Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (34 page)

Callie immediately shook her head, “Oh, I couldn’t…I have plenty of underthings…I do not need new ones.”

The dress loosened into her hands as Madame Hebert spoke. “I assure you, you do need them.” She helped Callie out of her corset and chemise, saying, “The most confident of women are those who believe in every scrap of fabric that they wear. They are the ones who are as happy with their drawers as they are with their gowns. You can tell the difference between a woman who wraps herself in beautiful silks and satins and she who wears…” The modiste paused as she dropped Callie’s worn chemise to the floor. “…otherwise.”

Callie slipped into the new, lovely undergarments adorned with little details—satin ribbons, little, hand-fashioned flowers in lovely colors, lace panels that added a touch of femininity that she had never before considered necessary in unmentionables. As the layers were draped over her, she felt rather silly for enjoying the sensation of lovely silks and satins against her skin, but Madame Hebert had been right. There was something quite decadent about wearing such frivolously beautiful underclothes—especially when Anne was the only person who would ever see them.

As if she were reading Callie’s thoughts, the dressmaker leaned in, and whispered, “And, let us not forget, one never knows who might someday unwrap such a present, oui?” Callie blushed fiercely at the words, followed by the Frenchwoman’s knowing laugh.

And then she was in her gown, which seemed to fit her perfectly. Madame Hebert looked pleased as Punch as she walked a slow circle around Callie, noting each minute detail of the gown. Satisfied, she met Callie’s wide-eyed gaze, and said, “Now, out into the fitting room and we shall have a closer look.”

Following the modiste back into the main room, Callie noted that Nastasia was still on her platform as Valerie worked to hem the red gown. Pushing aside the immediate sense of insecurity that consumed her, Callie stepped up to take her place on the empty second platform in the room. Madame Hebert gently turned her toward a large mirror placed nearby, and Callie’s eyes widened in surprise as she realized that she was the woman in the reflection. She shook her head. She’d never seen herself this way—thoroughly transformed from prim and plain to…well, quite remarkable.

Her breasts were perfectly highlighted by the low cut of the gown, looking lush and full without appearing vulgar, the drape of the silk over her curving waist and hips and stomach made her appear well proportioned rather than too plump, and the color—the most lovely, shimmering blue she’d ever seen, gave her usually too-red skin the appearance of strawberries and cream.

A smile broke out on her face. Madame Hebert had been right. This was a dress made for waltzing. Callie couldn’t resist spinning in excitement toward the dressmaker. “Oh, it’s lovely, Madame.”

The modiste’s smile matched Callie’s. “Indeed. It is.” She tilted her head, looking critically at Callie’s reflection, and said, “It needs to be raised a touch in the skirt. Excuse me—I shall fetch a girl to help me pin.”

The Frenchwoman disappeared through a nearby door, and Callie looked back at her reflection, taking in the drape of the fabric, the lovely cut—so uniquely different from anything that was in London ballrooms at present, so perfectly suited to her unfashionable figure.

“Hebert is a genius, is she not?”

Callie’s eyes flew to the looking glass, where she met a pair of probing violet eyes, doubly reflected in their mirrors. With a small, polite smile, she said, quietly, “She certainly is.”

Nastasia’s eyes flickered to Valerie’s reflection, and she watched as the girl pinned a section of her hem before saying casually, “Ralston has always liked her work.”

Callie looked away at the words, uncertain. She’d never spoken to someone’s mistress before. Certainly not to the mistress of the man she loved.

Nastasia pressed on, sounding bored. “You do not have to shy away from me, Lady Calpurnia. We are not girls, just out of the schoolroom, but women, yes? I know he is with you, now. It is the way of the world, my dear.”

Callie shook her head, her mouth falling open in shock. “He isn’t…with me.”

The opera singer raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Are you really going to tell me that Ralston hasn’t seduced you?”

