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Authors: Mia Marlowe

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CHAPTER
8

 

 

Quin
n delivered on his word. He ordered their cabby to take them to the part of Paris that was home to the most sought after modistes and milliners and to stay at the curb until they’d completed their purchases. In shop after shop, he urged Viola to choose the most expensive, most lacy undergarments and accessories. Two of everything wouldn’t do if there was a third or fourth available.


Vraiment,
she is the exact size of my dressmaking dummy,” one seamstress trilled after taking Viola’s measurements behind a chinoiserie screen. “Lady Ashford may choose from any of my sample dresses and
bien sur
, it will fit! Madame, you are most fortunate in your figure.”

“I beg to differ,” Quinn said gallantly. “I am the fortunate one.”

“Ah,
l’amour
!” The modiste tittered and cast him a sly look. “You are not married long,
non
?”

“Long enough for me to thoroughly appreciate my bride’s figure.”

Viola blushed as if she were his bride in truth. She knew it was all for show, but his words pleased her more than they should.

The dresses were heaven. The linens, the bombazines, the delicate silks—all were delicious on her skin. The styles were all so very
chic
, the newest French term to describe anything on the forefront of fashionable sophistication.

For one glorious afternoon, Viola basked in the glow of cosseted femininity. It was an echo of what her life had been like when her father was alive. If she wanted anything, he saw to it that she had it.

But her father never made sure she had the last item Quinn insisted upon.

A wedding ring.

He steered her into an elegantly appointed jewelry shop.

“Our little ruse won’t be very effective if your ring finger remains unadorned,” he explained as he started to pick out a set with a large cabochon ruby surrounded by small rose-cut diamonds.

“No, not that one.” It was easily the most impressive ring in the case, but the yellow gold setting was designed so the ruby nested deeply. On the underside, the stone would rest on her bare skin. She’d never be free of the gem’s voice. “The stone is too big.”

“Too big! Oh, monsieur!” The jeweler had bustled over in time to hear her last statement. “Such a woman is a treasure herself, but she protests too much. Her heart is drawn to this ruby, I know it. Surely you will not listen to her.”

“Surely I will,” Quinn said with a grin. “She’s the one who has to wear it. Which one do you prefer, my love?”

My love
? He was doing it far too brown. She wished he wouldn’t take the game that far. It was almost a sacrilege to feign love, but he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. She looked over the assortment of rings.

“There.” She pointed to a yellow and white gold set fashioned in the style of entwined serpents. The only stones were a pair each of small rubies and sapphires for the snakes’ eyes. The jewels were tiny enough not to be a worry. Their voices would be small, barely on the raw edge of sound. With that style, only smooth precious metal would touch her skin.

Neither gold nor silver had ever mumbled a single word to her. She suspected the refining process stripped away all past imprints in a fiery blast. Or perhaps she was unable to receive information from precious metals. She’d never touched a raw nugget, so she couldn’t be sure.

“You’re certain that’s the one you want?” Quinn frowned down at the ring.

“Excellent choice, madam,” the jeweler said, which made Viola suspect the ring’s artistry made it the ruby’s equal in terms of price. “The serpent is a symbol of eternity. Your Queen Victoria, does she not wear a serpent ring for her Prince Albert?”

“I didn’t know that,” Viola said.


Certainement
. A refined choice,” the jeweler said as he handed it to Quinn to fit on Viola’s finger. “
Tres chic
. Now allow me to show you some necklaces and bracelets to complement your ring.”

Quinn slid the ring on Viola’s left hand. “I’m beginning to think this new word
chic
means ‘hopelessly expensive but an Englishman will pay for it if you get his woman to bat her eyes at him.’ ”

“I didn’t ask for any of this, Quinn.”

“No, you didn’t”—he pressed a kiss on her hand, no doubt for the benefit of the jeweler who was scurrying back toward them with a couple dozen cases of costly pieces in his arms—“which is why I’m all the more determined to give it to you.”

