"It's blank inside. For your recipes. After you copy the ones you like, I thought you could start your own tradition. Our family could add to it every year."
"Our family," she echoed softly, not quite meeting his gaze. She set the book aside and pulled the next item from the box, her eyes widening as the fabric unfolded in all its transparent glory. "Dear God in heaven, what is this?"
"A nightgown," he said.
At that moment, two footmen returned to clear their dishes. Her cheeks burning, she stuffed the garment back into the box and plopped the book on top. "It's lovely, too," she said quickly, sounding like she wasn't quite sure.
It took everything he had not to laugh. "Shall we take it upstairs and have a closer look at it?"
He couldn't wait to see her in it.
FORTY-THREE
THE NIGHTGOWN was only the first of the scandalous garments in the box. There were seven nightgowns, in fact—one for each day of the week—of delicate silk gauze, gossamer georgette, and tissue-thin tiffany. As Alexandra pulled them out, she draped them on the bed. She'd never seen a nightgown that wasn't white, but these were almond and pale blush pink, powder blue and soft peach, with delicate edgings of lace and intricate, exquisite embroidery.
Under the nightgowns lay seven chemises of nearly transparent Swiss muslin. They weren't shapeless like every other chemise she'd ever seen, but fitted to mimic a woman's curves. Instead of plain white, they were various pastel colors adorned with elegant trimmings and needlework.
There were stockings of the finest silk. There were satin garters with dainty rosettes.
"There are no drawers," Alexandra noticed.
Tris just grinned.
He seemed different tonight. More relaxed, less worried. She didn't know what had prompted his change of heart, but she didn't want to question it. She'd rather enjoy it instead.
After the afternoon she'd had—starting with Elizabeth's letter and ending with three fruitless interviews—she wasn't about to risk the one thing that seemed to be going right.
By the time she finally reached the bottom of the box, the bed was strewn with garments that made her blush to look at them. She suspected there was only one kind of woman who wore these sorts of things, and she didn't even want to think about where Tris might have found them.
Windsor must be a very wicked town.
"Are you going to model something for me?" he asked.
She felt her face heat even more.
He chose a nightgown off the bed, palest lavender with black lace and violet embroidery. "This one," he said, handing it to her.
It felt like nothing. Silky, slinky nothing.
"Do you require assistance with your dress?"
"Just the buttons," she said, and turned to let him unfasten them. She shifted the nightgown in her hands. Silky, slinky nothing.
"There," he said when the back of her green dress gaped open. He kissed her softly on the nape of her neck, then settled on one of the striped chairs, sipping from the glass of port he'd brought upstairs with him. "Use the dressing room. I'll be waiting."
In the dressing room, she shakily stripped out of her frock, chemise, shoes, and stockings, then dropped the nightgown over her head and smoothed it down over her hips. The fabric whispered against her legs. It felt like nothing on her body. Silky, slinky nothing.
She turned to see herself in the looking glass. Dear God in heaven, it was more shocking than nothing.
Her nightgowns all had high collars that tied at the throat. This one had a wide, low neckline. Her nightgowns all had long, full sleeves. This one had tiny puffed sleeves that began halfway off her shoulders. Her nightgowns were made of yards and yards of billowing, opaque fabric. This one was a slender column of diaphanous material that clung to her every curve.
She could see right through it.
The small bodice was split in the middle and gathered beneath her breasts. Strategically embroidered blossoms didn't conceal, but rather served to draw the eye. A narrow, black satin ribbon secured the top…a single tug to untie that bow was all it would take to have the bodice fall open and expose a scandalous amount of bosom.
"Are you ready yet?" Tris called.
Alexandra swallowed hard. A man didn't buy a woman a nightgown like this unless he wanted her. And heaven knew she wanted him.
She was as ready as she'd ever be.
Drawing a deep breath, she exited the dressing room, walked quickly through the sitting room, and paused in the bedroom's doorway. She dropped her gaze, then raised her lashes, giving him the look.
Juliana had said it would make men fall at her feet, and it seemed she'd been right. Judging from the expression on Tris's face, Alexandra figured it was a good thing he was sitting.
The way his eyes widened and filled with hunger made her heart begin to pound. He rose and started toward her. He'd already stripped to his trousers and turned down the gaslights, and the contours of his naked torso gleamed in the faint glow.
She met him halfway, licking suddenly dry lips. "Will you kiss me?" she asked softly, reaching up to sweep that always unruly lock off his forehead.
It worked this time. He crushed his mouth to hers.
This—the two of them together without the realities of life coming between them—was the one thing that seemed to work. She wrapped her arms around him and let herself sink into the kiss.
He tasted of rich port and hot desire and his own unique flavor she'd come to crave. Her fingers twined in the too-long hair that covered the back of his neck. As his hands wandered, a shimmering haze seemed to creep over her, obscuring her thoughts, dissolving her bones. She leaned toward him, into him, pressing herself against his hard, warm body, already wanting to take him inside her.
"Hurry," she whispered.
"Not tonight," he said with a low laugh, pulling the pins from her hair
