Free Chills by Heather Boyd

forcing Constance back into her seat and further into Jack’s embrace.
    Jack’s arm curled about her shoulder. She blushed, thinking how scandalous a simple, comforting embrace between them was now. As a younger woman, she’d never given his occasional affection another thought. He was Virginia’s brother. She trusted him.
    Constance wriggled her shoulders, hoping to dislodge him. But Jack failed to notice. He slipped his fingers onto her skin at the base of her neck, the rough pads chilling her. Her heart sped up a notch.
    While his breath stirred across her ear, he drew burning, hot lines on her skin, down to the top of her gown, and then back up again.
    What was he doing?
    Her gaze flickered toward Lord Hallam, but the baron appeared lost in his own contemplations. He did not notice Jack’s actions. Constance struggled to find a way to reorder her senses, but the marquess’ questing fingers blocked her every attempt. He was intent on teasing her, knowing she wouldn’t react for fear of appearing loose in front of Hallam.
    Jack drew sweeping circles on her skin, his touch so light she yearned to end the tickling. She twitched her shoulders again and his fingers stopped moving. But they lingered a long moment, then slid downward to the top of her gown. The marquess slipped the tip of his finger under the muslin and tugged.
    Apparently, the marquess had decided upon another way to torment her. She had never known him to be so improper. He must be trying to cause a scene that would embarrass her in Hallam’s eyes. Tears gathered at how hard the process of finding a husband she could live with could be if Jack spent every waking moment tormenting her.
    Did he truly dislike her that much?
    Despairing and more than a little upset, Constance was glad Hallam all but ignored her. She emptied her glass, but decided to stay a few minutes beyond that. She couldn’t live with a man like Hallam and she was determined to scratch his name from the list today. She excused herself, but was sure that Jack’s gaze burned into her back all the way to the door.

CHAPTER SIX

    A PROCESSION OF burdened servants entered Constance’s bedchamber the next morning. Horrified, she raised her hands to her cheeks as the gowns piled up on her bed, and then more and more wrapped packages appeared, growing to an alarming level over the chaise. With all that had happened in the last few days, she could not believe she had failed to cancel an order that would send her further into debt.
    “Oh, wonderful, your dresses are here too,” Virginia exclaimed, rushing through the door and looking around her with far more enthusiasm than Constance felt.
    “Yes, they certainly are.” This was dreadful. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t stand to be in debt to someone her friend patronized.
    “Come along, let us have a look. I cannot wait until you can wear them out. I’m ashamed to say I am heartily sick of that yellow muslin you’re wearing.” Virginia approached the bed and picked up a ball gown in soft, green silk. “Oh, this is divine. I should like to see you wear this to the Huntley Ball. The color and style are perfect for you.”
    Constance held her tongue as Virginia rushed over and held the ball gown against her body. She wished she could agree with her, but her mouth had grown dry. Constance tried swallowing to loosen her tongue, but it didn’t help. There were more dresses on the bed than she had ordered, and she hadn’t ordered anything that needed to be wrapped in a small parcel. Obviously, the modiste had made a mistake and sent another lady’s order instead.
    “Are you not pleased?”
    Constance summoned a happy smile. “Virginia, this isn’t my order. There are twenty gowns on the bed. I just counted them.”
    “Of course it is your order. Madame would not make a mistake.” Virginia shrugged aside Constance’s fears as she pulled another gown from the pile. “See, I remember this one. I specifically asked for the