Page 28 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
The pair proceeded to ask Gwen all manner of questions about her country life in Merstham.If they found it dull to spend the afternoon with a mousy bluestocking whose married life had lasted a mere eight hours and whose conversation centered around beekeeping rather than romantic conquests, they gave no sign of it.Just when she thought she must be boring them witless, they would ask another question, and they laughed uproariously when she told them the story about little Mercy Charbonnel spearing Joseph in the arse with her hatpin.
“I like this Miss Mercy,” Lady Sylvan said.
“She may only be fifteen,” Mrs.Johnstone noted, “and not even married, much less a widow.But I am going to keep an ear out for her.Should the right set of circumstances arise, I think she has the makings of a splendid Wicked Widow.”She clapped her hands.“But come, Gwendolyn.It’s time to get you dressed for the ball.”
That was what Gwendolyn had been afraid of, and her trepidation grew tenfold when Mrs.Johnstone brought out the ballgown she meant for Gwen to borrow.It was precisely the sort of garment she avoided like a malarial swamp.It wasred, for one thing, with a low-cut velvet bodice and gleaming satin skirts embroidered with gold.It was the type of garment a sophisticated, confident woman would wear.Did they not understand that was not her?
Lady Sylvan and Mrs.Johnstone seemed ignorant of this fact, because they ignored her protestations.With the help of the pair of maids they summoned, they proceeded to strip her of her practical olive dress and stuff her into the scandalous scarlet gown.
“There!”Lady Sylvan exclaimed over Gwendolyn’s sputtered protests.The marchioness seized Gwen by the shoulders and spun her to face the cheval mirror.“How do you like it now?”
The first thing Gwen noticed when she looked in the mirror was that her cheeks were almost as red as the gown.The second was her decolletage, which was on display like a rack of Christmas lamb in the butcher shop window.“I look ridiculous!”she hissed.
“No, you don’t.”Mrs.Johnstone stalked over to the mirror, scooping Gwen’s discarded dress from the floor as she went.She draped the olive fabric over the upper quarter of the mirror so that all Gwendolyn could see was her reflection from the neck down.“Pretend you’re not the one wearing it.Imagine it’s someone else.”
“But I know it’s me,” Gwen protested weakly.
Mrs.Johnstone gave her a sharp look.“Do it!Imagine you saw some other woman walk into the ball wearing this gown.What would you think of her?”
Gwendolyn tried, really tried, to pretend she was looking at someone else.It was difficult, but the truth was, she never looked at another woman and thought she was too plump or that her neckline was shamefully low.
For some reason, she saved all her most unkind thoughts for herself.
The fact that her face was covered made it just possible to suspend her disbelief.“I would think,” Gwen said haltingly, “that the woman wearing this dress was daring.Confident.”She peered at the reflection in the mirror, and it struck her that, although her breasts looked bounteous, that wasn’t necessarily abadthing.And the gown’s full skirts and gold sash made her waist look relatively small.
She spoke the truth in a rush before she lost her nerve.“And I would think that this woman has the sort of figure that men like.”
Lady Sylvan, Mrs.Johnstone, and the two maids crowed in delight.“And you would be right,” Mrs.Johnstone said as she removed Gwen’s dress from the top of the mirror.
Gwendolyn winced at the disconcerting image of her face attached to the voluptuous figure in the mirror.
Lady Sylvan clapped her hands.“Stop making that face!”
“But—”
“No buts,” the marchioness insisted, pulling Gwendolyn toward the dressing table.“Let us do something divine with your hair, and then you, my dear, are going to dance the night away,nothide yourself in the corner.Do I make myself clear?”
“I’ll try,” Gwen mumbled as one of the maids pulled her hair out of its tightly drawn bun.
A half-hour later, she made her way down the stairs, flanked by Mrs.Johnstone and Lady Sylvan.She spied a sphere of mistletoe suspended from the ceiling in the foyer by a red silk ribbon and made sure to skirt the edges of the room.
The ballroom glowed with soft, golden candlelight.Ropes of pine boughs had been draped along the walls, and clusters of red berries festooned each of the chandeliers.The smells of nutmeg and cinnamon, as well as the heady scent of spiced wine, caught her attention as they passed the refreshment table.Instead of the usual ballroom fare of lemonade and bite-sized cakes, it held a steaming bowl of spiced negus and a tiered tray holding mince pies, slices of Madeira cake, and miniature Christmas puddings.
As they crossed the ballroom, Gwendolyn noticed several gentlemen turning to regard them, doubtlessly because she was standing between two such stunning women.
Partners quickly came to claim Mrs.Johnstone and Lady Sylvan for the first dance.Gwen was just preparing to slip into the corner when a familiar voice said, “Gwen!”
Startled, she looked up.“Tom!”
Chapter13
Gwendolyn felt a thrill go up her spine as she regarded Tom in the candlelight.He was the man who had been fueling her midnight fantasies for months, and her body responded to him immediately.Her nipples pebbled against the cups of her corset, and her thighs went slack as if they were preparing to fall open.
She closed her mouth, which was gaping open.Stop it, you ninny!She made an effort to study him.He looked relaxed.Happy.He had on a shirt with lace cuffs and a brown velvet frock coat in a cut that had been more fashionable in the previous century than this one.Both garments had been purchased secondhand, no doubt.But it didn’t matter that he wasn’t dressed to the pink of fashion.The outfit somehow suited him.On any other man, the lace and velvet would have looked overly frilly, but Tom’s overwhelming masculinity rendered the garments festive rather than fussy, and the broad smile on his face would have been appealing in any attire.
Gwen shook herself, conscious that she was ogling him like a slab of meat.She stepped forward, taking his huge hand in both of hers.“How have you been?”she asked, her voice rich with feeling.“I’ve thought about you every day since… you know.”
It was true.There was no need to mention that the place she had thought of him the most had been alone in her bed with her thighs spread wide…
