Legendary Lover (19 page)
i68
"Since when did you take the high road, Percy?" Bella queried.
"The
Duras
family is powerful, their reach long." The solicitor tipped his head in emphasis.
"A sensible reason to handle her carefully."
"Just kill her and dispose of the body." Trevor's face was as grim as his voice.
"Unless you wish to do the deed yourself," the lawyer pointed out, "which I seriously doubt, 1 remind you it's difficult to find trustworthy assassins. Persuasion is by far the better method."
"I'm not so sure you can frighten her. The woman has a rare confidence," Bella grudgingly conceded.
"Let me take care of it." Harold Percy was a master at his craft. Threats and intimidation were his specialty.
"I don't care what you do, so long as you do it quickly," Trevor declared. "What if Fitz-James marries her at
Castlereagh
before he returns to London?"
"The marquis hasn't taken out a marriage license. I had my men check."
"Maybe there actually is a God," Trevor muttered, his relief apparent. "Just do something,
damnit
, and do it soon."
Bella rose from her chair and straightened her bonnet bow with cool deliberation. "Do let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Although I'm sure we can put this all in your capable hands, Percy." Her smile was devoid of feeling. "If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment at a musicale this afternoon."
After the door closed on Lady
Tallien
, Trevor harshly said, "I don't trust that bitch. She doesn't seem particularly helpful."
i6g
"Don't worry about Bella," Percy replied. "She and I have managed similar arrangements before."
"Have you now . . ." Mistrust gleamed in Trevor's eyes.
"We have. I'll handle her, and nothing more need be said. This should take a week, two at the most. Relax, Mr. Mitchell.
Redvers
won't be marrying this woman."
<2*»
ELLA
WAS
AS
CERTAIN
OF
THAT
PRONOUNCE'
ment
as Percy, but for reasons that had nothing to do with the discussion in the lawyer's orifice.
She had designs of her own to marry Jack to her niece.
And they were almost sure to be successful.
So she didn't need Percy or Mitchell, but it never hurt to know a competitor's plans.
Chapter 12
esse
V^NLY
ONE
INTRUDER
WAS
ALLOWED
TO
breach
the gates of
Castlereagh
and she was brought in against Venus's protests.
"Mrs.
Prichett
is already in the south parlor, so you might as well see her," Jack insisted, their argument an ongoing one for the past few days. Venus remained opposed to Jack's largesse—or more precisely, to the gossipy dressmaker who couldn't restrain her look of breathless scandal.
"Jack, I'm not going to deal with someone so—" she searched for the appropriate word "—provincial. You know a Parisian
modiste
wouldn't spare a glance for a man and his lover."
"And you know if there'd been time, I would have summoned one for you from Paris or London. But, darling, indulge me, please. You'll never see Mrs.
Prichett
again. She's had the gowns finished for days, and I want to buy you something."
"I can buy my own gowns."
"Let's not argue about money. I know you can buy your own, but it pleases me to give you them."
"She's too righteous," Venus muttered. "I intensely dislike righteous people."
"If I promise you she'll be amiable in the extreme,
I7i
will
you see her? She's brought several gowns for fitting—one is a luscious cherry red perfect with your coloring."
"You want me to look like a tart?"
"As long as you're
my
cherry tart," he replied with a flashing grin. "Come now, see her."
"I'm tired, too tired to take on a tradeswoman who provokes me."
"She won't provoke you.
My word on it."
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he bent his head so their eyes met. "Do this for me?"
"I do everything for you," she murmured with a pettish moue.
Contemplating her greedy sexual desires, not only of the night past but of all the days of their acquaintance, he rather thought he did his share for her as well. But in the interests of harmony, he diplomatically said, "I know, darling. You're absolutely unselfish."
"You're an incorrigible liar," she said with a grin, "but adorable." She sighed. "Very well, show her in and I'll suffer her sniffs of outrage."
"I promise it won't take long." He kissed her
pouty
mouth. "Don't move. I'll be right back."
GgTlS
CONVERSATION
WITH
MRS.
PRICHETT
IN
the
South parlor took only a few moments. It had to do with money, a generous sum of money; always an antidote for righteousness and principle, he'd found. When the dressmaker was shown into the sitting room of Jack's bedroom suite, she was all smiles and cordiality to his guest, regardless that she viewed Frenchwomen as se-
ductresses
.
172
But Venus looked very unlike a seductress that morning, rosy-cheeked and sleepy-eyed, the past night of passion telling. She wore a simple blue-and-white striped robe borrowed from the housekeeper, her tawny curls tied back with a white silk ribbon. Even three cups of coffee had failed to bring her fully awake. She looked drowsy, curled up on the window seat, the spring sun highlighting the gold of her hair.
Mrs.
Prichett
bid Venus good morning without a taint of censure or discourtesy. In fact, her cheery greeting was so different from her previous
demeanor,
Venus surveyed her more closely, wondering if it was the same woman.
Jack smiled reassuringly over the dressmaker's shoulder. "Mrs.
Prichett
tells me the fitting shouldn't take more than twenty minutes."
"Come, girls," Mrs.
Prichett
ordered, clapping her hands for the maids who had followed her into the room carrying the gowns. "We must hurry. If you would please stand right here, my lady," she deferentially said to Venus. Taking note that the marquis was pulling up a chair, she reacted without forethought and frowned.
"I'm interested in fashion too, Mrs.
Prichett
," he murmured, sitting down despite her censorious look. "I mentioned that downstairs, if you recall." His smile was replete with charm. "Miss
Duras
won't mind, will you, dear?"
Venus hesitated for the merest fraction of a moment, not sure whether she cared to be onstage before so many strangers. But Jack was looking at her with such an easy
smile,
she relaxed, responding to his casual disregard for propriety. He was right, of course, to overlook decorum.
