Beyond Seduction (Bastion Club 6)

Madeline peered more closely. “Yes, I see.” She glanced down the table at Harry, at the other end, then at Edmond and Ben—at their happy, pleased, open faces. “Well—what an amazing find!”

“Of course we had to give it to you,” Ben said.

She smiled. “Thank you—all three of you.”

Laying the brooch aside, she finally turned to what else their package contained. Using both hands, she lifted out a delicate gossamer and lace fichu. Again it was no effort to smile delightedly; she’d seen it on one of the festival stalls. “This is perfect, too—I’ll wear it tonight with my new gown.” She glanced at the brooch. “And as my new gown is green, I can anchor the fichu with the brooch.”

The boys looked doubly pleased, exchanging yet more of their triumphant glances. Madeline wondered what else they’d organized; she expected to spend her day much as usual, capped by a quiet celebratory dinner with the family and their closest neighbors and friends. Assuming the boys were anticipating their neighbors admiring their gifts shown off against her new gown, she gave her attention to her breakfast, recommending they do the same if they wanted to ride out with her to check on their furthest-flung fields.

Her day progressed more or less as she’d planned. All three boys remained with her, as they usually did on her birthday, sharing her day. This year, however, their interaction had altered, with Harry asking many more questions, and being much more involved with the duties that heretofore had been solely hers. That required an adjustment on her part, but she found it easier than she’d thought; Harry was sincerely interested now, not simply asking because he felt he ought.

They returned to the house rather later th

an she’d planned. After luncheon, they spent the afternoon in the office, she and Harry going over accounts and orders, then discussing projections and plans for the harvest.

She was surprised to hear the clocks strike five. “Already?” She glanced at the sunshine outside, then shrugged. Pushing back from the desk, she rose. “Come along. I have to bathe and dress, and so do you.”

Herding the boys upstairs, she sent them down the corridor to their rooms. “The guests will be arriving at half past six—I’ll expect to see you clean and neat in the drawing room by then.”

They mock-grumbled, but she saw the excited glances they darted at each other. Confident they’d be ready in time, she left them to their ablutions, and went to tend to hers.

A nice soak in a relaxing bath left her feeling pampered. Tying her silk wrapper over her chemise, she sat before her dressing table and applied herself to brushing out, then restraining her flyaway mane, twisting it into a tight knot she anchored on top of her head.

Adding extra inches to her already exceptional height, but it was her birthday, and the only gentleman whose opinion she might court would still be taller than she.

Rising from the stool, she took extra care donning her new silk gown, then arranging the delicate fichu about her throat and tucking the ends in the deep valley between her breasts. She’d been right; the fichu set off the plain neckline of the deep green gown to perfection. Standing before her cheval glass, she contemplated the irony that by screening her ample breasts, the translucent fichu drew attention to them, rather than deflecting it.

Picking up the brooch, she turned it over in her hands, admiring the play of light on the gems, then releasing the pin, she fiddled until she had it positioned perfectly just below her décolletage, fixing the ends of the fichu beneath the fabric of her gown. Clipping it in place, she studied the effect. She rarely wore much jewelry, primarily because very few pieces were designed for a woman of her stature. But the cloak brooch was the perfect size—indeed, the perfect piece—to complement her charms, large enough not to look lost yet not so large as to overpower.

Unusually pleased with her appearance—unusually aware of it, if truth be told—she picked up her Norwich silk shawl, draped it loosely over her elbows, then headed for the door and the stairs.

It wanted but a few minutes to half past six o’clock, yet somewhat to her surprise she reached the front hall without seeing anyone—neither staff nor Muriel, who usually came down early. Walking into the drawing room, she discovered her brothers, too, had yet to make an appearance.

Gervase, however, was waiting for her.

Standing before the hearth, he looked devastatingly handsome in a dark evening coat and trousers. Yet…. She glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

“They’ll be here shortly.” Strolling to meet her, he took her hand, kissed her fingers, smiled into her eyes. “I came early.”

“But it’s nearly—” She glanced at the mantelpiece clock and broke off. Frowned. “I could have sworn it was nearly time.” The clock, which she’d never known to be wrong, said it was not yet six o’clock.

Gervase glanced at it. “That seems right.”

Frowns weren’t good for the complexion; she willed hers away. “Well…” She glanced around, intending to invite him to sit.

“It’s a lovely evening. Let’s stroll in the garden.” He’d retained his hold on her hand; twining her arm with his, he turned to the French doors left open to the terrace. “Perhaps we can find a suitable place in which I can give you my gift.”

She laughed and allowed him to sweep her out into the fresh air. As it was early, there was nothing she needed to do, not until more guests arrived.

They strolled across the lawns, taking unvoiced pleasure in each other’s company, in each other’s nearness. Then he asked, “How’s Harry’s interest in the estate developing?”

“Astonishingly well.” They spent some minutes chatting about her brothers. “They gave me this brooch.”

They’d reached the arbor under which, weeks before, she’d boldly kissed him. The roses rambling over the structure were now in full and heavy bloom, scenting the evening air with their heady perfume. Remembering her reasons for kissing him then, thinking of all that had passed between them since, she smiled; swinging her skirts about, she sat on one of the benches lining the two closed sides of the arbor, and tapped her finger to the brooch.

Gervase sat beside her, tilting his head the better to study it. He frowned. “That appears to be a very fine piece.”

She grimaced. “At first I thought the stones must be paste, but paste doesn’t catch the light like that.”