Heiress in Red Silk (Duke's Heiress #2) - Madeline Hunter Page 0,60

desperate for rain. Not so vulnerable. There have been others before him who you would not have.

It seemed especially bad to have done that when she was going to see Charles soon. After all this time of being good, of saving herself, to have been so wanton just before their reunion seemed disgraceful. And yet you did not think of Charles at all while on that bridge. The guilt only came on the ride back to the hotel.

She forced her thoughts back to the table. She set aside three colored plums. She reached over and fingered a lovely line of trim made up of tiny seed pearls. It would look wonderful on either a hat or a headpiece. She added it to the pile of trims she had already chosen.

Monsieur Benoit approached her again, ambling through from the front chamber carrying a flat box.

“I will take these, Monsieur.”

“They are pretty, yes? Here, see what I have. It arrived yesterday. I normally do not sell fabric, but—” He made a little shrug.

The box contained a length of green silk. She fingered it, amazed at its tight weave and subtle sheen. It was possibly the finest gros de Naples she had ever seen. “What is the cost?”

He mentioned a price. She almost laughed. She could never sell a hat for enough to justify such a price.

He smiled along with her. His eyes sparkled. “For you, half that. Because you are tres belle. Perhaps you make a hat for yourself with some of it and wear it when you are again in Paris and visit my little shop.”

“If I discover more shops as fine as yours, I will be sure to return.”

“Ah. Then I must tell you of some others. The ones who have fine fabrics, perhaps. Not as fine as this, of course.” He gestured to his silk.

“Of course.”

She left Monsieur Benoit with a little list, and his assurance he would deliver her purchases to the hotel. She made her way to the garden of the Palais-Royal and found a bench on which to sit.

She opened her reticule and removed a pocket map of Paris. She turned to a page she had marked. She had penned a circle on one street.

Charles lived there. Tomorrow she would call on him. It was time to see him again.

* * *

Kevin drank some whiskey while he bided his time until he collected Rosamund for dinner. He sent his mind inward to review all he remembered about his prior conversations with Henri Forestier. There was little cause to think this one would end with a license when the others had not, but he could only try.

As agreed in London, if it could not be arranged, he would move on without the enhancement.

The problem with going into his head was that Rosamund lived there now and had a way of taking his thoughts down the wrong paths. This time she beckoned him toward some scandalous fantasies. He trod along, even though discontent waited. Soon raw hunger grew, and his mind began having her, again and again. That threatened to have the predictable result, so he forced his eyes open, stood, and paced out his frustration.

He checked his pocket watch and realized he had been lost in erotic thoughts longer than he realized. He donned his frock coat. A few minutes later, he presented himself at the door of the chambers next to his.

A maid bid him enter, then left him to wait in the sitting room. Murmurs came from the dressing room. That door opened. The maid emerged. Rosamund followed.

The fantasies leaped into his mind again when he saw her. She wore the red silk dress she had commissioned that day at the modiste. The family joked that he never noticed fashion, but he paid enough attention to know this was of the latest style. The waist line—slightly lower than what was fashionable in London—flattered her full breasts. The broad, low neckline offered a décolleté that was tasteful but revealing. The skirt, cut in that new, conelike shape that broadened as it fell, flowed when she walked while so many other dresses like that rustled stiffly.

Also different to his eye was the lack of ornament. Women had taken to heavily embellished dinner dresses with lots of frills and lace and whatnot. Other than some lines of lace near the hem and neckline, the only thing adorning this dress was Rosamund herself.

The maid had piled her blond hair high on her crown. A headdress with tiny beads perched