Rebecca Hagan Lee - [Borrowed Brides 01] (12 page)

Faith sighed reverently. “I’ve never worn anything like this.”

She slipped her arms into a low cut camisole. A dozen tiny pearl buttons ran down the front of the undergarment, and it, too, was made of silk so sheer Faith could see through it.

Madame LeClerc nodded approvingly. “Monsieur Jordan has excellent taste. He likes soft, beautiful undergarments.”

“He selected these things?” Faith asked.

“Who else?” The dressmaker shrugged and handed several more garments to the maid. “Breathe in.”

Faith did as she was told while Tempy laced her corset. It was cut very low in the front and Faith instinctively tugged at the top.

“Leave it alone,” Tempy admonished. “If you tug at it, your dress won’t fit properly.”

Faith sat on the sofa and smoothed a pair of sheer silk stockings over her legs. She slid the satin garters into place and rose from the sofa in corset, camisole, pantalets and stockings waiting for the next layer of clothing and the inevitable hoops. But she waited in vain for hoops that weren’t necessary.

“Now, for the gown.” Madame LeClerc motioned the women forward.

Tempy helped the maid guide the dress over Faith’s head, then stood back to admire her niece.

The bright, burgundy silk shimmered in the light from the fire. The skirt was too narrow to be worn with hoops. The fabric was pulled tight across the front and allowed to fall in elegant folds from small bustle in the back. A two-foot train trailed behind.

The neckline was wide and scooped to frame Faith’s collarbones and breasts. The sleeves were wisps of silk trimmed with silver embroidery. It was a masterpiece of elegance, designed to entice without revealing.

Madame LeClerc adjusted the folds and straightened the train. She whipped out a needle and thread and adjusted the seams along the side to make the dress fit more snugly across Faith’s petite frame.

A knock sounded at the door to the suite. “Ten minutes,” Reese warned.

“Hurry,” Faith urged.

“Let him wait,” Madame suggested. “It does a man good to wait.”

Tempy nodded in agreement with the dressmaker and went to work brushing Faith’s hair.

They took their time, ignoring the unmistakable sound of Reese’s footsteps measuring the length of the hall.

Faith relaxed. She was tired of being rushed. He could leave without her or he could wait like a gentleman.

Reese waited impatiently for twenty more minutes before Faith opened the door.

He noticed her hair first. The straight, black, mane was plaited into one long, fat braid and coiled around the top of her head like a coronet. It was simple yet elegant, and it suited her.

Reese’s brown eyes darkened. He would have liked to see more of her, but she was enveloped from shoulders to shoes in a burgundy, velvet cape.

“We’re late,” Faith reminded him, brushing past him as she stepped through the doorway.

He pulled his gold watch from the pocket of his evening clothes. “So we are,” he commented, as he followed in her wake.

David was waiting for them in the carriage. His satchel was open on his lap, and papers were spread across the seat. The oil lamp beside his head was lit, the wick glowing brightly. He looked up when they entered and nodded a greeting in Faith’s direction. “You look lovely, Mrs. Collins.”

“Thank you.” Faith smiled at him.

Reese glared at his cousin. He sat next to Faith and stretched out his legs, trying hard to disregard the soft lavender scent that emanated from the burgundy velvet.

He shifted his weight away from her and noisily cleared his throat. “What do I need to know?” He directed his question at David, then settled back against his seat and proceeded to ignore the woman next to him.

He focused his gaze on his cousin and seemed to listen intently to David’s summary of the Darcy bill, but his mind was not on politics. Reese Jordan’s sole concern was keeping his body under control while the tantalizing scent of lavender soap conjured up erotic visions of bath tubs and wet, slippery, skin.

The journey to Senator Darcy’s home was mercifully brief. Reese wasn’t sure he could have handled an additional mile. He alighted from the coach before it had rolled to a stop and stood waiting for David to assist Faith. He was just about to ask David to escort her inside when his cousin took the matter out of his hands. With one stern look at Reese, David excused himself to join a fellow attorney and his wife.

Reese reluctantly offered Faith his elbow. “Shall we?” he said from behind clenched teeth.

Faith placed her gloved hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her up the steps and into the house.