Callie blushed, looking away again, and Nastasia laughed. The sound wasn’t mean-spirited, as Callie would have expected, but entertained. “You didn’t expect him to do it, did you? But I shall wager you enjoyed every minute of it. Ralston is a rare breed of man…one who cares more for his lovers than for himself.” Callie’s cheeks flamed as the Greek woman pressed on, frank. “I have had many lovers…and only one other who was as generous as Ralston. You are lucky he was your first.”

Callie thought she might perish from embarrassment right there. On the spot.

“May I offer you a piece of advice?”

Callie’s head snapped up, and she watched the raven-haired beauty in the mirror. Nastasia was no longer looking at her, but instead off through a large window through which the afternoon sun poured into the fitting room. After several long moments of silence, Callie’s curiosity got the better of her. “Please.”

Nastasia spoke, the words coming from far away. “When I was eighteen, I met the first of those men. Dimitri was generous and kind and a remarkable lover…everything I had dreamed of…everything I hadn’t known I longed for. It was inevitable that I fell in love with him. And it was a love that surpassed anything I’d ever known…anything I’d ever heard of—mythic in its proportions. He was the only man I would ever love.” She paused, sadness passing over her face so quickly that Callie was not entirely certain it had been there to begin with. “But he could not love me in return. The capacity for that kind of emotion…it was not in him. And, so, instead, he broke my heart.”

Tears sprang to Callie’s eyes, unbidden, at the sadness of the other woman’s story. She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What happened?”

Nastasia gave a small, elegant shrug. “I left Greece. And my voice carried the day.”

Valerie stood, finished with her task, and Nastasia seemed to return from far away. Her eyes cleared as she inspected the young woman’s work in the mirror. “Ralston is your Dimitri. Guard your heart well.”

There was a pregnant pause as the two women each considered their own reflections. “If you could do it again…would you have taken him without love?” Callie blurted out the question, regretting it as soon as the words were spoken.

Nastasia thought for a long moment, her face a portrait of sadness. When her eyes met Callie’s in the mirror, they were liquid with emotion. “No,” she whispered. “I loved him too much for it to be one-sided.”

Callie brushed away an errant tear as Madame Hebert returned, apprentice in tow, unaware of the conversation that had taken place. Nastasia turned her head to the dressmaker. “Lady Calpurnia’s gown is beautiful,” she said, “I should like one of the same fabric.”

Madame Hebert spoke in clipped tones. “I am sorry, Miss Kritikos. The fabric is no longer available.”

Nastasia gave Callie a frank appraisal, from head to toe. “Well, then, it appears you are making a habit of receiving those things that I desire, Lady Calpurnia.” She offered a small smile. “May you have better luck than I. That dress will certainly help.”

Callie dipped her head in acknowledgment of Nastasia’s words. “Thank you, Miss Kritikos. And, may I say, I think you are a brilliant talent.”

Nastasia stepped from her platform and sank into a deep, gracious curtsy, finally acknowledging Callie’s social position. “You are too kind, my lady.” With that, she and Valerie exited to a side dressing room, where Callie could only imagine there were other garments for Nastasia to consider. She watched the other woman leave, surprised and saddened by the direction of their conversation.

Returning her attention to the curious dressmaker, Callie offered her a small, watery smile. She knew what Madame Hebert was thinking. What could an opera singer and the sister of an earl possibly have to say to each other?

The modiste had been running her salon for too long to risk insulting her patrons with questions about their personal lives, however, and her business acumen forced her to turn her focus to Callie’s hem.

Madame Hebert adjusted the length of Callie’s skirt, then issued instructions to the young apprentice and left the room. The girl began to pin Callie’s dress in silence, and Callie played the conversation with Nastasia over in her mind. The singer’s words had been powerful; Callie had felt them like a blow. She had known the truth, of course, that Ralston would never be able to love her the way she desired, but hearing Nastasia’s story—sensing its truth—had intensified Callie’s sadness from earlier in the day.

