“Something Egyptian, perhaps? Cleopatra is an ever-popular character at balls,” Colette suggested.
Hadrian paused, pretending to consider her suggestion. He could envision this twin swathed in bold prints with the distinctive kohl markings the Queen of the Nile was known for, while he as her manservant massaged her feet…her slender calves…her thighs…
But again he set aside his wayward fantasies. “She deserves something more original, unlike anything another woman might wear. She hails from the islands of—”
“Polynesia!” Camille spouted. “We recently received the most glorious floral silks, and while some might consider the prints too gaudy for day wear, just imagine your lady in these colors!”
Hadrian refrained from spanning her waist with his hands to steady her as she stood on tiptoe, teetering on her ladder rung to reach the fabric she’d described. The vivid green leaves and yellow lilies, set against a background of swirling purples and startling poppies, made him smile and nod exuberantly. “Yes! Just what I had in mind! And perhaps something for a coordinating veil.”
“To render your lady totally mysterious in a roomful of predictable costumes and caricatures,” Camille agreed. She grabbed a nearby bolt of patterned silk in a diaphanous red, and then playfully draped the fabric in front of her face. “Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Swann?”
If you knew what I had in mind, you’d run as fast as your pretty legs could carry you. The see-through scarlet belonged on a whore, and Hadrian wanted to wrap Camille’s lithe body in it and watch as the provocative color brought out her wicked inclinations. “I’ve come to the right place,” he declared. “Your instincts feed into mine. Your instincts about the color and flow of the fabric, of course,” he added quickly.
The twins smiled with a feline glee that made his cock twitch. Hadrian pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Because you’re taking me as a client without references—and I have no English accounts—I shall leave you with this deposit and return tomorrow with the measurements you’ll need. Am I asking too much, to have the white gown and the princess costume ready by a week from tomorrow?”
Camille’s jaw dropped, but when Colette snatched the two hundred pound note he held out, he had his answer.
“We pride ourselves on service, Mr. Swann,” she insisted with a tight smile. “You’re asking us to set aside gowns already promised to other clients to accommodate your request, but we’ll find a way to meet your needs, sir.”
“You won’t be disappointed!” Camille squeaked. “Why, I already have visions of the designs I’ll use to make your lady the most splendid creature you’ve ever beheld!”
Hadrian bowed to cover a foxlike smile. Such a delight it would be to work with these girls…to use their marital masquerade as a part of his own devious plan! “Until tomorrow,” he crooned. As he stepped smartly out of the shop, the tinkling of the bell and the firm whump of the door disguised his smug laughter.
“Can you believe that man?” Camille asked with a giggle. She fingered the floral-printed silk, already envisioning the extraordinary costume that would befit a Polynesian princess. “We’ve never seen him before, yet he deposits more than what both his gowns will cost! Didn’t even ask about our prices! I’m betting his lady love will want more dresses when she sees what I’m designing for her!”
“We’ll be burning the midnight oil to make his deadline and everyone else’s, but Hadrian Swann’s taken such a liking to us he’ll be back for more!” In a rare display of giddiness, Colette wrapped the translucent red silk around her head like a turban and let it drape over her face as she sashayed around Camille. “I have no idea who he is or where he’s from, with his olive skin and those midnight eyes, but he’ll be leaving a big mark on London this season! We’ll have to pay Alice for extra hours of—”
“Have ya no idea what ya just did? And to whom ya sold those gowns?”
Camille and her sister turned to look at their seamstress, whose face resembled curdled milk. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, or—”
“Or the very man we was warned about!” Alice spouted. “While you was talkin’ with ’im, it hit me like a brick! Don’t ya recall Rubio’s prediction about a stranger? A dark, foreign man—charismatic and handsome—and a lady veiled in white?”
Camille’s heart fluttered like a frightened bird’s. After all, she’d just sold Mr. Swann some glorious white fabric for a wedding dress…and silk for a veil. “You flirted with him first!”
“You lured him in here with your tart!” Colette joined in. She stood alongside Camille as they placed their fists against their hips, glaring at Alice.
“How was I ta know? I—I was makin’ polite conversation, as any woman would with such a man standin’ outside her door!” Alice’s breasts shimmied as she shook her finger at them. “I weren’t the only one who fell under the spell of ’is looks. Or his sweet talkin’!”
Colette exhaled loudly and tossed the bolt of scarlet fabric to the worktable. “I believe Rubio’s prediction was poppycock anyway, so I refuse to worry any further about Mr. Swann,” she declared. “I’m going to write up the tickets for his gowns now, and charge him extra for presuming he could demand so much of us in so short a time. Not only is he rude for expecting special treatment, he was downright vulgar, thinking overpayment would justify such arrogance!”
As her sister strode rapidly to her office upstairs, the strong, steady tattoo of her heels on the wooden steps accelerated Camille’s pulse. “You might be right,” she whispered to Alice. “We’ve probably just sold our souls to the devil. But what else can we do? We agreed to his terms and took his money. When he returns tomorrow—”
“Rubio should meet ’im. He’ll know right off if this is the man from his prediction.”
Camille nodded. She felt like a ninny for the way her knees quivered at the mere thought of seeing Hadrian Swann again…because he’d caught her off guard? Or because of the way he’d excited her sister?
5
“You look wan, my darling. And you’ve hardly touched your food.”
Camille sat absolutely still as her husband’s hand enveloped hers. Lord Bentley had huge hands, pudgy and pale beneath the hairs that sprouted all over the backs of them. He was a bear of a man, rather intimidating as he smiled at her from his chair at the head of the table. His close-set eyes shone beneath a heavy brow line, and the white hairs in his goatee bristled among the darker ones when he worked his lips, thinking. Awaiting her response.
Why did she never know how to respond, even when Rutledge was being kind? Why did marriage feel like such a constant compromise? Camille sipped her wine for inspiration. “I’m fine, really. It’s just that we’ve been so busy at the shop—”
“Time away is what you need! You work far too hard, and for what?” Rutledge asked. “When I provided you a shop as an outlet for your designs, I didn’t intend for you to become a slave to your talent.”
“Ah, but our success has taken us further than we anticipated in our wildest dreams!” Colette asserted. Then she demurely lowered her gaze, to humor her husband Heath and her father-in-law. “After all, happy wives are the foundation for happy homes and…satisfying relations.
