“It’s done.” Jean Marc sipped his wine. “And now we wait.”
Juliette nodded and reached for the paper fan portraying Danton’s face. “It’s perfectly dreadful. Do you suppose she really sells any of them?”
Jean Marc smothered a smile as he watched Nana Sarpelier move about the room. “She probably does a very good business.”
“But the work is shoddy and she…” Juliette glanced at Jean Marc’s face and then at Nana, who was bending over the obese gentleman escorting the red-haired demimondaine. “He’s buying a fan from her.”
“Yes.” Jean Marc took another sip of wine. “So I noticed.”
“Do you suppose he’s looking for William Darrell too?”
Jean Marc chuckled. “No, I think he’s looking for a pleasant romp in any convenient bed or alcove.”
“Oh.” Juliette looked at the fan vendor with new interest. “Why with her and not his red-haired lady? His companion is far prettier.”
“Because a man can tell when a woman will open her thighs because she enjoys a man and when she does it because she enjoys the clink of coins.”
“Does it make such a difference?”
Jean Marc finished the wine in his glass and motioned to the man who had served them. “Yes, Juliette, it makes a great difference.”
“How long do you think we’ll have to wait to hear?” Juliette turned to face Jean Marc as he closed the front door. “We should have urged her to hurry.”
Jean Marc crossed the foyer and dropped his cloak and gloves on the tapestry-cushioned bench beneath the oval mirror. “It would have done no good.” He turned and walked toward her.
“But we could have—What are you doing?”
“Unfastening your cloak.”
“I can do that.” She could feel the heat of his body and catch the scents clinging to him. He smelled different from the men at court. Not overly sweet, just clean and…pleasant.
“But you must become accustomed to these small attentions.” Jean Marc slowly slipped the cloak from her shoulders, letting her feel the caress of the velvet on her bare shoulders before he tossed it atop his on the bench. “It’s only what I would accord any woman who gave me pleasure. It’s courtesy to return kindness with kindness, and I consider it my duty to see to your comfort.”
He hadn’t moved away and she was experiencing a warm languor as she looked up at him. “It was…only pretense.”
“Was it? I take my role most seriously. For instance, you mentioned experiencing a certain discomfort in the café. I didn’t think it fitting to aid you there, but now there’s no reason to hesitate.”
“What discom—” She inhaled sharply.
He had dipped his thumb and forefinger into the bodice of her gown, grazing her nipple as he searched for and then found one of the handkerchiefs. An instant of warm, hard flesh pressing against the soft underside of her breast, then the tug of material, the delicate abrasion of the lace as it slid slowly over her nipple.
The muscles of her stomach clenched in response which wasn’t at all reasonable. He wasn’t even touching her stomach. He wasn’t really touching her breasts either, yet they were beginning to feel heavy, full, andtingling. He was pulling a second handkerchief from her bodice, and she gazed up at him helplessly while sensation after sensation moved through her.
A faint flush mantled his cheeks, and she could see the rapid throb of a pulse in his temple as he slid the third handkerchief from her bodice. “Almost over. Three more. Six in all, you said?” His voice sounded thick, rough. His fingers searched beneath her other breast, deliberately rubbing the hard ball of his palm against the nipple.
She swayed forward, biting her lower lip to stifle a cry.
His gaze rose to her face as he pulled the handkerchief over her nipple, soothing and inciting at the same time. “As I said, you don’t need these. If you wish to appear more womanly in public, there are things I can do to help you accomplish your goal.” He pulled another handkerchief from her bodice. “Look at yourself,” he whispered.
She looked down at her breasts and found them ripe, engorged.
“Next time we go to the café, I’ll close the curtains of the carriage.” He was pulling the final handkerchief from her bodice with excruciating slowness. “There are things I can do with my hands.” He suddenly whipped the handkerchief past her nipple, leaving a streak of fire in its wake. “And with my mouth. Would you like that?” His nostrils were flaring slightly and his black eyes shimmered in the candlelight. “I think you would. Shall I show you?”
The air around them seemed to be thickening, darkening, vibrating. “You make me feel…strange.”
“But you like it?”
“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”
