Page 9 of The Mistletoe Dare

“I am serious,” he said, and her breath caught at the anger in his eyes. “You. Are. Beautiful. Inside and out, and anyone who cannot see that does not deserve a moment of your time, and certainly not your tears.”

It was hard not to believe his words whilst those blue eyes stared at her with such sincerity, but Evie could not help but feel sceptical. She was a practical girl, after all, and aware of her own attributes. That’s not to say she had none. She knew she was fun to be with and could hold an intelligent conversation, and she had pretty eyes and hair, and she’d be an excellent wife and companion to anyone who wished to marry her. But to suggest she could compare to the great beauties of the ton was simply ridiculous. She knew Louis meant she was a beautiful person because he thought she was kind-hearted, but that was not at all the same thing. She simply wasn’t the type who made men wild with desire or prompted them to write sonnets or fight duels. Not that she wanted anyone to fight a duel on her account, for that would be horrible, but it would be nice to see some evidence of desire or jealousy. She had seen the possessive looks on the faces of Arabella’s and Florence’s husbands, the pride and the heat in their eyes as they looked upon their beloveds. It would be nice to think some man might feel like that for her one day, but she felt a little dubious, no matter Louis’ words.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Louis said, his tone flat.

Evie gave a rueful smile. “I believe you are fond enough of me to see me with a kinder eye than most, and I am grateful for it, but please, Louis, let us speak of something else. What are we to do about this wretched dress?”

Louis sighed, shaking his head. “Very well. Can you stand without swooning?” he asked, his tone a little impatient.

Evie nodded, so he gave her his hand and helped her up. Louis stood back and muttered something that did not sound complimentary about the dress as he walked around her, studying the gown from all angles.

“I hate pink,” Evie said, wishing she didn’t look such a wretched sight.

He shook his head, studying her. “Non, I disagree with that, at least. The colour is good. You have a complexion most women would kill for, all that creamy white skin and here….” He moved closer to touch a finger to her cheek. “The faintest flush of rose,” he murmured.

Evie flushed a deal harder at his words. The way the French rolled the r on rose was rather delicious after all. Louis smirked. “Not so faint.”

“Well, perhaps the colour isn’t to blame, but it’s still dreadful,” Evie grumbled, folding her arms about her middle and feeling increasingly self-conscious.

Louis took her wrists, uncrossing her arms and staring at her bust and midriff with such concentration she wanted to die of embarrassment.

“Louis,” she said, uncomfortable.

“The cut is all wrong,” he said, interrupting her. “This neckline is far too high and unflattering. It does not make the most of your assets.”

“My… what?”

“Your assets,” Louis repeated impatiently.

“Do I have, er… assets?” she asked doubtfully.

Louis tsked, giving her an incredulous glance. “Your bust is magnificent, Evie, and it’s being hidden beneath that high neck when it ought to be on display. I cannot understand what the woman was thinking. Perhaps she was jealous.”

Evie snorted in amusement, too entertained to be scandalised by the comment. “I hardly think—”

“What kind of corset are you wearing?”

“Wh—” Evie began, and then gave up, staring at him in outrage. “You cannot ask me that!” she whispered, stunned.

Louis rolled his eyes. “You wanted my advice, my help, oui? Well, whatever is under that dress is not doing what it ought. Tiens, never mind. You must send me your measurements and I shall deal with that too.”

“But—”

“Hush.” Louis silenced her as he stood back, contemplating.

Obediently, Evie hushed, too confounded to say another word. Louis studied her critically.

“The cut of this neckline needs to be low, and these dreadful frills must go. They are all wrong for you. You need a much simpler style, with some small pleats for emphasis, I think… Oui, that run from the shoulders to here.”

Evie blinked, a little stunned, as he traced a line in mid-air, from her shoulder to low on her décolletage.

“There?” she squealed in alarm. “I’ll fall out of it!”

“No, you will not,” he assured her.

“B-But everyone will stare at me,” she protested, flushing hot as she considered the idea.

Louis shrugged. “Oui, naturellement.”