The senator’s butler met them at the door.

Reese deposited the engraved invitation in the butler’s hand. “Mr. Reese Jordan,” the man announced, “and…?”

“What was your husband’s name?” Reese hissed, waiting impatiently for Faith to answer.

Faith didn’t hear him. She was too busy absorbing the sights and sounds in the mansion. She was enchanted by the presence of uniformed maids and waiters carrying trays of drinks. “Champagne,” she whispered, in awe.

Reese turned to look at her. “Champagne?”

“Yes.” She nodded for emphasis. She’d never had champagne and couldn’t wait to try it.

Reese whispered a reply to the butler.

“Mr. Reese Jordan and Mrs. Champ Collins.”

Faith frowned at him, puzzled. Mrs. Champ Collins?

They moved forward. Faith turned her back to Reese, unfastened her cape, and handed it to a waiting maid. Reese had relinquished his hat and coat. He turned to Faith and touched her elbow.

She turned to face him.

The burgundy silk dress fit her like a second skin. It molded the curves of her body, thrusting her hips and breasts into prominence. He liked it because it had none of the flounces, bows, and jet beads currently in vogue. It had been simply made—simply made to torture him, he thought, as he attempted to focus his gaze on something other than her silver-edged décolletage. The neckline was modest compared to some he’d seen, but his height gave him a unique vantage point. It was almost impossible for him to look down at her and not feast on an enticing display.

Reese swallowed hard. Perspiration dotted his upper lip. His body was suddenly hot. He needed a drink. Hell, he needed several!

Gripping Faith’s elbow, Reese led her further into the room where he promptly lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing tray.

“How thoughtful—” Faith began.

He drank them both, then placed the empty glasses on a table. He made the mistake of looking down at his companion when she spoke. He quickly acquired two more glasses of champagne and this time, he downed his in one gulp and handed the second glass to Faith.

“You must be thirsty.” She followed his lead and gulped at the wine, choking when the bubbles tickled her throat.

He grunted a reply.

She managed another swallow of champagne before he removed her glass from her hand. He placed it on a tray alongside his own, then led her across the room to where David stood conversing with another couple.

Reese released her with a terse, “I’m going to talk to the senator.”

“But…” she sputtered, embarrassed and bewildered by his rudeness.

Reese left her standing next to his cousin and hurriedly stalked away.

David introduced Faith to his friends. They exchanged pleasantries until the orchestra began to play.

“Would you care to dance?” David asked.

Faith nodded, then allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

“I haven’t danced in years,” she confided, as they moved in time to the music. “I was afraid I had forgotten how. I must warn you to watch your toes, Mr. Alexander.”

David smiled. “I think they’re safe.” She was hesitant in some of her steps, but her natural grace kept her from stumbling. “May I say, Mrs. Collins, that you dance beautifully, despite your understandable lack of practice?”

“You may.” The lilting sound of her laughter drifted across the room.

Reese glowered at the couple on the dance floor. He hadn’t heard a word the senator had said. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Faith. His gaze was continually drawn to the surprisingly lovely woman in burgundy silk. Reese wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted to whirl her around the room. He wanted to hear her laugh and to bask in the warmth of her smiles. And he was furious with himself for wanting that.

“Don’t you agree, Mr. Jordan?”

Reese forced himself to concentrate on the senator’s words. “Sir?”

“I was explaining the points of the bill,” Senator Marcus Darcy said. “Don’t you think—”

“Excuse me, Senator.” Reese left his host as abruptly as he’d joined him. “I’ve promised this dance.” He pushed his way through the crowd of dancers until he stood behind his cousin. He tapped David on the shoulder. “I believe this is my dance.” Reese’s words were clipped and curt.

David looked at Reese and then at Faith Collins.

“Well?” Reese demanded.

David smiled an apologetic smile at Faith, then stepped back, releasing his hold on her.

Reese placed one hand on her waist, then took her hand. She was stiff, unyielding.

“I don’t remember promising you a dance,” she hissed at him as he guided her through the beginning of a waltz.

“I didn’t ask.” He winced as she deliberately stepped on his foot. He tightened his hold around her waist.

“You should have.”

