Page 19 of A Rake's Redemption
Alex sat across from her on the ride along Kensington High Street. She kept her gaze trained on the landscape passing by the window, although Alex wondered if she was really interested or if she was merely avoiding having a conversation. She certainly didn’t look excited to be going shopping. He didn’t know a single woman, young or old, who didn’t like buying new clothes. He already knew Inis had a great deal of pride and didn’t much like having clothing provided for her, but this was a necessity. She’d have to understand that. He already felt like an ass for not noticing she only had two pairs of breeches and a couple of shirts that had been in the knapsack she’d brought to the house. She was always clean, so she probably laundered one of the shirts every night herself.
Alex thought about how much he wanted to—wouldneedto—teach her. He supposed orphans of immigrant parents who’d probably been little higher than peasants in Ireland wouldn’t be used to accepting a man’s assistance in something as simple as stepping into a carriage. Young ladies of thetonacted as though they weren’t capable of opening even a parlor door, let alone a carriage one and putting down the step. It was just such subtleties that the gossips would notice. He smiled inwardly, thinking of how nicely her small hand had fit in his when he assisted her. The feel of her warm, strong little hand had sent a pleasant surge of warmth coursing through him as well. Perhaps he’d take these training opportunities to touch her as much as he could.
The carriage slowed to a stop, and Inis finally turned her attention to him. “Is this the place?”
“Yes,” he said as the coachman opened the door. Alex stepped out and offered his hand. This time, she placed her fingers quite gracefully into his palm and stepped down. She was a quick learner. “This is the modiste shop I mentioned earlier.”
Inis’s eyes rounded. “Madame Dubois? The negligee maker?”
He was thankful he had a hold on her hand because she turned to climb back into the carriage. He slipped his other hand to her elbow to steer her firmly toward the door. He managed to keep from laughing. “I take it you do not want a negligee?”
Inis glared at him, blue flames practically shooting from her eyes. “Never.”
Alex felt his mouth twitch. She would look particularly stunning in one, he was sure.
…
Inis managed to contain her fury as she was propelled toward the modiste shop. Alex’s hand may be gentle, but his grip was firm. He’d already forestalled her attempt to get back in the carriage, and the driver had moved to secure a spot farther on. The speed with which the carriage left made Inis wonder if Alex hadn’t anticipated her resistance to visit this particular shop.
She’d made perfectly clear she was not interested in negligees. For that matter, he’d made himself perfectly clear he wouldn’t think of pursuing making her the recipient of such a gift. So why were they here where the proprietor would no doubt come to the conclusion that Alex was outfitting a mistress?
“Relax,” he whispered as they entered the shop.
Inis bit back a response and looked around the shop. A mannequin in one window wore an elaborate ball gown of apricot silk with short puff sleeves and an ivory lace overlay on the bodice. The high-waist skirt was festooned with satin streamers that swept to the floor and would swirl around a dancer like so much confetti. In the window on the other side of the door, a mannequin posed in a rich burgundy riding habit, the velvet spencer adorned with gold cord and brass buttons. What seemed like hundreds of bolts of material lay on a variety of tables, and to one side, a wall was covered with ribbons and bonnet accessories.
A plump, gray-haired woman hurried toward them with a smile on her face.
“Monsieur Ashley.Comment allez-vous?”
“I am well, thank you, Madame Dubois. I find I am in need of your services.” He gestured toward Inis. “For my friend, Miss O’Brien.”
“But of course.” The woman’s gaze moved to Inis, a slight furrow appearing between her brows as she took in the ill-fitting clothing, and looked back to Alex. “A complete wardrobe, monsieur?”
“Yes,” Alex said.
“Nae,” Inis said.
A brief flicker of surprise crossed Madame Dubois’s face as she looked from one to the other. Inis doubted the woman had many female clients who didn’t want dozens of dresses, gowns, and…negligees. She felt her face warm. Dressed as poorly as she was in the company of a wealthy man intending to purchase an entire wardrobe clearly labeled her for what she did not want to be. That the modiste’s expression remained open and not judgmental meant nothing. Alex was obviously a welcome client. How many negligees had she made for his amours?
Inis straightened her shoulders. “One day dress.”
“Three,” Alex said.
“Oui. I will need to take your measurements,” Madame Dubois replied neutrally and walked toward the back of the room to pull aside a curtain. “This way,s’il vous plaît.”
Inis reluctantly followed her and then slowed her steps even more when she realized Alex was following them. She lowered her voice. “Ye need to wait out here.”
He raised a brow. “Why?”
Inis stared at him. Was he that much of a rake that he thought he couldwatch? His paramours probably reveled in that kind of thing, but she wasn’t one of them. “It is nae proper.”
“I assure you Madame Dubois and her seamstresses are quite used to male patrons approving purchases.”
“For their mistresses, maybe,” Inis practically hissed the words. “I am nae such, and I doona want it thought I am.”
Alex looked amused. “I told you Madame Dubois is discreet. Your reputation will remain intact.”
But would her dignity? Inis had never liked being fitted for dresses and gowns. It was embarrassing to have seamstresses lament over her lean measurements andtskover her lack of curvy hips or fret over fluffing out her bodices with ruffles or lacy fichus to make up for her lack of a big bosom. She still didn’t relish the idea of Alexwatching.
