Read Online The Perils of Pleasure by Julie Anne Long - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Anne Long
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ask.”
“’Twas a pleasure, ’twas a pleasure, madam.”
A bow and a curtsy were exchanged, and they parted company, each thinking they had gotten the better deal, which is always the sign of a satisfying negotiation.
Colin followed her silently out of the shop, back into noise and daylight.
They slipped back into the crowd and neither spoke for a time.
“Well, I’m humbled,” Colin Eversea fi nally said.
“I doubt that,” she retorted dourly.
He laughed at that, and she shushed him.
“Well, it was your objective, wasn’t it? Do you really think my ego is so very impenetrable, Miss Greenway? That it’s impossible to wound me?” He still sounded amused.
“Stop it,” Madeleine said through teeth all but clenched.
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to win me over, Mr. Eversea. It’s . . . unnecessary.”
“Because you’re already won?” he suggested hopefully.
“Because it’s not possible.”
“But we might as well be friends, should we not? If we’re to help each other, that is.”
“This isn’t a lark. And I don’t want a friend, and you don’t want a friend, Mr. Eversea. You want to prove something to yourself by winning me over.”
This observation caused an abrupt silence.
And then Colin Eversea smiled an enigmatic little smile, and tipped his head back just a bit, as though at tempting to swallow her words.
And then the bloody man actually began to quietly
whistle.
He was two bars into his tune when the brace of soldiers striding up the street opposite them stopped it abruptly.
Twenty or so yards away, but vivid as cardinals in this gray place, bayonets in hand, heads turning this way and that, eyes sifting through the faces in the crowd, moving inexorably but not with any noticeable purpose toward them.
There were no doorways or alleys to duck into; sudden movements would only make them conspicu ous. Madeleine touched Colin’s arm; they slowed their pace. She surreptitiously dragged the fichu from around her throat, tugged her bodice down to tart levels, swept a hand over her hair to muss it from its pins, and hissed, “Hold the gin bottle in your hand and act just slightly inebriated, for God’s sake, no more—and lean on me.”
She concluded by pushing her bosom up against a surprised Colin Eversea and looping an arm through his. She caught a glimpse of darkening pupils in a sea of blue-green as his startled gaze met her cleavage. She did have an excellent bosom.
He recovered from his bosom glimpse quickly enough; his posture obediently became looser, his shoul ders dropped, one hand swung free at his side with the gin bottle gripped in it. Arm in arm they fell in behind three men in lively conversation, close enough to appear part of a group, or perhaps not. Colin’s gait shambled but he didn’t succumb to any temptation to overact.
This was all very good. Strictly speaking, if one needed to be saddled with an escaped murderer, it was better to be saddled with a clever one.
“Lean your head in to talk to me,” she ordered sotto voce.
“What should I say?” he hissed.
She laughed as though he’d said something mildly witty. “And now I say something,” she added conversa tionally. Her heart was thumping in her ears.
“And then I say something in response,” he mur mured, catching on.
“And then I say something else ?” This one she’d made a question, to mimic the rhythm of a conversation.
And in this manner, walking arm in arm and ex changing meaningless sentences, they blended with the crowd, disguised by not seeming disguised. The sharp-eyed red-coated soldiers barely spared them a glance when they passed even with the pair of them. But Mad eleine felt the graze of their eyes over her as surely as if her skin was burnt.
Long minutes passed in silence, and they walked on. They were each recovering, perhaps in their own way, from the moment.
“So odd to hide in plain sight,” Colin fi nally mur mured. Sounding dazed.
“Don’t say things like
“’Twas a pleasure, ’twas a pleasure, madam.”
A bow and a curtsy were exchanged, and they parted company, each thinking they had gotten the better deal, which is always the sign of a satisfying negotiation.
Colin followed her silently out of the shop, back into noise and daylight.
They slipped back into the crowd and neither spoke for a time.
“Well, I’m humbled,” Colin Eversea fi nally said.
“I doubt that,” she retorted dourly.
He laughed at that, and she shushed him.
“Well, it was your objective, wasn’t it? Do you really think my ego is so very impenetrable, Miss Greenway? That it’s impossible to wound me?” He still sounded amused.
“Stop it,” Madeleine said through teeth all but clenched.
“Stop what?”
“Stop trying to win me over, Mr. Eversea. It’s . . . unnecessary.”
“Because you’re already won?” he suggested hopefully.
“Because it’s not possible.”
“But we might as well be friends, should we not? If we’re to help each other, that is.”
“This isn’t a lark. And I don’t want a friend, and you don’t want a friend, Mr. Eversea. You want to prove something to yourself by winning me over.”
This observation caused an abrupt silence.
And then Colin Eversea smiled an enigmatic little smile, and tipped his head back just a bit, as though at tempting to swallow her words.
And then the bloody man actually began to quietly
whistle.
He was two bars into his tune when the brace of soldiers striding up the street opposite them stopped it abruptly.
Twenty or so yards away, but vivid as cardinals in this gray place, bayonets in hand, heads turning this way and that, eyes sifting through the faces in the crowd, moving inexorably but not with any noticeable purpose toward them.
There were no doorways or alleys to duck into; sudden movements would only make them conspicu ous. Madeleine touched Colin’s arm; they slowed their pace. She surreptitiously dragged the fichu from around her throat, tugged her bodice down to tart levels, swept a hand over her hair to muss it from its pins, and hissed, “Hold the gin bottle in your hand and act just slightly inebriated, for God’s sake, no more—and lean on me.”
She concluded by pushing her bosom up against a surprised Colin Eversea and looping an arm through his. She caught a glimpse of darkening pupils in a sea of blue-green as his startled gaze met her cleavage. She did have an excellent bosom.
He recovered from his bosom glimpse quickly enough; his posture obediently became looser, his shoul ders dropped, one hand swung free at his side with the gin bottle gripped in it. Arm in arm they fell in behind three men in lively conversation, close enough to appear part of a group, or perhaps not. Colin’s gait shambled but he didn’t succumb to any temptation to overact.
This was all very good. Strictly speaking, if one needed to be saddled with an escaped murderer, it was better to be saddled with a clever one.
“Lean your head in to talk to me,” she ordered sotto voce.
“What should I say?” he hissed.
She laughed as though he’d said something mildly witty. “And now I say something,” she added conversa tionally. Her heart was thumping in her ears.
“And then I say something in response,” he mur mured, catching on.
“And then I say something else ?” This one she’d made a question, to mimic the rhythm of a conversation.
And in this manner, walking arm in arm and ex changing meaningless sentences, they blended with the crowd, disguised by not seeming disguised. The sharp-eyed red-coated soldiers barely spared them a glance when they passed even with the pair of them. But Mad eleine felt the graze of their eyes over her as surely as if her skin was burnt.
Long minutes passed in silence, and they walked on. They were each recovering, perhaps in their own way, from the moment.
“So odd to hide in plain sight,” Colin fi nally mur mured. Sounding dazed.
“Don’t say things like
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