Sitting at the dressing table, Verity brushed her hair loose for the night. It’d been ruthlessly pinned into coils and braids for the dinner and even now felt as though each strand was being strained and tugged.
Fifty-six. Fifty-seven…
“I mean,” continued Sephi, the mirror reflecting her lounging on the chaise whilst stroking a ginger cat who picked at his paws, “unexpected in a good way.”
Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine…
“No one mentioned we were scarlet or scandalous.”
Sixty. Sixty-one.
“My dinner companions were most attentive. Almost too attentive.”
Sixty-two. Sixty-three.
“And I finally understood why you fell in love with him.”
“I didnot…” Verity slammed the hairbrush to the dressing table and swivelled on her stool. Her bedchamber was excessively large – two rooms knocked into one – with three sash windows, a set of French doors and a high ceiling. On occasion, one had to shout to be heard. Especially with Sephi.“Well, I did. But I do not need reminding of it. Or that he is so…so noble and handsome and…” She rose to her feet, voice to a crescendo. “And perfect.”
“I didn’t remind you of any of that.” Sephi stroked the cat beneath the chin till he purred in bliss. “And he is most handsome. If not a little stern-eyed and ill-at-ease within company. And he never talks of his battles.”
Flopping on the stool, Verity groaned. “Such silent heroism only serves to make him even more attractive. Juliet Tait was nigh in his lap when blancmange arrived. In fact, she resembled the blancmange, so wobbly was she over him.”
“They found a common interest in how best to press flowers.”
With a grumble, Verity recommenced brushing her hair.
One. Two–
“Has he changed much?”
Verity closed her eyes to envisage the lad of all those years past. Then the man who’d glared at her this very night.
He’d worn a dinner jacket of dark green with an exquisite waistcoat of a similar hue, shades of forest glades. It clung like moss to a stone, tailored to perfection, daring the eye to linger, to trace the curves of the embroidered gold flowers. Each stitch deliberate, each thread a temptation.
Such a magnificent military bearing and handsome visage had stilled Verity’s lips to silence and caused other ladies at the table to flutter their lashes.
“The determination within his eyes is the same, except as a youth it was for grand plant-hunting adventures and…”And for her.“Now it seems more nuanced and planned. His manner is also more direct and…” She swallowed. “Dominant. I expect as a result of being in command of men. When young, his hair was forever tousled and long but now it’s short at the back and fashionable. He’s also much more…muscular than I’d imagined.”
“Hmm. Although you’ve never said, I suppose you kissed when you were young?”
“I… Well… Sometimes, he would…”
“Yes…” Sephi leaned forward.
“He would place flowers in my hair.”
“Oh.” Sephi pulled a face like a toad. “Nice but…”
“And we’d recite the Latin names of all the plants in the meadow.”
Sephi scrunched her nose.
“Then he would…would kiss the names from my lips.”
“Thank goodness for that. Was it good? My loathsome libertine kissed like a wet mop.”
Verity closed her eyes.
