Page 39 of A Foolish Flirtation

Pinky kissed her cheek good night and, picking up one of the candles, made for her own room. Emmie pulled on a wrapper that was a little shabby now around the cuffs and walked over to her dresser to apply some face cream. Fortunately, they had left their bedroom furniture to be sent on last, so she was not sleeping on a mattress or living out of a packing case in this room at least.

Should she have left her hair up? Emmie wondered, gazing at her reflection. She was sure she had never dressed it half so well herself. She had always had very abundant hair, though it was sadly wayward and seldom did as it was told.

Marie, the hairdresser Madame had hired, had used a slick of pomade on her flyaway hairs and given her hair, which had a sad tendency to frizz, a semblance at least of silkiness, while the many glass hair pins had managed to keep the arrangement in place.

Now she and Pinky had removed them all, her hair was returning to its habitual cloud of reddish gold. The strong wave meant it had always grown outward rather than downward. She patted it and wondered if she should try sprinkling some water on it or plaiting it into a braid.

Then she heard it, the sound of a key turning. Picking up her candlestick, she opened her bedroom door and peered out into the corridor. Her heart thudded. It was him. He spotted her at once, a smile breaking out on his face as he approached her. She took a step back to admit him into her bedchamber.

“I changed into my nightgown,” she blurted out a little defensively as she shut the door behind them.

“Very sensible of you,” he answered at once. “I like this,” he said, gesturing to his own shoulders.

“My hair?” she guessed after a moment’s hesitation.

He nodded, his eyes wandering over her head and shoulders. “It’s very luxuriant.”

Luxuriant? “Oh, thank you.”

“I almost wish I had not bothered to buy you all those diamond hair pins now.”

“Diamond—?” Emmie shot an alarmed glance at the pile of pins she had carelessly heaped on her chest of drawers. They were diamonds?

“I always wondered what it would look like out of its confines,” he murmured, coming closer. “May I?”

Emmie regarded him wide-eyed. “Of course,” she said, though she had no idea what he was asking.

He reached out to hesitantly touch her springy mass of curls, a fascinated look in his eye. “How do you maintain it?”

“Maintain it?” She gave a short laugh. He stood practically toe-to-toe with her and was only a head taller than she. “It grows this way,” she admitted.

“I suppose this effect would take hours to achieve with a curling tong and papers,” he mused, running his hand lightly over her head.

“I would not know. Pinky achieves her ringlets with rags, but I’ve never needed to encourage mine to curl.”

His hand slid around to cup her cheek. “Have you completed your toilette?” he asked, glancing toward her dresser.

“Yes,” she said, if by that he meant had she cleaned her teeth and applied some cream on her face. She had bought some new lotion now her purse was plumper, but she did not have half the ladies’ preparations she used to own in more affluent times. “Do you need me to give you some space to undress?” He was probably used to having his own dressing room and valet.

“No,” he said, immediately divesting himself of his frock coat.

“You did not bring anything to change into?” she asked, glancing around for a bag.

“No,” he repeated, tugging at his cravat. “I was far too keen to attend to such trivialities.”

Emmie blinked but as he seemed unconcerned at the prospect of wearing his formal clothes again on the morrow, why should she fret? She should be more concerned about what he would wear to bed, she realized as he stripped off his shirt.

“Can I fetch you anything? Something to drink? Water?” she suggested, hovering near the door.

He glanced at the pretty glass bedside carafe filled with water. “You already have water,” he pointed out.

“Well, yes, but there is only one glass.”

“I don’t mind sharing with you.”

Bereft of anything else to do, Emmie retreated to the far side of the room to unfasten her wrapper. Jeremy had commandeered the only chair for his clothes, so she hung it up before turning around clad just in her nightgown. She sucked in a breath, finding Jeremy already sitting in her bed, covers drawn up to his waist.

“Don’t run away, I’m entirely harmless, I swear it.” He lifted his hands to show her his palms. Instead of answering, she approached the bed and drew back the covers, climbing in beside him, cheeks aflame. “Your bed isn’t very wide,” he commented, shifting even closer.