Bound by Night by Amanda Ashley Read Free Book Online Page B

instructed me to tell you that you might keep them all, if you so desired,” Madame Raschelle remarked.
    “All of them?” Elena had never seen such lavish attire, could scarce imagine their cost.
    “He is a man of wealth and power,” the dressmaker said. “He can well afford the price.”
    “But . . . all of them?” Aside from her wedding, when would she ever again have need of such finery? “Perhaps just the velvet. And the blue satin. And the rose silk. And the ivory brocade.”
    Madame Raschelle laughed heartily as she began hanging the gowns Elena had selected in the wardrobe.
    “Of course, you will also need shoes.” Reaching into her valise again, the dressmaker produced a pair of satin pumps and placed them on the floor.
    She reached into her valise yet again and pulled out a long, thin box. Lifting the lid, she shook out a shoulderlength veil.
    “Oh, it’s lovely,” Elena murmured, stroking the delicate lace.
    “I knew you would like it. And now, the pièce de résistance,” the woman said, and dipping into the valise once more she withdrew a long white nightgown that was so sheer, it was little more than a mere whisper of diaphanous cloth.
    Elena stared at it, thinking it was as delicate as a spider web. A web for catching a man’s interest.
    “For the wedding night,” the dressmaker said, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.
    “But . . .” Elena bit down on her lower lip. Had Drake misunderstood her? Theirs was to be a marriage in name only.
    Madame Raschelle smiled. “The nightgown was my idea. I added it to his order when I saw that he had neglected to think of it.”
    Elena forced a smile. She was relieved that the nightgown hadn’t been Drake’s idea. Wasn’t she?
    “I wish you every happiness, my dear,” Madame Raschelle said. “If you have need of more gowns, you have but to let me know.”
    “Thank you,” Elena said sincerely, though she doubted she would be calling on the dressmaker any time soon.
    Elena accompanied the older woman to the front door, bid her good-bye, and then closed and locked the door behind the rather eccentric dressmaker.
    She stood there a moment; then, realizing it would soon be sundown, she hurried back to her room to bathe and dress.
     
     
    Drake stood in front of the fireplace, a glass of wine in one hand as he waited for his bride to appear. The priest from the next town sat in one of the chairs facing the fire, his hands folded in his lap, his benign expression belying the nervous tic in his left eye, the rapid beating of his heart.
    Drake grunted softly. He had never seen the cleric until tonight, when he summoned him to the castle, yet it was obvious that the good Father possessed a strong inner sense that warned him of danger. Though Drake meant the man no harm, it was an instinct for survival that would serve the priest well if he but listened to it. The priest’s cook and her husband stood nearby, called to serve as witnesses.
    At the sound of footsteps, Drake glanced toward the staircase. For a moment, he stood frozen as he watched Elena descend the steps. She was exquisite. The cream-colored velvet gown clung lovingly to each curve, outlining a figure so perfect as to make other women weep. A delicate lace veil covered her face, giving her a ghostly appearance in the flickering light of the candles. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a fall of thick black silk.
    He moved quickly toward her, eager to be near her, to touch her. To taste her. Reining in his rampant lust, he took her hand in his. Her skin was cool; he could feel her trembling. “How lovely you are,” he murmured. “And how lucky I am.”
    She blushed prettily. “Thank you, Lord Drake,” she replied, emphasizing the last two words.
    He lifted one brow.
    “Why didn’t you tell me you had a title?”
    “It is merely a title of respect,” he said with a shrug. “Are you ready?”
    “Yes.”
    Keeping hold of her hand, he led her into the hall where the priest waited. “Elena,