“But no more jewelry, I beg you.” She laid a hand on his forearm, which he covered with his. “I prefer to wear a simple ribbon about my neck. Truly.”

Quinn refused to be persuaded and she finally agreed to accept a cameo brooch and a pendant watch on a gold chain. The jeweler was quietly livid, but so long as no gemstone touched her skin, Viola was satisfied.

As they left the shop and he handed her into the waiting hansom, Quinn shook his head. “You’ve confused me royally now. Why on earth do you steal jewelry when it’s obvious you’ve so little use for it?”

“Since it’s no hardship to part with, I experience no pangs when I exchange it for funds. I steal because I enjoy seeing my family eat, remember, not because I lack a sufficient number of baubles.”

“It appears I misjudged you,” he said softly. “I thought you the most acquisitive of women.”

She laughed. “Don’t admit you’re wrong yet. You’ve only seen the smallest part of my collection of hats.”

Quinn had sent Sanjay ahead to bespeak rooms for them at the Hotel de Crillon, Paris’s most elegant and oldest inn. It was said Marie Antoinette often reserved suites of rooms there and entertained her guests before the bloody revolution parted her lovely head from her body.

Viola wished she could take Sanjay’s room and let him stay with Quinn, but at least the suite on the top floor was large enough to make her forget the tininess of the cabin they’d shared on the
Minstrel’s Lady
. If she’d managed to sleep in that little space with him without succumbing to his charm, she could retain possession of herself in the lovely suite of the hotel. The sitting room was furnished in the florid Rococo style. The private bath had running water in the copper tub and a newfangled flushing water closet. And, of course, a sumptuous bedroom.

With only one bed.

“We’ve been invited to the English Embassy for dinner,” Quinn said as he thumbed through the mail Sanjay had collected for them from the concierge. Quinn frowned as he read the telegram that was second in the stack after the invitation from the embassy. He shoved it into his pocket so quickly, Viola decided he didn’t want to share its contents.

“How does the ambassador know we’re here?”

“Even though we’re allies with France now, it’s a good idea to let one’s government know one is in country. While you and I were supplementing your wardrobe this afternoon, Sanjay was delivering our calling cards to all the appropriate places in town.”

“You think the diamond will be at the Embassy?”

“If it’s coming through Paris, I think someone there will know where it is.” Quinn crossed to the bellpull. “I believe a real bath is in order for both of us.”

The hotel staff was marvelously efficient and Quinn arranged for a lady’s maid to assist Viola with her toilette. She’d almost forgotten what a luxury it was to have someone scrub her back or wash her hair or help her lace her corset.

She dismissed the maid when it was time to apply her limited amount of cosmetics. The French were prone to excess in the use of paint. Viola didn’t want to look in the mirror and see a stranger staring back at her through her own eyes.

When she finally emerged from the chamber, Quinn was on his feet in a heartbeat. The naked admiration on his face warmed her to her toes.

“You’re a stunner, Lady Ashford. I’m almost of a mind to send our regrets and dine in,” he said with a wicked grin.

“I do hope you don’t think I went to all this trouble for your benefit.”

The full skirt of her gown rustled as she stepped lightly across the room. She passed by a long mirror and noticed the green, watered silk flattered her coloring and made auburn highlights sparkle in her hair. “But I don’t want you to think me unappreciative. Thank you for these lovely new things.”

“I do hope you don’t think I went to all this expense for your benefit.” He flipped her words back at her. “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

She felt her cheeks dimpling. “You don’t think the décolletage too daring?”

She knew she was teasing him, but the gown made her feel too delicious not to. The neckline scooped off her shoulders, revealing more flesh than she’d expected. Another couple inches and her nipples would have been laid bare.

“This is Paris,” Quinn said. “The French believe there’s no such thing as too daring when it comes to the display of a woman’s bosom. Damn me, if the Frogs aren’t right. Especially when the bosom is as exquisite as yours.”

