Page 41 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

A friend, except for the curtseying and the ‘my lady’ing.

Cole stepped back and observed her for a moment. ‘The gown needs a necklace.’

The gown had been approved by her mother-in-law. While her sisters would dress in white for their first season, as a wife she was permitted to wear colours. She had never looked all that attractive in white. With Lady Blackdown’s approval, she had selected a pale primrose gauze over a white silk underskirt, with a festoon of narrow lace artfully placed around the neckline, the hem and the edge of the handkerchief sleeves.

A style neither too young nor too old, according to Lady Blackdown. The scoop of the neckline was very low, and made to seem lower by the sleeves being off the shoulder. She stilled the desire to pull it higher. She’d had to have a special camisole and stays made so they would not show above the gown, which meant she was revealing more of her own skin than she thought possible.

She opened her jewellery box and pulled out her mother’s fine gold chain and teardrop pearl pendant. ‘I have this.’

Cole went behind her and held it around her neck. They both looked in the mirror. For a moment, Florence did not recognise herself. Somehow the dress and hairstyle seemed to make her look taller, more elegant. It must be a trick of the mirror.

She gasped at a knock on the door and swung round.

Graydon stood on the threshold, smiling. ‘You look stunning, wife.’

Her hands trembled at the compliment. She felt a glow rise inside her of pleasure. How could he do that with just a word or two when she knew he didn’t care one iota how she felt?

‘Thank you,’ she said calmly, coolly. She would not let him know how anxious she felt inside.

He stepped further into the room. ‘I have something for you.’

More gifts? Was he trying to make her feel beholden? She was his wife. He didn’t need to buy her gifts.

He had a velvet pouch in his hand. It looked heavy. He looked pointedly at Cole, who curtseyed and left through the dressing room.

‘I am not finished dressing,’ she said. ‘Why send my maid away?’

The warm light in his eye died. ‘No doubt she will return when I am gone. Curiosity will get the better of her. Hold out your hands.’

Once more he exhibited his scorn for females. He seemed to see them all as avaricious. And he must see her that way also, since he was giving her jewels.

She cupped her hands in front of her. He poured a glittering mass over her palms. Tipping them all into one hand, she gently lifted the most gorgeous strand of diamonds she had ever seen and was left with more in her palm.

He took the necklace and placed it around her neck, fastening it carefully at her nape.

She glanced in the mirror at the extraordinary work of art. One long chain encircled her throat, with myriad little loops along its length, and from each suspended a glittering diamond drop, row upon row. The necklace filled the space between her throat and the edge of her gown.

As she breathed, it caught the light, sparkling and glinting. It must have been worth a king’s ransom. It was far too fine for someone with her looks. The gown was one thing, but this, well, it was overwhelming.

Bending her neck, she search for the clasp. ‘I cannot…’

He caught her fingers in his. ‘Why not?’

Helpless, with his warm hand covering her fingers, touching her nape, strong, demanding, her heart beat faster. Her breathing quickened. She felt as if she might melt. She looked up at him in the mirror and froze.

His eyes were as cold as ice. ‘You will wear it.’ His hand fell away.

She dropped hers at the same moment, looking down at the grotesque mass of glitter across her chest. These were the sort of jewels a girl like Primrose could wear, possibly, and even on someone as elegant as Primrose they would look overly ostentatious. On plain old Florence, they looked monstrous. She inspected herself in the mirror. One very short, rather plump woman long past her first flush of youth, flaunting the wealth of her husband. ‘I look ridiculous.’

‘Nonsense.’ He took another piece from her hand and fastened around her left wrist over her glove a wide bracelet made up of many strands of diamonds. That left her holding a tiara, a circlet in the same style as the necklace, meant to fit in her hair.

He flicked it with a finger. ‘Have your maid look after this.’

She gazed up at him. ‘Why must I wear them? Are they family jewels? Is it some sort of tradition?’ If so, his mother hadn’t mentioned a word of it.

‘There are no family jewels. My father sold them. Twice over, if not thrice.’

‘Oh.’