Hurt flared in her gaze, mingled with confusion as he drew coverlets over all of those tempting feminine curves.
“Did I…do something wrong?” she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.
“No.”
You did something far too right…
He loathed the edge in his voice. “This marriage is to be a business arrangement. As such, we must honor the parameters agreed upon. We will negotiate a schedule for conjugal visits that is agreeable to us both. After the wedding.”
She gathered the coverlets above her breasts. It didn’t help. The memory of her nakedness was imprinted on Lucien’s mind.
“Oh…Yes,” she faltered. “I see.”
He doubted it. Fear thrummed in his chest. It was as if the world he’d inhabited had been shadowed, gray and still, and had suddenly become so bright it hurt his eyes. He knew full well what a true bond with such a woman would cost, a price he wouldn’t pay.
“I will inform you when the special license is in hand,” he said with a detachment he didn’t feel.
He bowed, his gaze fixing for a moment on the nightgown pooled upon the floor. It was all he could do to turn and walk away. His own bedchamber was dark, spartan, empty of silver hairbrushes, the soft, feminine scent of flowers, the warmth that Grace seemed to bring into every room. But the wanting, deep in his core, remained. “I should have the license tomorrow by noon. Will that be enough time for you to…ready yourself?”
She clutched the bedsheets even tighter, nodding.
He shut the door behind him, leaned against it, his heart racing. Surely he wasn’t falling in love. Whatever this strange sensation in his chest was, he could feel it luring him toward the cliffs like a siren song. He would have to be careful. Very careful to get control of it.
Before it was too late.
CHAPTER 19
The click of the door closing between them reverberated in Grace’s head as loudly as if someone had struck a hammer to a gong. What had just happened? One moment Lucien’s mouth was on hers, the heat of his touch even now still lingering, and the next he was pulling away as if repulsed by her very presence.
Only when she was certain he was not about to return and see her in all her humiliation did she let go of the bedsheets, then retrieve her nightgown from the floor. Her fingers shook as she tied the ribbon, then smoothed the fabric, trying not to think about the feel of his fingers on her skin. She looked at her unfinished brandy on the dressing table, tempted to finish it in an effort to erase the pain and utter embarrassment from her mind. Instead, she stared into the darkness until, at last, she slept.
She awoke the next morning when a maid knocked upon her door, announcing a visitor. She’d scarce tightened the sash on her dressing gown when Madame Lavoie herself walked in, a small army of seamstresses following in her wake, bearing packages tied with crisp ribbons, one package far larger than the rest.
“His lordship’s emissary woke me in the middle of the night with news of today’s wedding,” Madame Lavoie said. “He gave most specific instructions to muster every seamstress in my employ.” She waved to the other women, and they began opening boxes. Grace gasped at the contents, silk stockings, ribbon garters, and lace underpinnings so exquisite they seemed woven of fairy magic.
She stood rooted to the spot, watching them unveil the beautiful articles of clothing
She heard a soft knock on the door, and braced herself, dreading that it might be Helen trying one last time to dissuade her from eloping.
But it was Lady Ravenscroft who entered, her arms filled with pink roses. The scent filled the room as she laid them on the bed. “The moment Lucien informed me that today would be your wedding, I sent word for these to be delivered.”
“Mon Dieu,” Madame Lavoie said as she lifted the gown from the box, a folded card drifting to the rug. “As beautiful as I remembered.” she said.
Lady Ravenscroft picked up the note, placing it next to the roses. Madame shook out the gown, then looked at Grace. “We have much to do and very little time. Shall we begin?”
The style was timeless. The wide neckline was trimmed with the Honiton lace her mother had chosen, it’s pattern fine as fairy-wings, the sleeves full and graceful.
“All that needs to be done is a tuck here and there,” Madame said. “Perhaps a bit more lace gathered at the bodice.”
Grace stood upon a stool as the seamstresses fluttered about her, pinning and stitching until it was perfect. She heard the clock strike the hour Lucien had designated when they filed out the door.
Grace took a steadying breath and looked to Lucien’s mother.
Lady Ravenscroft scooped up the flowers from the bed. “I thought you might like to carry these. They grew from cuttings your mother shared with me years ago.” She paused mid-step, her gaze sweeping from the crown of Grace’s head to the embroidered slippers that peeked out beneath the hem. “Oh, my dear, you look lovely. Turn around so that I can take it all in.”
Grace cradled the roses in the crook of her arm, then spun slowly, the gown flowing around her in exquisite waves. Every ripple of the shot silk caught the light, changeable as a twilight sky, the color shifting from rich blue to a dark pink whenever the fabric moved. The hem and bodice seemed to twinkle, embroidered with shimmering gold stars.
“So very lovely,” Lady Ravenscroft said, then handed her the note. “From your mother, I believe…She’d have been so proud.”
