Free Web NovelChapter 367: Chapter 367
Circe hesitated only a moment before lowering her gaze to the open catalog.
The pages were thick and faintly perfumed, each sketch rendered in careful ink strokes. The first page featured dresses with high collars trimmed with lace, fitted bodices that flared into sweeping skirts, and delicate evening gowns that pooled like liquid at a woman’s feet.
Ragnar turned the pages slowly, watching her rather than the drawings.
"I like that one," she murmured after a moment, touching the edge of a day dress with modest sleeves and a fitted waist.
He hummed in acknowledgment.
She selected another piece. Then an evening gown with a modest neckline.
"That is only three," Ragnar noted evenly.
She glanced at him. "It is more than enough for now, considering all the ones I already have at home."
"It is not. Choose more." He insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Ragnar—"
"Pick more," he repeated calmly, though there was amusement in his eyes.
She stared at him for a long second, then a slow smirk curved her lips. "You are impossible to deal with."
"And yet you still fell in love with me." He said quietly, like he was simply stating a known fact. The sky was blue, the grass was green and Circe loved him.
And how right he was. She loved him and keeping to the promise she made him, she made sure to remind him of it everyday.
Sometimes she felt perplexed by her own feelings. This immense, all consuming love, surely it wasn’t possible to feel this much for one person.
She felt warmth creep up her cheeks at the thought.
A faint challenge flickered in his eyes. He flipped to the next page himself, stopping at a ball gown with a structured bodice, intricate embroidery sweeping down the skirt like climbing ivy.
"You would look striking in this," he commented.
She studied it. "It is rather grand."
"Only the best for my wife," he replied without hesitation.
Her lips curved despite herself. She added it to the growing list. frёewebηovel.cѳm
Another page revealed a deep crimson evening dress, with a lower neckline than the others. Circe’s fingers lingered over it. She could already imagine the way his gaze would darken if he saw her dressed in something like that.
She selected it without comment.
Ragnar noticed but he said nothing.
When she paused again after choosing six in total, he leaned back into the cushions. "You are holding back."
"I am not." She argued.
"You are," he said calmly. "You are awfully considerate for someone who promised to make my pockets hurt."
She narrowed her eyes at him in mock annoyance, then slowly turned another page.
They moved through the book together more carefully this time, and found a sketch of a striking ball gown that earned Ragnar’s quiet approval. Another gown followed. Then another evening dress that made him pause longer than the rest.
"That one," he said, tapping the page.
She glanced at it and understood immediately. The neckline dipped low enough to be provocative.
"You only like it because it would distract you the entire evening."
"And I see no issue with that." He said with a smirk.
She laughed under her breath and marked it.
A smirk tugged at her mouth as she stopped at a section of nightwear, light, gauzy fabrics sketched in delicate lines.
She looked up at him deliberately before tapping one.
"And this?" she asked sweetly.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Yes."
"And perhaps this one as well?" she continued, selecting another even more saucy design.
"Yes," he repeated, voice lower now.
Her smirk deepened.
If he insisted on choosing more designs, she would indulge him properly.
Another followed. And another. By the time she was finished teasing her way through that section, the pile of chosen designs had grown considerably.
When she was finally done with the catalog, thirteen ribbons marked their selections. A mixture of day dresses, ball gowns, evening wear and more than a few flimsy nightgowns she knew would leave him thoroughly distracted.
Ragnar closed the catalog and handed it back to the seamstress, who accepted it with visible delight.
"We will prepare them at once, Your Highness," she said, already thinking of the types of fabrics she would use and calculating the price she would charge for her services.
Circe, however, did not share the same satisfaction. A small crease formed between her brows as she watched the book leave his hands.
Ragnar noticed immediately.
He nudged her shoulder gently. "What troubles you?"
She began to shake her head. But she stopped when she saw the way his expression shifted into one of genuine concern. He always looked at her that way, as though even her smallest discomfort deserved his attention.
In truth, it was such a trivial matter.
"I do not have space in the trunk I brought along for these new dresses," she admitted in a lowered voice. "It is already full."
"We will simply have to get you a new trunk," he said.
The seamstress soon returned with her equipment in hand, offering a polite curtsey. "If Her Highness would permit me."
Circe nodded and rose from her place beside Ragnar.
For the measurements to be precise, she was obliged to remove her outer garments. One by one, the layers slipped away until she stood in nothing but her white linen shift. The fabric light and nearly see through, the soft curve of her figure discernible in the filtered daylight.
She felt the weight of Ragnar’s gaze as she stood there in only her shift.
The seamstress hesitated, casting a cautious glance toward the him, perhaps wondering whether he would excuse himself. It was not customary for husbands to remain during such fittings. Privacy was expected.
Ragnar, however, made no move to leave.
He leaned back against the settee, one arm draped over its carved frame, his posture relaxed. Circe was in unfamiliar surroundings, and he had no intention of leaving her alone with a stranger, not even for something as innocent as this.