173
She'd never set eyes on Mrs.
Prichett
again. "Stay if you wish," she agreed.
Realizing she'd come close to antagonizing the marquis and losing the large gratuity he'd offered, the dressmaker immediately altered her tone to one of utmost cordiality. "If Miss
Duras
would care to select a gown—"
"The red gown first," the marquis said.
"I'd prefer the green," Venus noted with a studied politeness, rarely tractable to orders, however softly put.
Jack dipped his head in acquiescence, first to Venus and then to Mrs.
Prichett
, who knew better than to ignore the marquis's commands after her near brush with disaster.
As the maids bustled about, taking the selected gown from its wrappings and removing Venus's robe, Jack conversed with the dressmaker about the weather, fashion, the botanical fair scheduled at Cheltenham. Hattie and the other maids exchanged astonished glances at the marquis's shocking familiarity, his manner that of a man who regularly lounged before his staff, exchanging gossip with tradesmen. The marquis usually spent his time at
Castlereagh
in seclusion.
Docile under the maids' ministrations, turning when asked, lifting her arms or putting them down as needed, Venus listened with half an ear to the easy flow of conversation, the idle chatter lulling her senses. It seemed very natural to be here with Jack, trying on gowns to please him, and for a brief moment she considered the extent of her involvement. She'd never consciously set out to please a man before. But too happy to debate such useless nuances, she dismissed questions of self-awareness in favor of the very pleasant present.
The green gown,
a printed
dimity with cascading
ruf
-
174
fles
on the skirt and tiny sprigged ribbon rosettes at the neckline and elbows, needed only a minimum of fitting, a tuck or two at the waist, a moment of debate over the depth of the neckline—Venus allowed Jack his way— and the light summer dress was whisked off to be replaced by a white muslin morning gown with a lace jacket.
"This isn't me, darling," Venus said, gazing at herself in a cheval glass. The gown was awash in ruffled lace and flounces.
"I like that look of innocence. Wear it for me some morning and I'll forget you speak ten languages and have sailed around the world twice."
"You may change the packaging, darling," she said with a faint smile, "but innocence isn't my forte."
"We'll keep it, Mrs.
Prichett
," he said. "You can give it away if you don't like it," he quietly added, smiling at Venus.
The next few gowns were quickly fitted, the two maids and Hattie kept busy, hooking hooks, buttoning buttons, and then undoing them as swiftly.
A sense of delight pervaded the marquis's mind, a feeling of contentment previously unknown to him, and he questioned his sanity. He'd known Venus such a short time, and yet he felt as though he'd been here before, watching her dress, feeling this way.
Feeling as though she was more than an inamorata, as if she were family—when he'd never had a family.
It was strange and curious but enchanting, too, and companionable. He half smiled at the incongruous word, never previously considered in relation to a woman. But he liked the association and he liked the
175
feeling
, and he decided coming to
Castlereagh
had been one of his better ideas.
The cherry red silk was unwrapped at last, shaken out, buttoned and hooked into place. The resulting vision brought Jack to full attention.
"It's stunning," he murmured, a palpable heat in his voice, the distinctive nuance enough to swivel heads around.
Venus frowned.
"Forgive me," he apologized, smiling at the maids and Mrs.
Prichett
with an open boyishness. "I like the color."
It was a gross falsehood; everyone understood perfectly what he liked. Even the temperature in the room seemed to have risen several degrees.
The cherry red silk was a flamboyant gypsy dress that conjured up images of a decidedly sensual nature, a blatantly
outre
" garment for a dressmaker of Mrs.
Prichett's
disposition.
"It's the latest fashion from Paris," Mrs.
Prichett
nervously declared, as though the sudden carnal implications hovering in the air required a hasty explanation. "The fashion prints show it in any number of bright colors, in polka dots, too, and black lace. There's one in a
fuschia
silk, and—"
"No need to explain, Mrs.
Prichett
. Do you like it, darling?"
"If you do, my sweet," Venus dulcetly murmured, amused by the dressmaker's sudden discomposure and the maids' breathless titters. "Are you satisfied with the
decolletage
?" The neckline was so low there was a distinct possibility her breasts would tumble out.
"Definitely satisfied."
The marquis quickly rose from
176
his
chair. "Thank you, Mrs.
Prichett
, Hattie." He nodded in a general way to the other maids. "That will be all. See Mr.
Longford
on your way out, Mrs.
Prichett
. He'll settle your account." And with more deference than was required to servants and tradeswomen, he showed them out of the room.
"You're not going out in public in that gown," he murmured, leaning against the closed door a moment later, reaching over to turn the key in the lock. "But it's damned enticing for what I have in mind."
"I'm even shocked. This was meant for a courtesan. Mrs.
Prichett
must have misunderstood the illustration."
"You heard her, darling. It's all the rage in Paris."
"I just came from Paris, and outside of the dance halls and brothels, I doubt this lurid number is worn."
"In terms of fit, it's absolutely made for you."
"It's almost not made for me." She tried to adjust the extremely low V neckline to better cover her breasts.
"Leave it," he softly ordered. "I like the sense of breathless expectation."
She looked up at him, her brows quirked. "It's not as though you haven't seen me nude."
"But the display is so tantalizing." He grinned.
"The sense of availability striking."
"What makes you think I'm available?" She offered him a coy glance from under her lashes.
"Considering how well I've come to know you, there's no question in my mind."
"You're insinuating I can't control my urges?"
"Not with me." His half-smile was impertinent.
She pursed her lips. "Is this a contest?"
"If it were, you'd lose."
"Or win, depending on your point of view."
