Wicked Becomes You by Meredith Duran

Author:Meredith Duran
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Man-Woman Relationships, England, London (England), Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, Historical, General
ISBN: 9781416593126
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2010-04-26T23:00:00+00:00

It was inevitable, perhaps, that any period of extended conversation between them should turn, eventually, to Richard. They remained in the dining nook long after the dishes had been cleared away, sharing memories, swapping tales, laughing together like friends. And by the time the moon rose, round and heavy in the star-strewn sky, Gwen had regained her peace around him. All of this common ground, this love they had shared for her brother, made it very difficult to feel anxious in his presence.

How curious, then, that the longing still persisted. She had always supposed that attraction thrived on nerves and uncertainty, but the more comfortable she felt with him, the closer she wished to be.

After they had parted ways and gone to their separate compartments—her unassisted disrobing made possible by the simple clasps of the Pretty Housemaid corset she’d purchased in the Galeries du Louvre the day of her scandalous shopping spree—it occurred to her that she might be confusing her emotions. Perhaps what she felt for Alex was only an extension of her love for Richard.

She tossed the corset onto the floor. It subsided with a sad, cheap flop, and so did she, into the single small chair.

She stared at the corset. “Pretty housemaid,” indeed. What sort of name was that? Certainly it had succeeded in inspiring her to buy it, but only as a lark; she’d imagined gifting it to Caroline just to hear her shriek with laughter. Housemaids could be pretty, and the corset was priced to appeal to that demographic, but it seemed rather lewd, associating an undergarment with the wearer’s source of income.

And the corset itself was not, in fact, pretty. No housemaid would wear it if seduction was on her mind. Indeed, the insert did not even advertise it as pretty; rather, the manufacturer assured her, it was both strong and cheap.

She frowned. Was that a lewd reference, as well? A strong, pretty, cheap housemaid?

She slid down in her chair and kicked the thing across the small space. It went skidding up against the bed, where it sagged dispiritedly. It knew there were far prettier corsets in the world, far more appealing to men, and stronger, too. She had several lovely corsets to her name, each designed to mold her body slightly differently, the better to flatter the line of particular gowns. She’d often thought, while half-dressed in front of the mirror, that some of her corsets were almost too fetching to be covered up—that somebody should get to see her in them.

But not the Pretty Housemaid. She scowled at it. She should not have abandoned her other corsets in Paris. What had she been thinking? Corsets were not articles to be abandoned lightly; they were the benchmarks of a lady’s success, in some circles. Amongst the girls who had debuted with her three years ago, everybody had aspired to marry no later than the age that corresponded to the measurement of their corseted waists. Twenty-four had marked the beginning of proper spinsterhood.

Corsets had shortened in the years since, and lacing had grown more vicious.

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