But the thought scared her as much as it excited her. She did not want to have to face the man’s passion again. Did she? Surely she did not really look forward to having to fend off his advances—or the guilty shame that would assail her if she gave in to his drugging kisses.
By the time the evening of the museum benefit arrived, Megan’s stomach was a ball of nerves. Joan had brought the dress to her that afternoon, altered and pressed, and had hung it carefully in her wardrobe, pushing all other clothes back so that nothing would crease the ball gown. Hanging there in solitary splendor, it was even more magnificent than Megan had imagined. Joan’s touch of scalloping the skirt, with lace inserts peeking through between, added richness and sophistication, as did the drapery over the heightened bustle.
She had also brought the simple cameo, tacked with Joan’s infinitesimal stitches onto a grosgrain ribbon that matched the copper color of the lace, and it now lay spread out on Megan’s vanity. Beside it lay the simple onyx ear bobs that matched the background of the cameo.
Megan had just sat down to begin her toilette when there was a knock on the door and Joan entered. When Megan looked at her, surprised, Joan said, “Her ladyship sent me over to do your hair, miss.”
The maid looked, Megan thought, a trifle miffed. No doubt she preferred to be at her mistress’s side, putting the final touches on Kyria’s beauty. However, she went to work on Megan’s hair with deft efficiency, sweeping it up into a knot, then separating it and winding each strand around her finger, so that the ensuing curls fell in a cascade. Artfully, she arranged delicate feathery curls around Megan’s face. To complete the hairdo, she wound a coppery satin ribbon around the knot and through the curls.
Joan helped Megan into the petticoats and bustle, cinching her up in her corset so tightly that Megan wondered if she would be able to breathe at all that evening. Carefully, Joan lifted the dress over Megan’s head and brought it down, hooking it up the back and arranging the folds of her skirt so that they fell exactly right. She finished her work of art by fastening the cameo on Megan’s neck and putting in the simple earrings.
She stepped back, allowing Megan to look at the finished product. Megan drew in an involuntary gasp. Kyria’s sense of style had been unerring. The stylish dress complemented the color of her hair and eyes, and her pale skin glowed against its satin richness. The cameo around her neck was at once simple and devastating, showing off the elegant line of her neck and drawing the eye without distracting from the expanse of her bosom swelling up from the neckline of the dress.
Megan had always known that she was pretty in a casual way, but never had she imagined that she could look striking. Somehow, she marveled, Joan and Kyria had managed to make her look both desirable and unattainable.
She smiled blindingly at Kyria’s maid. “You are an artist, Joan. Thank you.”
Joan nodded, accepting Megan’s praise as her due. “Her ladyship said that was just how you would look. She’s a canny one.” She stepped forward and pinched Megan sharply on both cheeks, startling her. “There, now there’s a little color in your cheeks. Just perfect. Press your lips together and put a little color in them, too.”
She stepped back, grinning. “Everybody’ll be wondering who the new American beauty is at the ball tonight.”
Megan could only laugh, excitement bubbling up in her. She swept from her room and walked down the stairs, where several of the Morelands already waited, including Theo. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, and the stunned expression on his face was everything she could have hoped for.
“Miss Henderson, how lovely you look,” the duchess said, moving forward to take Megan’s hand and smile down at her. “Doesn’t she, Henry?”
“Yes, yes, lovely, my dear.” The duke smiled benignly and rather vaguely at Megan, then back at his wife, adding, “Not as lovely as you, of course. You are stunning, as always.”
It was the truth, for the duchess, with her regal height and still slender figure, the dramatic streaks of white in her vibrant red hair, made a striking figure, despite the unostentatious lack of jewelry at her throat and ears, and the almost severe cut of her peacock-blue dress.
Theo stepped forward as his parents turned away, and took Megan’s hand in his, raising it to his lips in formal greeting. She glanced away, struggling to suppress the flicker of nerves inside her at the touch of his lips upon her skin.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured, and the flicker of heat in his eyes as he looked down into hers underlined his words. “I can see that I will have to beat your admirers back if I hope to have a dance with you.”
Megan smiled. “I am sure that is not the case.”
“Will you promise me your first waltz?” he asked.
“I would not think that is appropriate, surely,” she said, casting an unabashedly flirtatious glance up at him through her lashes. “The future Duke of Broughton, taking the governess out onto the floor for the first waltz.”
He grinned. “It will doubtless scandalize the old biddies. Now I am determined to do it.”
She chuckled, though she shook her head.
His fingers tightened on hers. “You cannot abandon me to all those ambitious mothers and their daughters. Please, say you will save me.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“You would not say that if you had seen them.”
Megan could not keep from smiling. “All right. I will give you my first waltz.” She paused, then added, “But only to save you from the overbearing mamas.”
“Of course.” He turned and picked up a white box from the nearby table. Turning back, he held it out to Megan, saying, “I did not know the color of your dress….”
She took the box, surprised, and opened it with suddenly fumbling fingers. Inside, nestled on a bed of green tissue, lay a delicate white gardenia, framed by its waxy dark green leaves.
“Theo—I mean, Lord Raine…” Megan had not expected this. She reached into the box and pulled out the fragile white flower, breathing in its heady scent. “I—I don’t know what to say. It is beautiful.”
“It pales in comparison to you,” he murmured, taking the small corsage from her hand and fastening it around her wrist. Then he raised her arm so he could smell the flower. Turning her hand, he brushed his lips against the tender flesh inside her wrist.
Megan jumped a little, startled, and cast a swift glance toward his parents. The duke and duchess, fortunately, were engrossed in each other and paying no attention to anyone else.
“Please…you should not,” Megan told him a little breathlessly and took a step back from him. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, saying softly, “Thank you.”