Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Livvy gasped as Daisy pulled the dress Dev had ordered from the box and held it up in front of her.
“Oh, dear God! It’s almost transparent. He can’t seriously expect me to wear that.”
Daisy’s lips split into a delighted grin. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise. Carys Davies wore one like this a couple of years ago, and half the men in the room swore their undying love to her before the night was through.”
“I don’t want men swearing their undying love to me,” Olivia protested.
Just one in particular, her foolish heart added.
“It’s meant to look as if you’re almost naked,” Daisy said, clearly enthralled, “but look, there’s a clever skin-toned underdress that preserves your modesty. Well, most of it. Go on, try it on.” She gestured to the dressing screen and Olivia took the dress with a resigned sigh.
“It’s scandalously sheer,” she muttered as she wriggled into it. “And half my back’s exposed. Who am I even supposed to be?”
“One of the Greek or Roman goddesses, I expect,” Daisy shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Ellie, she’ll know. She loves reading about stuff like that. There’s a crown of golden oak leaves here, and a pair of sandals.”
“I can’t even wear any stays or drawers underneath.” Livvy stepped out from behind the screen. “Only an actress or a courtesan would wear something like this.”
Daisy sucked in an awed breath, her eyes wide in admiration. “Liv! You look wonderful. I’ve never seen you look so good. Who knew you had a figure like that hidden beneath all those starchy petticoats?”
Liv’s cheeks heated at the compliment. Daisy would never lie to her—she was disarmingly frank—so if she said she looked good, it was undoubtedly true.
She turned to the mirror and gave another gasp.
She barely recognized the woman staring back at her.
The white fabric was flecked with strands of gold that caught the light and flickered whenever she moved, and it flowed over her body like water.
The neck was a scooped drape low enough to show a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts, and her shoulders and back were scandalously bare.
The long skirts flowed over her hips right down to the floor.
Livvy blinked, overwhelmed by a rush of wicked feminine power. She looked like an , fearless and composed.
“I’m going to freeze,” she grumbled, trying to bring herself back to earth.
Daisy snorted. “You’ll be fine as soon as we get downstairs.
It’ll be boiling in the ballroom, with hundreds of people, plus all the candles.
And the fires in the grates. Dev never lets his guests lack for comforts.
He’s an excellent host. Now, sit down and let your maid do your hair, and I’ll see you downstairs. I’ve got to get ready myself.”
She headed for the door, then spun around again as she remembered something else.
"Oh, and don't forget your mask.” She pointed to the white papier-maché on the bed. “That’s what makes masked balls so much fun—nobody will know if you’re a duchess or a dairymaid, so it doesn’t matter how scandalous your dress is. ”
With a cheerful wave, she slipped out of the door and Olivia sucked in a deep breath to quell her nerves.
Nell, the maid who’d brought her breakfast, had been assigned the task of fixing her hair, and she forced herself to sit still while her curls were twisted and pinned half up, half down, and the gilt crown of oak leaves was placed on top.
Despite the fact that the top half of her face was going to be covered by the mask, she allowed Nell to stain her cheeks and lips with the faintest hint of rouge and had to admit that it made her look good.
Her eyes were sparkling with excitement; with no underthings, she felt naughty and wicked and free.
She couldn’t wait to see Dev’s reaction.
It was already dark when she peeked through the window, and the long drive was lit with a procession of carriages, each fitted with glowing lanterns, while servants with flaming torches guided new arrivals up the steps and into the house.
Liv made sure her mask was secure before she ventured down the staircase, her heart pounding with anticipation, and was immediately caught up in the crush of people all heading for the ballroom.
Dev had been right about the variety of costumes she would see. A knight in full armor, visor down, clanked past with a lady dressed as a nun, while a multicolored harlequin in a black mask with a long, pointed nose tickled a buxom woman who’d come as a mermaid.
Who were all these people? Presumably friends and acquaintances of Devlin, from all walks of life.
Was the man dressed as a chimney sweep, his features concealed with a thick layer of black soot, really a duke in disguise?
Was the woman dressed as a stable boy, her curved thighs and rounded bottom straining against her breeches, an opera singer or a countess? It was impossible to tell.
The frisson of excitement and mystery was palpable in the air, in the laughs and whispers of the crowd; everyone had come to enjoy themselves to the utmost. Drinks were flowing, the conversation and laughter mingling with the music from the string quartet in one corner.
Liv skirted the edge of the dance floor, looking for Daisy, Ellie, or Tess, but she stopped short when a tall gentlemen stepped into her path. She immediately recognized Dev, despite the black half-mask that covered his eyes and nose but left those sinful lips of his bare.
