Читать книгу Sexual Secrets - Melissa MacNeal - Страница 15

Once again Hadrian Swann found himself peeping shamelessly through the windows of LeChaud Soeurs, but this time he’d secreted himself in the alley alongside their shop. He had surmised from the light chatter drifting out the open window that they spent the first minutes of each day checking the work their seamstress had completed the previous evening. How their shadows tormented him as he watched the twins touch each other’s breasts and hips and curvaceous waists! Dear God, how had such an old goat like Rutledge Bentley enticed both of these luscious ladies into his household?

Not that he’d come halfway around the world because of Bentley’s taste in women—or not in these women, anyway. But as he slyly observed the way Camille and Colette checked seams and stitching…caressed each other like shadow lovers performing for his hungry eyes, Hadrian stiffened until his cock nearly prodded out of his trousers.

He stepped away from the building to regain control. Serious business had brought him here today, and while he intended to have the twins eating out of his proverbial hand by the time he left, he couldn’t let them know how he lusted after them. Not yet, anyway. He strolled down the alley and onto Regent Street, to gain admittance through their front door, as any proper client would. Above all, he must appear proper as he pried information from these pretty sisters, for his mission depended upon a seamless deceit.

Pausing at their front door, he glanced up the block to be sure Alice, their hired girl, wasn’t watching him. That one could be trouble. Hadrian rapped with the brass knocker and then listened for footfalls within.

“Just a moment, please!”

“We’re not yet open for business!”

Hadrian smiled. Their lilting voices teased at him as he imagined them hurrying back into their clothes.

The door opened just a crack and one of the twins peered out at him. “Oh my! Mr. Swann, it’s such a pleasure to see you, but—”

Whump! The door closed before he got a foot inside. Damn. He’d seen a flash of bare flesh, and endearingly mussed chestnut hair, and blue eyes that had twinkled more boldly when they saw he was at the door.

Or did he only hope this was so? He should never presume to have the upper hand over young ladies who behaved as two halves of a wholly delectable, delightful partnership. Colette and Camille LeChaud hadn’t insinuated themselves into Lord Bentley’s favor by being stupid.

When the door swung open, he beheld a lithe woman adorned in a sleek periwinkle suit that made her eyes rise like blue china moons.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bentley! Please excuse my being so early,” he crooned. “I have so anticipated seeing the designs for the gowns we discussed, I quite forgot my manners. Not to mention the early hour.”

“We were just discussing your needs, sir! Please come in!”

Saucy wench. An irresistible flirt and a fine liar, too. Hadrian stepped into the entryway of the couturier and removed his hat. As he glanced around at the tall shelves of colorful fabrics, laces, and trimmings, he didn’t speak…waited for the second twin to emerge from the back room, still buttoning her crisp pink blouse. Unless he missed his guess, this impeccably put-together woman was Camille, the designer. When she saw him, her face tightened. She covered her anxiety by grabbing a pencil and a large pad of paper.

“Mr. Swann, how lovely to see you!” she murmured. “We have indeed created designs for the white gown and the Polynesian princess costume, and we’re merely awaiting your special lady’s measurements before we begin!”

Hadrian smiled to himself as her nimble fingers flew, sketching details of a female form dressed in a white gown with her face hidden behind a veil.

“These lines, you see, will accentuate her feminine curves…”

How quickly she made the pencil whisper across the page! How demure and engrossed she looked as the features of the simple gown flowed as though she’d drawn them many times before. “You have assured me my lady’s bridal attire will be a one-of-a-kind creation—”

“A picture of originality and perfection,” Camille assured him as she completed the hem with a flourish. “Nothing looks so elegant as these simpler straight lines…a row of tiny seed pearl buttons here, to draw the eye along her bosom…have I rendered your beloved in accurate scale, sir? Do you have her bust, waist, and hip measurements? And her height?”

Hadrian pulled a slip of paper from his jacket pocket, indulging in a swift flicker of his fingertips across her fair skin. “You’ve come amazingly close, my dear. And I so appreciate the way you’ve incorporated this newer, less-complicated style, to allow her attributes to shine through.”

