“Remember,” Edward said, his voice low and intense, his eyes finding hers. “The key to convincing the ton lies in the details. You must know not only how to act, but why certain behaviors are expected.”
Catherine nodded, her eyes fixed on him with rapt attention. Her face was oddly pale, and Edward found himself momentarily distracted by the way the afternoon sunlight caught in her hair, turning the rich brown to a burnished gold.
He cleared his throat before he continued. “For… for instance, the way you hold your fan. It can convey a multitude of messages. A fan held over the left ear means ‘I wish to be rid of you’... over the right ear…”
He leaned a bit forward, his eyes searching hers. “Over the right ear,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Means… I burn for you.”
Catherine’s face flushed at that, and she raised her eyes to meet his own. Edward felt an answering heat rise in his own face as their eyes met. His gaze lingered on the delicate flush of her skin, and he moved a hand to wipe a stray curl from her face.
Catherine shifted under his scrutiny, her fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve. “My Lord,” she said hesitantly, “I… I do appreciate your efforts. But I must admit, I am still not quite certain I can pull this off. What if I make a glaring mistake? Or what if someone realizes you do not have a cousin Catherine? Or if my former charges, Charlotte and Sophia, say something?”
Edward moved closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in her voice. Without thinking his actions through, he placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up so that theireyes met. “You underestimate yourself, Miss Winslow,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You possess a natural grace and intelligence that… many in the ton lack. Trust in that. And… in me.”
For a moment they remained frozen, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Edward’s gaze was transfixed by Catherine’s every small detail; the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips and the slight parting of her lips as she drew in a shaky breath.
Abruptly, he stepped back, dropping his hand to his side. “Now then,” he said, his voice rougher than he had intended, “let us review the intricacies of dinner conversation.”
Soon, as the lesson progressed, Edward couldn’t stop his gaze from being drawn to Catherine. The furrow of concentration between her brows as she listened, the graceful arch of her neck as she practiced proper posture, the nimble movements of her fingers as she demonstrated the correct way to handle cutlery each detail about her captivated him in a way he had not experienced in years.
“My Lord,” Catherine’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Is everything alright?”
Edward blinked a few times, realizing only now that he had been staring. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said quickly. “I was just… thinking. Assessing your progress. You are doing remarkably well.”
A pleased smile curved Catherine’s lips at this and Edward felt a strong jolt of affection course through him. He was quick to tamp it down, however. This was not at all the time for such foolish sentiments.
“There is one more thing we ought to address,” he said, moving toward a large wardrobe in the corner of the library. “Your attire for the ball.”
Catherine’s eyes widened as Edward withdrew a gown of shimmering blue silk. “My Lord,” she let out, her voice a hoarse, broken sound. “It is beautiful… but… I could not possibly.”
“You can, and you will,” Edward interrupted firmly. “Lady Catherine Montague would never appear at a ball in anything less than the finest. I have had this altered, and I believe it will fit you.”
He held the gown out to Catherine, who took it with trembling hands. As she did so, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of awareness through Edward’s entire body. He could almost feel Catherine’s sharp intake of breath and he wondered whether she had felt the unspoken tension that passed between them as well.
“Try it on,” he encouraged, his voice low, with a sudden gravelly quality to it. “I… would like to see if it fits.”
Catherine seemed to hesitate, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a way that had his pulse racing. “Now, My Lord?” she asked hesitantly, her voice wrought with uncertainty.
Edward nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He gestured toward a screen in the corner of the library—typically used for mere decorative purposes, though now it seemed as though it could be functional as well.
“You could, of course, go to your bedchamber instead,” he started, but Catherine shook her head quickly, her face flushing—he supposed at the thought of being caught in the dress by anyone else. He too, was not fond of the idea of Emily seeing her in that dress before he could explain the matter to his sister.
“This will do, My Lord,” she murmured, and Edward gestured to the screen with a knowing grin.
Catherine nodded shyly before disappearing behind the screen while Edward paced the length of the library. His mind was a whirl of chaotic thoughts that he did not want to give too much time or attention.
What was he doing?
The entire charade, the lessons… they were necessary, he convinced the taunting voice in the back of his mind. For Emily’s safety, for his own peace of mind. Still, the way his body reactedto Catherine’s presence, the way his heart seemed to lighten when she smiled…
It was dangerous territory.
“My Lord,” Catherine’s voice, tinged with concern, pulled him from his thoughts. “I… I apologize, but I cannot seem to manage the fastenings on my own. Would it be possible to… send for Lady Emily to help me? If at all possible?”
“No,” Edward said at once, his mouth suddenly dry. “No, let us not bother her. I… I will help you.”
She remained silent in the face of this suggestion, and Edward moved behind the screen, swallowing hard. The sight that greeted him nearly stopped his heart.
Catherine stood with her back to him, the gown half fastened, leaving a tantalizing expanse of creamy white skin exposed. Her hair, usually confined in its neat bun, tumbled in loose waves down her back.
