he dressed to such a high degree. However, this time he rather thought the lady in question would merit such attention. A fitting swan song. Even he would admit his behaviour had been less than stalwart.
He was jaded. Bored and uneasily aware he went through the motions with no emotional involvement. It was time to take stock of what he was and what he wanted to be. The last thing he wished to become was an aged roué.
‘I wish you to outfit a lady.’ Phillip mentally winced at his affected languid rake’s tone, so unlike the normal tenor he used.
She cocked her head to one side. He waited for her to reply. She didn’t.
‘What?’ he asked in irritation. Who did he know who held her head in just such a way?
‘What?’ Madame Belle walked towards him, and indicated the door. ‘Why, if we are to discuss business let us go through to my office.’
She walked past him, and he looked at the other woman in the room with one eyebrow raised. ‘Which is where?’
‘Oh, sorry, my lord, follow me.’ She scurried past him, and turned to the left and down the stairs. ‘The upper part of the building is not for visitors to the salon.’
He hadn’t thought it was, but the woman had left him alone for so long he’d decided to explore. Voices from the floor above had led him to the stairs and the room they had just vacated. He’d arrived at the open door just in time to hear Madame Belle ask where he was. Now he wished he’d got there a few moments earlier. Something about the woman intrigued him.
And arouses me. He adjusted himself discreetly under his trousers before he reached the bottom of the staircase.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,’ he said to the lady who waited for him. ‘You are?’
She blushed the colour of the sash on her dress. ‘Oh, I’m Tippen, your lordship. I’m, well, Madame Belle’s…’
‘Right-hand woman,’ the lady mentioned answered. ‘I couldn’t mange without her. Tippen, do you think you could ask Mrs Lovett for…?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Brandy? Port? Wine? Whisky?’
‘Tea,’ Phillip said firmly. Somehow he had a feeling he’d need his wits and faculties in full working order or Madame Belle would run rings around him.
‘Tea?’ both women said in amazed voices.
He laughed. ‘Why not? My sister coerced me to try it, and now I find it refreshing.’
‘Tea it is, then.’
‘And scones?’ he asked in a tone most woman would roll over and beg for. ‘I’m partial to scones.’ He paused and smiled in a way he knew would persuade most women to do whatever he asked. ‘With jam?’
‘Do not push your luck, my lord.’ Madame Belle’s voice was full of humour, as if she understood what he was doing and was amused, but not influenced by it. ‘Follow me if you will.’ She turned into the room behind her and Phillip did as she bade with alacrity, amused by her attitude and his diverted response to it.
He looked around him, not bothering to hide his interest. This room was more as he expected but still had those womanly touches a man’s domain lacked. Flowers on a side table and a fire crackling in the grate. Knick-knacks grouped in a glass-fronted cupboard as well as several bookshelves, plus the obligatory desk and chair.
‘Very businesslike,’ he said as she settled in one of the two armchairs placed to one side of the fire, and waved him to the other one. So it might be business but it would be conducted in relative comfort.
Madame Belle inclined her head. Phillip blinked. Who did that remind him of? More and more he was certain he knew her. He racked his brain, but no elegant blonde in trade came to mind. In fact elegant blondes of any description were few and far between in his mind. Up until then he would have said he had a penchant for brunettes. Now he was rethinking that, somewhat rapidly.
‘I am businesslike,’ Madame Belle said, breaking into his reverie. ‘So, let us get started.’
She paused as someone knocked on the door and on her bidding, opened it. Evidently there was no such thing as ‘a door should be left open when a lady and gentleman are together’ in this establishment. And whatever she tried to say to the contrary, Phillip was in no doubt that Madame Belle was a lady in some way.
Once the tea tray, and a plate of scones and jam was deposited on the table and they were alone once more, Madame Belle turned to him. ‘Pray continue. Oh and help yourself to tea and scones.’
Her look defied him to argue or ask where her manners were. He bit back a grin and nodded. If the lady thought he had no idea how to pour the perfect cup of tea, or jam a scone, she was sadly mistaken. ‘May I pour you one?’
Her eyes widened, very briefly, and then she smiled. A smile that lit up her face and took years off her.
Damn who does she remind me of? He was beginning to repeat himself.
‘You may. Excuse me one moment.’ Belle walked across to her desk and extracted a ledger and a pen.
Phillip admired the sway of her body and the manner in which her gown tightened over her rear when she bent forward. Seeing it outlined so prettily almost made up for the disappointment of not being able to glimpse how much of her breasts were exposed by the action. Almost. He intended to rectify the latter as soon as he could.
‘We may as well talk whilst we eat. I hesitate to sound unwelcoming, but I am somewhat busy.’
She sat down, arranged her skirts around her and accepted a cup from him. Phillip indicated the scones he’d buttered. She shook her head.
‘No, I thank you. If I ate all of Mrs Lovett’s home cooking, I’d be the size of a house. I have to ration myself.’
Somehow he doubted that, but one thing he did know about women was that they could be touchy with regards to their shape and size, therefore he forbore to comment. Instead he smiled his best ‘fall at my feet’ smile, which to his chagrin appeared to have no effect on Madame Belle. Phillip you’re failing here. The thought that perhaps she could see through his practised charm was something to mull over later.
‘So, let’s get down to business,’ Madame Belle continued briskly. ‘You wish me to dress a lady.’
He nodded as his mouth was full of scone and jam.
‘Who?’
Phillip swallowed. This he judged could well be the spot at which the negotiations ended abruptly. ‘I’m not prepared to say until you agree.’
‘Then, my lord, we have arrived at an impasse,’ Madame Belle said implacably. ‘For unless I know whom it is you wish me to consider, there will be no preliminary appointment. And be warned, even then, I do not guarantee I will dress the lady. I am incredibly selective, and can afford to be.’ She sat back into her chair and sipped her tea.
Damn the woman—she seemed totally at ease and not at all worried she might have offended one of the leaders of the ton. Did she not realise he could make or break her?
Be warned,
