Until You

Whitney and his mother had arrived shortly afterward and found her sitting at the table, wondering if lack of adequate sleep was making him cross. When she explained to both women about his ill humor and what had preceded it, Whitney and the duchess looked at each other and exclaimed in unison, "He's jealous!" That possibility, though seemingly unlikely, had been intriguing enough that when Nicholas DuVille called for her in the afternoon to take her for a brief ride in the park, Sherry had made it a point to comment on his attributes as a cheerful and amiable companion in the drawing room before supper that night. The earl's reaction had been similar to his reaction that morning, though his words were different. "You're certainly easy to please," he said scornfully.

Since Whitney and the dowager had asked to be kept apprised of everything Stephen said and did, Sherry shared his comment with them the next morning, and they again chorused, "He's jealous!"

Sherry wasn't certain if she was pleased or not. She only knew that she was afraid to believe he really cared for her, but a part of her was completely unable to stop hoping that he did.

She knew he was coming to Almack's tonight to single her out for attention because Charity Thornton thought that would assure Sherry's instant popularity. Sherry wasn't interested in popularity; she was only interested in not shaming herself or his family or him. She'd been nervous all afternoon about the evening to come, but Whitney had arrived unexpectedly to keep her company while she dressed for the evening, an activity that had taken so much time she was actually begi

A seamstress stood off to the side, holding a spectacular gown that had been completed only minutes ago, and Sherry again glanced at the clock. "I am keeping Monsieur DuVille waiting," she said nervously.

"I am perfectly certain Nicholas expects to be kept waiting," Whitney said dryly, but it wasn't Nicholas DuVille Sherry was concerned about. Lord Westmoreland was downstairs, and she hoped to see if the final effect of all this preparation had any noticeable effect on the way he looked at her.

"All ready-no, don't look yet," Whitney said, when Sherry started to turn to the mirror to see her new coiffeur. "Wait until you have your gown on, so that you can see the full effect." Smiling whimsically, she added, "I was staying with my aunt and uncle in Paris when I was of an age to make my first appearance in Society. I had never seen myself done up in a real gown until the moment my aunt let me turn around and look in the mirror."

"Really?" Sherry said, wondering how that could be true when from, all she'd seen and read, wealthy English girls were turned out like princesses from the time they were quite little.

Whitney saw the question she was too polite to ask, and laughed. "I was a 'late bloomer.' "

Sheridan found it impossible to imagine that the gorgeous brunette seated on the edge of the bed had ever known an awkward moment in her life, and she said so.

"Until shortly before that night in Paris, my two greatest ambitions were to master the use of a slingshot, and to force a local boy to fall madly in love with me. Which is why," she finished with a confiding smile, "I was sent off to France in the first place. No one could think what else to do with me in order to stop me from disgracing myself."

Sherry's joking reply was muffled as the maid and seamstress gently lowered the gown over her head. Behind her, the dowager duchess walked into the bedchamber. "I was too eager to see how you looked to wait until we saw you at the Rutherfords'," she confided, standing back and watching the robing procedure.

"Is Monsieur DuVille a

"Not in the least. He is having a glass of sherry with his Stephen, and-Oh!" she breathed as Sherry turned around.

"Please do not tell me anything is wrong," Sherry said. "I refuse to endure one second more of primping."

When Stephen's mother didn't seem able to speak, Sherry turned to Whitney, who was slowly standing up, a smile dawning across her face.

"I wish someone would say something," Sherry said anxiously.

"Show Miss Lancaster how she looks," Whitney said to the maid, already longing to see Stephen's reaction when he witnessed the transformation. "No, wait-gloves first, and the fan." To Sherry, she added, "You must have the full effect when you see yourself, don't you agree?"

Sherry had no idea if she agreed. With an inexplicable combination of anticipation and grave foreboding, she drew on the long, ivory, elbow-length gloves, took the ivory and gold fan the maid held out to her, then she turned and slowly lifted her gaze to the full-length looking glass that the maids were holding.

Her lips parted in pleasure and disbelief at the gorgeously gowned woman looking back at her.

"I look… very nice!" she exclaimed.

Stephen's mother shook her head incredulously. "That is an understatement."

"A masterpiece of understatement," Whitney agreed, so eager to see Stephen's reaction that she had to suppress the temptation to grab Sherry's hand and drag the younger woman downstairs to the salon, where she knew he would be waiting with Nicki and Miss Charity.

29

Originally, Stephen had been amused at the thought of forcing Nicholas DuVille to spend a large part of his evening at Almack's-and under the watchful eye of Charity Thornton, no less-but now that the moment for their departure was near, he was far less pleased with his joke. As he sat in the drawing room, listening to Miss Thornton and DuVille chatting while they waited for Sherry to come downstairs, Stephen noticed that the elderly peagoose seemed to hang on to DuVille's every word and to beam approvingly at him as he uttered each syllable-an attitude that struck Stephen not only as highly inappropriate in a chaperone but damned incomprehensible, considering that DuVille's reputation as a womanizer was legendary. "Here they are now!" Charity Thornton said excitedly, tipping her head toward the hall and bolting to her feet with more enthusiasm and energy than she'd displayed all week. "We shall have such a wonderful evening! Come along, Monsieur DuVille," she said, gathering up her shawl and reticule.

Stephen followed them into the entry hall, where DuVille stopped to gaze at the staircase as if transfixed, an appreciative smile working its way across his face. Stephen followed the direction of his gaze, and what he saw filled him with bursting pride. Coming down the staircase, wrapped in a gold-spangled gown of ivory satin, was the same woman who'd dined with him in an overlarge peignoir and bare feet. Considering how delectable she'd looked that way, he should have expected her to be a sensation in a formal gown, but somehow he wasn't prepared for what he saw. Her hair was pulled back off her forehead and entwined with slender ropes of pearls at the crown, then it spilled over her shoulders in a tumble of molten waves and curls. She took his breath away.

She suspected it too, Stephen realized, because although she'd looked through him as if he were invisible for most of the last four days, she was finally looking at him… not for long of course. Only a fleeting glance to see his reaction, but he let her see it.

"Madam," he said, "I shall have to hire an army of chaperones after tonight."

Until that moment, Sherry had almost managed to forget that his whole purpose for this expensive charade was to lure suitors so that he could hand her off to someone else, but his unhidden pleasure in the thought that she might attract considerable notice came as an agonizing reminder. It cut so deeply-coming in the precise moment when she had thought she actually looked nice, and hoped he might also-that she went numb inside. Extending her hand for his kiss, she said with quiet, but unmistakable, determination, "I will endeavor to make certain you need to do exactly that."