the skirt and a tuck or two here and there and this dress will suit her well.”

Despite the women’s positive opinions, Eliza’s uncertain expression did not disappear. “Kit? What do you think?” she ventured. “Do you…do you like it?”

Eliza waited, clearly unsure and as ill at ease as a first-year plebe sent before the headmaster. What a brute he was to make her suffer. He set aside his unaccountable response—the second in only three days’ time starting with her new haircut—and answered her with complete and unfeigned sincerity.

“I like it very much. You and that dress are a match made in heaven.” He smiled widely. “See, I told you that color would suit. You had nothing whatsoever to fear.”

“Are you sure? It’s not too bold?”

“Certainly not. You look amazing, Eliza, and don’t ever think otherwise.”

A relieved smile moved over her mouth, rising like a warm, brilliant sun.

“Now try on the gold dress,” he urged. “Let us see if it’s even more dazzling than the first.”

“All right.” On a happy turn, Eliza went back into the dressing room.

Kit breathed a small sigh of relief the instant she left, assuring himself he’d be in complete control by the time she returned. He quaffed a half glass of wine, ate a toast point and promised himself a well-deserved night on the town.

After all, what else could he possibly need?

Chapter Five

Eliza sat in a chair in a corner of the downstairs drawing room amid the crush of relatives and friends gathered inside Raeburn House to celebrate that morning’s double christening.

A steady throb of conversation and laughter blended with the delicate fragrances of flesh-warmed perfume and fresh flowers. Generous arrangements of pink roses and white lilies provided an impressive natural display from the quartet of finely wrought Meissen vases that were set at intervals around the room. The aroma of food and wine drifted in from the dining room buffet, subtly overlaying the mix.

Eliza set aside her own plate, the taste of hothouse strawberries and clotted cream still sweet upon her tongue. She observed the clusters of chatting people, relieved to be on the periphery and no longer required to make any more pitiful attempts at small talk and casual conversation.

At the start of the brunch nearly an hour before, there had been a great deal of enthusiastic comment about her new lilac gown and her artfully shorn locks. In fact, several people had not recognized her immediately, including the Countess of Wightbridge, Violet and Jeannette’s mother, who had stared at her through most of the christening ceremony with an expression of frustrated puzzlement on her fine-boned visage.

But despite the outward changes in Eliza’s appearance, she knew herself to be the same person she had been before—a reserved, tongue-tied bluestocking who could quote passages from Euripides, but who knew almost nothing about the latest gossip or juicy on-dits. Knowing what a disaster she was at casual conversation, she had decided to spare herself and others a great deal of unnecessary suffering by withdrawing to a quiet seat in a quiet corner on the outskirts of the group.