“And what’s her name? And have you asked for her hand yet?” The twin in blue—Colette, if he guessed correctly—held his gaze for a bold moment too long. Again today she appeared slightly rumpled. Suggestively so.

He smiled, drinking her in until she lowered her eyes. This one appeared far more daring and unconventional than her identical sister, a detail that intrigued him. “You can’t imagine what an effect these gowns will have! How she will know of my deep devotion when she sees them,” he replied enthusiastically. “Matter of fact, after asking around about your expertise and reputation, I’ve decided to order three additional gowns!” He slipped some folded bills from his pants pocket and pressed them into Colette’s palm. Her hand quivered in his—until she widened her eyes.

“Oh, please, Mr. Swann!” she exclaimed. “You need not leave another deposit! When we present our bill, you may simply pay to our account.”

“I insist, madam.” He bowed slightly, including both ladies in his gaze. “I hail from a distant land, and I want no discrepancies between our countries’ currencies to shortchange you, or—”

“And where did you say you’re from?” Camille looked up from a second sketch she’d nearly completed, batting her eyes prettily.

“The women of my village so closely resemble your sketch!” he hedged, gesturing toward her paper. “With a sari and the veil of crimson lace you chose, she will look like a queen of the island! How did you know?”

Camille blinked. Her pencil flitted around the page again, filling in details of the flowered print with a headdress and veil. “I draw what I see in my mind’s eye. I’ve learned to trust my hunches and make corrections before I cut a pattern, although my first impressions usually delight my clients.”

“You have a true talent, Lady Bentley.” Her intuitive way of “seeing” things might not play to his best interest, yet it fascinated him. And he had guessed correctly: this was Camille, Lord Bentley’s wife. “While I truly admire your creative originality with this gown and her costume for the ball, the other three dresses may be more ordinary. Simply day wear for—”

“Ah, no!” she protested prettily. “Any lady of yours would be far from ordinary, so why would I rely upon mundane designs? Or fall back on last season’s fabrics and accessories that don’t speak to her special place in your life? The house of LeChaud Soeurs sets the trends for haute couture and insists upon service above and beyond what you’ve come to expect elsewhere.”

Service above and beyond…Hadrian’s mind—and other body parts—fluttered at this thought until he forced his attention back to the business at hand. Damn, but these two could lead him a long way down the primrose path before he realized how far astray they’d taken him. And what man would care?

A dangerous thought indeed.

“So I see.” He smiled again; pretended not to notice how Colette tucked his money between the buttons of her bodice…into her corset? He suddenly imagined her standing before him clad only in that tightly laced undergarment and her stockings…pale thighs a-quiver and open to his gaze…

“You must tell me more about your lady, sir. Is she fair? Or does her complexion and hair color resemble your exotic coloring?”

Hadrian blinked. Had the twin in pink asked him a question? His mind had been wandering up the length of her sister’s shapely thigh.

“Camille has an unerring sense of color,” Colette explained. “While it would be best for you to simply bring your lady here for—”

“Oh, no, she’s quite shy! And…” Hadrian forced himself into a more rational frame of mind. “And these gowns, you recall, are to be a gift! A surprise! So I’ll trust your ability to fit her from her measurements….”

Damn. Both beauties were gazing at him as though they’d read his randy thoughts. And what had the original question been, anyway?

“So! She has your olive complexion, then?” Camille chirped. “And the midnight hair and ebony eyes to go with it?”

Hadrian nearly choked. How did she know these things? “You are quite astute, madam. She is indeed dark and mysterious and exotic—not that she resembles me!” he added quickly.

“So she will look absolutely divine in this new handkerchief linen, in the pale pink, I should think!” Camille bustled over to the shelves, gesticulating with her sketch pad. “And a suit of this coral serge would be ideal! So few English ladies wear that color well, that your beloved will stand out in any crowd. She’ll be the envy of all her companions!”

