Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(74)
The whole dress was sinful.
Yesterday she would have decided not to wear it, afraid of what her husband would think, afraid he would be surprised, would think less of her.
Now she was not afraid. She knew he would be surprised, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing.
She rather thought he’d been surprised by her last night, and didn’t think he’d minded in the least.
Indeed, that was putting it rather mildly.
Red began to seep up her chest and onto her cheeks. Thinking about last night was heating her whole being from the toes up.
Geoffrey would be here soon. Her body tingled at the thought. Her breath caught as she thought of him seeing her in the gown … and seeing her remove it. She imagined the hot glow in his eyes—and how she would feel being examined, being watched.
He’d seen her in her chemise—would he find this different?
She pivoted again, watching how the fabric clung to her curves, outlining even the cleft of her behind. It was quite different, nothing at all like the loose chemise she wore to sleep.
Enough. If she kept thinking like this she’d either go up in flames, become a puddle on the floor, or attack her husband the moment he walked into the hall. Maybe not attack, but seduce. Or perhaps she should allow him to seduce her. Geoffrey did seem to like control, and she had to admit that she had few complaints.
No. She picked up the delicate silver mask that covered the upper half of her face and tied it into place. There was a reason she had decided they should attend the masquerade, and she would not change her mind now.
Being in public would give them the space they both needed.
Running fingers through her loose curls, she arranged them about the edges of the mask, hiding the strings that held it in place. Her hair was loose except for one small clip that held some of it high on the crown.
Should she have braided it? He’d always liked it plaited tight about her head—but then, last night …
Was she going to second-guess every decision that she made?
A simple gilded sheaf of wheat and one ripe pomegranate were all that accompanied the gown. She could not begin to wonder how a pomegranate had been procured at this time of year.
She was ready. It was a little early, but delaying would only make her more nervous.
One last look in the mirror.
Yes, the dress was decent—if only barely so.
A twist of the handle, thirteen steps down the hall, a left turn, and down the stairs. Would Geoffrey be there, waiting for her?
She was halfway down when a footman crossed the marble floor below her.
He looked up, startled by her presence. “Forgive me, my lady. I was hoping to catch you before you came down. His lordship sends his regrets. He has been delayed and will meet you at Lord Willis’s house. Do you wish me to send for the coach now?”
Geoffrey was not coming home first. It felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, or at least she imagined this was what it must feel like: hollow and empty and breathless.
Her features did not move as she continued to descend the stairs. “Yes, that would be wonderful. I will wait in the blue parlor.”
Perhaps he had a good reason for being late, a reason that had nothing to do with her.
If only she could believe that.
And if only—the thought suddenly struck her—she had any idea what her husband’s costume was. The very idea of not recognizing him again was almost more than she could bear.
Chapter Twenty-two
“She is not here.” The footman spoke firmly.
“What do you mean she is not here? I stopped by my father’s home and was told that my sister was spending the evening with the Countess Ormande. I wish to speak with either my sister or the Countess. Now.” Swanston made certain his tone betrayed his fury.
The footman paled. “I am sorry, my lord. They were here earlier, but they are not now.”
“And where did they go?”
“I do not know. Perhaps when the coachman returns he can provide the direction.”
“That is not acceptable.” Swanston took a step forward, letting his stick tap upon the marble floor.
The footman’s gulp sounded throughout the entryway.
Swanston took another step.
“I truly do not know where, my lord. But …”
“But …?” Another step.
“… they were in fancy dress.” The footman stepped back.
“Fancy dress?”
“Your sister was dressed as a fairy. She had gold sparkles in her hair, and wings. She wanted large ones but Lady Ormande recommended the smaller ones.”
Swanston was not going to inquire why there were multiple wings about. “And the Countess. What was she wearing?”
“A red dress and strange hair. I cannot exactly describe it, but she did have a crown.”
That was not helpful, but the general description was. They had to be at the Willises’; there was nowhere else fancy dress would be appropriate tonight. Damn. He could have driven over with Louisa and still found his sister.
He had not wanted to chase all over town looking for his sister. In fact, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but from the time he’d heard that she was with the Countess there had been no choice, his having been unable to forget the Countess’s last, threatening words.