For Your Arms Only by Linden, Caroline (best fiction books to read .TXT) 📗

the line of the gown flattered even her gangly figure. She turned from side to side, admiring the swing of the skirt and the feel of the silk against her skin, and for a moment she felt beautiful.

“Hold still, you can bask in your glory in a moment,” said Callie, who was trying to fasten the buttons on the back of her gown.

Cressida stopped turning and laughed. “Glory! Next to you, I’m still the plain one.” Callie looked stunning tonight, with her dark curls pinned atop her head and Granny’s gold earrings in her ears. The matching locket was around Cressida’s neck.

Her sister finished the buttons and gave her a quick pat. Cressida shifted aside and they shared a moment looking at themselves together in the mirror. Both gowns were on the simple side, with little ornamentation, but still fashionable and so gloriously luxurious it almost made her moan in delight. “It’s lovely not to look poor for one night,” said Callie softly, echoing Cressida’s thoughts. “Even if we are.”

“I think we look utterly smashing,” Cressida declared. “Rich gentlemen will faint dead away at the sight of us, and we shan’t be poor for long.”

Callie burst out laughing. “We’d better go, then!”

Tom was waiting with the carriage. Granny, dozing in her chair by the fireplace in the sitting room, woke up to exclaim over how lovely they looked and kiss them both. Granny didn’t want to go with them, and was staying home instead with a neighbor from down the road. But she was still standing in the doorway waving good-bye as Tom drove them down the lane.

Penford was ablaze with lights. Julia had said it was to be a small party, but Mrs. Hayes still brought the full resources of her estate to bear on the arrangements. Cressida relinquished her light cloak at the door, trying not to gape as she looked around. She had been a guest at Penford before, but never when it looked like this. The wide hallway glowed with candlelight and smelled of the freshly picked roses that graced the marble-topped table in the center of the hall. Penford’s garden was famed throughout Hertfordshire. Mrs. Hayes was there, greeting her guests with a gracious smile. And beside her, tall and dark and almost broodingly somber, stood the major.

Cressida’s breath seemed to have solidified in her throat. He looked…powerful, as he had never looked before, and at the same time almost dangerously attractive. The dark severity of his evening clothes suited the hard lines of his face and his unfashionably short hair. There was nothing soft or light about him, just a pure masculine appeal that rooted her feet to the floor. He did not look at all like a man to be trifled with—and yet so far she had been rude, abrupt, and querulous to his face. Now she apparently was trying to be stupid as well, as he looked up from shaking the curate’s hand, right into her eyes, and her brain completely stopped. She couldn’t move, speak, or even think as his bright blue eyes held hers. Callie nudged her, and she jolted forward.

“Are you ill?” whispered her sister.

“No,” Cressida muttered, flushing at her own awkwardness. She pasted a smile on her face and followed Callie.

Mrs. Hayes greeted them cordially before turning to her son, standing at her side. “You have already met my son Alexander, I believe,” she said with a smile.

“Indeed, sir. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Callie curtsied as he bowed over her hand.

“Mrs. Phillips. Welcome to Penford.” Cressida braced herself. “And Miss Turner.” This time there was a slight curve to his mouth. “Welcome to Penford.”

“Thank you,” she managed to say as he took her hand.

“I trust you had a pleasant walk home the other day.”

He was still holding her hand, still watching her with that secretive gleam in his eye. Callie was speaking to Mrs. Hayes. She had to save herself. Cressida stiffened her spine, flashed her widest smile at him, and said, “Superb, thank you.”

It worked. His eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch and he straightened, which seemed to let a rush of fresh air between them. Or perhaps it was because she was holding her breath every time he came near her. She hated that feeling, the way her heart seemed to seize and then jump into her throat when he fixed his attention on her. It just wasn’t fair that he could unsettle her so easily.

“Cressida!” With perfect timing, Julia swooped down on them. “How wonderful to see you,” she cried gaily, clasping Cressida’s hand. The major had released her as soon as Julia called out her name. “Excuse us,” Julia said to her brother as she pulled Cressida away. “Thank heavens you’ve come,” she whispered. She linked her arm around Cressida’s and headed toward the drawing room. “I’ve been expecting you for ages.”

“We’re not but a quarter hour late,” said Cressida with a shaky laugh. Now that she was away from the major, her heart—and tongue—seemed to work again. “What horror have you had to endure in that time?”

Julia sighed. “The whole party is a horror. Everyone is being so careful not to say a thing about the last few years, but no one can think of anything else. And Alec! He’s not helping things by being so grim and silent.”

He hadn’t looked very grim in the hall, when he teased her and held her hand too long. Cressida tried to banish the memory of his long fingers around hers. “What would you have him do?”

“He could explain himself properly.”

“What, just stand up in front of everyone and tell all?” She looked around the room, not recognizing most of the guests. After five years, quite likely the major didn’t, either. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

Julia dipped her head, acknowledging the point. “You don’t know Alec. He has no trouble speaking his mind.”

Cressida remembered him walking so stealthily and watchfully through her stable, then not saying a word as she aimed