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She was going to have to go out and fetch the stupid dress, but first she’d have to put on the blue one. She picked up her corset, one of Madame Mimi’s finest creations. Thank God she’d had her design one with the hooks and laces on the front. She’d had Gertie as a maid at the time, but she hated being at the mercy of anyone, and she wanted to be able to get dressed and undressed on her own if need be. She’d had no idea how soon that would be the case.
She cinched herself in, so angry with herself that she tightened it past the point of pain, so that she had to catch her breath. While working she’d been leaving a little space to breathe, but not today. She yanked at the ribbons and fastened them, then moved over to fetch the bunched up blue dress from its ignominious heap in the corner with the other laundry. She hated the dress—she and Bryony had retailored it so she could put it on by herself, but it required squirming and shifting to get it to sit right. She started to pull it over her head when she heard the sound of footsteps on the narrow attic stairs and she panicked, the hooks from the dress caught in her hair. She struggled desperately, making the tangle only worse, when she felt strong hands catch her wrists over head. Strong hands, with rough skin, and she knew who it was. Of course. Life couldn’t get much worse.
It had been quite a way to start a morning, Luca had thought, leaning against the brick wall that enclosed the garden. He’d been talking with Billy, about to ask his opinion of the cuckoo in his nest, when the attic window had opened and she herself had appeared, some dark cloth in her hand.
She was wearing absolutely nothing. Or close to it. A thin cotton shift that was damp in places, and he could clearly see her breasts beneath it, the darkness of her nipples, and he groaned softly.
“What’s she doing?” Billy had asked, unmoved by this glorious display of feminine treasures.
It didn’t matter that Billy had no interest in the female form—for some reason Luca didn’t like him looking. “Go back inside,” he said. “I’ll come by and talk to you later.”
Billy had looked from him to the girl and back again, and Luca expected some ribald joke. The fact that Billy said nothing was even more disturbing. Billy was always ready to mock the women who tended to cluster around Luca, but for some reason Miss Madeleine Russell seemed off-limits.
So Luca had leaned back against the wall and enjoyed the view. She had no idea she was being watched, and her long, dark hair hung down around her as she shook the dark object. It was an inspiring display for the first thing in the morning, watching the movement of her breasts beneath the thin cloth, the way her dark hair rippled in the morning breeze. How would she look aboard a ship, her hair long and loose and tossed in the sea wind? A ridiculous thought—he never brought women on board with him.
When she finally realized she had an audience he was almost disappointed, until she dropped what she’d been holding and it had floated down, landing at his feet. It was unmistakably a dress. She’d already retreated, slamming the window behind her, and he laughed. Life was hard, full of bad luck and challenges, but on rare occasions things just fell his way. Like the dress of the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about, the woman who had invaded his household in some misguided attempt to blame him for her father’s crimes.
He picked it up and shook it. It smelled like her. Odd, that he would know her scent already. It was lavender, mixed with lemon wax and lye soap. If she weren’t working hard for doubtless the first time in her life, she’d probably smell of perfumes and powder. He preferred this scent.
He folded the dress over his arm and started back toward the house. The sunrise had been a glorious thing, in shades of red and pink, a clear warning of stormy weather on the horizon. He’d never been afraid of a little bad weather—in fact, he loved the challenge of it. A perfect day to go sailing.
There was no sign of the Croziers in the kitchen. Gwendolyn would be shocked he’d entered that way, but it was the most direct route to the servants’ staircase. He took the narrow steps two at a time, hoping to reach her while she was still in her shift. What he found at the top of the stairs was even better.
Maddy Rose was trapped in a dusty blue dress, her arms overhead as she tried to wriggle into it. He could pull her into his arms; he could do anything he wanted to her. It was tempting, but he’d much rather have her be a willing participant if she were going to be tied up.
He caught her wrists as she flailed. “Stop struggling,” he said. “You’re only making it worse.”
“What the hell are you doing in my room?” she demanded furiously, her voice muffled by the folds of cloth.
“That’s ‘what the hell are you doing in my room, sir,’?” he corrected her. “Since you were dangling out the window in your undergarments and flinging your clothes at me I presumed you wanted me to visit.”
The sounds she was making from inside the dress were unintelligible, which was a shame. They were sounding impressively profane, and he wondered just how far her bad language went. That was one of the things he liked about her, he thought. Her very unlady-like cursing was almost as delectable as those soft breasts that had been on partial display this morning.
“Just hold still,” he said, tightening his grip as she kept fighting him. “You’ve got your hair caught on the fastenings, and the dress is twisted around backwards. Behave yourself and I’ll get you out of it.”
Her response was derisive and unintelligible, and he was glad she couldn’t see his grin. Her dark, silky hair was wrapped around the jet buttons, and he carefully unwound it, the curls slipping through his fingers. He’d forgotten how much he loved dark hair. Cats were all gray in the dark, but he preferred women you could see in the daylight as well, talk with, banter with. Gwendolyn wasn’t much for banter, and he knew women well enough—too well, Billy would say—to know that her hair would be fine and straight when let out of its elaborate arrangements, not this luxuriant mass of curls.
Madeleine Russell couldn’t keep her thick dark hair under control, no matter how hard she tried. He released one strand, and then another.
“Just tear the hair,” she muttered from within her fabric prison.
“Now that would be a tragedy,” he said lightly. The last piece was free, and before she could realize what he was doing he’d grasped the heavy dress at the sides and pulled it down. He was holding her at the waist, the dress open down the front so that all he could see was a combination of ribbon and lace, until she shoved him away, stepped back, and pulled the dress around her. It was a mess, he realized belatedly. There was mud along the hem, splotches of dirt all over it, and a tear in one sleeve. He remembered how that sleeve had gotten torn—the brute who’d been holding onto her in the alleyway had done it.
He’d viewed that encounter with detachment at the time, and he’d kissed her because he’d been in such a foul, frustrated mood. He wasn’t nearly as sanguine looking back on it, and some illogical part of him wanted to track down the three men who’d tried to hurt her and beat them bloody. Which was simply madness on his part.
But then, Miss Madeleine Rose Russell, his own Maddy Rose, tended to make him completely insane.
He wanted to kiss her again. She was watching warily, as if she fully expected him to, but he’d never enjoyed doing the expected. He stepped back, releasing her, and had to resist smiling as he saw the crestfallen expression flash in her eyes.
She started busily buttoning the front of her dress, a damned shame. “Thank you, sir. You’re very kind. I should be down in five minutes.”
“Are you dismissing me, Mary?” he drawled.
Faint color stained her cheeks. “I can think of no reason why you’d wish to stay in the servants’ quarters,” she said primly.
Ah, she opened herself up for that one. “Can’t you? You show an alarming lack of imagination. Have you forgotten last night so quickly?”
The flush deepened, but she remained obdurate. She really was practically fearless, he thought. She would have made an excellent pirate queen, one of those lege