His dark eyes were shadowed by the mask, but she could still see the way they roved over her and her lips parted in delight.
“Perfect.” His voice was a low rasp, and it made her stomach swoop in delight. “You look utterly perfect.”
Liv schooled her mouth into what she hoped was a disapproving line. “This is as far from mourning clothes as it’s possible to get. Am I supposed to be a Vestal Virgin?”
“You’re Hera, Queen of the Gods.” He took her hand in his and the touch of his skin was thrilling; neither of them were wearing gloves. She shivered as he pressed a warm kiss to the back of her hand.
He was dressed as a highwayman, in a black tricorn hat, dark coat, and tall boots, and the smile that curved the corners of his mouth was wicked indeed. It was no stretch of the imagination to imagine him holding up a coach and demanding a lady give up her most valuable possessions.
“I’m afraid I’ve nothing for you to steal, sir,” Liv teased.
“Now that’s not true. I’m not interested in jewels, my lady. I’m after something far more precious.”
“My heart?”
He squeezed her fingers. “Your hand. In marriage. As well you know.” He tilted his head toward the dance floor. “Shall we?”
Livvy shrugged. “Why not?”
She’d longed to be back in his arms since the last time they’d danced, before the war.
He pulled her gently into the crowd and she melted into his embrace. His big hand slid around her waist and settled at the very bottom of her back, just below the part where her skin was bare, and they moved in an easy waltz that made the room spin.
They didn’t talk, and Liv allowed herself to be swept away by the feel of him so close and by the lilting beauty of the music. When the dance finished, he held her a fraction longer than strictly necessary, but released her when she smiled up at him, dazed and breathless.
“Oh, that was lovely!” she panted. “Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “My pleasure.” He indicated a table on one side of the room. “Have you written down your secret yet?”
Liv frowned. “What?”
“It’s a Twelfth Night tradition. Every guest must confess to a secret—anonymously, of course—and write it down.
The piece of paper gets put into the bowl,” he pointed to a huge silver punch bowl half full of folded pieces of parchment, “And at midnight the Lord of Misrule, in this case, Harry, will read them aloud and people will all gossip about who they think wrote them.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Liv said.
“It sounds exciting,” Dev grinned, shoving a pencil into her hand. “Go on. Write yours. I’ve already done mine.”
Liv took up a square of paper. “Turn around then. I won’t have you peeking.”
He sighed in feigned disappointment but dutifully turned his back and she scribbled her secret in a nervous rush.
I’m in love with a highwayman.
At least, he was a highwayman tonight. She grinned as she folded the paper and dropped it into the bowl, giving it a quick stir to mix up the contents so nobody would know which one was hers.
“All done.”
“What did you write?” he teased, sotto voce.
“I stabbed my uncle with a letter opener?” He reached past her and plucked a secret from the bowl, and she was eternally grateful that she’d buried her secret was the bottom.
“Host’s privilege to read them early,” he grinned.
“I’ve been unfaithful to my husband with the pastry chef. ” he read.
“One should never trust a pastry chef,” Livvy chuckled. “Everyone knows they’ll just dessert you.”
Dev groaned at the terrible pun. “He’ll choux you up and spit you out.”
“And spend most of his time with tarts,” Liv snorted, unable to help herself.
Dev nudged her shoulder. “Go on, you read one.”
“I sneaked into a brothel and pretended to be a courtesan so I could seduce the man of my dreams,” she read. “Goodness! I wonder who did that?”
“I hope it worked, whoever it was. Audacity like that should be rewarded.” Dev opened another one.
“I stole a silver pocket watch from the prime minister.” He gave a grunt of amusement.
“I bet you ten pounds that was Harry. Before he married Ellie, of course. He hasn’t stolen anything for years, unless it’s been in the service of King & Co. ”
“Last one,” Ellis said firmly. “I’m in love with my friend’s brother.”
Her heart gave an odd, guilty stutter as she read it out loud.
Even though she hadn’t been the one to write it, she was in the same boat.
She glanced sideways at Dev, perversely comforted to learn that she wasn’t the only one in the room pining for the unattainable.
Loving someone unsuitable was apparently a common trait.
She just hoped there was a matching slip of paper in there that said, ‘I’m in love with my sister’s friend,’ and that the two lovestruck authors would pluck up the courage to do something about it.
She refolded the paper and placed it carefully back in the bowl. “Can I get a drink? I’m very thirsty.”
Dev threaded his arm through hers just as Fletcher appeared in the doorway of the ballroom. Another servant struck a large brass gong, immediately claiming everyone’s attention.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Fletcher intoned, his voice carrying with impressive volume over the buzzing crowd. “The hour has come for wassailing. Those wishing to take part, please make your way to the orchard.”