Misgivings sat low in his belly as he pushed through the single door of the modiste’s establishment. This is what he hated about not having a clear plan. In battle it was easy to predict the men’s reactions, his own and the enemy’s, but in this battle, where women were not only involved but key players, he wasn’t equipped with the necessary knowledge to pre-empt them.
“Bonjour, monsieur, madame, I am Madame Perèt. How can we help you today?”
Madame Perèt was a small, lithe woman with greying hair and wrinkles framing intelligent eyes. Her French accent rang rather truer than those of many London lady’s maids.
“My…” he hesitated for effect “…wife, needs a suitable wardrobe for travel and I was told you were the lady we needed to see?”
The lady in question looked his “wife” up and down before addressing him once again.
“Are you traveling to London or away from?”
“To London,” James lied, “but then we may travel back, so we will need some warm items.”
“Will she be attending balls and such?”
James didn’t miss the imperceptible rising of the modiste’s brows nor the tightening of her shoulders. Just as he suspected, this madame was another on the edge of her seat to await gossip. A tale she could share with her friends and be the first to spin what she wanted about the gentleman and the woman he claimed as his wife even though Daniella wore no ring.
“No. She will not.”
“As you wish.”
He switched his gaze from Madame Perèt back to Daniella, who wore a small smirk. “I will leave you to choose your gowns, m’dear.”
“Oh no,” Daniella purred in a way that made his hair stand on end. “You must stay and help. After all, it is your money we spend, darling.”
“I trust you,” he grated out.
Daniella gave the modiste a mock look of frustration and then sauntered over to him. Did she really just saunter? After purring?
“Very well, then, I shall have everything made up in pink.” She ran a finger slowly down his cheek to his chin. “The marquess absolutely loathes pink, do you not, darling? And I believe breeches may also be in order, no?”
His teeth ground in his mouth and it took all of his strength not to shake her. They were supposed to leave rumour and innuendo, not their names and addresses. “No pink and certainly no breeches.”
Better than an actress on the stage, she squealed and jumped on the spot, clapping her hands together. “So you’ll stay and help with the gown choices?”
“I suppose I must.”
“Excellent. Let us get started.”
The modiste watched the exchange with perplexity. James wanted to rake his hand through his hair until the urge to throttle his hostage left him but that would show Madame Perèt that Daniella’s taunts had substance to them. So far the modiste didn’t look as though she would ask questions but the hour had barely begun. He had a feeling he was in for far more than colour choices but he sat and fixed a smile to his face. It would be a very long hour indeed.
*
His paramour, was she? Fine. Let him see some amour firsthand then.
He could have told the modiste she was his ward or niece or something along those lines. Their ages weren’t so close. She guessed the marquess to be around three-and-thirty—he couldn’t have risen so high in the army if he was much younger.
Which reminded her that he hadn’t actually spoken about the army and she hadn’t had a chance to interrogate Hobson either. There was still a great deal she didn’t know, which made it difficult to know whether Trelissick was friend or indeed foe. What if her father gave his precious items back and Trelissick refused to let her go? He had no reason to keep her—unless this wasn’t only about a trade and there really was more to the tale? It was so frustrating not knowing.
“Do you wish for privacy, madame?”
Just as Daniella was about to nod and thank the woman, Trelissick interrupted. “I really don’t want to let my wife from my sight, if you don’t mind?”
Daniella knew it for the challenge it was. He meant to discomfit her into being good. “Of course, whatever my husband wants. After all, he has seen my skin before.”
When his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, Daniella smiled her victory. But only for a moment. A man’s form was something she was used to from her time on the ship. The hands often discarded their shirts on a hot day. But she certainly hadn’t. Anytime she even rolled her sleeves too high or loosened the ties on her shirt too far, her father had been there to remind her of her sex. As if she could ever forget. She wondered if James had ever removed his shirt to toil. Would the dark hair on his forearms cover his chest and the ridges of his abdomen as well…?
She stood silently, not once breaking eye contact with Trelissick, until the modiste returned with several ready-made dresses for her to try. She gave her back to the modiste and Madame Perèt deftly undid each tiny button down her back. When she felt the borrowed gown sag, she gave a little wriggle until it dropped to the floor around her ankles with a whoosh.
That left Daniella in nothing more than an almost transparent shift and barely there stays. The gown she had worn to the virgin auction was made of silk so fine it was translucent, and it wasn’t designed for substantial underthings. As she lifted her chin and pretended she was comfortable in her near nakedness, his jaw tightened but he didn’t look away. He kept his eyes glued to her
