Page 31 of The Mistletoe Dare

“Oui?”

“It’s… Isn’t it a little… well, actually, isn’t it a lot…?”

“Non,” he replied curtly, and then a hand reached past the bookshelf, holding out her dress.

Evie sighed and took it, studying the remade gown. It was far simpler than before, with no frills or flounces. The cut was almost severe, the lowered shoulders angling diagonally down towards her décolletage, and the line echoed on both sides by tiny, pintucked seams that arrowed down to her stomach. It was beautiful work. As fast as she could, Evie tugged it over her head and wriggled until it was in place. Reaching back, she tried to fasten it, but after a deal of muttering and cursing, she gave up. Drat it. Hesitating she bit her lip. There was no other choice.

“Louis? It’s on, but I can’t do it up.”

“Come here, then.”

Evie emerged, pink-cheeked, as Louis moved behind her. He carefully brushed aside the thick curtain of her hair, draping it over her shoulder, and went to work on the fastenings. She supposed it ought not surprise her he was as accomplished at getting women into clothes as he was at getting them out of them.

“You’re awfully good at this, quicker than my maid,” she said conversationally, for there was a strange prickling atmosphere between them this evening which seemed odd to her, and she wished to disperse it. Usually, they were so at ease with each other, but then this was a bit of a peculiar thing to do, even for Evie. No doubt Louis was embarrassed for her.

He got to the top, just above her corset, and his knuckles grazed her bare skin, making her gasp in shock. How strange it was. Only her mother, her sisters or her maid had ever touched her skin before and the sensation was oddly electrifying. The warmth of his breath fluttered over the back of her neck, and she shivered. Louis’ hands had stilled, but now he carried on and finished the intricate little fasteners. Louis stepped back.

“Turn around.”

Evie turned, feeling foolish to be dressed in a ballgown with her hair down and her feet bare.

“Is it better?” she asked, unable to tell from his intent expression. “Well?”

Louis cleared his throat. “Oui. Better,” he said curtly. He moved closer, eyeing each seam critically before tugging at the bodice where it curved to her waist. “A bit more here, I think. You’ve not been starving yourself again?” he demanded.

“No, Louis,” she replied, sighing. “Did you not see me devour that trifle at dinner?”

He was silent for a moment, his blue eyes lifting to hers and then away. “I did.”

“Then you should be happy, so there’s no need to scold me again.”

He muttered something under his breath in French, which she didn’t catch.

“Oh, don’t go speaking French at me,” she complained. “You know I cannot bear it when I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Well, you ought to learn the language better.”

“I am trying,” she objected. “But the lessons are so dull when anyone but you teaches me, and you never come and see me anymore….”

Evie trailed off, realising too late that there had been a distinctly whiny quality to her voice, which she immediately regretted. He was a grown man with a life of his own. No doubt her friendship was not as important to him as it was to her, but she had missed him terribly.

“I am sorry, chérie,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I cannot come too often. People would talk. As it is, we ought not take such risks, but I could not have you go to the ball feeling anything less than beautiful, for that would be a crime.”

“I hate people. Why can’t they mind their own business?” she muttered.

Louis pulled a small tin box from his waistcoat pocket and gave a wry smile. “Why indeed? Now hold still, I do not wish to stab you with the pins.”

Evie watched in surprise as he crouched before her, his long, elegant fingers pinning the waist in tighter. “Louis, can you sew?” she asked in astonishment.

He glanced up, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I can do many things, ma puce,” he said, a note to his voice that made her shiver.

“Yes, you’re full of secrets, aren’t you?” she murmured, frowning at him.

“Peut-être, et toi ma chérie, tu en connais déjà trop.”

Evie considered his words, translating.

Perhaps, and you know too many of them already, my darling.