Page 102 of Scandalous Heiress
Chapter 18
For their wedding trip, he took her to Paris.Ada had been often, her father renting a house in Rue Haussmann.But Victor had not been in eight years.With her, the City was new and glorious, alight with elegant gas works upon broad boulevards.And though he took a suite in the Hotel Splendide across from Opera Garnier and though he had purchased tickets to plays and theFolies-Bergèreand intended to show off his lovely bride in the City, they rarely went anywhere.She had even cancelled an appointment Victor had made for her with the designer, Jacques Doucet.If the two of them did venture out, they did not remain for very long.The call of their rooms and the grand bed was a siren’s song too resonantto ignore.
On their last day in Paris, Ada rose from their bed, deliciously bare, and pulled on the Japanese silk kimono he’d given her the first morning after their wedding.The ivory silk shot with gold sparkled against her complexion, the red and pink chrysanthemums on bronzed leaves highlighting her blushes and her glistening golden brown hair.
She spied the newspaper he held rolled in his hands, feigning innocence to her real question.“The maid has already brought up breakfast?”
As with other hotels in Paris, visitors could hire servants by the day, week or month.Victor had hired a maid for Ada, a valet for himself.And the hotel staff affiliated with the kitchen and cafe brought food service promptly.
“Would you care for coffee or hot chocolate?”He loved teasing her, when she cared not to drink so much as to know what he had inserted into the morning news.Each day for the past seven, he’d placed a small but precious token of his love for her inside the printed pages.The kimono had been one of the larger pieces to hide.The two jade fu dogs, meant to guard their future home from sadness, had been the worst.The others—the cinnabar hair comb, the double strand of opera length pearls and a cutting of the turquoise and green Chinese wallpaper that would line their Brighton dining room—had been easy to conceal.
She pulled her waist-length hair up and out from under the standing collar of the kimono, threw him a sly and lazy smile, then strolled toward him.Rubbing her hot and supple body to his own, she made his head swim with desire as she said, “Whatever you have in there, it seems small today.A good thing.The train porters at Gare du Nord will develop back injuries loading those fu dogs.”
He wanted to stay in Paris forever.But England called.He had business to attend to.The house in Brighton to settle.His daughters to fetch from London.And the rising tide of scandal that was soon to engulf them…or destroy their future had to be faced.With it, and his possible failure to convince the influential men in Brighton of his worthiness as an MP, came the question of whether she might return to China with him.
Of all this, he’d told Ada nothing of the rumors, the letters his mother sent or of the innuendos in the London scandal sheets.What he gave Ada each morning was the current issue ofLe Tempswhich he had checked first for hints of problems at home.The morning newspaper fed her need for politics and international news.
Therefore, he was greedy attempting to extend the ecstasies of their wedding as long as possible.He curved his arms around her, all serenity he wished for her in his embrace.“What makes you think I have anything in here, but the day’s headlines?”
She rubbed the tip of her nose along the column of his throat.Her hands undid the sash of his dressing gown and he swelled, his blood roaring to be lost in her.“Because you’ve been so generous, I doubt you’ll stop.When we’re home, I expect you to behave and stop spending money on me.”
“Not ever.”When he spoke, he heard the sand and fog of his own voice filled with nigh unto feral need to be inside her again.Her musky fragrance mingling with the scent of himself as he made love to her last night robbed him of much logic and so without forethought he said, “Open this.See if you like it.If not, we can change it to whatever you wish.”
Her eyes faceting in the thousand shades of morning sky, she took it from him.Carefully, she unrolled the paper to take in her hand the cut glass vial he’d ordered from his friend in the Rue de la Paix.“Perfume?”
“I told them they must try.On such short notice, I could not get a new formula from my perfumer in Grasse, but I asked a friend of mine here to work some magic.Lift the stopper.”
She did so and inhaled, her eyes closed.“Lime and lavender with…peony?”
“I thought the peony had come through.Should it be more predominant?What do you think?”
“I like it as it is and I’ll wear it today.Where will we go?”
“I thought we’d take a picnic to the Luxembourg gardens.You will be the loveliest flower among all the others.”
“And tonight, we’ll go dance at the Moulin de la Galette.”She had suggested it time and time again here in Paris.The ball in Montmartre, she told him, was an informal, sometimes raucous event where Parisians of all classes met to drink and dance.“You and I will be at home with others who dance for the fun of it and no one attempts to be perfect.”
The ball at the Moulin de la Galette offered everything Ada adored.Spontaneity, a small band, good beer for sale and people of all ages and from all walks of life.She’d first come here years ago when her cousin Marianne and her future husband, the famous sculptor the duc de Remy, escorted her and her friends.Then the ball was a novel event, but now it was famous.Parisians came in greater numbers.No one dressed formally.A lady was never to wear jewelry.Nor was a man to bring a wallet full of cash.The revelers danced until midnight and occasionally, if they could persuade the musicians to linger, until one.Then because many who lived in Montmartre awakened early to go to work, the partiers went home respectfully quiet.
“I’m afraid we’re overdressed,” Victor confided as he took her arm and they jockeyed for a table near the garden wall.
“No one will notice.”She balanced her full glass of beer as a dancer bumped into her.Hoping to heaven this night might bring back the gaiety she’d seen on her husband’s face those first few days.“They’re not here to assess how much money you earn.”
“I never would have thought you’d like this sort of thing.”They took two chairs.
Grinning at him, she raised her glass.“That’s what comes of marrying a woman you’ve known less than a month.”
He looked as if she’d truly insulted him.“Are you sorry?”
“Victor Cole.”She pulled back, her heart in her throat.How could he possibly ask that?“What have I not done to convince you that I adore you?”
“I apologize.I’m not pleased to return home.”
She took a drink of her beer, assessing him.She was not a nincompoop and she had long since girded herself for whatever chaos they might meet upon their arrival in London.But she’d pushed it from her mind for this little while because her honeymoon was a once in lifetime event.She wanted a crystal clear memory of it.And she wanted Victor happy.“Will you share why?”
“I hope we can survive the uproar.”
There he stopped.His usually lively turquoise eyes fixed blankly on hers.
