Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(100)

Before she could come up with a coherent reply, she heard the twins’ vociferous chatter, and the clinking and rustling of a great number of objects being carried at once. Devon moved away from her.

“We need more baskets,” Pandora said triumphantly, entering the hall.

The twins, who were clearly having a splendid time, had adorned themselves outlandishly. Cassandra was dressed in a green opera cloak with a jeweled feather ornament affixed to her hair. Pandora had tucked a light blue lace parasol beneath one arm, and a pair of lawn tennis rackets beneath the other, and was wearing a flowery diadem headdress that had slipped partially over one eye.

“From the looks of it,” Kathleen said, “you’ve done enough shopping already.”

Cassandra looked concerned. “Oh, no, we still have at least eighty departments to visit.”

Kathleen couldn’t help glancing at Devon, who was trying, without success, to stifle a grin. It was the first time she had seen him truly smile in days.

Enthusiastically the girls lugged the baskets to her and began to set objects on the counter in an unwieldy pile… perfumed soaps, powders, pomades, stockings, books, new corset laces and racks of hairpins, artificial flowers, tins of biscuits, licorice pastilles and barley sweets, a metal mesh tea infuser, hosiery tucked in little netted bags, a set of drawing pencils, and a tiny glass bottle filled with bright red liquid.

“What is this?” Kathleen asked, picking up the bottle and viewing it suspiciously.

“It’s a beautifier,” Pandora said.

“Bloom of Rose,” Cassandra chimed in.

Kathleen gasped as she realized what it was. “It’s rouge.” She had never even held a container of rouge before. Setting it on the counter, she said firmly, “No.”

“But Kathleen —”

“No to rouge,” she said, “now and for all time.”

“We need to enhance our complexions,” Pandora protested.

“It won’t do any harm,” Cassandra chimed in. “The bottle says that Bloom of Rose is ‘delicate and inoffensive’… It’s written right there, you see?”

“The comments you would receive if you wore rouge in public would assuredly not be delicate or inoffensive. People would assume you were a fallen woman. Or worse, an actress.”

Pandora turned to Devon. “Lord Trenear, what do you think?”

“This is one of those times when it’s best for a man to avoid thinking altogether,” he said hastily.

“Bother,” Cassandra said. Reaching for a white glass pot with a gilded top, she gave it to Kathleen. “We found this for you. It’s lily pomatum, for your wrinkles.”

“I don’t have wrinkles,” Kathleen said with dawning indignation.

“Not yet,” Pandora allowed. “But someday you will.”

Devon grinned as the twins snatched their empty baskets and scurried away to continue shopping.

“When my wrinkles appear,” Kathleen said ruefully, “those two will have caused most of them.”

“That day will be a long time coming.” Looking down at her, Devon cupped her face with his hands. “But when it does, you’ll be even more beautiful.”

The skin beneath his gentle touch flamed with a blush more brilliant than potted rouge could have imparted. Desperately she tried to make herself pull away from him, but his touch had paralyzed her.

His finger slid around the back of her neck, holding her steady as his mouth sought hers. A shock of heat went through her, and she went weak, swaying as if the floor had tipped like the deck of a ship. His arm went around her, locking her against his body, and the feel of his effortless power devastated her. I’m yours, he’d once made her say in the carriage room as he had taunted her with sensual pleasure. It had been the truth. She would always be his, no matter where she went or what she did.

A soft moan of despair slipped from her throat, but his kiss absorbed every sound and breath. He feasted on her with controlled hunger, his head turning as he deepened the angle to fit their mouths together more closely. Touching her tongue with his, he enticed a response, his kiss tender and fiercely demanding. She was lost in a confusion of pleasure, her body flooded with ungoverned craving.

Without warning, Devon pulled back. She whimpered and reached for him blindly.

“Someone’s coming,” he said quietly.

Leaning against the counter for support, Kathleen fumbled to smooth her dress and tried to control her breathing.

Helen and Winterborne were returning to the rotunda. The corners of Helen’s mouth were curved upward as if they had been tacked there with pins. But something about her posture reminded Kathleen of a lost toddler being led in search of its mother.

Kathleen’s apprehensive gaze was drawn to the glitter on Helen’s left hand. Her stomach dropped, all the sensuous warmth leaving her body as she realized what it was.

A ring.

After a mere two weeks of courtship, the bastard had proposed.

Chapter 31

Dear Kathleen,

I have just returned from the Lufton farm after inquiring about the welfare of their newest resident. Please convey to all concerned parties that Hamlet is thoroughly content with his pen, which, I might add, has been constructed to the highest porcine standards. He seems enthused about keeping company with his own harem of sows. I would venture to say that a pig of simple pleasures could ask for nothing more.