Fallen Angel. Sophia James
Lord,’ she breathed to Louisa. ‘It’s lovely…more then lovely…’
‘You truly do like it?’ Louisa squealed in happy anticipation. ‘Try it on!’
‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
Both girls fell into laughter. ‘You’re sure no one will come?’
‘Positive.’
It was all the encouragement Brenna needed and, peeling off the blue velvet, she reached for the red silk, Louisa fastening the row of tiny buttons at her back.
Intrigued, Brenna went across to the armoire, stretching up on her toes to see the hemline and un-pinning her hair, using Louisa’s brush to stroke out the shiny heavy mass of curls until they gleamed. ‘I can’t believe that you bought this for me,’ she whispered, trying at the same time to pull up the bodice a little. ‘You’re sure it suits me?’ A tiny niggle of doubt sat in Brenna’s mind as she turned towards the mirror, her breasts swelling across the tightness.
‘Wonderfully!’ Louisa supplied, laughing as the other woman blushed. ‘And it’s well past time you broke out and wore something apart from navy. The world of men is not at all as you may think it to be, Brenna, and old age can be lonely without a soulmate.’
Brenna was still, caught between the past and the future in a way she often was in the company of Louisa. And the dress of silk and lace felt undeniably luxurious.
‘People truly wear the décolletage this low?’ Brenna’s knowledge of the latest in fashion was, at her own admission, sadly lacking.
‘All of them, though this one would be considered tame, even on an unmarried lady.’
Brenna pulled the bodice up for a final time, sighing as she made not a whit of difference to the amount of exposure. ‘It almost seems indecent,’ she whispered, wishing suddenly that she did have the confidence to be seen in such a gown, given that it was hers to keep.
‘Well, it’s not, though you may feel happier if I showed you the whole thing. Come downstairs with me and help me bring up the mirror from the front salon. It’s usually kept up here, but Francis has just had the hinges mended. We’ll find some shoes and a hat and you’ll be able to see your dress properly then.’
Buoyed up by Louisa’s enthusiasm, Brenna nodded; five minutes later they were in the front hallway, heaving the heavy mahogany piece of furniture towards the stairwell.
‘Tip it my way,’ Louisa commanded, ‘and hold it still. I’ll see if I can lever it up on to the banister.’ Brenna strained and brought the length across her chest, lowering her arms to try to heave it upwards and feeling the breath leave her body with its heaviness.
‘Are you sure we can manage this, Louisa?’ she queried doubtfully.
‘I’ve done it before with the maid.’ She frowned. ‘Or perhaps it was with Francis…’ And at that second the front door, not five steps away from them, was flung open, spilling forth an astonished-looking blond man and Nicholas Pencarrow, two pairs of eyes staring at them in disbelief.
‘Brenna?’ Her name came incredulous and huskily from Nicholas and she almost expected him to reach out and touch her just to ascertain she was not a mirage. Her arms quivered beneath the weight of the mirror, caught in its heaviness so that she could not even adjust the neck of her gaping dress and, as Nicholas came forward to relieve her of its burden, she felt his eyes running across her.
Shock surged through Nicholas’s body. Brenna here and in the company of Louisa Greling and shoeless, her hair falling loose across a gown fashioned from lace and silk? Brenna with one of London’s most celebrated courtesans and looking just as provocative? Where were the high-necked blue velvets, the books, Beaumont Street? How could he reconcile one with the other?
The question was forming on his lips as she whirled, racing up the stairs without pause, her face aflame with embarrassment, the dress seen through Nicholas’s eyes acquiring only a cheap showiness, which in Louisa’s company had not been obvious.
Slamming the door behind her, she hauled off the gown, tears of frustration rising as she tried to unfasten all the tiny buttons. Reaching with shaky hands for the blue velvet, she pulled it on with as much quickness as she could muster, one foot against the door to bar entry given the complete absence of any lock. Once the dress lay in place across her body, she felt stronger, wrenching her stockings into place with fingers more like her own and tying her hair back in one long and customary plait. Wide eyes observed her reflection in the mirror. Lord, what could she say to him? How could she explain away her friendship with Louisa or her reasons for being here?
Honesty!
The word came quiet and true and with a growing resolve, but the newly found confidence completely shattered when she heard a knock on the door and the Duke of Westbourne’s voice without.
‘Brenna? May I come in for a moment?’
In panic she made for the door, pushing it open and herself out in almost the same movement. She would meet his questions on the landing, not in the bedroom, though with no sign of Louisa or the man she presumed to be Francis, her heart began beating anew.
Nicholas stood, leaning slightly against the railings of an ornate balcony, his gaze softening as he observed the transformation of the woman now before him, laced into the shapeless navy velvet as though covered from head to foot in androgynous armour.
With quiet patience he stood his ground, waiting for her to look at him, willing her to explain what was going on. Finally, an anguished visage tipped up to his.
‘It…it…it is not as you may think, your Grace,’ she stuttered in her haste to explain. ‘The dress was a present from Louisa, from Paris, which she insisted that I try on after making it plain no visitors at all were expected this afternoon.’ She stopped, taking a breath in nervousness. ‘It’s very flimsy and hardly me and far too…too…’
‘Revealing?’ Nicholas supplied. Green eyes glittered with a hard masculinity. ‘You do know what this house is, do you not, Brenna?’
She turned at his question and walked towards the stairs, willing him to keep his distance, willing herself to stand her ground.
Quietly she nodded.
‘Then you also realise how damaging it would be to your reputation if another had arrived instead of me? No matter what the reason?’
Again a small shake, the brittle sharpness of unshed tears welling behind her eyes. He could never know how well she understood the danger or how close to the truth he tarried.
‘Louisa has been a friend of mine for a long time, though today is the first day I have ever come here. The dress…’ she added brokenly, ‘I haven’t many and thought perhaps for your ball…’ She bit back the words as soon as she had said them, cursing her stupidity and waiting for laughter.
None came.
Nicholas stood still, fighting the pain in his heart, fighting the desperate want of her that swept through his body at her confession. In truth the dress looked stunning, but for all the wrong reasons. And she still did not have a dress for his ball.
His mind flicked to the countless clothes most ladies of his acquaintance had the choice of, worn once and discarded, and it was on his tongue to offer again the gift of a more suitable gown, but he kept silent, seeing the intrinsic pride in the lift of her chin and in the anger of her own admission.
‘Come, Brenna,’ he whispered softly. ‘Let me see you home.’
She hesitated, bewildered by his gentleness and her own lack of alternative. ‘And the other man with you,’ she said. ‘You will explain?’
He nodded, watching her carefully, the man in him hard pressed to act the gentleman she expected. God, if he had any sense he’d seduce her here and now and be damned with the consequences. Already he could hear the muffled noises of lovemaking in the salon below. Francis and his mistress