Sally MacKenzie Bundle (232 page)

“Anne,” Evie said quietly, “are you certain you don’t want to look at Madam Celeste’s drawings? Her dresses are wonderful—nothing like the plain old things Mrs. Waddingly makes up.”

“No. I’m sure madam and Mr. Parker-Roth know what is fashionable.” Since she was such a stick, it wouldn’t matter what they hung on her frame. She would still look like a boy in his older sister’s dress.

Evie cleared her throat hesitantly. “I never liked to say it, but I do believe the clothing you wore at home . . . that is, I think Mrs. Waddingly does not know how to make dresses that compliment your figure.”

“That’s because I don’t have a figure, Evie.” Anne did not begrudge her sister her curves, but she would admit to a small pang of jealousy in the present circumstances. Any dress would look lovely on Evie.

“That’s not true at all. You are just thinner than many women.”

“Mmm.” She hadn’t been quite so thin ten years ago—she’d still had a bit of baby fat—but she’d never been voluptuous. Why had Brentwood singled her out—a skinny, red-headed, bespectacled, awkward miss?

He must have been bored or there must have been a wager involved. That was all she could surmise from the many times she’d pondered the matter.

“Here, Anne, let’s see how this color looks on you.” Mr. Parker-Roth had concluded his discussions with Madam Celeste and now had a swatch of reddish cloth dangling from his fingers. That jolted her out of her reverie. She gaped at him.

“Are you blind?” How could he overlook the mass of red curls on her head? “I can’t wear red.”

“Let’s see if you can or not.” He held out his other hand to help her up. “Come stand before Celeste’s mirror and we’ll see what colors become you.”

“Brown.” Though she couldn’t really say brown became her; it just didn’t call attention to her. Her dreadful hair did that well enough. “Mrs. Waddingly always made my dresses in brown.”

Madam Celeste smacked her hand hard against the tabletop and Anne jumped.

“Mon dieu! This Madam Waddingly is an imbecile of the first order—and blind aussi. She should not be permitted to make the dresses—or even to own a thimble.” Madam Celeste pointed an accusing finger at Anne’s frock. “That . . . thing—bah!” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “It is the color of mud—non, of horse dung. I would not let a
dog
wear it.”

Mr. Parker-Roth raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a pleasant shade, I’ll grant you that. As soon as your new dresses arrive, Anne, you must burn it and all the other things this misguided Mrs. Waddingly made for you.” He grinned. “I’ll help, and I daresay Evie and the boys will as well. What do you say, Evie?”

“Oh, yes—I’ll be delighted to set fire to Anne’s old wardrobe. And I will gather all the things for the bonfire if Anne is hesitant to do so.”

“I am not going to burn the clothes Mrs. Waddingly made,” Anne said, frowning at Mr. Parker-Roth as she stepped in front of the mirror. “What a shocking waste of money that would be.”

Madam Celeste grunted and muttered something under her breath. The only words Anne could discern were “monsieur” and “naked.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Parker-Roth said, a bit more loudly than necessary. He stood behind Anne and smiled reassuringly at her in the mirror—only she didn’t feel precisely reassured. She stepped back—and bumped into his hard body.

He glanced over his shoulder at Madam Celeste. “Why don’t you take Lady Evangeline back to get her measurements?”

Madam Celeste’s answering smile was not reassuring at all. “An excellent idea, monsieur. You will help Lady Anne choose colors while we are gone.”

“Just so. I’m sure it will take us a while, so don’t hurry back.”

Madam Celeste’s smile broadened. “Oui, mademoiselle and I, we shall have much to do with the measuring and the pinning.” And she winked at him.

What exactly was Mr. Parker-Roth planning? “I’m sure I should go with Evie. I—”

Madam Celeste shook her head so briskly her gray hair floated about her head. “Mais non, Lady Anne. Mademoiselle and I do not need you, do we, mademoiselle ?”

Evie’s eyes were far too full of mischief. “Of course not. We’ve already selected some styles and colors, Anne. How can you help with the measurements?”

“Nevertheless, I should be with you.” Mr. Parker-Roth’s hand was now on her elbow. His fingers held her gently; his thumb stroked little circles on the inside of her arm. She could smell his cologne.

