Ellie would have liked to have been flattered by his compliment, but she had more urgent business. "Charles," she said. "I really would like a moment alone with Mrs. Smithson."
He looked shocked. "Whatever for?"
"Wouldn't it be nice if you didn't know what all of my gowns looked like?" She smiled sweetly. "Wouldn't you like to be surprised?"
He shrugged. "Hadn't really thought about it."
"Well, think about it," she ground out. "Preferably in your study."
"You really don't want me here?"
He looked hurt, and Ellie was immediately sorry she'd snapped at him. "It's just that choosing dresses is a feminine sort of pastime."
"Is it? I was looking forward to it. I've never chosen a dress for a female before."
"Not even your—" Ellie bit her lip. She'd been about to say, "mistresses," but she refused to utter the word. She was thinking positively these days, and didn't even want to remind him that he'd once dallied with the demimonde. "Charles," she continued in a softer voice, "I'd like to choose something that will surprise you."
He grumbled, but he left the room.
"The earl is a very involved husband, is he not?" Mrs. Smithson said as he shut the door behind him.
Ellie blushed and murmured something nonsensical. Then she realized that she needed to act quickly if she wanted to get anything done while Charles was gone. Knowing him, he'd change his mind and come barging in at any moment.
"Mrs. Smithson," she said, "there is no hurry for the dresses. But what I do need ..."
Mrs. Smithson smiled knowingly. "A trousseau?"
"Yes, some lingerie."
"That can be arranged without a fitting."
Ellie sighed with relief.
"May I recommend pale green? Your husband was most vocal in his praise for that color."
Ellie nodded.
"And the style?"
"Oh, anything. Er, anything you deem appropriate for a young newly married couple." Ellie tried not to put too much emphasis on "newly married," but then again, she wanted to make it clear that she would not be choosing a nightgown on the basis of warmth.
But then Mrs. Smithson nodded in that secretive way of hers, and Ellie knew that she'd send over something special. Maybe something a little racy. Definitely something Ellie would never have chosen for herself.
Considering her lack of experience in the art of seduction, Ellie thought that might be for the best.
* * *
A week later, Ellie's hands were nearly healed. Her skin was still tender, but they no longer pained her with every movement. It was time to give Charles his birthday gift.
She was terrified.
She was, of course, rather excited as well, but seeing as how she was a complete innocent, the terror seemed to be the more gripping of the two emotions.
For Ellie had decided that her gift to Charles on his thirtieth birthday would be herself. She wanted their marriage to be a true union, one of mind, soul, and— she gulped as she thought this—body.
Mrs. Smithson had certainly lived up to her promises. Ellie could hardly believe her reflection in the glass. The dressmaker had chosen a gown of the sheerest pale green silk. The neckline was demure, but the rest of the gown was racier than Ellie could have dreamed. It consisted of two panels of silk, sewn only at the shoulders. There were two ties, on either side of her waist, but they did not hide the length of her leg, or the curve of her hip.
Ellie felt positively naked, and she gratefully donned the matching peignoir. She shivered—partly because there was a chill in the night air, and partly because she could hear Charles moving about in his room. He usually came in to bid her goodnight, but Ellie thought she might develop a case of mad nerves if she sat around and waited for him. She'd never been very patient.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she lifted her hand and knocked on the connecting door.
Charles froze in the act of removing his cravat. Ellie never knocked on the connecting door. He always visited her in her room, and besides that, were her hands healed enough to be knocking on wood? He didn't think she'd suffered any burns on her knuckles, but still...
He pulled the cravat the rest of the way off, tossed it onto an ottoman, and strode across the room to the door. He didn't want her turning the knob, so instead of calling out, "Come in," he simply pulled the door open.
And nearly fainted.
"Ellie?" he said, or rather, choked.
She only smiled.
"What are you wearing?"
"I... ah ... it's part of my trousseau."
"You don't have a trousseau."
"I thought I might be able to use one."
Charles pondered the ramifications of this statement and felt his skin grow quite warm.
"May I come in?"
"Oh, yes, of course." He stepped aside and allowed her to enter, his mouth dropping open as she passed by. Whatever she was wearing was cinched at the waist, and the silk clung to every curve.
She turned around. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."
He reminded himself to close his mouth.
"I'm wondering myself," she said, laughing nervously.
"Ellie, I—"
She shrugged off the peignoir.
"Oh, God," he croaked. His eyes rolled heavenward. "I'm being tested. That's it, isn't it? I'm being tested."
"Charles?"
"Put that back on," he said frantically, grabbing the peignoir off the floor. It was still warm from her skin. He dropped it and reached for a woolen blanket. "No, better yet, put this on."
"Charles, stop!" She raised her arms to push away the blanket, and he saw that her eyes were filling with tears.