Winning the Gentleman (Hearts on the Heath #2) - Kristi Ann Hunter Page 0,94

bed and held it up in front of Sophia. “The maid took it in this afternoon, using your other gown as a guide. Don’t worry, we saved the measurements so we won’t have to dig through your clothes next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Sophia took a step back to keep from reaching for the dress. All resistance would crumble the moment her hand touched the fabric. “There shouldn’t be a this time.”

“Too late!” Miss Hancock grinned. “Be glad these other two have more restraint than I do. I wanted to provide the entire outfit right down to the stays. Adelaide said that might be too overwhelming.”

Even the idea was too overwhelming. Sophia licked her lips as her fingers released their hold on the wrap. She wanted so badly just to try the dress on. She could see herself in it, the women would be appeased, then she could slip back into her old dress before going down to dinner. That would be enough.

If she pretended this was real, even for an evening, her dreams would gain too much power.

“Very well. I’ll put it on.”

The women clapped, and in no time at all, Sophia was in the gown and seated at the dressing table with Abigail brushing her hair. She couldn’t believe how well it fit.

“This hair is lovely.” Abigail twisted a strand and held it up. “See how it catches the light?”

Sophia glanced in the mirror at the three women hovering nearby, offering opinions on hair and accessories. As sweet as it was, it was also disturbing.

Lady Adelaide broke away first. “I leave you in good hands, Miss Fitzroy. I want to save my first look of the total package for when you enter the drawing room.”

Instead of following Miss Snowley and Lady Adelaide to the door, Miss Hancock went into the dressing room. She emerged with a tidy bundle of clothing. Sophia’s clothing. “I’ll take these with me, shall I? Wouldn’t want you to get ideas. Not to worry, I’ll have them put back as soon as you come downstairs.”

Sophia fought to tamp down the panic as the door closed behind the women. Just when she was about to jump up and run after them to retrieve her dress, the door opened and Miss Snowley stepped back inside. “I almost forgot.”

She skipped over to the bed and picked up a pair of trousers in the same material as the gown. They weren’t as wide legged as Sophia’s riding trousers, but there was no denying what they were. “You don’t have to wear these, but we didn’t know if you’d be more comfortable in them.”

“I only wear them when I’m riding,” she choked out. Only the hot iron Abigail had wound into her hair kept her from melting to the floor.

“No matter. I’ll just leave them here if you want them.”

Then she was gone again, and Sophia was alone with the maid, her new dress, and a thick, twisted emotion in her gut. Fear? Excitement? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, she knew the only way to get through this evening was to do exactly what Jonas had asked of her.

Stay here. Stay in the moment. See the distance between reality and the horizon.

For tonight, the dreams had to be left on the pillow where they belonged.

AARON TUGGED AT the sleeve of his jacket. Oliver’s jacket, actually, since all Aaron’s formal clothes were in London. More evidence that his life wasn’t staying in the boxes he’d organized it into. He didn’t attend social gatherings in Newmarket, at least none that required full evening kit, but he hadn’t been able to tell Trent no when he’d said tonight’s dinner would be a celebration of the upcoming races.

Why tonight had to be different from the other dinner gatherings the man had been hosting, Aaron didn’t know.

Then Sophia walked into the drawing room.

Every inch of her looked exquisite. Just yesterday she’d been racing him across the Heath, a streak of mud on her cheek, a joyous laugh erupting as the wind pulled locks of hair from her bun. She’d been comforting. Approachable.

Now she looked . . . well, she looked like she belonged in this drawing room far more than he did. Unlike his ill-fitting sleeves, the dress fit every curve to perfection, as if it had been made for her. Guessing whom the dress must have come from, it probably had been.

It made her look perfect. Untouchable.

And yet, she was here only by the grace and invitation of the hosts,