She watched her reflection in the mirror as her tears blurred it. She could be as beautiful as the woman in the mirror every day, but it would not make Ralston love her. And, perhaps, if he were anyone else—someone whom she loved less, or not at all—she would have embraced his offer of marriage and accepted. But she had dreamed of being his for too long. He had quite ruined her for a marriage of convenience. She wanted everything from him: his mind, his body, his name and, most of all, his heart.

Perhaps refusing him had been a mistake. Perhaps she should have jumped at the opportunity to be his marchioness. To be the mother of his children. Callie’s heart clenched at the idea of little dark-haired, blue-eyed babies clinging to her skirts. But it seemed that Nastasia was right. The worst misery would come not from being without him but being without all of him.

Callie heaved a little sigh, willing her morbid thoughts away for this moment, as she discovered this newer, lovelier version of herself. A burst of familiar laughter came from the front of the shop, and she forced herself to smile as Juliana and Mariana hurried through the curtain, stopping short at the sight of Callie.

“Oh, Callie…” Mariana said in a hushed, reverent voice. “You look beautiful.”

Callie dipped her head at the compliment, so uncommon. “No.”

Juliana nodded her head eagerly. “It is true. You are beautiful!”

Callie’s cheeks reddened. “Thank you.”

Mari walked a slow circle around her sister. “It’s a stunning gown, Callie…but there’s more…there’s something…” She paused, looking up into her sister’s big, brown eyes. “You feel beautiful, don’t you?”

The words brought a smile to Callie’s eyes. “I rather think I do, actually.”

Juliana laughed. “Brava! It is time you feel beautiful, Callie.” When Mariana nodded encouragingly, Juliana continued, “I have thought you were lovely from the beginning of our acquaintance, of course. But, now, with this dress…you must wear it to the ball. Dovete! You must.” Three nights hence marked the Salisbury Ball, when Juliana would make her official debut to the ton. The young woman clapped her hands, excitedly. “We shall have our coming out together! With new dresses! Although I cannot imagine that any of mine will be anything so beautiful as this one!”

Mariana nodded her agreement, and Callie looked from one girl to the other, overwhelmed. “Oh, I do not imagine this dress will be ready by the ball. It must be hemmed, and I’m certain that Madame Hebert has much more important customers than I.”

“If you need it for the ball, my lady, you shall have it for the ball.” The words came from the modiste, who had reentered the room to check on the progress of her assistant. “I shall hem it myself and have it delivered first thing in the morning on one condition.” She leaned in close to Callie, and said, “You must promise that you will dance every waltz.”

Callie smiled, shaking her head. “I am afraid that is not my decision to make, Madame.”

“Nonsense,” the dressmaker scoffed. “In this dress, you shall be leaving hearts in your wake. The men, they shall be chasing after you.”

Callie laughed at the unlikely image the words painted, only to discover that none of the other women found the idea remotely amusing. Her laughter died away, and Mariana spoke. “They shall, indeed!”

Juliana smiled a thoughtful smile, cocking her head as she took Callie in. “I agree. I cannot wait to see Gabriel’s response to this! You are a vision!”

Mariana looked to her friend and spoke matter-of-factly. “Oh, Ralston is a foregone conclusion, I’d venture to guess.”

Callie sputtered at the bold, inappropriate conversation, a blush flooding her cheeks. Were her feelings for Ralston that obvious? Had Juliana said anything to her brother?

Her discomfort was ignored; the girls continued to titter between themselves as Madame Hebert guided Callie back behind the dressing screen.

Once there, Callie risked a look at the dressmaker, noting the woman’s knowing smile just before she said, quietly, “The Marquess of Ralston is after you, is he?”

Callie shook her head in response to the bold question, immediately answering, “No. Certainly not.” With a little noise of acknowledgment, Madame Hebert began to unbutton Callie’s dress, remaining silent long enough for Callie to think the conversation was over.

It was only after she stepped out of the pool of aethereal blue silk that the modiste added, as though Callie had not spoken, “Well, if Ralston is your target, be certain to wear the lingerie, my lady. He shall enjoy it as much as you do.”

