With the hand holding his tumbler, he indicated a circular box resting on a settee. “The hat that goes with it.”
It was the same shade of blue. White chiffon wound around the brim and was gathered into a bow at the back. “It seems you have superb taste.”
“I have you, don’t I?”
She jerked her head around to find him studying the liquid in his glass as though it had spoken rather than he, and he was castigating it. She couldn’t recall him ever issuing her a compliment, ever admitting that he found her attractive or enticing. He’d wanted her because other men had, and he’d found them unsuitable. Or so she thought.
She reached for another box. Inside was a gown very similar in shade to the purple she’d worn the night that Geoffrey introduced her around, but the cloth was silkier, a finer quality. Slipping it over her body would cause her nerve endings to dance.
Within each box was a surprise: a black mourning dress, plain and yet elegant. She’d not expected him to provide her with something to wear when he wasn’t around, something that would allow her to continue to honor her father.
A deep green gown for dining. It would bare her décolletage. One of soft pink that had a frothy bodice. A silk dressing gown of violet. A gossamer nightdress of white. Even gathered up, when she ran her hand behind it, she could see her skin. It would leave nothing at all to his imagination.
As she placed it back in the box, she couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the fear and trepidation that raced through her with the reminder that he would bed her, and he wanted her to be enticing when he did.
Among the scattering of box lids and tissue, only one box remained. She knew what it was before she’d fully pushed the paper covering it aside. The vibrant red could not be hidden. When she pulled the gown out of the box, she gasped, her breath caught.
She hated it ... because it was so beautiful. It was silk and lace, satin bows, and elegant flounces. Clutching it to her bosom, she wished she knew how to knock that smug self-satisfied expression off his face.
“It’s ... it’s exquisite.” She balled it up, stuffed it back into the box. “But I still shan’t wear it.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’ve a bit of stubbornness in you.”
She didn’t know why she was being so obstinate about the red. She just wanted something in her life that she had some say over. “I should probably take these upstairs and try them on, make sure they fit properly.”
“Start with the riding habit,” he said, tapping his glass with one finger. “We’ll go for a ride through the park.”
Her breath hitched, and while she knew it was quite possible that he had a stable filled with horses, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You have Snowy?”
He lifted his glass in a salute, downed the remainder of its contents.
“That’s where you’ve been, what you’ve been up to.”
Tilting his head slightly, he studied her. “Where did you think I was?”
“At your club. I thought you were giving me time to become accustomed to you.”
“A bit difficult to become accustomed to me if I’m not here.”
She released a slight self-conscious laugh. “I’m not certain I shall make a good mistress. I didn’t like not knowing where you were or when you might return. I didn’t like waiting about, not knowing what I should be doing. I realize that you don’t have a care for me and that I’m to serve only one purpose, but—”
In a motion as quick as it was powerful, he shoved himself out of the chair and crossed over to her. His gaze wandered over her face, and she felt it almost like a touch. “It did not occur to me that you would worry. Rather I thought you would welcome the reprieve that my absence offered.” With the knuckle of his forefinger, he grazed her cheek. “I can’t always know when I can be here. My business, sometimes it will keep me away.”
“But it didn’t this time.”
He skimmed his thumb over her lower lip. “You are part of my business now.”
Before she could respond or read whatever might be in his eyes, he turned away. “Let’s go for a ride, shall we? I went to a great deal of trouble to bring that horse here.”
He had suggested they go for a ride because from the moment she had walked into the parlor, he wanted nothing more than to lift her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, and ravage her. Like the barbarian London accused him of being.
His desire for her had only worsened as he’d watched the delight play over her features as she’d viewed one item of clothing after another. And the red—she would wear it. He had seen the temptation of it in her eyes before she shuttered it. He could not have been more pleased with her reaction to his gifts.
But when she had seen the horse—
Something inside of Rafe had felt as though it were being torn asunder. He wanted her to look at him with the same joy, the same pleasure, the same... he wasn’t quite sure what the emotion was. She liked the horse, deeply. Favored it. She had stroked it and murmured to it and smiled at it.
He wanted her to smile at him.
