Chapter 6 #2
“No, it is not yours.” He looked about the costumes hung with care. “But none of these costumes belong to any actor. They belong to the theater, to the plays. Now, it might be frowned upon for you to try on someone else’s things while a production is running, but…”
Perseus pursed his sensual lips, looked to his left, then headed down the racks of clothes until he came to a large collection at the back.
“Come,” he called.
She swallowed, glanced back over her shoulder at the doorway, and wondered if she should retreat. But then she steeled herself. She’d come this far, and she was not about to give up this opportunity.
“If you are reticent to try on our Rosalind’s things,” he said, his voice a delicious rumble, “then you must at least try this on.”
Perseus pulled out a crimson doublet embroidered with silver. A smile of wolfish satisfaction tilted his lips. “This would be just the thing.”
“What is it?” she asked, her fingers aching to take it in her hands.
“This is from the last production of As You like It. It was several months ago. It was put on in the summertime, and this was worn by a young lady who is on her way up, and a good friend of the family.” He held the doublet out to her.
“She wouldn’t mind at all. She’d be quite pleased for you to put it on, since you love the theater so much.
And besides, like I said, it doesn’t belong to an actor. It belongs to all actors.”
She blinked. All actors. But surely, he didn’t mean her.
She licked her lips. Did she dare? Slowly, she nodded her head.
He beamed at her. “Good.”
And then, much to her astonishment, he took a slow step towards her.
He reached his hands to the ribbons at her throat and pulled her rain-covered cloak from her shoulders, letting it skim down her arms and fall to the floor.
Then, oh so carefully, with one hand, he pulled the pins from her bonnet and set it aside.
His nearness was impossible to ignore. He smelled of rain and spice, and he was so powerful and muscled. She felt herself ache to touch not just the doublet, but the man who held it.
Perseus bent, gently arranging her things on a table, all whilst easily handling the heavy costume.
Her breath hitched in her throat. It was the most intimate thing she’d ever done with a gentleman, especially in such close quarters.
He took the doublet in both of his hands, crossed to her, and said, “Put your arms out.”
She did as he bid, extending her pale hands.
He slipped the fabric over her hand, up her arm, and then did the same to her other appendage. He shrugged it onto her, and in a moment, she felt completely and totally transformed.
It was like she had become someone else.
She bit her lower lip. She had to resist this feeling. She could not give herself over to it.
“You look magnificent,” he said. “You always look magnificent when you show your love of the theater.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Don’t you know?” he queried. “There is a look that transforms your face whenever you’re thinking about the theater and how you love it. It was there last night. It’s there now. Only now, it’s even bolder. You are shining with it.”
Her insides twisted with feeling. “It’s because…”
“Yes?” he whispered.
She let out a shuddering breath as she admitted, “I don’t even feel like myself. I feel like someone…”
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Grander,” she rushed.
He began to hook the doublet at her front. “Allow me to play dresser for you. I have done it many a time for various actors because it gives me pleasure to be a part of such a thing. And I’ve done it countless times in our plays at Heron House.”
She was astounded at how easily he hooked up the front of the doublet.
He gazed down into her eyes. “This does make you happy, doesn’t it?”
She nodded softly.
“This world can be yours too.”
“But it’s not my world,” she whispered. “It never has been, and it never can be.”
“Why?” he growled softly.
She let out a frustrated breath. “Because I am the daughter of a country knight. As much as I love the theater, I was not born to it.”
He lifted his hand and stroked back a lock of damp hair from her cheek. “It doesn’t matter if you were born to it,” he said. “It matters if you choose it. I want…”
“What?” she asked.
“I want to kiss you,” he replied.
“I thought we were to just be friends.”
“Yes, friends,” he said as he started to pull back. “Of course.”
She blinked, and with the boldness of Rosalind’s costume upon her, she seized his lapels, raised herself up on her slippered toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips.
His eyes flared, and then he pulled her into his arms. The storm of that kiss tossed them both to places they had never been.
Places without judgement, rules, doubt. Their lips touched and caressed, giving to each other, starting a desire that could never be dimmed.
Starting a connection that could never, surely, be severed.
His arms surrounded her, protecting her from all, from fear, from the world, from anything which might hurt her.
Their kiss was a defiance against all the darkness in the world. Their kiss was pure light.