Cold-Hearted Rake

Winterborne escorted Helen away from the rotunda. “Would you like to see the pianos?” she heard him ask.

Her timid reply was muffled as they retreated from sight.

Devon came to stand beside Kathleen.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, she asked, “When you look at them, do you ever see two people who feel even the slightest infatuation for each other? There’s no natural ease between them, no sharing of mutual enthusiasms. They talk as if they were strangers on an omnibus.”

“I see two people who haven’t yet lowered their guards with each other,” came his matter-of-fact reply.

Pushing back from the counter, Kathleen wandered to an elegant display of stationery supplies in another area of the rotunda. A lacquered tray of scent bottles occupied the countertop. According to a small framed placard, the scent was intended specifically for ladies who wished to mist their correspondence with fragrance that was guaranteed not to stain paper or cause ink to run.

Wordlessly Devon came to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest on the counter, on either side of her. Kathleen inhaled sharply. Caged by his hard, warm body, she couldn’t move as she felt his mouth touch the back of her neck. She closed her eyes, her senses mesmerized by the vital masculine strength of him. The heat of his breath stirred a stray wisp of hair that lay on her nape, the feeling so exquisite that she trembled.

“Turn around,” he whispered.

Kathleen shook her head mutely, her blood racing.

“I miss you.” One of his hands lifted, his fingertips caressing her nape with erotic sensitivity. “I want to come to your bed tonight. Even if it’s just to hold you.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a woman who’s eager to share her bed with you,” she said tartly.

He pressed close enough to nudge the side of her face with his, the friction of his shaved chin brushing her like a cat’s tongue. “I only want you.”

She stiffened against the pleasure of feeling him all around her. “You shouldn’t say that until we discover whether or not I’m with child. Although neither answer would ever make things right between us.”

A gentle kiss nuzzled into the skin beneath her jaw. “I’m sorry,” he said huskily. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I wish I could take back every word. It wasn’t your fault; you have little experience in the act of love. I know better than anyone how damnably difficult it is to pull back at the precise moment that you want to be as close to someone as possible.”

Stunned by his apology, Kathleen continued to stand facing away from him. She hated the vulnerability that had invaded her, the rush of loneliness and desire that made her want to turn in his arms and start weeping.

Before she could come up with a coherent reply, she heard the twins’ vociferous chatter, and the clinking and rustling of a great number of objects being carried at once. Devon moved away from her.

“We need more baskets,” Pandora said triumphantly, entering the hall.

The twins, who were clearly having a splendid time, had adorned themselves outlandishly. Cassandra was dressed in a green opera cloak with a jeweled feather ornament affixed to her hair. Pandora had tucked a light blue lace parasol beneath one arm, and a pair of lawn tennis rackets beneath the other, and was wearing a flowery diadem headdress that had slipped partially over one eye.

“From the looks of it,” Kathleen said, “you’ve done enough shopping already.”

Cassandra looked concerned. “Oh, no, we still have at least eighty departments to visit.”

Kathleen couldn’t help glancing at Devon, who was trying, without success, to stifle a grin. It was the first time she had seen him truly smile in days.

Enthusiastically the girls lugged the baskets to her and began to set objects on the counter in an unwieldy pile… perfumed soaps, powders, pomades, stockings, books, new corset laces and racks of hairpins, artificial flowers, tins of biscuits, licorice pastilles and barley sweets, a metal mesh tea infuser, hosiery tucked in little netted bags, a set of drawing pencils, and a tiny glass bottle filled with bright red liquid.

“What is this?” Kathleen asked, picking up the bottle and viewing it suspiciously.

“It’s a beautifier,” Pandora said.

“Bloom of Rose,” Cassandra chimed in.

Kathleen gasped as she realized what it was. “It’s rouge.” She had never even held a container of rouge before. Setting it on the counter, she said firmly, “No.”

“But Kathleen —”

“No to rouge,” she said, “now and for all time.”

“We need to enhance our complexions,” Pandora protested.

“It won’t do any harm,” Cassandra chimed in. “The bottle says that Bloom of Rose is ‘delicate and inoffensive’… It’s written right there, you see?”

“The comments you would receive if you wore rouge in public would assuredly not be delicate or inoffensive. People would assume you were a fallen woman. Or worse, an actress.”

Pandora turned to Devon. “Lord Trenear, what do you think?”

“This is one of those times when it’s best for a man to avoid thinking altogether,” he said hastily.

“Bother,” Cassandra said. Reaching for a white glass pot with a gilded top, she gave it to Kathleen. “We found this for you. It’s lily pomatum, for your wrinkles.”

“I don’t have wrinkles,” Kathleen said with dawning indignation.

“Not yet,” Pandora allowed. “But someday you will.”