Tiredness caught him, but at the same time, he didn’t have a care in the world. Somehow, he felt more optimistic and happy. If only he could stand without his head spinning.
“Come here.” Mrs. Haywood led him to the Chesterfield sofa, seemingly reading his mind.
The colours of the room burst with energy and became bright. The sofa tilted. He feared nausea might catch him, but no. His stomach was all right. The sensation was like flying.
Mrs. Haywood sat next to him. “Now, I want you to follow my voice.”
He smiled. What a nice, deep voice she had.
“Everything I say is what’s happening now.”
Of course, it made perfect sense. He trusted her. Yes, he did. She was his future mother-in-law. He was in no danger.
“You’re lying here with Angeline. She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is,” he slurred.
“You and she are naked. You desire her so much.”
So bloody true. Everything she said was true.
Yes, Angelina lay next to him. Mrs. Haywood vanished. He hadn’t noticed her leaving the room, but never mind. Angeline was here.
Her dark hair was loose over her naked shoulders and perfect breasts. He caressed her cheek, feeling her silky skin under his fingers. She smiled. Hell, her smile was devastatingly beautiful. She kissed him, and he smiled against her lips.
“What are you doing?”
That was her voice, but it sounded as if coming from a great distance, and she didn’t seem happy at all.
He waved at her. Her long curls of hair floated around her, and her flimsy nightgown caressed her curves, showing everything to him. A breeze coming from somewhere caused the fabric to flutter and plaster against her lovely body. If only her tone of voice matched her ethereal beauty.
“Royston?”
She cupped his face, and for a split second, she didn’t appear dressed in her nightgown but in an evening ballgown, which was pretty, but he preferred the diaphanous nightgown that showed everything.
Her hair was different as well, no longer loosened but gathered in a chignon. She looked like that night when he’d danced the mayonnaise. No, it was the lyonnaise. Who cared?
How odd. Her attire kept changing. He blinked, and there she was in all her ethereal beauty, wearing her transparent nightgown.
“Can you hear me?” Her voice sounded high-pitched and hysterical.
Bugger, her evening gown replaced the revealing nightgown again. He wouldn’t know how she changed so quickly, hairstyle and all. Anyhow. She’d asked him something, but he didn’t remember what.
Distant voices reached his ears. It seemed that two women were arguing about something.
“Royston. Your skin is purple.” Angeline took his face again, her dark eyes large with worry. “I’ll be back with a physician. Don’t fear.”
Fear? He wasn’t scared. He’d never been better, aside from his face tingling.
But since she looked concerned, he nodded.
A thud, like the sound of a door closing, came. Then Angeline returned with her loose hair and transparent nightgown.
She stretched out next to him. Her sweet scent teased his nostrils. So delicate. She smiled although it wasn’t her usual sweet smile. That smile had something wicked in it. She lowered the satin straps of her nightgown and tugged the fabric down until she was half-naked.
He stretched out a hand to caress her beautiful breasts when she vanished in a curl of steam. Gone. Poof. Like a snuffed-out candle.
“What the hell?” he said, although his tongue felt strangely heavy and thick, as if it were swollen, filling his mouth.
