Free No Proper Lady by Isabel Cooper Page B

hour, at least when it came to getting dressed. She made a noncommittal sound and let Rose slide the dress over her head and start buttoning.
    If Eleanor hadn’t blushed bright red and told her that yes, people really would notice her going corsetless under a dancing dress, Joan would’ve said to hell with the whole thing. She had to wear it, though, which meant she should start getting used to it, and today was the first waltzing lesson.
    It was also the first day in weeks that she’d really see Simon, since neither Eleanor nor the maids could be her partner. Simon had spent the past two weeks mostly shut in his library or the study upstairs. Joan had passed by a couple times, felt the dull heat behind her ear that meant magic, and decided not to bother him. Not that seeing him mattered, really, Joan thought, but she wanted to impress him with her competence at something since table manners had been a bust. She was also looking forward to the lesson itself. The quadrille had been sedate, the grooms were still tentative with her riding lessons, and she wanted to move .
    “Have a look, miss?” Rose interrupted Joan’s thoughts. There were twenty or so little gray buttons at the back of Joan’s dress, and Rose had just finished buttoning them without swearing or fumbling once. Back home, Joan would have sent her down to sniper training ASAP.
    She turned toward the mirror, blinked, and blinked again.
    The dress was pretty: deep rose cotton trimmed at the cuffs and hem and collar with silver-gray ribbons. When it arrived, Joan had thought it looked good. Now she barely noticed it. She was too busy staring at her breasts.
    Great Powers, it’s like puberty all over again.
    The corset pushed up what she had and padded what she didn’t in a way that stood out even under the relatively modest dress. Joan had never minded being small up top—easier to run and shoot that way—and the corset was still a whole new level of impractical in a world that was full of impracticalities. Still, she could see now why women wore the things.
    ***
    The human mind adapted quickly. It was a bit sad sometimes, but everyone started taking things for granted eventually, no matter what they were. After two weeks, dinner was good but not mind-blowing, and most of the rooms at Englefield didn’t make Joan stop and stare anymore.
    The ballroom was still stunning. The walls were gold, or looked like it, though that was probably just fancy wallpaper, and darker gold curtains hung at the windows. Except for a black piano in one corner, the room was bare, and the wooden floor had been polished so much that it shone. Joan caught her breath as she entered. Then she heard Simon catch his.
    He’d been standing by one of the windows, talking quietly with Eleanor. Both of them had turned when Joan opened the door, but Joan met Simon’s eyes first and saw the look on his face—surprise, followed closely and unmistakably by lust.
    Heat swept over her, a wash of sweet white fire that pooled in her groin and left her speechless as Simon walked toward her. He moved smoothly, she noticed, not like a warrior but with a more unhurried grace. He’d be good in bed. Agile. She could imagine his body beneath hers, rising to meet her in smooth, liquid thrusts, his lips closing around one of her nipples—
    Joan breathed out in one unsteady rush. This was bad. She shouldn’t be thinking this way now. Maybe in her bed later, but not right now. She tried to remember the signs of radiation poisoning. Those were disgusting enough to turn anyone off.
    “Miss MacArthur,” Simon said, and bowed. “It’s always a pleasure.”
    “Good to see you, Mr. Grenville.” She wasn’t panting, at least, or drooling. “What do I do now?”
    “Give me your hand,” he said. His voice was lower than usual, more intimate, and the instructions sounded suggestive instead of annoying. “Fingers out—good.” Simon took her hand gently, bowed again, and raised the back of it to his