Free A Time to Keep by Rochelle Alers Page B

curving staircase and greet her guests who’d gathered in the ballroom.
    Her aunt’s life had always been shrouded in mystery, but some of that mystery was about to be stripped away. Gwen had found a large corrugated box filled with letters addressed to Miss Gwendolyn Pickering at Bon Temps. None of the envelopes bore a return address, but a postmark indicated they’d been mailed from New Orleans.
    She applied a second coat of lipstick, pleased with the result. The upper half of her face would be hidden under the mask, so attention would be drawn to her mouth. A light coat of loose powder, a few brushstrokes over her hair pulled off her face and secured on the nape of her neck with ruby-jeweled hairpins that were in the package Billy Sykes had sent to her completed her exotic look. Her aunt had entrusted her lawyer with a small rosewood box filled with pieces of estate jewelry and an accompanying appraisal that listed the contents at half a million dollars. A teardrop-shaped ruby pendant suspended on an ornate filigree gold chain resting between the valley of her breasts matched the earrings dangling from Gwen’s pierced lobes.
    She left the dressing room for the bedroom. Picking the ballgown off the bed, she stepped into it and eased it up her hose-covered legs and over the bodice of a strapless black bustier. Narrow bands to billowy gauzy silk sleeves with gold-threaded embroidered cuffs were attached to the beaded off-the-shoulder straps. The revealing décolletage that flowed into a full skirt was not a garment for a lady invited to the de Medici court, but of a Venetian courtesan.
    The doorbell chimed, and she went completely still. Turning, she stared at the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was 6:30. Shiloh was on time. Clutching the back of her dress with her left hand, she used her right to lift the sweeping skirt, and raced out of her bedroom and down the long hallway to the staircase.
    â€œI’m coming!” she shouted as she descended the staircase in her stocking feet. She made it to the door before it rang again, opened it, and went completely still.
    Shiloh stood under the beam of twin porch lamps in sartorial splendor. Light slanted over his deeply tanned brown face, making his eyes appear lighter than they actually were. Her gaze moved slowly from his stunned expression to a white tie under a matching spread collar shirt and dinner jacket with shawl lapels. Black dress trousers and slip-ons pulled together his winning formal dress.
    â€œI’m still dressing,” she said breathlessly.
    â€œSo I see,” Shiloh confirmed, staring at the swell of flawless brown flesh rising and falling above the incredibly beautiful gown draping the body of the woman who’d occupied his every waking moment. He’d given up trying to identify why he’d found himself drawn to Gwendolyn Taylor and decided to give in to whatever it was that made him want to know her—every way possible.
    Gwen moved behind the door. “Please come in. As soon as I hook myself up and get my shoes I’ll be ready.”
    Stepping into the entryway, he eased the door from her gripand closed it. His gaze never wavered as he stared down at the woman who’d caught him in a web of seduction with her lovely face, curvaceous body and sassy tongue.
    â€œLet me hook you up.”
    Gwen shook her head. “No. I can do it.”
    â€œIt’ll go faster if I do it.”
    â€œNo, Shiloh.”
    â€œHush, darling,” he crooned, ignoring her protest. Moving behind her, he began slipping the many hooks into the corresponding eyes, silently admiring the flawless skin on her back and curbing an urge to press his mouth to the velvety perfumed flesh.
    Gwen suffered his closeness, his fingers brushing her bare skin. “I’m not your darling,” she said in a strained voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
    Shiloh leaned closer, his mouth inches from her ear. “It’s just a