Treacherous Temptations(39)

“My lady,” he addressed the countess, “perhaps we will encounter one another this evening after all.” Hadley took his leave with a final whispered word to Mary. “Until later, my sweet, when I fully intend to claim the kiss you deny me.”

…

Mary had not anticipated seeing him. It was the first time they had encountered one another since Richmond, and though she tried so very hard to suppress it, the mere sight of Lord Hadley still made her throat tighten and her stomach flutter. She had halted a few steps into the room, unable to move or to breathe. Dizziness ensued from lack of air—or perhaps it was just the way he looked at her.

Their exchange was agonizing but thankfully brief. She had even managed to settle her racing pulse…until he had spoken of kisses. The reminder of their dalliance, for she knew that’s all it was to him, filled her with unbidden yearnings that sent a pool of heat between her thighs. Yet she swore she would never allow him another liberty, or betray to him how he had devastated her.

After he left, Mary steeled herself to face the countess’ inspection. Lady Blanchard was gowned in violet silk embroidered ornately with silver thread, a striking contrast to her dramatic coloring. She wore diamonds at her throat and wrists, and her hair was powdered and dressed elaborately with diamond-encrusted combs. She was altogether stunning, leaving Mary to wonder how Lord Hadley had even noticed her in the presence of such dazzling beauty.

Although Mary had left her rooms with a new confidence in her appearance, it vanished under Lady Blanchard’s scrutiny. With agonizing self-awareness, Mary practiced her mincing little steps and executed her best effort at a courtly curtsey, but in the panniers she was unaccustomed to wearing, her movements felt ungainly rather than graceful.

The countess cocked her head and raked Mary with a critical gaze that left her feeling as if she were only masquerading in borrowed finery. “No, my dear. I’m afraid you will not do at all.”

Mary’s hopeful smile evaporated. “B-but what is wrong?”

“I should never have trusted that Jenny creature. You are attending the opera, not a picnic in the park! You must be fit to be presented to the king and queen, should they deign to acknowledge you. Come now. Quickly. There is little time! Sir Richard will be here in less than an hour.” She sat Mary before her dressing table “Nanette!” she clapped her hands. “Tout de suite, les ciseaux!?

Nanette appeared with a befuddled look. ?Les ciseaux? Pourquoi madame??

The countess smiled. “Pour couper les cheveux.”

Nanette returned with a large pair of scissors.

?Les couper à la mouton,? Lady Blanchard commanded.

Mary’s eyes grew wide in horror. ?Mouton? Mutton, my lady? You don’t intend to—”

The countess gave her a placating smile. “With so little time, there is really no other way to tame that unruly mass on your head.”

“But my lady— Mary was stunned into silence when the first chunks of red curls fell into her lap.

“La! Don’t fret so child,” the countess laughed. “For I have such a lovely wig for you to wear.”

Overcome with shock and powerless to resist their combined efforts, Mary sat lifelessly as the hair that she had once despised fell in curly clumps about her feet, only to be replaced by an elaborate monstrosity fabricated of white horse hair. Nanette then painted, rouged, and patched her face.

When finished, Mary stared in horrified dismay at the image that greeted her, unable to recognize her own visage beneath the mask of white and red.

Feeling as if she were sleepwalking through some horrific nightmare, she descended for supper, pausing at the threshold to the drawing room, where Sir Richard and the countess were engrossed in conversation. Sir Richard retrieved a paper from his breast pocket and handed it to the countess.

“What is this?” the countess asked.

“The guest list,” he replied. “I intend to give a dinner party Thursday next and you shall preside as my hostess.”

Barbara glanced down at the list and then rolled her eyes. “You know how I despise political dinners.”

When they didn’t immediately notice her, Mary waited to be acknowledged for fear of breaking protocol, but what she heard next sent any remaining color leaching from her powdered and painted face.

“You misapprehend, my dear. My purpose is to introduce my charming ward to the most powerful, influential, and most importantly, unwed men in the government. On that list are ten of London’s most eligible bachelors, all of whom are in dire need of financial bolstering. Following our intimate dinner, the negotiations shall commence.”

So soon? Mary had known it was coming but the reality washed her in a wave of panic.

“You have not the least subtlety, Sir Richard,” Barbara chided. “But I suppose it’s no matter to me if you intend to auction her off like so much livestock.”

Sir Richard chuckled. “How you women always sensationalize everything. No, it shall be very civilized indeed.”

“But Lord Wycherley? Everyone knows his preference for young boys! And Lord Northcott is sixty, if a day!” she scoffed.

“Nevertheless, he has outlived all his progeny and aspires to produce another heir.”

“Barnesley?” Her gaze narrowed. “Has the “bad baron” also thrown his hat in the ring? As I recall his first wife died under somewhat…unusual…circumstances.”