A Lily Among Thorns(18)
She stared at him. “You knocked on my door after midnight to ask after my health?”
They both knew he hadn’t meant her health. “Well,” he said mildly, “I was awakened by people talking about me loudly in the next room.”
She froze. “René doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You know how the French are.”
He blinked. “I do?”
“Full of romantic notions about everything.”
God, she was impossible. He came to see how she did, even after she’d laughed at him behind his back, and still her first priority was to show she’d never once thought fondly of him. His eyes narrowed. “Since finding my family heirloom is apparently so trivial, perhaps I ought to ask for something extra in return for my help with Sacreval.”
Serena’s brows drew together. She had the most adorable frown. And she’d kill him if she knew he was thinking that. “Don’t think that just because René said I used to have a fancy for you, I’d be willing to—”
Did she really expect him to ask her to sleep with him? He sagged, making a face of theatrical disappointment. “But, Serena—”
She looked murderous. Solomon couldn’t help it: he laughed. Her frown softened at the edges.
Solomon flushed without quite knowing why. Had she had a romantic fancy about him? She’d thought about him apparently.
He had thought about her, too, at first. For those wretched, penniless four months at Cambridge, he’d thought about her every time he had to borrow a half-crown from his friends. He’d spun himself tales about her triumphant return home to lead a happy and virtuous life, trying to convince himself it had been worth it, even though he’d known it was likelier her madam had stolen every penny. He was ashamed to realize that once his penury ended and the next quarter’s allowance appeared, and Ashton and Braithwaite stopped needling him about it, he hadn’t thought about her much at all.
He had certainly never imagined this. He smiled at her. “When the Prince Regent brings his friends here for dinner on Saturday, you have to wear a gown made with fabric from my uncle’s shop.”
She looked at him, and sighed. “Solomon, this isn’t a joke.”
He almost gave in. After all, she’d had a large shock that day. But—he ran his gaze up and down her figure appraisingly, and dress patterns and color combinations started to turn ecstatic somersaults his head. It was improbable, how beautiful she was. “I’m not joking.”
“I suppose I hardly have a choice. But no red. I’m not in the mood for scarlet woman gibes.”
“Pink?” he asked hopefully, and snickered when she glared.
Serena had barely any fault to find with the gown as she tried it on early Saturday morning. The severe cut of the thin wool gave her height, and the deep apricot color made her hair and skin glow; yet neither the cloth nor the color seemed too rich for a hard-working woman of business. The long, full sleeves were gathered in three places by white ribbon covered with delicate gilt flourishes.
“Raizh your armzh,” Solomon said around a mouthful of pins. She obeyed. “Doezh it feel tight?”
“No. I think it’s a trifle loose on the left, actually.” Under pretense of eying her reflection, she watched Solomon in the full-length mirror she’d had carried into her office for the purpose. He was kneeling beside her in his shirtsleeves (which were rolled up above the elbow), a tape measure draped about his neck. There was something very charming about it.
She watched his strong hands and forearms as he pulled a few pins from between his lips. His light skin, with its downy blond hair and smattering of bright freckles, made her think of orchids dipped in honey. As he pulled the left-hand seam of the bodice tighter, one dye-stained thumb slid over the soft edge of her breast. Not quite to Serena’s surprise, her skin began to tingle pleasantly. Damn. She had been a fool to agree to this, even if her own dressmaker was too busy to do the final fitting. She shifted slightly, and to her relief he pricked her. “Ow!”
He looked up at her reprovingly over a pair of severe half-glasses that seemed at odds with his untidy yellow hair.
“And why the devil are you wearing spectacles?” she demanded. “I’ve seen you read without them.”
“Zhey make me look professional.” Serena raised a mocking eyebrow for form’s sake, but his next words echoed her thoughts eerily. “Don’t look at me like zhat. You of all people undershtand about looking professional.”