Page 52 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

Henry found himself holding his breath as Miss Lytton wavered visibly under their combined persuasion.

“Very well,” she capitulated with a sigh. “But only to try it on.”

Madame Bouchard’s smile was triumphant as she led her toward the dressing room and returned moments later with a gown that made Henry’s mouth go dry with anticipation.

And when Annabelle finally emerged, Henry felt his world shift on its axis.

The gown was a masterpiece of deep emerald silk that brought out the hidden depths in her eyes and complemented her complexion with a stunning effect. More significantly, the cut was considerably more revealing than her usual attire; not immodest by any means but displaying the elegant lines of her figure in a way that made Henry’s entire body burn with sudden, fierce desire.

He had such vivid visions of peeling that gown off her, inch by blessed inch, to expose her soft, full breasts?—

“Oh!” Celia gasped in delight. “Miss Lytton, you look absolutely stunning!”

“Ahem.” He coughed under his breath, and his cheeks warmed as he dragged his eyes away from her bosom and met her gaze directly.

Henry’s heart slammed in his chest as their eyes met and held. She was watching him—no, in fact, she’d caught him watching her. He watched her cheeks flush rather becomingly, and he clenched his jaw, finding it harder and harder to restrain the beast inside him that wanted her flushed and under him?—

“Magnifique,” Lady Oakley agreed warmly. “That color is perfection on you, my dear.”

Stop it. Shame spread through his chest.

“Papa?” Celia’s voice carried a note of expectation that made Henry realize that she’d noticed him staring for several moments. “Don’t you think Miss Lytton looks beautiful?”

Henry cleared his throat roughly for the third time as he fought to regain his composure. “Indeed,” he managed, even with his heart beating in his throat. “Though I trust you won’t be selecting anything quite so…” he searched for an appropriate word that wouldn’t insult while making his point clear, “sophisticated for your own wardrobe.”

The dismissive tone was intentional and a desperate attempt to maintain some distance from the overwhelming desire that threatened to unmask him completely. He saw Annabelle’s face fall slightly at his lukewarm response and immediately regretted his cowardice.

“Of course not, Papa,” Celia replied, though her tone suggested she found his response somewhat lacking.

Annabelle retreated to the dressing room with silent composure, though Henry caught the slight stiffness in her shoulders that betrayed her.

Henry clenched his fists. Oh, how he longed to tell her what he truly thought of her in that gown—but none of the things in his head in that moment were fit for public decency. None.

If only sheknew…

“Such a pity,” Lady Oakley mused as they waited for her granddaughter to change back into her day dress. “That gown was made for her. I believe I shall purchase it for her myself.”

“That’s very kind, Grandmama,” came Annabelle’s voice from behind the curtain, “but I truly have no use for such a gown.”

“Surely there will be occasions?—”

“No,” her voice was firm. Final. “I appreciate the gesture, but it would be impractical.”

Lady Oakley looked as though she might argue further, but something in her granddaughter’s tone seemed to discourage additional persuasion from her.

And Henry held his tongue.

CHAPTER 18

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” the girl said with a curtsy, “but this package was delivered for you.”

That evening, as twilight painted the London sky in shades of rose and gold, a maid knocked softly on the door of Annabelle’s room.

Annabelle paused in her occupation of brushing her hair. She turned slightly from her vanity to face the maid. “A package?”

The maid nodded, and that was when Annabelle noticed that her expression was one of barely restrained excitement. “Yes, my lady.”

Annabelle wanted to question the girl further, but she supposed that that would only give the maid more fuel for the gossip she was already aching to spread.

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