Free The Perfect Lover by Stephanie Laurens Page B

face. “Perfect. Not innocent so much as not quite attainable. Have you shoes to go with it?”
    She had, along with a fine, dark grey beaded shawl and matching reticule; Lady O nodded her approval. “And I thought I’d wear my pearls.”
    “Let me see them.”
    She fetched the long strand of creamy pearls from her jewel casket and draped them about her neck. The strand was long enough to reach nearly to her waist. “I’ve drop earrings to match.”
    Lady O gestured to the necklace. “Not like that—try it wound once round your throat, then let the rest dangle.”
    She raised her brows, but obliged.
    “Now hold up the gown again . . .”
    She did as she was told, smoothing the bodice into place. Turning to the cheval glass in the corner, she surveyed the unexpected effect. “Oh. I see.”
    “Indeed.” Lady O nodded with satisfaction. “Strategy! Now!” She heaved herself out of the armchair; Portia left the gown on the bed and hurried to help. Once upright, Lady O headed for the door. “You may now help me to my room and onto my bed. You will then return here, lie down on your bed, and rest.”
    “I’m not tired.” She’d never rested before a ball in her life.
    The shrewd look Lady O shot her as she stepped into the corridor said she suspected as much. “Be that as it may, you will please me by returning here and lying down upon your bed until it’s time to dress for dinner and the ball.” When she opened her mouth to argue, Lady O silenced her with an upraised hand. “Aside from the fact that no lady wishful of appearing her best should attend a ball other than well rested, what else, pray tell, had you planned to do?”
    There was enough sharpness in the question to give her pause. She considered as they walked down the corridor, then confessed, “A walk in the garden, then maybe a survey of the library.”
    “And do you imagine, given the composition of this party, that you will be able to accomplish that while remaining alone?”
    She grimaced. “Probably not. Someone’s bound to see me and come to join me—”
    “Not someone —some gentleman. All the other ladies will have the wit to rest, of that you may be sure.” Lady O stopped outside her door and set it swinging wide; Portia followed her in, closing the door behind them.
    “One or other gentleman—even more likely more than one—will join you.” Lady O set her cane aside, hitched herself up on her bed, and fixed Portia with a sapient eye. “Now think! Is this wise?”
    It was like being tutored in an art she had no previous training in; she guessed. “No?”
    “Of course it’s not!” Lady O fell back on her pillows, and settled herself comfortably. She squinted at Portia. “You’ve spent all morning and half the afternoon with them. Giving them a steady diet of your company is unlikely to lead to any hunger. Now—the next hours until the ball—is the time to deprive them of sustenance. Then, later, over dinner and at the ball, they’ll come more readily to your hand.”
    Portia couldn’t help but laugh; leaning forward, she kissed Lady O’s cheek. “You’re a terrible schemer.”
    “Nonsense!” Lady O closed her eyes and composed her features. “I’m an experienced general, and I’ve fought—and won—more battles than you can count.”
    Smiling, Portia retreated. She was at the door when, without opening her eyes, Lady O ordered, “Now go and rest.”
    Portia grinned. “Yes, sir!” Opening the door, she slipped out.
    And, for once, did as she was bid.

N ow remember—think strategy!”
    With those rousing words, Lady O swept into the drawing room, leaving Portia to follow rather less forcefully in her wake. Head high, she glided in—and was immediately aware of heads turning.
    Even more interesting, while the female heads, after the briefest of comprehensive glances, turned back to their conversations, the male heads remained turned her way for significantly longer, some until they were recalled to their