Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(70)

Recalling the episode, Tasia decided it was high time to have some new gowns so striking and beautiful that Luke wouldn't be able to take his eyes from her. She interrupted Mr. Hodding's display of sketches, resting her hand lightly on his arm. “These are all very lovely,” she said. “Clearly you are a gifted designer.”

Maitland Hodding pinkened with pleasure at the compliment, staring into her cat-shaped eyes as if mesmerized. “It will be my great honor to do justice to your beauty, Lady Stokehurst.”

“I don't wish to copy anyone else, Mr. Hodding. I would like your help in creating a unique style for myself. Something more exotic than what I've seen in these sketches so far.”

Excited by the idea, Hodding motioned for an assistant to bring a fresh sketchbook. They conferred for a long time, drinking countless cups of tea. Luke soon tired of the delicately perfumed atmosphere of the shop and the tedious details of fabric and design. He drew Tasia aside for a private conversation. “Will you be all right if I leave for a while?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, certainly,” she replied. “We'll be busy for hours yet.”

“You won't be afraid?”

Tasia was touched by his concern for her safety. Luke understood how afraid she was of being found by Nikolas. He saw to it that she was never left alone in public. Their home was well-protected by fences and locks, and the servants had been given thorough instructions concerning any strangers who might come to the villa's gates. On the occasions when Tasia wished to pay a call to someone, she was accompanied by two footmen and an armed driver. Most important, she continued to maintain her ruse as Karen Billings. Everyone except Emma and the Ashbournes believed her to be a former governess who had been fortunate enough to marry a Stokehurst. Tasia knew that after these precautions, it would be unreasonable for her to worry about Nikolas Angelovsky…and yet the secret fear was always in the back of her mind.

She looked up at her husband with a smile. “I'll be perfectly safe here. Go, and don't worry about me.”

Luke bent to kiss her forehead. “I'll be back soon.”

After Tasia and Mr. Hodding had come to several mutually satisfactory agreements, they found themselves half-buried in a mountain of silk, velvet, merino, and poplin. Mr. Hodding paused to regard Tasia with frank admiration. “Lady Stokehurst, I have little doubt that when you wear these designs, every woman in London will want to emulate you.”

Tasia smiled as he helped her to her feet. It had been so long since she had worn a beautiful dress. She would dearly love to burn the black gown she was wearing. “Mr. Hodding,” she asked, “is there a day dress already made in the shop that I might take away with me this afternoon?”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose I could manage something along the lines of a simple blouse and skirt.”

“I would be very grateful,” Tasia said.

One of the female assistants, a petite blond named Gaby, brought Tasia to a back room lined with ornately framed mirrors that multiplied her reflection into infinity. She helped Tasia change into a wine-red skirt and a high-necked white blouse with a fall of snowy lace down the front. There was an ivory jacket-bodice that fit over the blouse, its long hem forming a slim overskirt. Delighted, Tasia fingered the delicate embroidery of pink flowers and green leaves around the sleeves of the jacket. “It's lovely,” she exclaimed. “Please have this put on my account.”

Gaby stared at her admiringly. “There's not many who have the figure for it. Only a woman as slender as you could wear it well. But the waist of the skirt is too loose. If you'll wait, my lady, I'll bring a needle and stitch it, in the twitch of a cat's tail.” She left Tasia alone in the room and closed the door behind her.

Tasia swished the skirts and turned in a circle, admiring the flowing red fabric. She could see herself from every angle in the parade of mirrors around her. The ensemble was jaunty and stylish, far more sophisticated than the girlish dresses the had worn in Russia. She wondered what Luke would say when he saw her, and laughed excitedly at the thought. Pausing in the middle of the room, she fluffed the lace of the blouse and smoothed the ivory silk jacket in feminine preening.

A shadow moved behind her. Tasia's smile faded as a chill swept over her skin. She stood there surrounded by reflections within reflections, flags of red and ivory, dozens of wide, staring eyes. Her own eyes. A dark form moved in and out of the images, coming closer. It couldn't be real…but suddenly she was frightened. Her ears rang with a high-pitched tone. She was paralyzed, trapped inside the kaleidoscope, while her lungs labored to draw in enough air…not enough air…

There was a touch at her elbow. A man turned her to face him. She stared into Mikhail Angelovsky's grinning death-face, his yellow eyes locked with hers. Blood streamed from his throat and lips as he mouthed her name. “Tasia…”

She gave a sharp cry and twisted in his hold. Somewhere in the careening room, there was a third presence. They formed a macabre triangle of death, the three of them trapped in a room of red and gold, the scene repeating over and over…Tasia covered her face with her hands. “No,” she whimpered. “Go away, go away—”

“Look at me, Tasia.”

It was her husband's voice she heard. Her body gave a jerk, as if she had been touched by an electric current. Trembling, she looked up at him. The noise in her ears receded.