She was reminded of the day of the fight between him and the Swede, and the way his towering presence had immediately gained the respect of those around him. The memory fled the second Drake grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the door.
He lifted a finger to his lips as a surge of laughter echoed down the hall. Footsteps approached, then receded in the other direction. The last strains of the cotillion echoed away, replaced by the easy notes of a Czechoslovakian gallop.
Drake eased the door open an inch and, with his back pressed to the wall, scanned the passageway. She could tell by the way his tense features relaxed that it was now empty.
“Come on,” he said. Reaching down, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hall.
Wordlessly, she allowed herself to be dragged through the oddly decorated house—a mixture of regal antiquities, medieval wall hangings, and other centuries-old paraphernalia. She was yanked briskly from room to room, and once she was forced to press against Drake in a stuffy closet, when one guest chose to drift through the same room they were sneaking through. They climbed stairs that were too narrow and plain to be for anyone but servants. The upstairs hall was deserted.
Hope half-walked, half-ran down the carpeted hallway, trying to keep up with Drake’s long strides. When they reached the end, he opened the door to their right and pushed her inside an inky black room.
“Wait here. And don’t light the lamp,” he hissed in the darkness before slipping back to the hall.
Though Hope was tempted to disobey him just for spite, she didn’t. She didn’t want to be caught—alone in this crowded house, looking like she did—and forced to explain her presence. So she waited in the darkness, not daring to move for fear of tripping, and enjoyed the music that drifted up through the floorboards. Her eyes were just beginning to adjust to the scant light when the doorknob turned and the door squeaked open. Drake slipped inside.
“Here, get dressed.”
Something that rustled nicely was pushed into her arms before Drake crossed to the other side of the room. Although it was dark, especially in comparison to the hall from which he’d come, his feet never stumbled.
Hope fingered the smooth material in her hands and tried to ignore the sounds of Drake undressing. The smell of crushed roses drifted to her as she lifted the soft fabric to her nose. It smelled even more wonderful than it felt as she stroked it against her cheek. She held the gown to her front, running her hand down the smooth satin, and was surprised to find that the hem fell to the floor. Where had he found a dress that was long enough, she wondered?
It had been more years than she cared to remember since she had worn a dress that felt as exquisite as this one. Even in the dark, she knew it would be breathtaking. What she didn’t know was how she was expected to put it on with no light to tell front from back. Drake, she knew from the sounds emanating from his corner, was having no such problem.
With a resigned sigh, she moved away from the moonlight streaming in through the window, and set about dressing.
Luckily, some things were not easily forgotten. She needed no light to work free the hooks running up the dress’s back, her fingers did it from memory. She set the dress on the floor and used the same skill to distinguish the right and wrong side of the underclothes, as well as the petticoats Drake had provided. Those too were set aside, ready and waiting. Since there were no slippers, she decided to go barefoot and hope no one peeked beneath the hem.
“Are you sure this is going to fit?” she asked skeptically. She slipped the flannel over her shoulders then reached for the rope that secured the trousers around her waist. “I really don’t like to show my ankles. I wasn’t joking about that.”
“It’ll fit,” he replied in the darkness.
She worked the pants down her hips, dearly wished for a good hot bath, and reached for the chemise. The white linen was like a glowing beacon in the darkness. It wasn’t until the crisp fabric was sliding down her naked body that Hope noticed the lack of noise in Drake’s corner of the room.
She pulled the neckband over her head and settled it around her shoulders, her eyes scanning the room. She couldn’t see Drake in the darkness, but then, she didn’t have to. Her skin tingled with the feel of his hungry gaze.
Turning her back on where she imagined him to be, she reached for the petticoats, then the gown. Her fingers were trembling badly. Scooping her long plait of hair from the neckline, she draped it over a shoulder and reached for the hooks. She was able to secure the lower ones, and a few at the top, but the rest remained stubbornly out of reach.
Hope gritted her teeth in frustration, and toyed with the idea of asking for help. The thought of his fingers touching the flesh on her back, even through the layers of underclothes, made her breath catch. She wasn’t entirely sure her tired, frazzles nerves could withstand such sensual torment.
“If you’re not going to ask, I suppose I’ll have to offer.”
Drake’s voice came from directly over her shoulder, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath kissing her neck. She didn’t protest when his fingers began joining hook and eye.
“I could have done it myself,” she said, squirming at the feel of his strong fingers against her back.
“We don’t have all night, sunshine.” His hands hesitated as they brushed against the healed wound on her shoulder. “There,” he said. Dropping his hands to his side, he took a quick step back. “Ready to face your admirers?”
“I won’t have any if I can’t think of something to do with my hair.” Her fingers self-consciously strayed to the plait draping her shoulder. The ball gown might be exquisite—that had yet to be seen—but a droopy braid of scattered hair would swiftly shatter the illusion.
Drake moved in the darkness. A drawer was opened, then closed. Another. His footsteps came back and a cold metal comb was pushed into her fingers. “Think you can do it in the dark?” he asked, his voice heavily suggestive.
Hope ignored the sarcasm as she worked her hair free of the braid. She pulled the comb through her hair, nearly ripping the tangled strands from her scalp. When she was done, she let the glossy chestnut tresses stand in thick waves to her back. The style might not be fashionable, but there was no help for it. She had no ornamental combs or pins to secure it, and she didn’t waste her time wishing for any. She’d lived without them before, she’d do so again.
“Ready.” She shoved the comb into his chest and marched for the door.
“Not so fast.”
She stopped, her hand poised on the knob, and turned back. Drake was a towering black shadow in the moonlight. Two long strides and he was beside her, his calloused palm stroking her cheek. The ripple of anticipation that curled her toes was not easily ignored. His breath was hot against her cheek, and for a moment Hope thought he was going to kiss her.