One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

Nick.

In the space of a few hours’ time, both he and Mrs. Pell had spoken of her virginity as it related to marriage. Was that the only obstacle to this seduction? Her nonexistent maidenhead?

If she told him the truth, perhaps he’d indulge her curiosity. Or perhaps he’d recoil in horror at her slatternly nature and demand she cease to disgrace his good home with her soiled presence.

It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened in her life. One couldn’t expect too much from gentlemen, she’d found.

“There,” Mrs. Pell said, brushing fussily at Cyn’s shoulder. “The fit seems good.”

Turning her mind from her thoughts, Cynthia raised her gaze, caught sight of herself in the mirror, and gasped. “It’s perfect!”

Mrs. Pell beamed over her shoulder.

The deep green set off Cyn’s pale skin, transforming it from plain white to soft pearl. Her dark hair looked darker. Her lips more red. And the neckline showed off her shoulders as well as her collarbone.

A boot fall alerted her to a new presence just before Nick’s voice filled the room. “Oh,” he said. “I apologize. I didn’t know you were in my chambers.”

Well, it wasn’t quite silver tulle floating down a staircase, but Cynthia smiled, took a deep breath, and turned to face Nicholas Cantry.

Nick tripped over the threshold of the door, despite that there was no discernible difference in the height of the floorboards. Cynthia, or some strangely mature version of Cynthia, lost her smile and frowned at him.

“Well, hullo,” he babbled. “Got a new dress?”

“Yes,” she answered.

They stared at each other. It wasn’t just the dress, somehow. Her hair looked different. Softer and more sensual. Her neck seemed longer and her shoulders more…bare.

Mrs. Pell broke the silence. “I’ve got a pudding to check,” she called as she bustled out of the room.

Nick nodded. A few moments later he found that he was still standing there, nodding blankly at Cynthia. He smiled brightly to cover his confusion. “You must be relieved to have a new frock.”

“I am, yes.” She twined her fingers together in front of her hips, drawing Nick’s eye. “I’m sorry we took over your room. It was the mirror we were after.”

“I understand.”

Strangely, Cynthia seemed to have grown a pair of hips. Or was it her waist that had been missing in that oversized dress? A puzzle worth pondering for interesting amounts of time.

“All right,” she murmured. “I’ll leave you be.”

“No! Wait.”

She jumped a little at his sharp tone, so Lancaster forced his smile wider.

“I wanted to speak with you. About the treasure hunt. Our treasure hunt.” She arched a doubtful eyebrow, so he hurried on before she could interrupt. “I think I should take a look at the journal. Give it a fresh eye.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I didn’t say it was necessary, but I think it will help.”

Cynthia folded her arms and set her jaw.

“Cyn, let me help. You said we were a team, didn’t you? Yet I’m feeling strangely like a pack mule.”

“You’re more than a pack mule.”

He gave her a disappointed frown. Cynthia tapped her foot. Her bare foot. Tipped with lovely pink toes.

“You must promise you won’t take the journal and go off on your own. This is my treasure hunt, Nick.”