Read Online Silk Is For Seduction by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online

seeking an introduction to the actress’s friend. Émilien knew she was a London dressmaker, and by tomorrow night, at least half of Paris would know she was a nobody: no exciting foreign actress or courtesan, and certainly not a lady of any nationality.
    What would his friends think, when they saw him enter a party he wouldn’t normally attend, bringing a most unwelcome guest, a shopkeeper?
    “What hypocrites you aristos are,” she said. “It’s all well enough to chase women who are beneath you, merely to get them beneath you—but to attempt to bring them into good company? Unthinkable. Your friends will believe you’ve taken leave of your senses. They’ll believe you’ve let me make a fool of you. Enslaved, they’ll say. The great English duke is enslaved by a showy little bourgeoise.”
    He shrugged. “Will they? Well, then, watching their jaws drop should prove entertaining. Will you wear red?”
    She rose, and he did, too, manners perfect, no matter what.
    “You put on a brave show,” she said. “I’ll give you credit for that. But I know you’re having second thoughts. And because I’m a generous woman—and all I want, foolish man, is to dress your wife—I’ll release you from a wager you never should have made. I do this because you’re a man, and I know that there are times when men use an organ other than their brains to think with.”
    She gathered her reticule, arranged her shawl—and instantly recalled the brush of his fingers upon her skin.
    Crushing the recollection, she swept to the door.
    “Adieu,” she said. “I hope a few hours’ sleep will restore your good sense, and you’ll let us be friends. In that case, I’ll look forward to seeing you on Friday. Perhaps we’ll meet on the Quai Voltaire.”
    He followed her to the door. “You’re the most damnable female,” he said. “I’m not accustomed to having women order me about.”
    “We bourgeoise are like that,” she said. “No finesse or tact. So managing .”
    She walked on, into the deserted corridor. From one room she heard low murmurs. Some were still at their gaming. From elsewhere came snores.
    Mainly, though, she was aware of his footsteps, behind her at first, then alongside.
    “I’ve hurt your feelings,” he said.
    “I’m a dressmaker,” she said. “My customers are women. If you wish to hurt my feelings, you’ll need to exert yourself to a degree you may find both mentally and physically debilitating.”
    “I hurt something ,” he said. “You’re determined to dress my duchess, and you’ll stop at nothing, but you’ve stopped. You’re quite prepared to give up.”
    “You underestimate me,” she said. “I never give up.”
    “Then why are you telling me to go to the devil?”
    “I’ve done no such thing,” she said. “I’ve forgiven the wager, as it is the winner’s prerogative to do. If you’d been thinking clearly, you would never have proposed it. If I hadn’t allowed you to provoke me, I should never have agreed. There. We were both in the wrong. Now go find your friends and arrange to have them carried home. I have a long day ahead of me, and unlike you, I can’t spend most of it recovering from this night.”
    “You’re afraid,” he said.
    She stopped short and looked up at him. He was smiling, a self-satisfied curve of his too-sensuous mouth. “I’m what ?” she said quietly.
    “You’re afraid,” he said. “You’re the one who’s afraid of what people will say—of you—and how they’ll behave—toward you. You’re quite ready to sneak in like a thief, hoping nobody notices, but you’re terrified to enter with me, with everybody looking at you.”
    “It distresses me to shatter you illusions, your grace,” she said, “but what you and your friends think and say is not as important to other people as it is to you. I hope no one will notice me for the same reason a spy prefers not to be noticed. And it seems to escape you that the thrill of going where one