dinner.”
Marissa breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed, aware she had got off lightly. If Lady Bethany hadn’t been busy with her own concerns about LordJasper she would never have given up so easily, and her probing was always needle sharp.
Marissa flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes. She felt as if she was one step away from disaster, and at the same time she knew how simple it would be to take that step. Her body tingled with memories of Valentine’s smile, his touch, the way his breath warmed her skin. It was all wrong, so very wrong, and yet it felt so very right.
Her eyes sprang open.
Could she? Dare she? It would serve him right, of course, and it might also help her to develop those skills she was only just beginning to realize she possessed. He’d proposed to her despite obviously hating the idea of marrying her. It was logical that no gentleman who would propose to her against his will would harm her—such an action would be against his code—therefore she was perfectly safe.
But just in case, her grandmother and Jasper would be there to act as chaperones.
Marissa smiled. As her grandmother said, more or less, life was too short to dilly-dally.
Chapter 10
M arissa dressed carefully for dinner. She was not greatly enamored of the pale pinks and pastels and debutante’s white that young women were expected to wear in society. The colors that suited her were the more striking reds and purples and royal blues, as well as her favorite emerald green. For this evening she had chosen a dark rose silk trimmed with knots of ribbon and lace.
The current fashion was for evening necklines to be low and off the shoulders, and Marissa’s was almost indelicately so, although a lace fall helped to disguise the fact she was baring so much flesh. The sleeves were mere scraps of cloth, clinging to her upper arms, while the narrow waist emphasized her hourglass figure, before the dress flared out in a great many yards of cloth. She wore her pearl drop earrings and matching necklace, a gift from her grandmother five years ago, on her eighteenth birthday, and the maid servant assigned to her by Morris had been more than competent when it came to dressing her glossy dark hair in a myriad of curls and braids, with ringlets caught up and cascading from a jeweled comb.
The dress had been designed and packed with George in mind, but George wasn’t here, and it was of Valentine she was thinking as she made her way down the stairs in her matching rose satin slippers.
Morris was waiting for her in the hall.
“Miss Rotherhild. Your grandmother advised cook that she will be taking her meal with Lord Jasper, in his sickroom.”
“Oh.” Marissa was taken aback. This wasn’t part of her plan. Suddenly thrown into confusion, she wondered if she should offer to take her own meal on a tray in her room. But before she could suggest it Morris spoke again.
“I’m to let you know that Lord Kent is still expecting you to join him for dinner. He has asked that it be served in the yellow salon. It is less formal than the dining room, and in the circumstances seemed more appropriate to the occasion.”
Did less formal mean more intimate? Marissa wondered.
“Shall I show you the way, Miss Rotherhild?” Morris inquired, his face expressionless, as still she hesitated.
“Yes, thank you, Morris.”
As she followed Morris’s sedate pace, Marissa tried to tell herself that she would have to deal with Valentine in private sometime, and it was best to get it over with. She’d worn the red dress thinking she’d be dining under the safety of her grandmother’s beady eyes, which would enable her to tease him and flirt and hone her skills, but without any fear of repercussions. In other words, she could play with fire without being burned. Now they were tobe alone. What if he proposed to her again in that depressing way? Her brow wrinkled. More likely he’d want to send her back to London as quickly as possible, and
Marissa breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed, aware she had got off lightly. If Lady Bethany hadn’t been busy with her own concerns about LordJasper she would never have given up so easily, and her probing was always needle sharp.
Marissa flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes. She felt as if she was one step away from disaster, and at the same time she knew how simple it would be to take that step. Her body tingled with memories of Valentine’s smile, his touch, the way his breath warmed her skin. It was all wrong, so very wrong, and yet it felt so very right.
Her eyes sprang open.
Could she? Dare she? It would serve him right, of course, and it might also help her to develop those skills she was only just beginning to realize she possessed. He’d proposed to her despite obviously hating the idea of marrying her. It was logical that no gentleman who would propose to her against his will would harm her—such an action would be against his code—therefore she was perfectly safe.
But just in case, her grandmother and Jasper would be there to act as chaperones.
Marissa smiled. As her grandmother said, more or less, life was too short to dilly-dally.
Chapter 10
M arissa dressed carefully for dinner. She was not greatly enamored of the pale pinks and pastels and debutante’s white that young women were expected to wear in society. The colors that suited her were the more striking reds and purples and royal blues, as well as her favorite emerald green. For this evening she had chosen a dark rose silk trimmed with knots of ribbon and lace.
The current fashion was for evening necklines to be low and off the shoulders, and Marissa’s was almost indelicately so, although a lace fall helped to disguise the fact she was baring so much flesh. The sleeves were mere scraps of cloth, clinging to her upper arms, while the narrow waist emphasized her hourglass figure, before the dress flared out in a great many yards of cloth. She wore her pearl drop earrings and matching necklace, a gift from her grandmother five years ago, on her eighteenth birthday, and the maid servant assigned to her by Morris had been more than competent when it came to dressing her glossy dark hair in a myriad of curls and braids, with ringlets caught up and cascading from a jeweled comb.
The dress had been designed and packed with George in mind, but George wasn’t here, and it was of Valentine she was thinking as she made her way down the stairs in her matching rose satin slippers.
Morris was waiting for her in the hall.
“Miss Rotherhild. Your grandmother advised cook that she will be taking her meal with Lord Jasper, in his sickroom.”
“Oh.” Marissa was taken aback. This wasn’t part of her plan. Suddenly thrown into confusion, she wondered if she should offer to take her own meal on a tray in her room. But before she could suggest it Morris spoke again.
“I’m to let you know that Lord Kent is still expecting you to join him for dinner. He has asked that it be served in the yellow salon. It is less formal than the dining room, and in the circumstances seemed more appropriate to the occasion.”
Did less formal mean more intimate? Marissa wondered.
“Shall I show you the way, Miss Rotherhild?” Morris inquired, his face expressionless, as still she hesitated.
“Yes, thank you, Morris.”
As she followed Morris’s sedate pace, Marissa tried to tell herself that she would have to deal with Valentine in private sometime, and it was best to get it over with. She’d worn the red dress thinking she’d be dining under the safety of her grandmother’s beady eyes, which would enable her to tease him and flirt and hone her skills, but without any fear of repercussions. In other words, she could play with fire without being burned. Now they were tobe alone. What if he proposed to her again in that depressing way? Her brow wrinkled. More likely he’d want to send her back to London as quickly as possible, and
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