Rule's Bride by Kat Martin Page A

veins.
    â€œI wish I knew which gown to wear,” she said to Mary, who had laid an emerald-green brocaded silk next to a deep rose taffeta with an overskirt of heavy cream lace. Both were lovely, both cut fashionably low. She told herself not to consider which of the dresses Rule might prefer.
    At Mary’s suggestion, she chose the emerald-green. “It’ll look lovely with yer complexion.”
    â€œAll right then. Help me, will you, Mary?” She walked to the bed. “Let us see if you are right.”
    The buxom, brown-haired maid helped her into her undergarments and corset, which cinched her waist to amazingly small proportions, then helped her into a cage crinoline, a petticoat fashioned of stacked metal hoops that made her skirt even fuller than it usually was. The gown came next.
    â€œGor, milady. I were right, don’t ye see? The green goes perfect with yer eyes.”
    While Mary fastened the buttons at the back of the dress, Violet stood before the tall oval mirror to view the effect. She rarely paid so much attention to her appearance, but tonight was a special occasion. She wanted to look her best.
    Then again, though Rule had thus far been well behaved, he had made his intentions clear. He wanted her to remain his wife, and in that regard he was determined. She wondered what pitfalls the evening might hold.
    She took a deep breath. Rule would be waiting. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
    â€œHave a good time, milady.”
    â€œThank you, Mary. I’m sure I will.” Too good a time, she feared. You need to keep your distance, she warned herself, but couldn’t help a rush of pleasure as she reached the bottom of the staircase and caught the appreciative gleam in Rule’s brilliant blue eyes.
    â€œYou look beautiful,” he said, and he meant it, she could tell.
    A hint of color crept into her cheeks. “Thank you”
    Rule smiled. “You’ll be the loveliest woman at the theater.”
    She laughed. “Now you are being gallant. The color of my hair is quite unfashionable and I am too short to be elegant, but I am glad you approve.”
    â€œYour hair is like fire and you are petite and perfectly formed. Believe me, I definitely approve.”
    His eyes ran over her and Violet could feel the hungerhe had made little effort to hide. Her heartbeat quickened. In his black evening clothes, a diamond stick pin perfectly positioned in his white cravat, he was impossibly handsome.
    Which meant nothing, she told herself. Less than nothing. It was the man inside who was important.
    Rule took her emerald-lined, black velvet cloak and draped it around her shoulders, then the butler opened the door and stepped back to let them pass, the hint of a smile on his wrinkled face. Perhaps he wasn’t as stodgy as he appeared.
    â€œGood night, Hat,” she said just to throw him off balance, which apparently she did, his pale eyes widening as she stepped out onto the porch.
    Rule grinned. “You’ll give him apoplexy if you smile at him that way too often.”
    â€œDon’t be silly. Your Mr. Hatfield is quite the proper butler.”
    Rule just smiled.
    They reached the Pantheon Theater, their carriage pulling into line behind a row of similar conveyances moving slowly toward the portico at the entrance. The front of the building was ornately gilded and as they walked in on a length of red velvet carpet that matched the red flocked wallpaper and the carpets inside, she saw that the theater was lavish in the extreme.
    The play called The Mariner was billed as a rousing adventure, a musical farce where pirates attacked and a damsel in distress was saved by the hero. There was much excitement about the opening, since the playwright’s last production had been such a huge success.
    â€œMy box is on the second floor,” Rule said, guiding her up one of two wide, curving staircases that spiraled up from the right and left sides of the