Page 44 of Save Me

“What?” I look at him in confusion. “What for?”

“To change, of course.” He points to the dress. I stare at him and then at James, who is trying, with limited success, to suppress a laugh. It’s only then that I realize what the two of them are expecting of me.

“No, no way!” I say in a panicked voice. I was meant toarrangethe costumes. There was no mention of wearing them.

“Did you think I was the only one going back in time? Nochance.” James reaches out to me with the stick and taps me a little too hard on the shin. “So if you would have the goodness to get changed…”

“A true gentleman would never hit a lady with a stick, Mr. Beaufort,” Tristan reproves him.

James snorts. “Ruby is no lady, Tristan. She’s a tyrant.”

“You haven’t even seen my tyrannical side yet. But I’m happy to show you.” I narrow my eyes at James. “You don’t happen to have another of those sticks, do you, Tristan?”

“I’m afraid not. But you won’t need any such thing once you’re wearing this wonderful dress. Come along,” says Tristan, looking so hopeful that I no longer have the heart to fight back. I follow him behind the screen; he disappears and returns a moment later with a woman he introduces as his assistant. She helps me put on the bodice and skirt. It soon becomes clear that I could never have managed it alone. Just doing up the array of tiny hooks and eyes is an art in itself, never mind the fact that both garments have metal boning inside them. I have to twist and squirm to get them over my head and hips. Once I’m fully dressed, the hem of the dress is so huge that I barely fit into the small area between the screen and the wall.

“Ready, boss,” Tristan’s assistant calls out, and he rejoins us. At the sight of me, he claps his hands in delight, and his face lights up. “Beautiful! Now for a few last finishing touches…” As if from nowhere, he conjures up a hair clip and steps behind me. By the feel of things, he gathers up the top section of my hair, pulls it back, and fastens it with the clip. Then he comes to stand in front of me again and tweaks at a few more strands until a satisfied expression spreads over his face. After that, I’m finally allowed to turn around to the mirror on the wall behind me.

I catch my breath.

I never knew that I could look like this. Quite apart from the fact that the dress clings to my curves as though it was made for me, I get the feeling that I could be channeling the spirit of the lady who once wore it. I feel beautiful, powerful, and strong. As if the whole world lay at my feet and I could have anything I wanted just at a click of my fingers. I turn slowly to Tristan and smile.

“Thank you for forcing me to put the dress on.”

He sketches a bow. “Mr. Beaufort,” he says solemnly, “may I present Miss Bell?”

Cautiously, I set myself in motion. One step, two steps, around the screen, four steps, five steps…until I stop and dare to look up.

James is chatting with Tristan’s assistant, but when he sees me, he breaks off in mid-sentence. His eyebrows shoot up, his lips part slightly. He studies me from top to toe, as if he had all the time in the world, and I swallow hard.

Then he murmurs something I don’t quite catch.

“What?”

He clears his throat. “You…look very lovely.”

My heart skips a beat. It’s not the first time I’ve had a compliment from a boy, but it feels like it. I don’t think James says anything like that very often either. His words sound…honest. And unmasked.

“It’s as though the dress was made for her,” Tristan agrees. He pushes me a little closer to James, then whips out his phone. “Now, please look at me as though you’re a nineteenth-century lady and gentleman.”

Beside me, James snorts almost inaudibly, but when I risk a glance at him, he’s facing the camera as though he’s done this all his life. I remember the pictures that went around Maxton Halllast year. He and Lydia were modeling their parents’ new collection with exactly the same perfectly trained poker face. I turn toward Tristan and try to look elegant and serious. I don’t know if I’m doing it right, but he takes photo after photo.

“Now, new pose,” he demands after a few minutes. “Bow and hold out your hand to her, so that it looks as though you’re inviting her to dance,” he suggests.

James follows his instructions like a pro. I doubt many eighteen-year-old boys could bow as elegantly as him—with or without the costume. But James seems to be taking this perfectly seriously. I’m surprised when he suddenly takes my hand and looks up at me. His skin is warm, and although he’s barely touching my fingers, a tingle shoots right up my arm.

Now that he’s looking at me like that, I can imagine it perfectly. A ballroom full of people in evening dress, tasteful orchestral music, James and me. His hand on my back, leading me across the parquet floor. I’m sure he knows how to move. I can easily imagine letting him lead the dance and just letting go.

I gulp dryly. That’s a more pleasant thought than it should be.

“Maybe another picture, with you two face-to-face?” says Tristan, and James straightens up. The silk square in his pocket has slipped slightly, and I automatically reach out to adjust it.

Something flashes in James’s eyes. Hastily, I snatch my hand away—and suddenly I don’t know what to do with my arms, just let them hang limp at my sides.

Then James takes my hand again. His other hand is on my waist, and I hold my breath. My heart starts racing, and I don’t know why, but it feels so good to be touched by him. At that moment, I can’t even remember why I can’t stand this guy.

What is he doing to me?

James avoids my eyes, his expression that same mix of alert admiration that I’m feeling.

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