18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

“ Y ou are a marvel,” Sylvie said with glee, a wide smile on her face.

Izzie glanced at the doorway the seamstress had just exited through from the rear changing room of the Edinburgh modiste Sylvie had brought her to once they’d arrived in the city. Thomas had business to attend to and had dropped her and Sylvie off to purchase a number of ready-made dresses that actually fit her body, along with several gowns. Why she would need more than one for this specific event, she didn’t know. But Sylvie had never been one to pass up an opportunity at a dress shop.

Izzie’s look shifted to her friend sitting in a fat, tufted chair and Izzie’s right cheek lifted in a half-hearted cringe. “You think?”

“Tell me again why Hector never sent you on one of my missions.” As her fingers absently loosened a row of tiny pearl buttons along the center of a peach gown splayed on her lap, Sylvie’s eyes ran down Izzie’s body, landing on Izzie’s cleavage which had been plumped up high above the bodice of the dark blue silk gown Sylvie had chosen for her. “You clearly have the assets for it.”

Izzie gave a half smile, not willing to accept the compliment outright. She’d long ago been conditioned to not think on her appearance. Vanity was a hideous sin in her father’s eyes, and if she showed the slightest interest in her appearance, it would send him into a rage.

“You think too much of me.” She motioned toward Sylvie’s bosom. “I don’t have assets quite like yours.”

Sylvie stared at Izzie’s breasts for a long moment, then looked her up and down, considering the full of her. “No, you don’t. But you have something just as intriguing—you have presence.” Setting the peach gown aside, she stood, looking in the full-length mirror as she adjusted the dark blue satin trim along Izzie’s shoulder. “When you allow yourself to look like this, allow yourself to hold your head high, you have an inexplicable draw, Izzie. It is a quiet thing and it is hard to describe exactly what it is, but I’ve seen it before in some women, and it is fascinating to watch.”

Izzie’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

“It’s unexplainable, how the air around you is.” She waved her hand in the space about Izzie’s head. “But men and women alike are drawn to people like you. Like moths to flame. People are curious. At first, it’s a mystery that strikes them deep in their guts, and they want to know more about you. So they step closer, and closer, and with every step they take, they are more and more intrigued. But how that mysterious draw works, I have never been able to pin down—much less duplicate.” Her fingers ran across the bare slope of her own chest. “So I have to rely on what fate gifted me with.”

Izzie chuckled. “Fate was very generous with you—I wouldn’t worry one wit about what sort of mysterious air floats about you.”

Turning, Izzie looked into the full-length mirror, smoothing down the side of the silk gown. The lines of it were simple, with a thin edge of light blue satin trim for slight contrast—letting nothing detract from the hypnotic, rich color of the silk that made all the statement the dress needed.

She had to admit, when she let Sylvie spritz her with her magic, she did have a presence about her that was noticeable. Yet she couldn’t stop the tiny slice of fear from cutting through her belly at the thought. The echoes of her father’s low growl just before he exploded continued to haunt her deep in her gut.

She blinked, forcing a smile on her face as she turned to Sylvie. “I am just happy you will be there at the ball—at least for tonight. This whole journey into Edinburgh, it seems to be out of character for Thomas, so I am worried.”

“Because he enjoys brooding in his castle so much?”

“Yes.”

“You like him better in that state?” Sylvie moved to the peach dress, picking it up to finish unbuttoning it. Thomas had given Sylvie carte blanche to purchase anything she saw fit for Izzie’s wardrobe. They had already chosen a number of dresses that actually fit her body properly, along with several gowns, and Sylvie kept picking out more.

“No. The brooding I can do without.” Izzie’s fingers started to tap on the side of her thigh as her mind churned. “It is that I don’t trust what he says he has planned tonight—that he needs me to look at some books. Between this party and firing you, it is all so suspicious. And I am not looking forward to traipsing after him by myself at Ravenstone. Hal can only offer so much help, as Thomas rarely goes anywhere but to the cliffs.”

Sylvie looked to her. “You don’t think Thomas suspects anything about why we are at Ravenstone?”

