Page 102 of The Lyon Returns
On the positive side, all evidence of his previous ire had vanished.
On the negative, Gwen was starting to fear she had done something very foolish. Perhaps the most foolish thing she had ever done. She had fallen head-over-heels in love with her fake husband.
The moment thecarts arrived at the abbey, liveried footmen herded the guests inside and up the stairs. In the event anyone thought to disregard the footmen’s suggestion and bypass the staircase, the duke himself stood sentinel in the corridor making it clear no one would pass.
None of the guests seemed to mind. Indeed, the mystery of whatever awaited them in the grand parlor only heightened the sense of anticipation.
For his sake, Gwen hoped he had something impressive planned, or the surprise would likely fall flat. She liked the Duke of Ashwood. She rather hoped he pulled off his event with a big splash.
Upon reaching their guest suite, Gideon and Gwen discovered they were expected to enter through separate doors. Evidently, the adjoining doors between their rooms had been once again closed. Gwen had to admit there was something to dressing privately and then witnessing Gideon’s favorable reaction. Certainly he no longer frowned upon her wardrobe.
Life would certainly be dull when she no longer shared it with him.
Gideon rolled his eyes, but waited in the corridor, ever the gentleman, for Gwen to enter her side of the chamber.
Closing the door behind her, she blinked at the scene that greeted her. Gigantic bouquets, spilling with red, pink, and white roses in full bloom covered most of the large surfaces, and their divine scent permeated air.
A maid awaited her, hands clasped behind her. She stood next to a mannequin, of all things, adorned with a magnificent bone-white dress. It glittered, capturing the sunlight pouring in from windows thathad been opened wide. Gwen peered closer and noted tiny crystals embedded in the overlay of tulle covering the gown.
She flicked a glance at the servant, intending to suggest the gown had been delivered to the wrong chamber. Then she blinked, hardly able to believe her eyes.
“Madame Eloise?” she asked, even though she could plainly see that, yes, it was the French modiste who stood in her chamber.
“Bonjour, Madame Devereux,” the smiling woman greeted.
“But what are you…” Her words died. “Is this my dress? Am I to wear this today?”
The modiste smiled a coy smile. “Indeed.”
“But I do not recall trying this on. And…I’m pleased to see you, of course, but…” She did not even know how to phrase her questions.
“Zis dress was purchased for you. A gift from ze Duke of Ashwood, madame. It would seem he wishes to celebrate his son’s marriage,n’est-ce pas?”
“I see.” She’d thought her blue evening gown, acquired for the purpose of meeting the duke and duchess, beautiful. It did not compare to what she beheld now.
“Come. Let us get you dressed. We ’ave little time and much to do.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After assuring herselfGwen was ready, Madame Eloise bid her wait, and let herself out into the corridor. That left Gwen alone to stare at her reflection in the mirror, awed at the transformation the modiste had achieved. She wore a headband of tiny white and pink flowers, interspersed with pearls and crystals, over loosely bound hair that just covered her shoulders. Wavy tendrils framed her face. The gown she’d marveled over on the mannequin fit her to perfection. Silk satin gloves, slippers, and even lingerie scented with rose oil completed the ensemble.
Minus one thing. She hurried to her vanity to retrieve Gideon’s mother’s ring and slipped it over her finger. Her hands shook for no apparent reason. Perhaps she had not eaten enough breakfast.
The door opened wide and Madame Eloise reentered. She moved to the side and gestured for Gwen to pass.
She stepped into the corridor and found Gideon waiting. He looked dashing as ever in his formal attire, all tall and dark, and exuding a palpable vitality.
But his eyes stole her breath. He looked at her, as if he beheld the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Well,” he said, as if he could not conjure anything more substantial, and held out his hand in a beckoning gesture.
She went to him, slipping her fingers into his.
“Gideon, you’ll never credit it, but it seems your father chose this dress for me, unless Madame Eloise was having me on.”
He looked so utterly taken aback she laughed. “I thought I recognized the woman,” he muttered as if to himself. “Shall we go see what all this secrecy is about, then?” he asked and glanced down at their joined hands, running his thumb over her knuckles. When his gaze fell on the ring he’d lent her, a corner of his mouth crooked upward.
Tucking her hand in his elbow, he met her eyes, and the corners of his crinkled with a warmth, so inviting, it tempted her to fall headlong into it.