“Do not be silly,” Madam Celeste said, standing and gesturing for Evie to precede her to the dressing room in the back. “You will be most in the way.” She looked over at her assistant, who’d been straightening ribbons and other trimmings. “Betty, come with us, s’il vous plait.”

“Yes, madam.” Betty flashed Anne a knowing smile as she ducked through the door behind Evie and Madam Celeste.

Anne bit her bottom lip. Damn it, she and Mr. Parker-Roth were completely alone now and likely to be that way for the next little while unless a new customer entered.

Her stomach fluttered in an uncomfortable manner. Is this how a mouse felt when cornered by a cat? She certainly was trembling like a frightened mouse.

No, that wasn’t true—she wasn’t frightened. She was . . . excited. If she were a mouse, she most ardently wished to be caught.

Stupid! All Mr. Parker-Roth need do was stand close to her, and her resolution and common sense fled. “I really should go back with Evie.”

His lips turned up slightly. They were very nice lips, narrow and firm, not wet and thick like Brentwood’s.

“You really shouldn’t.” His voice stirred the tendrils of hair that had got loose over her ear. “You will disappoint everyone—Evie, Madam Celeste, Betty”—he slid his hand up her arm—“me.”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Was he seducing her? One would think she would know seduction, but this was a completely different experience than her unpleasant encounter with Lord Brentwood.

Mr. Parker-Roth did not utter a word to persuade her into sin—he didn’t have to. He just stood there behind her, his thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles on her arm, as if he had all day, as if there was nothing more he wished to do with her than stand close and touch her.

She drew in a deep, shuddery breath. His scent and his heat were everywhere. Her small breasts felt swollen, and she ached low in her belly—lower even. Her knees threatened to give out. She wobbled slightly and Mr. Parker-Roth’s—Stephen’s—arm came around her waist to steady her.

He drew her back against him. She felt his hard form from her shoulders to her bottom.

“Look in the mirror, Anne,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her earlobe.

She saw their reflection. Dear heavens! She appeared completely wanton, sprawled back against him, her mouth open, her cheeks flushed. She shut her eyes immediately. “Oh, I—”

“Mmm, you smell good.” He kissed a spot just under her ear, sending a shiver cascading through her, and, hussy that she was, she tilted her head to bare a little more of her neck.

She felt him smile against her skin; then his lips wandered slowly down her jaw. Would he kiss her mouth if she turned her head?

No. He stopped at her cheek. “Temptress,” he said.

That was a bucket of cold water. Brentwood had said the same thing, right before he . . .

She straightened and glared at him. “I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His eyebrows shot up. He was so close she could trace them with her finger—but of course she would never do such a shocking thing. “I’m not being ridiculous. This is the third time you’ve tempted me into improper behavior.”

The third time? “No, I—” There had been the first disastrous event that Lady Dunlee witnessed and then the incident in the harem room and now . . . “You were drunk before.” She sniffed his breath. “Are you drunk still?”

“Of course not. And I’ll let you know I do not make a practice of kissing well-bred young women even when I’m in my cups.”

“I’m
not
young.”

“You’re younger than I am.”

They stared at each other for what felt like a full minute; then Mr. Parker-Roth grinned and kissed her on the nose. “We can argue about this later—I look forward to it—but we do need to attend to selecting colors, Anne. Evie and the others will not stay in the fitting room forever.”

“Well, of course not. And there’s no need to bother with that red—oh.”

Mr. Parker-Roth draped the fabric across her bodice, covering the brown. She blinked. Something about the color made her skin glow. The change was remarkable.

“And what of this?” He substituted a deep green swatch that almost matched her eyes.

“It
is
rather nice.” And it would be lovely, if she could wear it in a room by herself. “But won’t I stand out in colors so . . . dramatic?”

He grinned and tweaked one of her curls again. “Anne, you will stand out no matter what you wear.” His eyes grew serious. “You must stop trying to hide your light under a bushel.”

“What light?” She made a face at herself in the mirror. “You forget—Evie is the beauty; I’m the bluestocking.”

“Hey.” He turned her and tilted her chin up so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “None of that.” His lips pulled slowly into a smile. “I’m not aware of any law that states bluestockings can’t be beautiful, but if there is one, I’m afraid you’ve broken it.”

“Don’t be—”

Stephen’s mouth covered hers, taking her words and her breath away.

