Read Online Promise Me Heaven by Connie Brockway - Free Book Online
Authors: Connie Brockway
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back. The gown dipped so low it exposed the column of her spine to the waist. It was beyond daring; it was scandalous.
“Are you sure, Thomas?”
He had stretched his giant’s frame out in a ridiculously dainty love seat, causing the abused furniture to protest with an audible groan, a closed expression on his lean countenance.
“Sure of what? That it is as alluring a gown as you’re likely to find? Or that I would have you wear it?” he asked with maddening ambiguity.
“Are you sure I won’t reap the censure of all of London if I appear in public in it?”
“Vain little beast,” he murmured. “I assure you that ‘all of London’ isn’t likely to care what you wear as long as you publicly behave yourself. No, Cat. There are many fashionables clad in a good deal less cloth, displaying a great deal more flesh, who don’t excite the least comment. The appeal of this gown lies in its contradictory nature. So innocent from the front, so wanton from the back. Does the wearer know it is so? Which is she? That is the sort of contradiction that excites the mind, stimulates the jaded interest.” His smile seemed to her thin. “It will do quite well for your designs. We’ll take it.”
He nodded to Madame Feille, the proprietress. Immediately she started to pull the pins from the materials, all the while barking orders to her attendants to fetch other gowns.
Madame Fielle covertly studied the great handsome giant. When he had entered the shop, there had been a few moments she had thought she would have to refuse him entry; he was so clearly not representative of her usual clientele being dressed with fearsome disregard to fashion in dark worsted, white linen, and dull Hessians.
But then Madame Feille had seen the young beauty he escorted and mentally shrugged. She would make a quick sale of a cheap ready-made and this beauty would act as an advertisement all over town. Her assumptions had soon been proven false. The man’s bearing marked him for a nob.
His speech too marked him as a peer. His tone was urbane, even suave. And he had displayed a sure and intimate knowledge of fashion. Madame Feille mentally rubbed her hands together as he demanded more of her skill as a dressmaker. Gown after gown was purchased for the statuesque young woman.
The auburn-haired beauty must be his mistress, she concluded, and he so careful a protector! Nothing too outré, too shameless. All tasteful and yet, at the same time, intensely provocative. Why, the gown of bronze and black silk tissue alone would make any impure’s reputation. And it appeared he was going to escort her amongst the ton itself!
The eager modiste foresaw a windfall of orders from this unlikely source. She redoubled her efforts to provide just the flavor the huge gentleman seemed to want.
However, with each gown, with each creation of restrained enticement, the black-eyed giant became more withdrawn. The beauty’s teasing comments provoked less and less of a response until finally, as she modeled a gown of gold tissue satin that displayed to full advantage her remarkable endowments, he rose and said, “This grows tedious in the extreme, Cat. And no doubt Hecuba is bestirring herself in the coach, interrogating poor Bob about his love life. Buy whatever else a lady needs to act as foundation for these fripperies, and I will see you presently.”
“But won’t you stay for the petticoats?” the girl asked, surveying herself in the mirror. Her tone seemed to Madame Feille a genuine display of confused innocence.
Apparently the big man thought so too. He looked at the beauty with such a sudden flare of ill-disguised longing that Madame Feille caught her breath. But the girl had turned away to pluck a pin from her waistband. Unfortunate, thought Madame Feille; the beauty might have made good use of such knowledge for both herself and Madame. Another dozen gowns at the least.
The dark man collected himself. “Oh, I think I can leave that in
“Are you sure, Thomas?”
He had stretched his giant’s frame out in a ridiculously dainty love seat, causing the abused furniture to protest with an audible groan, a closed expression on his lean countenance.
“Sure of what? That it is as alluring a gown as you’re likely to find? Or that I would have you wear it?” he asked with maddening ambiguity.
“Are you sure I won’t reap the censure of all of London if I appear in public in it?”
“Vain little beast,” he murmured. “I assure you that ‘all of London’ isn’t likely to care what you wear as long as you publicly behave yourself. No, Cat. There are many fashionables clad in a good deal less cloth, displaying a great deal more flesh, who don’t excite the least comment. The appeal of this gown lies in its contradictory nature. So innocent from the front, so wanton from the back. Does the wearer know it is so? Which is she? That is the sort of contradiction that excites the mind, stimulates the jaded interest.” His smile seemed to her thin. “It will do quite well for your designs. We’ll take it.”
He nodded to Madame Feille, the proprietress. Immediately she started to pull the pins from the materials, all the while barking orders to her attendants to fetch other gowns.
Madame Fielle covertly studied the great handsome giant. When he had entered the shop, there had been a few moments she had thought she would have to refuse him entry; he was so clearly not representative of her usual clientele being dressed with fearsome disregard to fashion in dark worsted, white linen, and dull Hessians.
But then Madame Feille had seen the young beauty he escorted and mentally shrugged. She would make a quick sale of a cheap ready-made and this beauty would act as an advertisement all over town. Her assumptions had soon been proven false. The man’s bearing marked him for a nob.
His speech too marked him as a peer. His tone was urbane, even suave. And he had displayed a sure and intimate knowledge of fashion. Madame Feille mentally rubbed her hands together as he demanded more of her skill as a dressmaker. Gown after gown was purchased for the statuesque young woman.
The auburn-haired beauty must be his mistress, she concluded, and he so careful a protector! Nothing too outré, too shameless. All tasteful and yet, at the same time, intensely provocative. Why, the gown of bronze and black silk tissue alone would make any impure’s reputation. And it appeared he was going to escort her amongst the ton itself!
The eager modiste foresaw a windfall of orders from this unlikely source. She redoubled her efforts to provide just the flavor the huge gentleman seemed to want.
However, with each gown, with each creation of restrained enticement, the black-eyed giant became more withdrawn. The beauty’s teasing comments provoked less and less of a response until finally, as she modeled a gown of gold tissue satin that displayed to full advantage her remarkable endowments, he rose and said, “This grows tedious in the extreme, Cat. And no doubt Hecuba is bestirring herself in the coach, interrogating poor Bob about his love life. Buy whatever else a lady needs to act as foundation for these fripperies, and I will see you presently.”
“But won’t you stay for the petticoats?” the girl asked, surveying herself in the mirror. Her tone seemed to Madame Feille a genuine display of confused innocence.
Apparently the big man thought so too. He looked at the beauty with such a sudden flare of ill-disguised longing that Madame Feille caught her breath. But the girl had turned away to pluck a pin from her waistband. Unfortunate, thought Madame Feille; the beauty might have made good use of such knowledge for both herself and Madame. Another dozen gowns at the least.
The dark man collected himself. “Oh, I think I can leave that in
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