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“Often. Sometimes in red silk. Sometimes in... considerably less.”
“Oh.” She pictured him whenever they weren’t together. Wearing his bedsheets and nothing more. Pulling her down into his rumpled bed.
Having his way with her.
Her body hummed with longing.
“It’s a shame you can’t have the gown made up before the musicale. It would be the perfect performance garb.”
“I’m not performing. That was only a silly wager. You won’t hold me to it.”
“A wager is a wager. I’ll have my payment. Or you’ll pay a forfeit.”
The way he gazed hungrily at her lips told her exactly what he meant by that.
“West?” Blanche stuck her head around the silks. “There you are. We’re ready to leave now.”
“Miss Beaton has agreed to have a gown made from this red silk velvet,” West said, lifting the roll of cloth.
Viola struggled to calm her wildly beating heart and wipe the guilty look from her face. Blanche didn’t seem to notice.
“How lovely! It will suit you, Miss Beaton.”
After the silk warehouse they visited the haberdashers, and then made their way to a modiste’s shop.
“I’ll leave you ladies to your fittings,” West said, lifting his hat. “I see one of my friends across the street.”
He walked away and Viola was finally able to breathe again.
“I’m going to help choose a pattern for your gown, Miss Beaton,” Belinda said.
“A simple pattern, please. I’m not a grand or a fanciful person.”
“It must have a square neckline,” said Belinda. “It will make your neck look longer. And short-capped sleeves will have the same effect for your arms.”
Viola barely paid attention as Belinda discussed the details of her gown with the modiste, and Viola was measured and a pattern was cut and pinned.
Did West truly picture her, think about her, the way she thought about him?
She was still mulling his revelation over in her mind as she moved back to the changing rooms to don her old gown.
A shop assistant pulled the curtain closed.
“Who is that woman with the Delamar sisters?” she heard a female voice ask from the next changing room over.
“Miss Viola Beaton, I believe.”
“Is she a relation? A governess?”
“Their music teacher.”
“Then why is she accompanying them shopping? And did you see? The duke bought her a length of red silk velvet. And she’s to have a new gown made up at his expense.”
“I know! She must be his mistress. There’s no other explanation.”
Viola stiffened. She didn’t recognize the voices.
“How shocking! Keeping his mistress next door to his sisters. Do you think she’s angling for a scandalously inappropriate match?”