“So you could refuse?” He smiled down into her stormy gray eyes.

“Yes.”

“You’re in no position to refuse.”

She trod on his foot once again, then smiled sweetly. “Slavery has been abolished, Mr. Jordan. Or haven’t you heard?”

“As long as there are rich people and poor people, Mrs. Collins”—he pulled her closer to him—“slavery will continue to exist.” He smiled back at her. “In some form.”

Faith’s wide, full mouth tightened into a firm, straight line. Her brows knitted together above her gray eyes. She gritted her teeth and waited for her chance.

They whirled around to the three-quarter rhythm. “If you step on my foot one more time,” Reese warned, anticipating her next move, “I’ll be forced to take retribution.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” Faith knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t resist the urge to taunt him.

He pretended to miss a step and jerked her up against the hard length of his body. “You should be.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said with more conviction than she felt.

“Who said anything about hurting you?” he queried softly, his body pressing intimately against hers, his eyes devouring the sight of the alabaster mounds of her breasts framed by silver lace. The warm, musky, scent of lavender drifted up from the bodice of her gown to tease him.

She was pressed against him. She could feel the heat of his body through his clothing and hers. She could smell the clean, woodsy fragrance he wore and could feel his warm breath against her temple. And she could feel that hard, male part of him, pressing into her stomach. Her blood seemed to race through her veins. Her heart hammered in her chest. She forgot the steps of the dance and lost all sense of rhythm. She stumbled, lurching against him, trampling his feet in the process.

Reese held her firm, his fingers biting into her waist as he struggled to keep his balance. He muttered an obscenity under his breath. The woman was a menace on the dance floor.

He tilted his head, slightly, and Faith noticed the tiny, pale crescent marring his chin. His sun-baked skin and the faint shadow of his beard seemed to highlight the imperfection. It was a normal, everyday scar, the kind gleaned from a childhood fall, not a by-product of war. It drew Faith like a magnet. She wanted to touch it, to caress it with the tip of her finger, press her lips to it, pay homage to that tiny, almost indistinguishable imperfection.

“Pay attention to your steps,” he ordered, dragging her thoughts back to the dance as he dragged her feet back into the rhythm of the waltz.

Faith focused her attention on her feet. Her face colored in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. It was—”

“Forget it.”

The music ended. They whirled to a stop.

“But—”

Reese grasped her elbow. “Just forget it.” He looked around and spotted a waiter. “I need a drink.” Tiny dots of perspiration marked his upper lip. His breathing was ragged. His body throbbed in frustration.

“So, do I.” She licked her lips.

Reese stared at her, his right eyebrow quirked at an angle. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Her chest rose and fell so quickly her breasts threatened to spill over the embroidered neckline of her gown. A trickle of moisture slid over the rounded slopes, then down the valley, disappearing into the silk of her undergarments. His taste buds itched to sample the salty droplets. He leaned toward her, intent on capturing her lips beneath his own.

Her eyes widened, softened to a warm, pewter color, then slowly closed.

“Sorry. Excuse me.” A man’s sharp elbow caught Reese in the rib cage. Reese turned to find the culprit and was instantly reminded of his surroundings.

He stood at the edge of the dance floor, Faith Collins scant inches away from him. A dozen or so couples pushed past them on their way into dinner.

“Reese! Reese Jordan!”

Faith’s eyes snapped open at the sound.

Reese turned to his left.

Senator Darcy motioned to him. “Over here, my boy. There’s someone I want you to meet. He’d like your opinion on something.”

Biting back a groan, Reese offered Faith his arm. She tucked her hand inside the crook of his elbow.

Immediately realizing his mistake, Reese clamped his mouth shut in an effort to gain control over his body. A muscle in his jaw began to tic under the strain, and Reese wondered how in the hell he was going to manage to talk with his mouth closed. But he suffered in silence as he led Faith over to the senator with about as much enthusiasm as a man marching to the gallows.

Negotiating the contract was hell. The two parties faced each other across the width of a cherry dining table brought in for the occasion. Faith Collins and Temperance Hamilton sat on one side. Reese Jordan and David Alexander sat on the other. A stack of legal contracts was centered between them, occupying neutral territory.