Chapter Twelve #2
Arden wouldn’t understand that, though. In her experience, people with good parents had difficulty comprehending fathers like hers, what they were capable of and the scars they left behind.
But he didn’t press her for more information; instead he cleared his throat. “My father adored you.”
“He adored Arabella,” she corrected. If the elder Mr. Ryskamp knew who she really was, he would have hated her, just as Arden did.
“Perhaps,” Arden allowed. “He was furious when you left—he thought for certain I did something to drive you away. I thought so too. That last night is a blur—I remember our argument, your brother taking me out for drinks . . . then nothing.”
“Not my brother,” Mavis reminded him before pausing.
What use was there in dredging up the past?
It wouldn’t help her, certainly, but maybe it would help him.
He’d been blaming himself for five years—the least she could do was let him off the hook.
“He drugged you—some powder Leif procured. Rare and pricier than a bottle that small should be, but it did the trick. It made you . . . suggestible. He placed the contract in front of you, put a pen in your hand, and told you to sign your name. You could have been signing your own execution warrant and you wouldn’t have questioned it.
Between that and the ale, it isn’t surprising that you don’t remember. ”
For a long moment, Arden didn’t speak, but she could see the thoughts whirling behind his dark-blue eyes.
He closed his right fist, then flexed his fingers open, and Mavis wondered if he was remembering the mark on his hand.
He must have been so confused when he woke up the next morning to find it gone.
Without thinking, she closed her hand over the new mark on her own hand, the one that tied her to Thaddeus.
“That certainly illuminates things,” he said finally. “Do you do that with all your marks?”
Mavis shook her head. “Leif says the powder is all but impossible to get a hold of, and most men don’t require that much persuading—you were just particularly stubborn.”
A rueful smile flickered over Arden’s lips. “I was a fool, you mean.”
Yes Mavis meant to say. But it wasn’t the truth, not the whole truth at least.
“You were noble,” she told him. “And you loved without reservation. The only thing you did wrong was pick the wrong girl.”
“I don’t recall picking you at all. It never felt like a choice, only a . . . compulsion. But I suppose that was part of your con too, somehow. Another sprinkle of powder in my drink, an intoxicating perfume, some trick up your sleeve like your clever little bracelet.”
It would be so much easier if it was that simple. Perhaps it would be a kindness to let him believe it was. Before she could respond, though, he continued.
“Are you doing it again now?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Mavis’s gaze collided with his, and even though she kept her dressing gown pulled tight around her, she felt as if she were standing before him naked. Want and pain tangled together in his face, and Mavis tightened her arms over her chest to keep herself from reaching for him.
“Arden,” she began, but before she could decide what to say next, footsteps sounded from the hallway, drawing closer.
“Miss Lindcourt? Sorry to keep you waiting.”
In the blink of an eye, Arden disappeared from view, though she felt his presence lingering.
Mavis switched into her polished Delphinia Lindcourt accent as she turned to greet Sally with a beaming smile. “It’s not a problem, Sally.”
The girl carried an armful of dresses and gowns, with the new shell-pink satin corset folded on top. “I must say, Miss Lindcourt, this new order you placed is . . . daring.”
Mavis smothered a laugh. Daring was one word for it—with the exception of the corset, the other pieces she picked out on her last visit were absolutely garish.
Explosions of ruffles, clashing colors—one dress was even embellished with feathers dyed aquamarine.
They were a far cry from the understated pastels that were currently in fashion, but that was the point.
The gowns she owned were designed to entice and flatter.
These were designed to have the opposite effect.
Leif put up a fuss when she asked for money to refresh her wardrobe, but it was necessary.
After the last con they ran, she realized that the busy floral prints and oversize bows that covered her last batch of fashion atrocities had somehow become the style.
She wondered if she had been an accidental trendsetter, but whether or not she’d caused the shift, she was in need of a new wardrobe that would nudge Thaddeus to reconsider marrying her.
“I’ve been craving a new style,” she told Sally.
“Well, this certainly is that. But first, I’ll need to ensure the corset fits correctly,” Sally said, laying the pile of dresses gently on the table.
“You said this model is designed to be worn without a chemise underneath?” Mavis moved toward her to examine the garment. She brushed against Arden as she walked, hearing his sharp intake of breath.
“Yes—a new invention designed by Helene Palermo.”
Mavis knew of Miss Palermo by reputation only—the rare Luster who deigned to work, using her gift to design lingerie that was far more comfortable than the traditional whalebone and steel.
Mavis touched the soft silk. “It’s lovely.”
“I’ll step outside while you put it on.” Sally bobbed a curtsy before turning to walk out. When she was gone, Arden flickered back into view.
“I’ll take my leave too,” he told her, the rough edge cleared from his voice.
In a few moments, he’d managed to get a hold of himself, and Mavis found she was more disappointed than relieved by that.
There had been something almost frightening in the way he’d looked at her before Sally interrupted, that feral glint in his eye, the desperate edge to his words, but Mavis hadn’t been frightened by it.
He might hate her, but he wanted her too, and that knowledge made Mavis feel powerful.
“In a hurry?” She took a step closer, her fingers toying with the tie of her dressing gown.
Arden’s eyes tracked the movement. “My aunt wants me to visit the tailor. Besides, I’ve invaded your privacy enough for one day.”
Mavis smiled, enjoying how rattled he was. It was just like it felt five years ago when Arden made her feel beautiful for the first time in her life, like something to be adored and worshipped. In the nine fiancés she’d had since, no one else had done that.
“Well.” She pulled the tie and let the dressing gown slither off her shoulders, leaving her standing in front of him in only her bloomers. “As you said, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
For a second that felt like an eternity, Arden only stared at her, wordless, his gaze tracing over her bare skin like a physical caress. Oh yes, he wanted her.
“Miss Lindcourt?” Sally called out from the hallway. “Are you decent?”
Mavis turned, grateful for the interruption as much as she resented it. “Not quite,” she said, which felt like the understatement of the century.
When she turned back, Arden was gone, and this time she knew it wasn’t only the invisibility at play. She felt his absence in her bones.
Mavis smothered a twinge of disappointment as she made her way back toward the table and fastened herself into the corset, doing up the line of hooks and eyes that traced up the front.
It was infinitely more comfortable than any other corset she’d ever worn, but it did nothing to quell the echo of the way Arden had looked at her or the craving for him to do more than look.
She really was playing with fire, but knowing that didn’t make her want to burn any less.