Callie blushed furiously as the dressmaker gave a little, knowing laugh.

Callie and Mariana stood on the edge of the Salisbury ballroom, watching the steady stream of attendees arrive. The enormous space was bathed in the golden light of thousands of candles flickering high above in enormous crystal chandeliers. The room was mirrored along one wall, doubling the light and giving the illusion that it was twice its size and that all of London had turned out for the ball. Of course, all of London just might have done so. The ball was packed with people—women in silks and satins of every imaginable hue gossiping in small clusters, men in dark formal attire talking politics and Parliament.

Callie stood up on her toes and looked around the room, concerned that they might have missed Juliana’s entrance. The hour was growing late for arrivals, and the last thing that a new addition to the ton needed was to be unfashionably late to her first ball. Surely Ralston understood that, Callie thought to herself as she searched for the younger woman.

There had been little doubt that the Salisbury Ball was the ideal place to launch Juliana into society. The annual event, one of the largest and most inclusive of the season, was hosted by the very dear and very kind Earl and Countess of Salisbury, whom Callie had always considered one of the most gracious couples in London. When her father had passed away, it had been Lord and Lady Salisbury who had offered the most support—for both Callie’s devastated mother and for young, ill-prepared Benedick, who had been in dire need of the tutelage that the earl had offered. The Salisburys were friends, and they would welcome Juliana and Ralston without question. Of that, Callie was certain.

Assuming, of course, they ever arrived.

Callie gave a little sigh. She was as nervous as she had been on the night of her own coming out.

“They shall be here,” Mariana said calmly. “I don’t know Ralston nearly as well as you do, but I know enough of him to be certain that he would not miss this evening.” She turned an impish gaze on Callie. “And when he sees you in this dress, he will be very happy that he did not miss it.”

Callie rolled her eyes at her sister and said dryly, “A bit much, Mari, even for you.”

Mariana laughed and gave a delicate shrug. “Perhaps…but true, nonetheless. Hebert has outdone herself. It is a stunning gown.”

Callie looked down at herself, at the drape of blue silk across her bodice and the full, lovely skirt that swayed perfectly when she walked. The fabric, which she had only ever seen in sunlight, took on an entirely different sheen in candlelight. It shimmered as though it were alive, like the bluest of oceans. She gave a little smile at the memory of her image in the mirror tonight. Gone was the dusty old lace-capped spinster; this gown had transformed her.

“They’re here.”

Callie’s reverie was cut short by Mariana’s whisper, and her gaze flew to the entrance of the ballroom, marked by a wide staircase, just long enough to offer attendees an ideal look at those entering the festivities. There were masses of people crowded along the edges of the stairway and on the platform above, but it was impossible to miss the trio that had just arrived.

Juliana was relieved of her pristine white cloak and stood, back straight, perfectly still, in a soft empire-waisted dress of the palest of pinks. It was the perfect gown for the evening—beautifully crafted without being ostentatious, expensive without being gaudy. Just behind her, moving almost in unison, stood Ralston and St. John, shucking their greatcoats to flank their sister. They were twin portraits of determination, each surveying the crowd below as though preparing to do battle. The corner of Callie’s mouth twitched in amusement. London society just might be the closest thing to battle that the people in this room would ever see.

Callie’s gaze settled on Ralston as her heart pounded in her chest, noting the firm set of his jaw and the cool determination in his eyes—so blue that she could see them from where she stood, halfway across the room. And then he was looking at her. She warmed as his gaze lingered, taking in her in. Unconsciously, she sighed, a deep, resigned sigh, and Mariana gave her a little nudge with her elbow. “Callie, do try not to appear as though you’re thoroughly infatuated with the man, will you?”

Callie snapped her head around to her sister, and whispered harshly, “I am doing no such thing!”

“Mmm. And I am Queen Charlotte,” Mariana said dryly, ignoring her sister’s glare before adding, “And so it begins.”

