Page 35 of An Extraordinary Lord

An image of a bare-breasted Veronica filled his head, and he shifted in his chair as his trousers tightened uncomfortably. He didn’t dare lower the paper to take the look at her that the scoundrel in him craved.

Snap, snap! “The chemise, too.”

Which meant she would be wearing nothing except stockings if she—

“And the stockings.”

A heated ache began to throb at his crotch.

“Fortunately, she has a full bosom,” Madame Noir commented. “Enough for a very snug gown, one cut lower in the new Parisian style, don’t you think?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

“And a thin waist, shapely hips,” Madame Barnaud mumbled, “nice round bottom…”

Very much round. And nice. And luscious. Perfect for a man to run his hands over, to squeeze and clench—

He blew out a hard breath and kept the paper high. Although if they kept this up for much longer, it wouldn’t be the newspaper that was raised.

None of it was helped by the fact that he was sitting in a brothel. That even here on the top floor and in an isolated part of the house, he could hear the faint grunts of masculine exertion and the practiced female moans in response echoing from the rooms around them. That the musky odor of sex mixed with the scent of perfume and tallow candles to create a lingering aroma of debauched pleasure.

Madame Barnaud ordered, “Stand up on the stool.”

The thought of Veronica posed naked on a pedestal, like a statue of Venus—

His cock jumped.

Enough.He slapped down the newspaper and vaulted to his feet, keeping his gaze carefully focused on the Aubusson rug on the floor. He stalked toward the door, well aware of all four sets of female eyes staring at him in bewilderment. He didn’t dare glance their way.

“Morning has arrived,” he explained to the floor. “I’m leaving. To work.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the blackness of predawn still darkening the window and felt like an idiot.

“To catch some sleep,” he amended quickly. “Then work.”

There.That should be a good enough explanation, as opposed to the real one—that if he didn’t get the hell out of there, he’d grab Veronica in his arms like some beast and drag her onto the nearest bed, to hungrily take her the way every inch of him burned to do. Gentlemanly manners and rioters and Scepter all be damned.

“Don’t let her leave,” he ordered the floor. “Keep her away from sharp weapons. And for God’s sake, put some clothes on her before she dies of cold!”

He slammed the door shut with a bang.

Ten

“Are you finished with me?” Veronica tugged the sprigged muslin dress into place and quickly fastened up its buttons herself before the women could once more strip her bare. By now, though, there wasn’t a part of her that hadn’t been measured, traced, and recorded.

Madame Barnaud held up the long list of notes she’d made during the fitting. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned it. “I believe so.”

Thank God.And not a moment too soon.

With a tired sigh, Veronica turned toward the bay window to gaze out at the breaking dawn while behind her, the two women launched into their final business negotiations. A flurry of back-and-forths in rapid French regarding last-minute details over her ball gown, right down to whether she should have bows on the tips of her satin slippers and if her matching wrap should be lined with velvet or fur. In the end, the velvet lost to Madame Noir’s insistence on using only the finest materials Mr. Rivers could afford.

Veronica frowned.Mr. Rivershad fled over two hours ago. She didn’t know whether to take his parting orders to cover her nakedness as an endearment or an insult.

Would she ever understand that man?

Beyond the glass, the city was awash in golden light, the bright sunlight chasing away the blues and grays of the rainy night. The only visible clouds clung low to the distant horizon, white fluffy bunches that looked like puffs of wool against a blue blanket and portended a warm fall day. Instead of welcoming the sight, she felt dread tighten in her chest. No rain meant the possibility of another riot tonight.

Below, King Street was quiet, as if taking a moment to catch its breath before the day began. So was the brothel. The gentlemen had all left by the cover of darkness, although more likely done to miss the morning congestion of carriages on the city’s main avenues than because they cared who might have seen them departing Le Château Noir. The women had all eaten breakfast and gone to bed, to lose themselves in a few hours of rest and privacy before the next round of men began to arrive after sunset. Even the pianoforte player in the drawing room had finished for the night and gone home because Merritt wasn’t there to partner her for dance lessons.