Read Online Heartless by Kat Martin - Free Book Online Page B

footman who stood near the door, he signaled for the man to serve the balance of the light morning meal, then leaned back and took a sip of his coffee, those cool gray eyes once more on her face.
    Beneath the table, Ariel clenched her white linen napkin into a knot that matched the one in her stomach. The footman set a delicate, sugary cake on the plate in front of her along with a spoonful of ripe red berries, but Ariel was no longer hungry.
    *   *   *
    They finished their breakfast in silence. As soon as the plates were removed, Justin rose and approached where Ariel sat shoving the food around on her plate. He said nothing as he led her to his waiting carriage, just motioned to the driver, who climbed into his seat on top. A soft slap of reins against the rumps of the four matched grays, and they were off, the iron wheels rolling over the cobblestone streets.
    The sights of the city moved by outside the window, taverns and coffeehouses, butcher shops and rug merchants. Ariel’s gaze slowly turned in that direction, and he couldn’t miss the glow of fascination that slowly brightened her face. It didn’t take long to reach St. James’s, an area of elegant shops and stores that catered to wealthy members of the ton. Justin ordered his coachman to stop in front of a narrow establishment wedged between a dealer in spiritous liquors and a chairmaker’s shop. There was only a single window and a small, obscure wooden sign that read: “MADAME DUPREE, Couture.”
    â€œShall we?” He offered his arm and Ariel took it, letting him lead her inside.
    In the small, well-appointed room, several women worked over bolts of colorful fabric, busily applying needle and thread to complete the garments they fashioned. One of them, a wide-hipped, beefy woman, rose at Ariel and Justin’s approach and scuttled toward the rear of the shop, disappearing behind a velvet curtain in search of the proprietor.
    â€œHow did you know about…?” Ariel looked up at him, the question trailing away. He knew she was thinking that he must have been there before, buying gowns for other of his mistresses.
    â€œHow did I know about the shop?” he finished for her.
    â€œI suppose I am not the first woman you’ve brought here,” she said a bit tartly, staring at him down her small, straight nose.
    Amusement lifted the corner of his mouth. “Actually, you are the first. I know about the place because my father made a number of purchases here. I paid the bills after he died. Since I could never fault his taste, I figured it would accomplish our purpose.”
    She cocked a blond eyebrow. “And what, exactly, might that purpose be?”
    â€œYou said you wished to see the city, perhaps attend a play or an opera. You will need the sort of gowns Madame Dupree can provide you.”
    She said nothing to that. How could she? It was her idea, after all. He settled a hand at her waist, noticing how incredibly small it was, guiding her farther inside. The curtain rustled. The owner stepped into the salon with a smile and began walking toward them.
    â€œMay I be of help, my lord?” She was gray-haired and slightly wrinkled, her cheeks heavily rouged. She had large, pendulous breasts, the cleavage modestly hidden beneath a lace fichu at the neck of her fashionably cut silk gown.
    â€œI would like to purchase some evening gowns for the lady.”
    She smiled. “You’re Greville, are you not?”
    He wasn’t surprised that she knew him. Though it galled him to admit it, he knew how much he looked like his father. He made a slight inclination of his head. “I’m Greville.”
    â€œThe late earl, your father, was a very good customer. You look remarkably like him.” She turned her attention to Ariel. “And you, my dear, must be a … friend … of his lordship’s.”
    Color washed into Ariel’s face. Her head barely moved in a