There was laughter in her eyes, he was sure. And a smile played about her mouth. “I love it,” she whispered.
“But it’s too small,” said Eleanor in disgust.
Mellie held up her hand. “It fits me perfectly.”
“But it’s supposed to go over your glove, not underneath it.”
Trevor shook his head. “No. The signet ring goes over the glove. This is Mellie’s ring. I hope you will keep it forever.”
The duchess snorted. “Well, of course she’ll keep it forever. It’s her engagement ring.”
Which would be true if they were going to get married. He and Mellie shared a look of silent misery. Who knew what her real husband would think of such a thing? But it didn’t matter as Mellie then held up his hand.
“And shall I put on yours, Mr. Buggy Duke?”
He groaned, but he extended his finger. “I do hate that name, you know.”
“That’s what makes it perfect,” she said as she slipped it on. “There now. We’re a pair.”
And he felt it. He felt as if they were well matched. For better or worse, they were in this together. So he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss first to her ring, then again to her palm. In that one gesture, he tried to express all of his better nature. He wanted to say that he was a gentleman and would treat her as the lady she was. He would honor her and stand by her side no matter what happened.
But even as he pressed his lips to her palm, he realized the futility of it all. He was not a gentleman, because this engagement was a lie. He was not honorable because he still intended to teach her the joys of her body as soon as he could find a way.
And no matter how beautiful she was, tonight’s guests would make it their mission to make her feel odd, outcast, and wholly unworthy.
Fourteen
Be hard and calculating like a man. Do not let feminine emotions enter your head or worse, your heart.
Mellie tried not to pace in the upstairs parlor of the Redhill home. Normally she would sit quietly with her hands composed in front of her. Her father had trained that position into her from her earliest memory. He believed hands folded in quiet repose was the best position for a quiet mind. The two of them had practiced it every day until she could sit in silent meditation for nearly an hour. And yes, it usually did quiet her mind.
But to sit now would crush the feathers on her dress. To sit now would be to suggest that this riot of emotions in her mind was a bad thing. And truthfully, she rather enjoyed it. She had never felt more alive in her life.
Well, never felt more alive when doing something proper.
And that thought naturally brought her to Trevor and the wonderful things she still wanted to do with him. She reached for the ring on her finger, but couldn’t truly see it because of her glove. Still, she felt it on her finger, solid and whimsical at once. The idea that he wore a matching ring on his finger made her grin. She’d wanted so desperately to kiss him when he’d given this to her. She’d wanted…well…those were not the thoughts of a proper woman, so she tried to put them away.
She tried to quiet her mind while standing, but failed utterly. She was about to be presented to thetonand in a spectacular fashion. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought this day might come.
Lady Redhill had stated two weeks ago that the Cricket Princess wearing a feathered gown needed an equally dramatic presentation. So while everyone entered the ballroom in the usual fashion—Trevor included—she was to wait upstairs until Seelye came to fetch her. It was to be just before the dancing began. At that time, Seelye would escort her downstairs and hand her off to the Redhill majordomo, who would announce her to theton. And then Trevor was to climb the stairs to escort her down to Lord and Lady Redhill.
After the greeting there, Helaine and her husband would open the ball with a dance: a waltz. Trevor and Mellie would be the second couple on the floor. Everyone would be looking at her, everyone wondering who was this strange cit in feathers who had captured the heart of a future duke.
She ought to be terrified. She ought to be embarrassed. After all, she was wearing feathers, for God’s sake. But she wasn’t. She was elated and excited and filled with a giddy terror. It was wonderful, and all she wanted to do was spin around and laugh before falling into Trevor’s arms.
Joy. Oh, such joy as she had never felt before. If only time would speed up and Seelye would knock.
Knock, knock.
She gasped and spun around. Was it time already?
The door opened, and a man stepped in. He wasn’t Seelye. He wasn’t even the Redhill majordomo, or any servant that she could tell. He was tall with dark, curling hair and a physique most handsomely displayed in his black evening clothes. His face was cut in angular lines, which emphasized the bump on his nose from where it had been broken at some point. And his dark brown eyes were particularly handsome, though it was his mouth that drew the eye. Full lips when she might have expected severe, and a curve at the edges that grew when he looked at her.
“Goodness, but you’re not Redhill,” he said. His voice matched the angles of his face—gravelly and sharp. But his smile softened the tone. And the frank appreciation of her dress made her flush with embarrassed pleasure.
“No, sir,” she said, belatedly remembering to curtsy. “I believe his lordship is downstairs greeting guests.”
“Well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Except he seems to have disappeared, and as I had some urgent matters to discuss with him, I thought I’d catch him. But of course, I seem to have caught you instead.”