She found she didn’t care. She was much more interested in how his lips moved over hers, how they urged her to open for him, how his tongue slid into her mouth, filling her yet making her hungry for more.

He broke the kiss off too soon; she moaned a little in protest.

“Shh, love,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers, “we are about to have company.”

“What?”
Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled away from him. She looked around; Madam Celeste was standing in the doorway to the dressing room area, laughing.

“Oh, monsieur, you must save your lovemaking for a place more private. What will mademoiselle think of such carryings on by her sister?”

Stephen took Anne’s hand and tugged her to stand next to him. “She will think the truth, won’t you, Evie? That I am head over heels for Lady Anne.” He pressed a kiss to Anne’s palm. “And now I believe Lady Anne is ready for you to take her measurements, madam. Come sit with me, Lady Evangeline, while we wait.”

“But . . .” There would be no hiding her meager proportions in Madam Celeste’s fitting room.

“Come.” Madam Celeste stepped aside and gestured for Anne to go first, probably so she couldn’t turn tail and flee. “We will free you from that drab cocoon and turn you into the butterfly, oui?”

If only that were possible. Anne looked at Mr. Parker-Roth and Evie. They both made shooing motions, urging her to go off with Madam Celeste.

Ah well, it was clear she had no choice in the matter. She’d have to submit to Madam Celeste’s transformative abilities, even if she emerged only a rather ungainly moth.

She took a sustaining breath and led the way back to the dressing room.

Chapter 5

“Will Madam Celeste really be able to get a ball gown made by tonight?” Evie flushed and looked at Anne. “I mean two ball gowns, of course.”

“I told her to do yours first, Evie,” Anne said as they climbed the steps to Crane House. “I can wear one of my old dresses.”

“No, you can’t.” Evie looked at Stephen. “You won’t let her do that, will you?”

“Of course not. There is no need to worry, however. Celeste will have gowns done with time to spare. She is extremely gifted and has exceptionally talented assistants.”

He reached for the doorknob, but before his fingers could close around it, the portal was flung open and a very untidy looking butler was revealed on the threshold. His cravat was askew and his hair was disarranged as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“Hobbes,” Anne said, alarm clear in her voice, “whatever is the matter?”

“Oh, my lady, I—” Hobbes tried to assume a stoic, butler-ish demeanor, but failed miserably. He wrung his hands. “The young gentlemen have gone missing.”

“Gone missing?! What do you mean, ‘gone missing’?” Anne asked sharply, pushing her way past the luckless butler and looking around the entry as if the boys might be hiding under a table or behind a chair. “Where could they have gone?”

“I don’t know, my lady.” Hobbes looked at Stephen like a drowning man going down for the third time.

“You don’t
know
?” It was a wonder Anne didn’t grab Hobbes by the neck. The man clearly feared such action; he stepped back out of reach.

“Anne, if Hobbes knew where the boys were, they wouldn’t be missing.” Giving the man an apoplexy wasn’t going to help matters.

Anne looked as if she wished to tear Stephen’s head from his shoulders. “I know that, damn it.” Tears filled her eyes.

“Anne, this is London,” Evie began, “I can’t think—”

Anne cut her sister off. “Exactly. This is London where all manner of villains live. It is not the country. The boys know their way around the country, and everyone knows them. But here—they may be trapped in a narrow alley by a gang of thieves at this very moment.”

It looked as if everyone, including Hobbes, was going to cry.

“Anne, we are in Mayfair, not Seven Dials. I don’t believe we need fear for the boys’ safety.” Stephen turned to Hobbes. “When did you discover them missing?”

“About ten minutes ago, sir. And I should say the dog is missing as well.”

“Ah, there’s your answer,” Stephen said, looking at Anne. “The boys took Harry for a walk.”

“But wasn’t one of the footmen supposed to do that?” Anne asked Hobbes. It didn’t bode well for whichever hapless footman had failed in his duty.

“Yes, my lady. However, Miss Strange wished some furniture rearranged. Charles, a very responsible lad I must say, let the dog out into the back garden, but the animal was not content there. Lord Rutledge and his brother said they would take it to the park in the square, and Miss Strange agreed.”

“Where
is
Cousin Clorinda?” Evie asked.

“She went to visit Lady Brentwood, my lady, shortly before the young men went missing.”