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Authors: Jane Feather
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should satisfy the so prudish Viscount Kierston!” She grinned, her spirits quite restored as she kicked off the britches and shrugged out of the shirt.
“Now, what are you prattling about?” Mathilde picked up the discarded clothes as they flew about the room. “If someone had the sense to take you to task for such mischief, all well and good.”
Cordelia didn’t answer. She pulled out a gown of sprig muslin. “This should do. It’s about as seductive as a haystack. Lace me, Mathilde.” She gave the woman her back, grasping the bedpost as Mathilde hauled on the laces of her corset. “Good. Thank you.” She put finger and thumb at her waist and nodded her satisfaction. “I suppose when I have babies, I shall grow the most enormous waist. Now, where are my stockings?”
Mathilde held them out wordlessly. She was accustomed to Cordelia’s whirlwind.
“Fichu,” Cordelia declared, stepping into her petticoat and gown. “I need a demure fichu that won’t show a centimeter of bosom.”
Mathilde shook her head in resignation and proffered a white cambric fichu. Cordelia fastened it at the neck of her gown. “Oh, my hair. I can’t wear this snood, it’ll give everything away.” She pulled it loose, shaking her black curls free. “Be an angel and brush it for me quickly.”
Mathilde did so, drawing the brush through the black tresses until they shone with blue lights.
“You’re a darling, Mathilde, and I don’t know what I would ever do without you.” Cordelia threw her arms around the maid’s neck and kissed her soundly. “Don’t wait up for me. I can undress myself.” She picked up her fan anddanced out of the chamber, leaving a smiling Mathilde to tidy up after the cyclone.
The sounds of music still came from the ballroom as Cordelia jumped the last two of the sweep of marble stairs rising from the entrance hall. She didn’t pause to catch her breath but hastened into the anteroom. She stopped in the doorway beneath a torch in a wall sconce and curtsied with formal deliberation.
“I trust you find nothing to object to in my costume, Lord Kierston.” She raised her eyes, and the flaming torch was reflected in the dark irises.
“I would call it a vast improvement, madame,” he replied with a cool bow.
“I have it in mind to instruct the seamstresses to fashion me one of those garments women wear in the sultan’s harems,” she said. “Something that covers every inch of my skin, with a veil over my head, so no one can see anything of me but my eyes. Would that suit you, sir? That way I could never be a temptation or—”
“Put a bridle on your tongue, Cordelia!” he interrupted, trying to hide a bubble of amusement, lowering his eyelids to conceal the glints of laughter he knew were alive in his eyes. Cordelia could cover herself in horsehair and she would still be a temptation, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Do I tempt you, my lord?” She glanced up at him with demure eyes, long black lashes fluttering in a perfect mockery of flirtation.
“Cordelia!” exclaimed Christian yet again. He’d never seen his friend behave in this manner. “Have you had too much champagne?”
She shook her head, her eyes still fixed upon the viscount. “Well, do I tempt you, my lord?”
“To many things,” he replied dampeningly. “Few of them pleasant.”
“I was only funning,” she said, although she knew she hadn’t been, but some devil inhabited her when she was inthe viscount’s company, and she couldn’t seem to help her-self. “I don’t think you have a sense of humor, sir. If you had, you wouldn’t wear that boring and unimaginative costume.”
Leo glanced at his reflection in the mirror. “What’s wrong with it?” He sounded chagrined.
“It’s dull. I would have dressed you as a Roman legionnaire instead … in a short toga and leggings, and those sandals with the crossed laces that go up to the knee. Now, that wouldn’t have been boring in the least. Oh,
“Now, what are you prattling about?” Mathilde picked up the discarded clothes as they flew about the room. “If someone had the sense to take you to task for such mischief, all well and good.”
Cordelia didn’t answer. She pulled out a gown of sprig muslin. “This should do. It’s about as seductive as a haystack. Lace me, Mathilde.” She gave the woman her back, grasping the bedpost as Mathilde hauled on the laces of her corset. “Good. Thank you.” She put finger and thumb at her waist and nodded her satisfaction. “I suppose when I have babies, I shall grow the most enormous waist. Now, where are my stockings?”
Mathilde held them out wordlessly. She was accustomed to Cordelia’s whirlwind.
“Fichu,” Cordelia declared, stepping into her petticoat and gown. “I need a demure fichu that won’t show a centimeter of bosom.”
Mathilde shook her head in resignation and proffered a white cambric fichu. Cordelia fastened it at the neck of her gown. “Oh, my hair. I can’t wear this snood, it’ll give everything away.” She pulled it loose, shaking her black curls free. “Be an angel and brush it for me quickly.”
Mathilde did so, drawing the brush through the black tresses until they shone with blue lights.
“You’re a darling, Mathilde, and I don’t know what I would ever do without you.” Cordelia threw her arms around the maid’s neck and kissed her soundly. “Don’t wait up for me. I can undress myself.” She picked up her fan anddanced out of the chamber, leaving a smiling Mathilde to tidy up after the cyclone.
The sounds of music still came from the ballroom as Cordelia jumped the last two of the sweep of marble stairs rising from the entrance hall. She didn’t pause to catch her breath but hastened into the anteroom. She stopped in the doorway beneath a torch in a wall sconce and curtsied with formal deliberation.
“I trust you find nothing to object to in my costume, Lord Kierston.” She raised her eyes, and the flaming torch was reflected in the dark irises.
“I would call it a vast improvement, madame,” he replied with a cool bow.
“I have it in mind to instruct the seamstresses to fashion me one of those garments women wear in the sultan’s harems,” she said. “Something that covers every inch of my skin, with a veil over my head, so no one can see anything of me but my eyes. Would that suit you, sir? That way I could never be a temptation or—”
“Put a bridle on your tongue, Cordelia!” he interrupted, trying to hide a bubble of amusement, lowering his eyelids to conceal the glints of laughter he knew were alive in his eyes. Cordelia could cover herself in horsehair and she would still be a temptation, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Do I tempt you, my lord?” She glanced up at him with demure eyes, long black lashes fluttering in a perfect mockery of flirtation.
“Cordelia!” exclaimed Christian yet again. He’d never seen his friend behave in this manner. “Have you had too much champagne?”
She shook her head, her eyes still fixed upon the viscount. “Well, do I tempt you, my lord?”
“To many things,” he replied dampeningly. “Few of them pleasant.”
“I was only funning,” she said, although she knew she hadn’t been, but some devil inhabited her when she was inthe viscount’s company, and she couldn’t seem to help her-self. “I don’t think you have a sense of humor, sir. If you had, you wouldn’t wear that boring and unimaginative costume.”
Leo glanced at his reflection in the mirror. “What’s wrong with it?” He sounded chagrined.
“It’s dull. I would have dressed you as a Roman legionnaire instead … in a short toga and leggings, and those sandals with the crossed laces that go up to the knee. Now, that wouldn’t have been boring in the least. Oh,
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