Page 30 of To Love A Spy
Staring down at her chest, Valencia made a face. “I’m afraid I’m not giving you much to work with.”
“You don’t need melons to make a man’s mouth water,” said Madame Violette with an earthy laugh. “Trust me, when I am done with you,cherie, the opposite sex will be begging to taste your fruit.”
The seamstresses tittered.
“Pardon, may I feel your peaches?” whispered one of them.
“Oooh, I should like to suck the juice from your oranges.”
Valencia blushed at the ribald chatter. Though why she should be embarrassed by the frank mention of sex was puzzling. It must be the thoughts of Lynsley that had her in such a strange mood.
After all, she had come to Paris fully intending to wield her body as a weapon. Seduction was a standard part of the Academy’s arsenal, and she had been trained by an expert on how manipulate male lust. A former courtesan to the King of Spain had taught the class on all the little tricks of the trade. And according to her it was child’s play to gain the upper hand in the battle of the sexes as most men could be coaxed into thinking with a different part of their anatomy instead of their brains.
But not Lynsley.If ever a man were in control of his mind and his body it was the marquess.
“That’s enough, girls.” The snap of the tapemeasure cut through the laughter. “Let us get down to work.”
Arms folded, Lynsley leaned against the doorway and watched the modiste adjust the last bit of pattern cloth.
“Alors, that will do, Madame Daggett,” said the woman through a mouthful of pins. “If only all my clients were so easy to work with. Your form ismagnifique.”
He was in complete agreement. The scanty scraps of muslin displayed Valencia’s leggy height and sleek curves in exquisite detail.
“Am I dismissed?” she asked plaintively.
“Oui, you may get dressed now.” A sniff expressed the dressmaker’s opinion of the offending garments. “But remember, you must promise me to burn that hideous gown once your new wardrobe is delivered.”
Valencia stepped down from the block, as if seeking to escape the guillotine blade, and hurried to the dressing room.
“Your wife possesses a unique beauty.” Spotting Lynsley in the doorway, Madame Violette sketched a quick curtsey. “Normally I would have said ‘non’to such a rush job, but it is not often that I have such a mannequin with which to work.”
“Thank you for making the exception.” Lynsley repressed a smile. His purse had most likely been as persuasive as Valencia’s beauty. The woman was the most sought-aftermodistein Paris and knew her worth.
“No need to thank me, sir,” replied Madame Violette with a crafty grin. “When your wife appears in public in my new designs, my workshop will be busy for weeks filling the new orders.”
Valencia appeared from behind the curtain. “I think I would rather face the sabers of Marshall Soult’s cavalry than any more of your pins,” she announced, smoothing at the tie of her sash.
Madame Violette contrived to look injured. “A few little pricks here and there are a small price to pay for the sake of artistic perfection. And your husband agrees with me.”
She turned sharply, noticing his presence for the first time. “Oh, I did not see you come in.”
Lynsley nodded a greeting. “I finished early at the tailor and thought I would stop by to escort you home.”
“How thoughtful.” Valencia smiled, but hesitated a fraction before accepting his arm.
Would she ever be comfortable in his presence? Or would she always see him as a forbidding figure of authority, he wondered.Aloof. Untouchable.He had only himself to blame, he supposed. He had always taken great pains to keep a formal distance between himself and the students. But even in those first years, his relationship with Valencia had been . . . different.
“Sir?”
Roused from his momentary reveries, Lynsley looked up from the display of fashionable accessories to find her eying him with a quizzical look.
“If you can’t tear yourself away from the painted fans, I can wait for you outside.” She waved a hand in front of her cheeks. “All these silks and satins have made my head spin. I’m afraid I need a breath of fresh air.”
He took a moment to choose a lovely double vellum leaf with carved ivory sticks. The gouache painting depicted a classical scene from Greek mythology. Diana the Huntress.
“Please add that to our purchases,” he said, handing it one of the shop girls.
Valencia’s expression turned even more odd as they exited the atelier.
