Page 79 of A Caribbean Heiress in Paris
The raw-silk gown was threaded with gold. The embellishment in a luminescent thread at the hem was done to look like cresting waves. It reminded Luz of the ocean at dusk. The bodice started blue and then became almost solid gold as it reached the edges, and the sleeve caps were adorned with smaller, curling waves.
She smiled at the thought of what Evan would say of her dress...because she was a lovesick fool.
“I have Mama’s tiara,” Clarita announced in a reverent whisper. Luz extended her arm to bring her little sister to her. She was dressed in blue too, no gray or black. In the last couple of weeks, she’d been slowly choosing things of color to wear, and her interests were...well, they were still very much in the realm of the macabre, but it seemed now she was turning her attention to insects, which was...progress?
“You look beautiful, mi cielo,” she told her sister before bending down to press a kiss on the top of her head. Even though Clarita would not attend the ball, Beatrice had invited her to spend the night at her home with the twins. They had an evening of games and treats planned, which Clarita and Katherine had decided would work best if they dressed as though they were to attend the ball themselves.
“We all look beautiful,” Clarita declared. And theywerea sight, Luz thought. Amaranta, who usually preferred to stay behind, was for once coming out for an evening with other adults. Her cousin was wearing a royal purple and silver gown that brought out her dark skin. Aurora and Manuela were equally majestic in burgundy and chartreuse.
“No one can say women from the tropics dress to blend in,” Aurora quipped as Manuela helped Luz with the tiara. Her mother’s tiara had been the last anniversary gift Luz’s father had given her before she passed away. It was a circlet of gold orange blossoms with round Dominican blue amber stones set at the center of the flower. There were a few tear-shaped pieces of amber interspersed between the petals that gave the effect of unopened buds. Her mother never got to wear it, and Luz had only done so a few times. Tonight she would on Evan’s arm, possibly for the last time as his wife.
A hand instinctually went to her sternum at the thought.
A knock came at the door that joined her and Evan’s chambers, and her heart kicked around in that frantic way it did whenever the man entered the room.
“May I come in?” How was it possible that just the man’s voice made every bone in her body turn to water?
“We’ll wait for you in the drawing room,” Amaranta said as she guided Clarita and the Leonas to the door.
Evan stepped inside quietly. He moved so gracefully for such a big man.
“You are...” He never finished his thought, stopping in his tracks to stare at her.
“Oh,” she whispered breathlessly as he came into full view. She had not been prepared for James Evanston Sinclair in full Highland regalia.
The Earl of Darnick was a sight in his red, green, blue and yellow tartan. Despite tonight’s ball being in his father’s honor, Evan had decided to don the pattern of his mother’s clan and not that of the Sinclairs. Luz’s father, being a Lowlander, had never worn kilts or sporrans, and given the rupture between him and his family, she doubted he would’ve worn the colors of the Heith clan.
In truth, she’d never had much of a connection to Scottish lore, but she could see how women had swooned for the likes of Malcolm Graeme and Lochinvar. Evan was magnificent in his silk slippers. His socks covered his strong, muscled calves and the traditional sgian dubh was tucked into the one on his right leg. His jacket, which ended at his waist, was molded to his lean torso. He’d trimmed his beard, and his amber eyes shone as he examined her, his gaze carefully making its way over every inch of her. A mixture of that bewildered tenderness and unbridled lust he seemed to evoke in her warred with her more rational self.
She noticed he had a folded piece of Buchanan tartan in his hands.
“I brought this for you,” he said, his voice roughened.
“Oh.” She knew the significance wearing the family tartan had for Highlanders, and this one in particular was a sacred thing for his mother’s clan.
“It will be cold tonight.” He came to stand behind her and draped the fabric on her shoulder. It was lined with velvet and felt decadent against her skin. He kept his arms around her, clutching the ends of the tartan in front of her chest, then buried his face in her neck. He inhaled her skin, one deep, long breath as if he wanted to acquire her very essence. He pressed a kiss to her oversensitive skin, and she immediately melted against him. She wanted to turn around and kiss him in earnest, but he spoke before she could.
“Once Apollo arrives, I want you to leave the ball and come back here.” She stiffened at the request, but he spoke again before she could voice her protest. “Murdoch will make sure you get out of there safely.”
He sounded like a man preparing for war, and she would not make it harder for him.
“All right.” She nodded as a hole opened in her stomach. Nerves, and more for him than for her. “Will Beatrice and Adalyn leave then too?” He gave a sharp nod, his nose buried in her hair.
“They will arrive with Gerard.”
“Do Gerard and Murdoch know?” she asked, and Evan sighed.
“After telling you and my sisters, I think Apollo is finally starting to believe he has allies in this beyond me.”
She smiled at that, glad for Apollo and for Evan both. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked...again.
“Evan,” she warned, and he smiled despite the worry shadowing his eyes.
“My lioness,” he said, pride and something she would not dare name shining in his eyes. He offered his arm to her, and she slid her hand through it, then rose to press a kiss to his lips.
“Take me to the ball, husband.”
“Promise me you will not dally once Apollo and I confront my father.”
