Hours later, after having been measured, put into a half-dozen readymade dresses that would be altered to fit her, draped with yardage in every color and texture imaginable, they went home. Arrangements had been made instead for the milliner and cobbler to come on the following day. It was a far cry from what she had been accustomed to. She couldn't actually recall the last time she'd had new things. Her wardrobe was sadly deficient, as she knew. Mr. Stidham had not approved of spending exorbitant, or even menial, amounts of money of what he considered to be wasteful excess.
Every gown she possessed had come from a time before her mother's marriage. Each gown had been made over, retrimmed and artfully altered by Gussy to hide its age and wear. Given the amount of clothing they had ordered, she could wear different gowns every day for a month.
"How long will we stay in London? For the entire season?"
She sounded as if she were going before a firing squad, he thought. He didn't really have any desire to stay in town for longer than was absolutely necessary, either.
"We will not stay for very long. I am not that active in the House of Lords. If I have to come back to town for a short time, I will, but I think after a few weeks of the social whirl, we can safely retire to Briarwood Park."
"Thank goodness. I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but I never really enjoyed all the parties and balls. I only went because they kept me away from home, away from my stepfather."
He understood all too well what it was like to avoid one's own home. While Elise had lived, they'd avoided one another as much as possible. “Well, he won't be bothering you anymore and I have no desire to stay in London either. The House of Lords will simply have to do without me. We will go back to Briarwood Park soon, where I can make love to you morning, noon and night—in the bath, on the bed, on the billiard table."
She laughed, “The billiard table, really?"
"The possibilities are endless."
She believed him.
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Chapter Ten
The invitations had descended upon them with ferocity. Rather than attending a ball or other entertainment on their first evening out, Rhys had elected to attend the theater. Edmond Keen was performing Hamlet, and it was sure to be well attended. Rhys had gone downstairs to have a brandy while Emme endured her toilette at Gussy's hands.
Her hair had been dressed very elaborately, piled atop her head and fastened with so many pins that Emme didn't think she would ever be able to remove them all. Delicate curls framed her face and brushed against her neck. The modiste had sent over a dress of deep, peacock blue satin. The decolletage was more daring than anything that Emme had ever worn, and was embroidered with silver scrollwork. The tiny puffed sleeves left her shoulders almost completely bare, and her stays were laced so tightly her already generous bosom threatened to spill over top of the deep, square neckline. A silver satin sash was fitted just beneath her breasts and diamonds that Rhys had presented her earlier winked at her ears.
When Emme joined Rhys in the drawing room, in spite of her misgivings about the gown, she was thrilled by his response. His dark eyes went hot when he looked at her. They raked her from head to toe and she felt the weight of that smoldering gaze. “Had I known,” he said, “that Mademoiselle Beauchamps intended to display your charms so generously, we might have gone elsewhere."
"You don't care for my gown?” she asked, accepting the glass of sherry he had poured for her.
He liked the gown well enough, and so would every other man present. The idea of other men ogling her and of her being displayed so lushly for their perusal did not sit well with him. “On the contrary, I admire it greatly. However, I fear that it may inspire me to take up my dueling pistols again when others do so."
"And if yours is the only admiration of consequence to me?"
He kissed her. It was a slow kiss, a seduction of the senses as he teased and nipped at her lips, never deepening the kiss. She could taste the brandy on his lips, but thought he was infinitely more intoxicating than the liquor.
"If we continue this,” he said, murmuring against her lips, “we won't be making it to the theater."
"Then by all means,” she said, “continue."
He chuckled, “You'll not get out of it that easy. We have to face them sometime."
He was right. She couldn't hide forever.
"Then let us go before my courage fails me entirely."
Smiling down at her, he replied, “I didn't think your courage ever failed. You are remarkable."
She blushed at such high praise. It was so far beyond what she was accustomed to. Since her mother's marriage five years earlier, she'd become more accustomed to criticism and ridicule. She disentangled herself from his embrace. It unnerved her that he could have such an effect on her, but more specifically, that she might become dependent on his positive regard. She didn't want to need him or his approval.