“No.” Her shoulders lifted in contrast to her answer. “Though what goes through that man’s mind is beyond me.”

Sylvie nodded. “And I’ve never had a mark I couldn’t charm in some fashion—but Thomas is a cold, stone block.”

“He isn’t exactly that.”

Sylvie’s eyebrows lifted. “No?”

“I mean, yes, but no.” She turned from Sylvie, waving her fingers at the ties along the back of the dress she needed loosened. “Will you please untie me?”

Sylvie set down the peach gown and went to work on the ties, a hint of challenge in her voice. “What is it, exactly, that you do mean?”

“I just think Thomas is going through something that doesn’t leave room in his head for partaking in your charms, delightful though they are. That doesn’t mean he is a stone block.”

“Or his eyes are firmly set in another direction.”

Izzie’s gut sank. “Set where?”

“Let me just note that I think you won’t have any trouble watching over Thomas and his whereabouts without me.”

“Why not?”

Sylvie sighed, her fingers pausing on the ties. She set her chin on Izzie’s shoulder, pinning her with a stare in the mirror. “Izzie, look at yourself. Really look at yourself in the mirror. If you could actually see what I see, you would know exactly what I’m talking about.”

As excruciating as it was to ignore the whispers of her father’s growl from long ago, Izzie allowed herself one long look at herself in the mirror. The whole of her, from head to toe.

For one quick second, she saw what Sylvie was talking about. Saw how the deep blue of the dress slipped along her curves, enticing. How the color matched her eyes perfectly, and made them look like the clear deep sea on a bright day. How the wave in her dark hair made one want to wrap their hands in it. How the lines of her face were delicate, but pretty.

How she looked…was, yes…mysterious. But by no actual intention on her part.

She saw it, recognized it, but not even a moment passed before she had to close her eyes to her reflection, for all she could hear in her mind were echoes of the past.

Whore. Wretched slut. Devil’s mistress.

Her eyes squinted tighter closed.

No. She was none of those things. Those words were for her mother. Words that he’d needed to spit out, and she had been the only one in the cottage to spit them upon.

She knew that. Knew the words hadn’t been for her—she had been eight, for heaven’s sake—but they still haunted her. An always open, always festering wound deep in her soul that would never heal.

Sylvie went back to loosening the rest of the ties. “You could be me, Izzie, if you ever wanted the assignments like the ones Hector has for me—it doesn’t need to all be fleas and manure and scrubbing chamber pots for you.”

“I—I cannot.”

“Being a whore is beneath you?” Sylvie said, her voice holding a hint of insult.

“No, it isn’t that at all.” Izzie spun to her, holding the loose dress to her chest. “I admire you—everything about you. How you can command attention with a smile. How you are always one step ahead of the men you are with. I wish I could hold myself with as much grace and courage and confidence as you do, but I don’t think that will ever be my fate.”

“Don’t put yourself in a barrel there is no getting out of.” Sylvie shook her head, her mouth quirking to the side. “I am fairly certain the reason I’ve been so unsuccessful with Thomas is you. I’ve witnessed again and again the way he looks at you when you’re turned away from him.”

“How?” The edges of Izzie’s eyes cringed, almost not wanting to know.

“He looks like he wants to wrap you up into his own body until you disappear into him. Devour you slowly, like a dissolving spoon of sugar in hot tea.”

Izzie laughed. “I am sugar?”

“You can be sweet when you’re not feral, my friend.” Sylvie leaned forward, cupping her hands along Izzie’s chin. “But I don’t think you’ll have any problem keeping up with watching after Thomas if what I suspect is true. You’ll be in his bed soon enough.”

Izzie’s mouth went dry, her eyes wide. It took her a moment to react. “You think that?”

Sylvie chuckled, her hands dropping away from Izzie’s face. “I’ve also seen how you look at him when his gaze is directed elsewhere.”

“How is that?”

Sylvie grinned. “Like you want to crawl into his arms and dissolve into his being. Be devoured.”

Sylvie moved around Izzie, grabbing the next dress that needed to be tried on.

While Izzie stood in place, struck frozen.

Because…hell…

Guilty as charged.