“I should think the fawn watermarked silk would be ideal, as well,” Colette chimed in. “Perhaps with ivory ribbons and lace to draw the eye to her exquisite face.”

“Quite so! Will there be anything else, Mr. Swann? We’re doing so well!”

Hadrian watched bolts of those fabrics land on the table. And before he could even consider the choices they’d proposed, the Bentley twins had plucked lace and ribbon and other accessories from their shelves to display them atop the fabrics they would soon embellish. He had to admit they were very, very good at what they did for a living.

And why are they plying this trade in the first place? Why do Lord Bentley and his illustrious son allow their wives to work? Unless the state of the family fortune falls beneath what my research suggests?

He smiled again, hoping the ladies couldn’t really read his mind. “Splendid! She’ll be so pleased.”

“And she’ll be the belle of the costume ball next week. This is Lord Herrington’s party, I assume?”

“Yes, I—I’ve come to London to confer with him about—”

“It will be our pleasure to see her there, wearing our creation! And to meet her!”

Hadrian stepped back, toward the door. When he’d followed their subtle lead about the party in the first place, he hadn’t considered that the twins would insist on meeting the woman he escorted. And they’d know exactly which woman she was, too! Damn! These enchanting ladies were his gateway to Bentley, but in their endearing, unwitting way they might have set a trap, as well.

“Will you be coming by to approve the basted gowns, Mr. Swann? Or shall we complete them before you—”

“They’ll exceed my expectations! I’m certain of it!” he gushed. The loud clatter of the brass knocker announced another client as Hadrian replaced his hat, hoping his relief didn’t show.

A man entered in a gust of wind, or at least he had a presence unlike any Swann had ever experienced: windswept brown hair framed his exquisite face, which was dominated by hawklike eyes. A red silk scarf fluttered around his neck. He wore his outlandish purple cape with the panache of a circus ringmaster while exuding an air of arcane power that made everything in the shop vibrate.

“Camille! Colette!” he announced in a breathy voice. “I’m off to conduct a séance for close friends of the queen, should you need me—or should Lord Bentley distress you further about my presence here last night.”

“Thank you, Rubio. I can assure you that my husband…” Camille’s gaze flitted to Hadrian, signaling a subject too indelicate to be discussed before clients. “Lord Bentley got his licks in after we returned home last night. The matter is settled now.”

Got his licks in? Hadrian prickled with curiosity as he followed this Rubio’s response. If he was about to conduct a séance…

“Please excuse my lapse of manners! Mr. Hadrian Swann, may I present Rubio Palladino, the medium renowned across the Continent?” Camille said with a wave of her graceful hand. “Mr. Swann has just commissioned some lovely gowns—”

As the man in the outrageous cape gripped his hand, Hadrian felt a subtle jolt of power…a sensation akin to an electrical current. And when he met Palladino’s gaze, he had the ridiculous notion that this so-called medium already knew more about him than was prudent. Yet it suddenly occurred to him that a man who summoned spirits…a man who had apparently inspired Rutledge Bentley’s temper…might be just the ace he needed up his sleeve for future gaming. “Quite pleased to meet you, Palladino! I’ll know whom to call upon if ever I’m in need of spirited assistance.”

The medium’s slender hand gripped his with surprising strength. “Be careful what you ask for, Mr. Swann. Birds of a feather flock together.”

Now what the hell did that mean? Hadrian released Palladino’s hand, and after the medium said his good-byes and exited in a swirl of flashy fabric, he took his own leave. Better to duck out before the twins pressed him for any more information, considering what they’d already coaxed out of him with their flirtatious ways.

And yet, as he strode down the sidewalk, Hadrian erupted in a chuckle until passersby gawked at him. But what did he care? He’d ingratiated himself to the Bentley women, he’d learned some fascinating things about them and about Camille’s husband, and then he’d found the downright perfect means of carrying out the surprise that would bring old Rutledge to his knees! All within a few minutes of conversation!

And all by toying with the truth!