‘Try it on,’ said Concha.
‘All right.’
Elena took off her muslin dress and allowed Concha to help her into the ball gown. Then she crossed to the cheval glass, surveying her reflection critically. The woman who stared back was almost a stranger.
‘I’ve had some pretty dresses in the past,’ she said, ‘but never anything as fine as this.’
‘You look like a princess.’
‘Thank you.’ Elena turned, examining the gown from different angles. ‘It does look well, doesn’t it?’
‘I think you will draw all eyes.’
There was only one pair of eyes that Elena wished to draw. Having made her a most generous gift, would Harry approve the result? There was only one way to find out. Her gaze met Concha’s in the glass.
‘I think I should start getting ready.’
The maid nodded. ‘I’ve already requested hot water for your bath.’
When Elena had bathed she sat at the dressing table while her hair was arranged in a stylish knot. Soft curls framed her face. Two judiciously placed silver combs completed the effect. Then she applied a light touch of colour to her cheeks and lips before donning the gown. It fitted to perfection and, as she had envisaged, flattered the line of her figure and enhanced its curves. She turned this way and that before the mirror, studying the effect with a critical eye. Then she nodded.
‘It looks well.’
Concha smiled. ‘You look beautiful. You’ll break a few hearts tonight, Doña Elena.’
Elena reflected sadly that there was only one heart that interested her now. Whether it was in her power to capture it was another matter. She slid her feet into white satin slippers and dabbed on some perfume before looping the fan over her wrist. Then she glanced at the clock.
‘It’s time to go.’ She gave Concha’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘I imagine we’ll be late back so don’t wait up.’
‘Have a wonderful evening.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
With that Elena summoned up the remains of courage and went to the parlour to look for Harry.
Having a shrewd idea of the length and complexity of the female toilette on such occasions, Harry had tactfully organised a separate room in which to get ready for the ball. He had bathed and then shaved. In the meantime, Jack had performed wonders with creased clothing so that no wrinkle now marred the elegant costume. A critical look in the mirror confirmed that it would pass muster. Then, having readied himself, Harry retreated to the parlour to wait.
In a part of his mind he wondered whether he hadn’t made a grave mistake in committing himself and Elena to this event. Yet, in spite of everything, he found himself looking forward to dancing with her. Whether she would feel the same was another matter. Since that fateful conversation they had been almost like strangers, behaving towards each other with cool civility. He didn’t intend to let it become a habit.
Hearing the door open, he turned round, anticipating Elena’s arrival. What he hadn’t anticipated was the effect it might have. In spite of the weeks they had been together it was like seeing her for the first time. For a moment or two he could only stare, and his tongue seemed to have lost contact with his brain. With an effort he recovered himself.
‘You look stunning.’ Immediately he thought the words sounded lame. She was gorgeous and he knew that every other man present tonight was going to think so too. For an instant Villanueva’s image impinged on his thoughts. He pushed it aside. Others could look their fill, but she belonged to him. The realisation made him feel both proud and protective.
There could be no doubting the sincerity of his initial response to her entrance. Feeling a little more encouraged, Elena turned slowly to let him see the new gown to full advantage.
‘The seamstress has done a fine job, no?’
‘She certainly has.’ He decided that every last penny of the cost had been worth it. ‘Although I can’t help feeling that you show off the gown to advantage rather than the other way around.’
‘It’s an improvement on breeches and boots, I think.’
‘A vast improvement,’ he agreed.
The admiration in his eyes created a glow of pleasure deep inside. Moreover, she was supremely conscious of how well formal evening dress became him, enhancing every line of that lithe and virile form. He looked every inch the nobleman he was. His attention was also deeply disconcerting.
To conceal her inner trepidation, Elena made to adjust her shawl. He stepped forward at once.
‘Allow me.’
He draped the fabric carefully across her shoulders. As he did so his fingers brushed the bare skin at the back of her neck, a light and possibly unintended gesture that sent a frisson down her spine. Then he stepped back and offered her his arm.