Page 50 of The Cornish Mermaid

Time to unveil the gown.

With reverence, Loveday fetched it from where it was hanging and removed the tissue paper with care. Morvoren caught her breath. Exquisite. Quite the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. A pale-blue, silk underskirt and a puff-sleeved sarsenet bodice embroidered with silver thread lay beneath a fine silk net overskirt, floaty as gossamer and embroidered with large delicately stitched silver flowers and swirls that matched the bodice.

How anyone could have sewn this net overskirt by hand, Morvoren had no idea, nor how this whole gown could have been completed in so short a time without even benefit of a sewing machine, but the tiny stitches of the little seamstress girls were almost invisible. She had a guilty feeling that a basket of food was small recompense to these girls for the work they’d done this week.

Perhaps she could do more for them while she was here?

She stepped into the dress with care, afraid she might tread on the lovely train and rip it, and Loveday fastened the tiny buttons down her back. This left her with a daringly plunging decolletage that made her glad of the support of her stays. The feeling of being part of a fairytale washed over her, and only the thought of how hard those little girls must have worked kept her feet on the ground.

“Just a dusting o’ powder,” Loveday opined, wielding a large furry thing that looked all too much like some creature’s foot. “You have the clearest of skin and such a lovely complexion, ’twould be a shame to hide it.” She wafted the foot across Morvoren’s cheeks and made her sneeze.

She chuckled. “Why, bless you, Miss Morvoren. Does make me sneeze a bit too, but most ladies do like to cover up their blemishes with a touch o’ powder.” She paused. “Not that you got any to speak of.” She set down the powder and the furry foot. “And what about a dab of perfume? Here, just behind your ears.”

Morvoren had never been a girl who’d wanted, or, she liked to think, needed to wear a lot of makeup, being a more outdoor type, so she heartily agreed with her on this subject. Less was definitely more where makeup was concerned. But she’d take the perfume, with a delicate hint of the lavender that reminded her of her mother’s garden at their old farm.

The long white gloves from the Sedgewick’s little shop went on next, reaching to above her elbows. She’d have to be careful not to let them get dirty.

Clicking her tongue in approval, Loveday fastened a spray of delicate white flowers onto Morvoren’s bodice as a corsage. Then, with a small, bejeweled reticule borrowed from Ysella, to keep her dance card and fan in, and a delicate silk shawl draped across her shoulders, Morvoren was as ready for a genuine Regency ball at a real duke’s castle as she was ever going to be. A bundle of nerves, but ready.

Feeling a twinge of guilt about leaving Loveday to tidy up, Morvoren stepped into the corridor. Someone was waiting for her. Her heart leapt wildly. Kit, his brow furrowed in a frown, stopped striding up and down and made her a smart bow.

“Morvoren.” His voice emerged deeper and huskier than she’d ever heard before. As though, perhaps, he’d just experienced the same sensations as she had. She certainly hoped so. “You look… stunning.”

How handsome he looked in his black tailcoat and pale-cream silk breeches, silk stockings and buckled shoes. His gorgeous waistcoat was of the exact same blue as Morvoren’s gown, embroidered with curlicues and twists just like her bodice. The suspicion that the Misses Sedgewick’s little seamstresses had made it for him on purpose to match the gown warmed Morvoren’s cheeks. Had he gone back specially to ask them?

“Lord Ormonde.”

A warm feeling kindled in her stomach as she studied Kit’s appearance for a brief moment, almost enough to replace her nervous agitation. Not a trace of stubble darkened his strong jawline, and his unruly hair had been artfully arranged into a tumble of Byronic curls. Morvoren had to fight an overwhelming urge to reach up and run her fingers through it. Would he have been shocked or would he have pulled her roughly into his arms and covered her in kisses? A shiver of glorious anticipation ran through her, and, with that warm feeling descending southwards, she had to give herself an unobtrusive shake to return to reality.

All she could do was gaze into his dark eyes as her heart skipped beat after beat. She could drown in those eyes if she looked into them for long enough. And was she mistaken in thinking he was gazing back with a longing similar to her own? Goodness. That hot feeling pooled somewhere well to the south of her stays and set her quivering with desire.

“Kit,” she managed, although the word came out choked and croaky, making her cheeks flush with heat.

Did she want him to kiss her right now? Yes. She did. If she was honest, what she wanted him to do was to sweep her up in his arms and carry her back into the bedroom, to rip off their fine clothes and throw her on the bed and make passionate love to her until neither of them could stand up. She was a twenty-first-century girl, not an innocent Regency miss, and the two of them had been pussyfooting around each other all week in those dancing lessons, the sexual tension growing by the day. She couldn’t have been the only one to feel it, could she?

He visibly pulled himself together. Did he have that same curling in his innards that had rendered her knees so weak they might perhaps deposit her on the long landing rug in a jellied heap of lust?

If he did, then he was hiding it well. He cleared his throat and from an inside pocket in his immaculate coat produced a slender, velvet box. Clearing his throat again, he held it out to her. “Er, I have something for you.” He hesitated. “Something I would like you to wear tonight.”

Yes, surely, he must have, for his voice had gone as croaky as hers.

“For me?” She took the box, her fingers just brushing his and a tremor of pure desire coursing through her. Swallowing, she stared down, forcing herself to concentrate on it and not think about how much she wanted him to take her right now. A jewelry box, long and flat. Was he giving her an actual piece of jewelry?

“Just to wear tonight,” he said again, his words tumbling out in a hurry. “I thought it would match your eyes. Open it.”

She opened the box and stared at the contents. A silver necklace of what looked like tiny diamonds glittered about a single, deep-blue sapphire on a velvet bed. Her eyes must have sprung open as wide as they could go. “I-I can’t wear this,” she managed to stutter. “It must be worth a fortune.”

Kit reached over and took the necklace out of its velvet nest, managing not to touch her this time. “Yes, you can, because I am asking you to.” He held up the sapphire close to her face. “And it is mine to give, inherited from my grandmother, who was a Cornish girl like you. I want you to wear it because you have eyes that exactly match the color of this stone, just as she did, and there’s no one else could wear it quite so well.” He smiled, an oddly serious smile after the fun they’d had dancing over these last few days. “I will brook no argument. If I am to escort you to the ball, then I would like you to wear my grandmother’s necklace.”

He moved behind her and put the necklace about her neck. His warm fingers on her skin as he fumbled a little with the clasp only served to renew her longing. He set his hands on her shoulders, his touch like fire, and turned her around. “There. This completes the picture I wish to hold in my mind.”

Kiss me. I’m yours for the taking.

But he only held out his hand. “Let us go downstairs. Ysella and my mother are already waiting in the hallway and the carriage is in the drive.”

So much for her vow not to allow herself to get involved with Kit, no matter how alluring he might be. Breathless with pent up desire, she let him take her hand and escort her down the stairs. More used now to not tripping over her gown with every untoward step, she made as elegant a descent as any she’d made this last week.

Ysella stood at the foot of the stairs looking radiant in her gold gown. Morvoren had already seen and admired it that afternoon, as Ysella had been too impatient to wait to rip the tissue from it in the evening and had bid her come and admire the intricate embroidery across the bodice. She had a silk shawl in a paler shade of gold draped about her shoulders and small golden flowers dotted her dark curls. A captivating beauty. Morvoren had a feeling she would be a great success with the local young men that night.