Callie followed the direction of Mariana’s gaze and noted Juliana being presented to the countess and earl. She watched as the young woman fell into a perfectly executed curtsy, eyes downcast, serene smile pasted on her face. The long column of her neck gave her a swanlike grace that was sure to be the envy of every woman in the room who was watching. And they were all watching.

At Callie’s shoulder, Mariana let out a little sound of satisfaction. “She did that better than I’ve ever done!”

Callie ignored Mariana, instead turning her attention to the rest of the ballroom and taking note of the stares directed at Juliana from every direction.

This was not going to be easy.

“I heard that she is illegitimate—by the mother.” A feminine whisper came from Callie’s left, and she turned to see the Duke and Dowager Duchess of Leighton, each staring at Juliana. Callie’s breath hitched in anger as she registered the disdain on the duke’s handsome face as his mother continued, “I cannot imagine why Salisbury would have let her in the door. It’s not as though Ralston’s reputation is much better. I’m sure he’s sired a few on the wrong side of the blanket himself.”

The words, so thoroughly inappropriate and, at the same time, so very expected, were too much. Callie cast a long, quelling look at the duchess—a look meant to be seen.

The Duke of Leighton noticed and matched Callie’s stare with a cool one of his own. “Eavesdropping is a terrible habit, Lady Calpurnia.”

A year ago, Callie would not have had the courage to respond—but with a pointed look in the direction of the dowager duchess, she said, “I believe I could think of a worse habit, Your Grace.”

With that, she headed across the ballroom to save Juliana from these vipers.

Mariana was fast on her heels. “Well done, sister!” Mariana applauded her boldness. “The look on their faces! Priceless!”

“They deserved it. Their snobbery is unconscionable,” Callie said absently, focused entirely on getting to Juliana’s side and placing her squarely under the protection of the Allendale name for the evening. It would not stem the gossip, but it most certainly would help matters.

As they pushed through the throng of people, the pair passed Rivington, and Mari placed a quick hand on her betrothed’s arm, speaking so only he could hear. “Come and meet Juliana, Riv.” Of course, Rivington had met the girl before, but the duke knew immediately what Mariana really meant. Come and stamp her with the approval of a dukedom. He followed without pause.

Callie pushed past the last cluster of people to find Juliana standing in an empty area, several feet from the various clusters of revelers nearby who appeared to be so enthralled with their own conversations that they could not bear to interrupt themselves to meet Juliana. Callie knew better. So did everyone else. Ralston and St. John stood on either side of their sister, looking entirely ready to do bodily harm to half of London. Callie met Ralston’s gaze briefly, noting his obvious anger at this society that so easily shunned those it did not immediately accept. How many times had she felt precisely the same way as he did in this moment?

She could not stop to sympathize with him, however. His sister needed her. “Juliana!” she said, her voice high and clear and obvious to those standing nearby, keenly aware of the power of the moment. “I am so happy that you are here! Mariana and I have been waiting for your arrival!”

Mariana clasped Juliana’s hands in her own, and said, “Indeed we have! The evening has been quite dismal without you!” She turned eager eyes on Rivington. “Rivington, don’t you agree?”

The Duke of Rivington bowed low over Juliana’s hand. “Indeed. Miss Fiori, I should very much like to accompany you for the next dance,” he said, his tone warm and a touch louder than usual. “That is, assuming you have not already promised it to another?”

Juliana shook her head, overwhelmed by the moment. “No, Your Grace.”

Mariana beamed up at her future husband, and said, “I think that is an excellent idea!” She then leaned in to Juliana and whispered conspiratorially, “Mind he doesn’t tread on your toes.”

The foursome laughed at Mari’s jest, and Rivington guided Juliana into the center of the room. Mariana and Callie watched as the two took their place and Juliana received her first public acceptance—in the form of a dance with one of the most powerful men in England. The sisters looked to each other, unable to hide their wide, proud smiles.

“I find I should very much like to dance myself,” came a voice close behind them. They turned to find St. John smiling at them. “Lady Mariana, never say you have promised this one to someone else?”

