Page 11 of One Perfect Dance
That might be an exaggeration, something Rex was prone to, but Ash had to agree they had met many English people in recent weeks. The wealthy had flocked to Paris as soon as the Treaty of Amiens had been signed. Those with business interests or family in France had come too, trying to find out what had happened to their assets or their loved ones during the war.
After sending Mitterrand on his errand, Rex waved to yet another acquaintance. “It is definitely time to sign the contracts with Mademoiselle Tremblay. I see Richport in the audience.”
Ash raised his eyebrows in question.
“The Duke of Richport. He’s richer than I am and better looking. He is also several years older and has an actual title rather than a courtesy one. And he doesn’t waste time. If he sets his mind on Giselle, he’ll have a contract under her nose before we could blink. He does not care about her character or comportment. If he decides a mistress is too much trouble, he gives her a present and find a new one.”
Ash took a good look at the young duke. He was probably in his mid-twenties, and Ash had to admit that he was handsome, with his dark, perfectly symmetrical good looks. The cynical cast of his expression, however, made him far less appealing than Rex. At least in Ash’s opinion.
Mitterand’s errand was successful. Rex was to meet mademoiselle at a local restaurant. “Thank you, Monsieur,” Rex said, and sat impatiently through the rest of the performance.
Afterwards, he dismissed everyone except Ash, his carriage driver, and one guard. Ash protested that he would be out of place at a supper for two. “I asked her to bring a friend for you,” Rex explained. “If things go poorly, that will give her someone to go home with. And if they go well, you can keep the friend entertained while Giselle and I come to terms.”
Mademoiselle Tremblay, having cleaned off most of her paint and dressed for the evening rather than the stage, was a very pretty young woman. Ash couldn’t tell her age. Her eyes seemed older than the rest of her, but her skin was still firm and unlined. She wore her dark curly hair half up and half down, so a long lock curled strategically just above one of her breasts.
She introduced her friend, another attractive young woman, Mademoiselle Vivienne Cadieux. Ash could only assume that Mademoiselle Cadieux had been given similar instructions to his own:Keep the English milord’s secretary busy so the milord and Giselle could reach agreement.
Mademoiselle Cadieux accomplished her task by flirting, in French, in broken English, and in the unspoken language of eyelashes, smiles, coy glances, and increasingly bold touches. Meanwhile, the waiters kept filling their glasses with a light, bubbly white wine far more potent than it appeared.
The women were also intoxicating, from their appearance and behavior, designed to seduce, to the perfume they wore—something rich and musky. When Mademoiselle Cadieux leaned close, Ash found himself drowned in tones of vanilla, nutmeg, sandalwood, and something floral and exotic. Ash preferred the light English florals that Ginny wore.
No.He would not think of Ginny tonight.
By the time Rex called for his carriage, Ash was in a high state of physical arousal, and Vivienne, as she insisted Ash call her, did not help by seating herself astride his lap as soon as the carriage began to move.
Rex was not going to be of any assistance. He and Giselle had clearly reached sufficient accord to begin the preliminaries to the evening’s main purpose. Ash could only hope they would not move beyond the initial stages until they put a closed door between themselves and Ash.
Meanwhile, he surrendered sufficiently to Vivienne and the demands of his own body to accept her mouth on his.
His first kiss. He had nothing to compare it with, but in his uninformed opinion, Vivienne knew exactly what she was about, and the kiss had been a mistake. He had not known he could grow to such proportions, and Vivienne’s roaming hands made things even harder—in both senses of the word. Clearly, she misunderstood his situation. She would reject him as soon as he could persuade Rex to explain in French that he was a poverty-stricken secretary. He would only increase her irritation with him if he took advantage of her belief that he had the money to afford the luxury of his ownchère-amie.
Nevertheless, short of dumping her on the carriage floor, he could not quench her enthusiasm. Nor could he resist it.
By the time the carriage paused outside a largemaison, he had his hands full of Vivienne’s breasts and his placket half-opened. Vivienne briskly did up the buttons she had just undone, popped her breasts back into her bodice and patted Ash’s cheek. She made a remark in French to her friend, who was also putting herself to rights.
Rex, looking nearly as tidy as when they started, descended to the street, and assisted Giselle down the carriage steps. Ash hastened to perform the same courtesy for Vivienne, and then found himself with the opera dancer clinging to his arm, following his friend into the building.
Rex had the keys to a delightful apartment, with two bedrooms, each with its own small dressing room and two reception rooms. The girls dragged their escorts from room to room, expounding on its virtues in French far too rapid for Ash to pick up more than a word here and there.
He understood, however, when Vivienne laid claim to the bedroom decorated in purple, with bunches of violets on the wallpaper and violets painted as accents on the delicate, white-painted furniture.
Giselle declared for the rose room, and then suddenly discovered one of the reception rooms had a balcony. She and Vivienne hurried out to examine the view, leaving Rex and Ash inside.
“They like it,” Rex announced with great satisfaction.
“You are not…” Ash trailed off and rephrased his statement as a question. “Are you planning to take them both into your keeping, Rex?”
“Technically, I suppose. But Vivienne is not for me, Ash. She’s for you.” He put up a hand to stop Ash from speaking.
“It’s the perfect solution,” Ash insisted. “Giselle will have company when I can’t be with her, and you’ll have company when I’m with Giselle. You don’t have to share Vivienne’s bed if your sense of morality is offended at the thought, but I need you. You know the nannies are not going to let me spend time here with just Giselle. They’ll insist on you or one of them staying in the apartment, too. I prefer you, Ash.”
Ash wanted to argue, but he didn’t want to sound Puritan. And then Rex delivered thecoup de grace. “Vivienne would prefer you, as well. I don’t think she would nearly as happy with one of the nannies.”
Still Ash hesitated.
“Is it Miss Kingsley?” Rex asked.
“No,” Ash protested. “She is far above me, and by the time we return to England she will be married, probably with a tribe of little children.”
