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Frivolous was how Olivia had described them. Helen was not certain that was an apt description. They were definitely revealing. Much more so than the billowing nightgown that covered her from head to toe and deliberately hid her form from anyone who happened to see her in it.

These gowns definitely had a purpose. It was to seduce.

Helen swallowed.

And perhaps on beautiful, shapely women with large breasts, thin waists, and rounded hips, those gowns would look enticingly appealing. On Helen, who was sickly for a few dozen days out of the year and whose skin and bones would protrude from the thin fabric of these gorgeous gowns…? Not so much.

Perhaps she should stick to her billowing gown.

Perhaps then she could fool Lord McAllistair into believing that she looked like a lady out of Renaissance paintings with soft, weighty breasts, and a lovely, rounded stomach.

She let out a defeated sigh but still ran a hand over the silky gowns. They were so soft and cool to touch that she was eager to try them on.

What would it hurt? And if she looked hideous in them, she would lock them up in her dressing room until a time came when she could gift them to someone else.

She took off her nightgown, selected a gown that seemed to have the most fabric attached to it, and put it on.

The soft, smooth material glided over her body like a gentle breeze. The cool silk calmed her mind, but the light touch against her skin ignited her senses. The skirt fell to the floor in a waterfall of silk, the chiffon layers billowing around her like clouds. She picked up the skirt and twirled this way and that, just to make it move like the waves.

Suddenly, she felt like a princess. She felt young and full of hope, like that morning when she was getting ready for her first ball.

Helen had given up on buying new, beautiful gowns a long time ago because she barely went out. But now she considered that perhaps that was a mistake.

She didn’t need anyone else to see her. Just the feeling of a smooth, silky gown against her skin had lifted her spirits.

She slowly moved toward the looking glass and peeked at her reflection. The V-shaped neckline was more revealing than she’d hoped it would be. But the frills at the edges added a nice, playful touch. She turned so she could see her back. She couldn’t see it very well, but judging by what she saw, and by the feel of the air against her skin, she could tell that the back was even more revealing than the front.

Did women truly wear these on their wedding nights?

Helen remembered her first night with Greyson. It had been dark, and she doubted he could see her very well because she couldn’t see him either.

She was so nervous. But he held her close to his body and just kissed her until she got comfortable.

“You’re my delicate flower,” he’d told her as he touched her gently, almost reverently.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. That’s not the image she needed in her mind right now.

The past had no place in her mind today.

Helen fanned her face, trying to dispel the untimely memories.

“You lived your life, Greyson,” she whispered. “Let me live mine.”

The clock struck twelve, making her jump. Her hand flew to her chest, listening to the frantic beating of her heart.

She rushed toward the bed and quickly collected all the clothes and shoved them back into her dressing closet. Frantically looking around, she threw a dressing gown over her shoulders, covering up her body once more.

Oh, Lord!

What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

Whatever she was doing, it was too late to back down. Time was up. Lord McAllistair was waiting for her in the garden.

* * *

The gate to the garden was open as promised.

Ian stepped into the garden and looked around. He’d arrived a little early. He’d wanted to see if perhaps the garden had some secret trap doors or anything that could indicate St. John’s involvement with the Shadows’ society.