His head cants to the side. “You look uncomfortable. Is it the gown or the color?”
Earthen eyes glimmer with scarcely veiled amusement that nibbles at my composure, nerves, andpatience.
“Thegown,” I hiss, and his low chuckle fills the void between us with all the humor of a laughing rock.
He dashes through my personal space with his well-oiled gait. “Lie,” he growls, breath hot on my ear before he lands his shoulder into my own and sends me stumbling.
By the time I’ve regained my composure, he’s gone.
The dress has all the modesty of a deciduous tree in the fall.
I stare at thegiftlike all those long, deep blue tendrils dusted in gold are going to peel off the mannequin and strangle me. The bands are artfully placed to emphasize the female form and flounce her ...assets.
I had no idea this was the fashion of the South. If I had, I may have found a different way to secure those ships. Pirated them, or ... something.
Anything.
Hindsight has a cruel sense of humor.
Brushing a hand through the skirt, I wonder how I’m expected to move in this thing if everyone can see my undergarments every time I take a step. Or perhaps I’m notsupposedto wear any, and this dress is intended to offer glimpses of something untouchable.
Something that belongs toanother male.
Putting space between the garment and me, I stare at it with a renewed surge of disgust. One pull on any of the strips crisscrossing the front or back and the entire thing would flutter to the ground. Though that’s probably the point. For it to rip and fall in a careless heap before bodies joinand—
“Stop,” I snap, the word battling a resounding crack of thunder. “Pull yourself together, Orlaith.”
I tie my hair into a heavy knot and unbutton my top. It falls to the ground, and I begin unbinding my breasts, tossing the length of stretchy material aside before pushing my pants and underwear down.
Standing in nothing but my masked skin, I unclasp the garment, a fraught sigh slipping out. The dress is featherlight, and I struggle with the concept that something representing so much weighs so very little.
I step into the waistband, fastening the clip at the small of my back, brows pinched as I try to solve the rest of it. It takes a few tries, but I finally find the right holes to slip my arms through, managing to fasten it between my shoulder blades without the help of a second pair of hands.
In a flutter of Bahari blue and gilded trimmings, I edge toward the mirror and meet my reflection.
My insides gutter, the strong line of my shoulders softening.
“Oh my ...”
Bands slice across my body like licks of navy paint, covering me yet ...not.You can still see the outline of my nipples, peaked from the pinch of cold, my under breasts entirely exposed.
The lines sweep and swirl, complimenting my shape, emphasizing the parts of me I’ve tried so hard to hide. And when I shift my leg or move about, little slivers of my bum are exposed.
Sex.This garment has painted me in sex.
I try to clear the lump in my throat, my cheeks pinched a shade of pink from the fire sizzling my veins. I’ve spent most of my life hiding from my reflection, but now I want to avoid it for an entirely different reason.
Shame.
Red-hot, burning shame, because this dress has made somethingabundantlyclear ...
I’ve sold my body.
The distant sound of a horse whinnying travels through the open window, holding a distressed cadence that has me turning from the mirror and dashing toward the door in long, ass-revealing strides. I pull it open and step onto the balcony, assaulted by a blow of icy wind.
The clouds are heavy, blocking the light, making the forest look dark and haunted. There’s a charge in the air that smarts my skin in a way that has nothing to do with the cold ...
Movement snags my gaze, and I watch a spotted gray horse clamor through the front gate, lugging a cart down the packed-earth path. He’s lathered in sweat, frothing at the bit, but that’s not what has my eyes narrowing.