Mari looked down at her dance card and laughed. “Indeed I had, my lord,” she whispered, “although, it appears that my partner has chosen your sister instead.”

Nick shook his head, a tragic frown upon his face. “I shall endeavor to make it up to you, my lady.”

“That would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Mari said with a brilliant smile, and allowed him to guide her onto the floor.

Callie watched them go, amused. It was almost enough for her to forget that they’d all summarily left her with Ralston. Almost enough.

Uncertain of what to say in light of their last conversation, she turned and met his unreadable gaze. Nervous, she decided on the safest topic. “Lord Ralston,” she said, “it appears your sister is in fine form this evening.”

“Indeed. Thanks to you and your family.”

“Rivington is proving himself to be an excellent soon-to-be member of our motley crew.” Callie’s lips curved in a quiet smile as they watched the dancing couples.

One side of Ralston’s mouth kicked up. “I am indebted to him.” He looked at her, spearing her with a serious look. “And to you.”

His eyes darkened and narrowed as they passed over her, and Callie detected a slight shifting of his weight. And it was then that she knew…he had noticed her dress. Ask me to dance. She knew that it was a terrible idea—that the very last thing she should do was allow herself to be swept away by Ralston tonight—mere hours after refusing his proposal of marriage and resolving to remain far, far away from him. Ask me to dance so that my first waltz in this gown is with you. She quashed the little voice, resolving this moment to stop her silly flights of fancy. Dancing with Ralston was a decidedly awful idea.

“Lady Calpurnia, would you care to dance?”

At first, Callie was legitimately confused by the words, which she had willed Ralston to speak but that instead came from an altogether different direction—over her right shoulder. She blinked uncertainly, barely noting Ralston’s thunderous expression before understanding dawned, and she turned to face Baron Oxford.

No! She resisted the urge to stomp her foot.

She could not refuse his offer; not only would it be the height of impropriety to do so, Callie was certainly in no position to refuse any offer to dance. It wasn’t as though they came fast and furiously. She darted a little glance in the direction of Ralston, briefly wondering if he might step in and claim the dance for himself. She would not deny it if he were to say that he had requested the waltz in question.

But he said nothing, instead watching her with that cold, unreadable gaze. She turned back to Oxford. “I would very much like to dance, my lord. Thank you.”

The baron extended his hand to her, and she settled her palm in his.

When their hands touched, he flashed a broad grin that did not wholly reach his eyes. “Excellent.”

Ralston watched as Oxford guided Callie into the waltz, fury coursing through him at the sight of the other man’s arms wrapped around her—touching her. Only years of training in restraint stayed him from storming out onto the ballroom floor and wrenching her from the clutches of the fortune-hunting dandy.

It should be me dancing with her, for God’s sake. Ralston berated himself as he followed their path around the dance floor, Oxford’s tall frame towering over Callie as he swept her through the room, turning her into a swirl of blue. As if the events that had transpired—her thorough dismissal of him and his marriage proposal—had not smarted enough, now she was in Oxford’s arms, dressed like an angel.

Where the hell had she found a dress like that? It fit her beautifully, embracing and celebrating the lush, feminine shape of her, highlighting her lovely breasts, the subtle curve of her hips, her voluptuous figure. It was a dress designed to enhance and embolden and drive men mad. It was a dress that served only one purpose—to tempt men into removing it.

At that moment, Oxford and Callie turned in such a way that she was facing Ralston head-on. He met her gaze and was shaken by the sadness in her eyes. There was something about her tonight that was different, more tragic, from other nights. He knew instinctively that he was the reason for her sadness—that he had made a thorough mess of everything, mucking up his marriage proposal, somehow leading her to believe that he didn’t really want to marry her.

He bit back a curse as Oxford and Callie were swallowed up by the teeming crowd of dancers. He could see the shimmering blue of the gown peeking out at him as the wave of people ebbed and flowed, and his mood descended into blackness as the couple moved farther and farther away.