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It was nearly an hour later before they were done. As she settled a gold cap on her hair, Alathea studied her reflection, trying to see herself through his eyes. Her hair shone, her eyes were wide and bright. Her complexion-something she rarely considered-was flawless. The years had erased all traces of youth from both face and figure, leaving both honed, refined. She touched her fingers lightly to her lips, then smiled. Swiftly, she scanned the expanse of her shoulders and breasts revealed by the exquisite gown, one Serena had forced on her earlier in the Season.

Sending heartfelt thanks winging her stepmother's way, Alathea stood. The gown rustled as the stiff silk fell straight, the gold embroidery at neckline and hem glittering. Stepping back, she turned, studying her outline, the way the gown caressed her hips. Determination glowed in her eyes.

As far as she was concerned the next move was Gabriel's, especially given he'd been so helpful as to make her declaration for her. Being naively transparent was bad enough-having one's transparency explained to one was infinitely worse.

She wasn't going to budge. He was going to have to convince her, utterly, completely, beyond a shadow-

"Here!" Nellie turned from the door to which a tap had summoned her. "Look what's come."

Alerted by the wonder in Nellie's voice, Alathea looked around.

Reverently holding a white-and-gilt box, Nellie gazed delightedly on what it contained. Then she beamed at Alathea. "It's for you-and there's a note!"

Alathea's heart leaped; her lungs seized. She sank back down on her dressing stool. As Nellie approached with the box, Alathea realized the reason for her awestruck expression. The box wasn't white-it was glass lined with white silk. It wasn't gilt, either-the decorations at corners, hinge and latch were all pure gold.

As Nellie gave it into her hands, Alathea could not imagine anything more exquisite. What on earth did it contain?

She didn't need to open it to find out. The lid was not lined. Through it, she saw a simple posy.

Simple, yes; in all other respects the posy was a match for the box. A group of f

ive white flowers of a kind she'd never seen were secured with a ribbon of gold filigree. The posy nestled amid the white silk, all but hiding the note beneath. The petals of the flowers were lush, thick, velvety, the green of their stems a sharp contrast.

It was the most elaborate, expensive, extravagant come-out posy Alathea had ever seen.

Swivelling on the stool, she set the box on her dressing table and raised the lid. A drift of perfume reached her, sensual and heavy. Once inhaled, it didn't leave her. Carefully sliding her fingers beneath the flowers, she lifted the posy and set it aside. Then she drew out the note. Barely breathing, she opened it.

The message was simple-a single line in his bold, aggressive hand.

You have my heart-don't break it.

She read the words three times and still couldn't tear her eyes away. Then her vision misted; she blinked, swallowed. Her hand began to shake. Quickly folding the note, she laid it down.

And concentrated on dragging in her next breath.

"Oh, dear," she finally managed, and even that wavered. Blinking frantically, she stared at the posy. "Oh, heavens. What on earth am I to do?"

"Why you'll carry it, of course. Very nice, I must say."

"No, Nellie, you don't understand." Alathea put her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, how like him to make it complicated!"

"Him, who? Master Rupert?"

"Yes. Gabriel. He's called that now."

Nellie sniffed. "Well, I can't see why you can't carry his flowers, even if he is using some other name."

Alathea swallowed a hysterical laugh. "It's not his name, Nellie, it's me. I can't carry a girl's come-out posy."

He'd known, of course. She'd never had her come-out, never received a come-out posy, never had the opportunity to carry one.

"Damn the man!" She felt like weeping with happiness. "What am I to do?" She'd never felt so flustered in her life. She wanted to carry the flowers, to pick them up, rush out of the door like an eager young girl, and hurry to the ball just so she could show him-her lover-that she understood. But… "The scandalmongers are watching us as it is." If she carried the posy, they'd be the on-dit of the night. Possibly the whole Season.

"Maybe I can wear them as a corsage?" She tried it, angling the flowers this way, then that, at her right, her left, in the center of her neckline.

"No." She sighed. "It won't do." One flower wasn't enough against the gold embroidery, but three, the number needed to balance the spray, was too much, too large. Far too visible. Aside from anything else, the spray would be in her constant vision-facing him over it, spending the evening with him by her side with his flowers so blatantly between them would be impossible. She'd never maintain her composure.

"I can't." Dismayed, she gazed at the beautiful blooms-at the favor her warrior had sent her as a token of his heart. She desperately wanted to carry them, but didn't dare. "Fetch a vase, Nellie."


Tags: Stephanie Laurens Cynster Historical