He made a proper obeisance over her hand. The entwined serpents glinted up at him when he pressed his lips in a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “I’m glad to see the ring fits over those gloves. I’d hate for anyone at the embassy to think you unclaimed.”

Her smile faded. He was only practicing to pass as her besotted new husband, but he did it with such conviction, she was tempted to believe him. “Careful, Lieutenant or I shall think you missed your calling on the London stage.”

The admiring light went out of his eyes.

There was a rap at the door and Sanjay appeared with Quinn’s freshly pressed trousers and tailed jacket. He also bore a tray holding a signet ring, an impressive-looking medal on a blue silken stole, and several other pieces of masculine jewelry. Viola might insist on minimal adornment, but it seemed Quinn would sparkle with enough sartorial splendor for the two of them.

The Hindu cast a disapproving glance in her direction and disappeared to oversee the borrowed valet, who’d arrived to draw Quinn’s bath.

Quinn undid his tie and removed his garnet wrist studs, depositing them on the tray next to a pair of diamond studs.

Viola didn’t mean to ogle. Most people preferred colored stones to white diamonds, but those had been cut in a brilliant style that seemed to release the fire embedded in the stone. Like a magpie, her eyes were naturally drawn to bright shiny things. “I thought your uncle gave you a set of pearls.”

“He did. I never said I didn’t have any others. My family has many flaws, but fear of ostentation when it’s needed isn’t one of them.” Quinn disappeared into the bedroom and adjoining bath.

Viola paced the room for a bit, not willing to sit lest she wrinkle her skirt. She positioned herself at the window and gazed out at the broad avenue. The streetlamp lighter was making his rounds, his flame on a long pole igniting one lamp after another. Elegant broughams and coaches passed each other, bearing the finer residents of Paris to finer entertainments.

Every few minutes, Viola’s gaze flitted back to the tray of jewels.

There were the secrets of Greydon Quinn, encased in crystal, winking at her. Would anyone really be harmed if she touched just one?

Viola peeled off a glove and tiptoed over to the table where the tray rested. She reached out to touch one of the studs, but flicked her gaze toward the bedroom door, ears pricked for the sound of approaching footsteps.

The door had been left ajar. Viola clapped her bare hand over her mouth to keep from betraying herself with the slightest noise. Through the crack in the door, she saw flashes of naked flesh.

Quinn evidently wasn’t the sort to linger in cooling bathwater. She was treated to a peek at his chest, the knotty outlines of his muscles standing out around his brown nipples. There was a blur of dark hair at his groin before he turned his back to the door.

He was speaking to Sanjay, giving soft instructions, judging from the tone of his voice. Viola wasn’t interested in whatever he might have to say. There was a flash of his muscular thighs, thick and sinewy. When her gaze traveled north, she saw his buttocks.

She bit her lower lip. His butt cheeks were lightly dusted with fine dark hairs. His narrow hips and waist expanded into a broad, muscular back.

Quinn turned and bent over to pick up a dropped stocking. She caught a glimpse of his sex dangling in front of him from its nest of brown curls.

Mercy!
Viola sucked her breath in over her teeth.

She’d seen enough. She backed away toward the window, her belly dancing as if a swarm of mayflies were caught there. She’d known Quinn was gifted from the size of the bulge in his trousers, but he exceeded her expectations by a good bit.

Just imagine what he’s like when he’s roused!
Her insides pulsed.

Pleasure, he’d promised her. Bliss. Abundant, pressed down and overflowing. Ecstasy.

The man was certainly equipped by nature to deliver on that promise.

Her corset was suddenly far too tight. She collapsed onto the fainting couch, no longer worried about whether or not she wrinkled her skirt.

Her reasons for turning Quinn down were still valid, but she knew it would be harder than ever to be firm about it now. Why hadn’t she just snatched up a jewel and let it send her a vision? Whatever it might have shown her would have been easier to dismiss from her mind than the stolen glimpses of Greydon Quinn in the glorious altogether.

BOOK: Touch of a Thief
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