“If he has not kissed you again, it’s because he’s waiting for you to initiate. My guess is he can’t be certain you want this, which means that you have to tempt him. Prove to him that you want him, then push him beyond the bounds of his self-control. He strikes me as a man of restraint, Chris, so you must break it.”
Her stomach twisted in nervous anticipation. “I’m no flirt, Laura. I can’t do that.”
“I have a better idea. Let me select your gown for the carnival, Chris. And then, in the evening, allow me to choose your nightgown. You will go to his bedchambers and you will ask to speak with him, and then you will seduce him so thoroughly, he will be unable to deny you.”
Christiana spluttered. “Seduce him? If I cannot flirt, how do you expect me to achieve that?”
“There is no easier thing in the world. All you need to do is look tempting and be close to him. Lean in, look as though you might kiss him, then halt just out of reach. Let your hair fall freely down your back. And skin—men like skin, dearest. Make the most of it.”
She severely doubted she could do this. She was no siren—she was lanky and awkward, not to mention bespectacled, and she could imagine nothing more difficult than actively trying to tempt Hugh into bed.
But gambling was, always, about risk.
“I shall do my best,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The day ofthe carnival dawned bright and near cloudless. September loomed in the distance, but for now, the weather promised to hold out.
It would be beautiful. Everything would be beautiful, and the people of the county would come to love Hugh for his generosity.
Laura had helped pick out a dress for the occasion—an iridescent green that, according to her friend, brought out copper tones in her hair and made her skin luminescent. It also exposed an expanse of chest, and a line of ruffles along the bodice enhanced her nonexistent bosom.
It was, quite possibly, the best she had ever looked, and she stood for a long while before the mirror as Baxter fussed over her hair.
She knew, objectively, that she would never be beautiful. But seeing herself like this, looking almost feminine—looking, in short, as though she were a lady, rather than a scholar clasped in ill-suited gowns—brought with it a rush of pleasure.
All her life, she had assumed delight in one’s appearance was an example of feminine vanity, and moreover, of a mind consumed with shallow, material pleasures. Well, if that were the case, then she was both shallow and vain. Perhaps eveninsipid, too. Because although she disliked the thought of being on display, she enjoyed looking at her reflection for the first time in her life.
Seduction still felt like a step too far, but if Hughwereat all tempted by her, the gown would entice him into wanting her more. Then, all being well, she would have to do very little actual seduction to get him into bed.
All she had to do was encourage him.
Her stomach twisted with nerves.
Baxter brought her perfume, which she dabbed on her wrists and neck. “You look wonderful, ma’am,” Baxter said, with such honest sincerity in her voice that Christiana couldn’t help but smile.
“Thank you.” She picked up her skirts and moved to the door. By some coincidence, Hugh was leaving his rooms at the same time, and she encountered him in the wide, spacious corridor outside their respective rooms. He had gone for one of his larger, more all-encompassing masks, though he had yet to put it on; it dangled from the fingers of one hand. The rest of him was dressed rather splendidly in a bright, silken waistcoat and a natty coat with polished golden buttons. The tassels on his Hessians had been combed, and his boots were polished to a shine.
When he saw her, he stopped. His jaw worked, and his throat bobbed with a long swallow. Christiana held her breath, feeling as though she had only just emerged from a pond, her lungs screaming yet unable to take in air.
“Chris,” he said, clearing his throat. “You look…” Words, apparently, failed him, and he gave a rueful smile. “I imagine you know precisely how you look.”
“There is a mirror in my rooms.”
“You are determined to dazzle everyone we encounter, I take it.”
“I hope to,” she said, accepting his arm as he offered it. “Laura suggested I look the part. After all, this is the first time most people will see the duchess, and you may believe rumors have spread as to my existence.”
“Rumors have a habit of doing that.”
Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned to face him, spreading a hand across his lapels. “They will come to love you, Hugh.”
His eyes searched hers, dark and full of trepidation. He did this for her, she knew, and she hoped it would be enough.
James, one of the footmen, was to accompany them; the remainder of the servants had been given the day off, with a dinner of bread and cold meats to welcome them home later in the afternoon. Everything had been so perfectly planned, and Christiana had spoken to each of the servants privately, expressing her hope that they would speak truthfully of the duke if asked.
After all, Baxter had confirmed that the servants seemed to think well of him. Even Penwick and Mrs. Partridge spoke well of Hugh, no matter how poorly they behaved behind closed doors. The moment the painting was finished and Christiana had amassed proof of the full extent of their crimes—her investigation was underway—then she would dismiss them.