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The alto cleared her throat. “Glory be, Helene, you look—you look—”

“Exquisite, is it not?” Madame Rocque sounded extremely pleased with herself. “You see, when a lady has not quite the endowments that one would like—” she caught herself.

The soprano must be flat as a chessboard, Lina thought with some amusement.

“This style of dressing compliments the grace and delicacy of your form, my lady. It is sensual, enticing, and yet, as you see, there is nothing uncovered.”

The alto laughed. She had a dark chocolate laugh, and Lina thought again that men must love that laugh. Proving her point, Rees raised his head to listen.

“It’s utterly glorious,” she said. “I think you’ll have it in amber, Helene? Amber will suit your hair, and it’s quite the rage these days. And perhaps in a shot silk as well, Madame?”

Madame Rocque’s voice had all the satisfaction of a cat encountering a bowl of cream. “I would suggest just a delicate pearl border, Lady Bonnington, if you agree.”

Rees had snapped to attention like a terrier confronting a mastiff. Lina cast him a curious glance.

“Do you like this gown, Rees?” she asked, twirling in front of him. A man would have to be a limp lily not to appreciate the way her breasts swelled from the crimped satin riband that wound its way over her shoulders.

He didn’t even notice, just said, “That’s my wife next door, for God’s sake. My wife. With Esme Rawlings—Esme Bonnington now. Christ.”

“What?” Lina said, hardly listening. Perhaps she would order the gown she was wearing in white, with black trim. That way men would instinctively look to the black ribbons outlining her breasts. She smiled and turned before the mirror again.

“That’s my wife next door!” Rees hissed at her. “Take your pelisse. We’re getting out of here.”

This time Lina caught what he said. It was too delicious! She had been dying of curiosity about Rees’s wife. The papers ignored the countess, never even reporting on her gowns. Had she, Lina, been Countess Godwin, she would have ensured that every costume she wore was reported in detail.

She deliberately raised her voice, knowing full well that her voice rang as clear as a bell and had the power to carry to the back of a theater. “Why Rees, darling, why such a hurry? Surely you can’t wish to return home already?”

Rees narrowed his eyes at her and if she didn’t have the fortitude of an elephant—and she did—she might have been almost afraid. But she’d learned long ago that Rees’s bark was worse than his bite.

There was absolute silence next door, not even a whisper.

“I’m not ready to return to the house,” Lina said. “Why this gown, even if it is a quite odd shade of yellow, is positively enticing, isn’t it darling? Or…”—she let a teasing hint of delicious pleasure enter her voice—“is it the very delightful nature of the bodice that has inspired your wish to return home, Rees? And in the midst of the afternoon!” She giggled naughtily.

Rees had turned an ugly shade of dark red and Lina thought he was probably at the boiling point. Still not a sound next door. “Your manly enthusiasm is so gratifying,” she cooed.

“Shut up!” he growled at her in a low voice.

“Of course, you may suffer from some competition once men see my figure in this gown!” Lina continued blithely.

He rose and was coming toward her. It was probably time to go but oh, what fun that had been! She hadn’t had an audience in over two years. She pranced toward the door, pausing for one last second. “I hardly think, Rees dar—” But a large hand clamped over her mouth and Rees carried her straight through the anteroom and almost threw her into the carriage.

Alina McKenna hadn’t gotten free of a dark and draughty vicarage, the cold fields of Scotland, and the windy corridors of the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket without regular use of her not inconsiderable intelligence. That same intelligence suggested that she sit quietly in the corner of the carriage and not say a word about her walking costume, left behind at Madame Rocque’s. Instead she spent the ride home examining the exquisite workmanship that made up the deep yellow gown she was wearing. The stitches were so small they could hardly be seen against the silk. She would send a message immediately requesting another of these gowns in a deeper color. She changed her mind about white and black. That was a bit garish. Perhaps amber.

Since amber was a fashionable color these days, or so she’d heard it said.

Quite the rage, really.

Five

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Esme had often thought that the only thing lacking to make Helene into a devastatingly beautiful woman was a little animation. Helene was always calm, always exquisitely polite, always…evasive.

Not at the moment.

“I cannot believe that I patronize the same shop as that doxy!” Helene snapped, eyes flashing with rage.

Madame Rocque rushed into a frothy waterfall of apologies, but Esme cut her off. “If you would be so kind as to bring a cup of tea to soothe Lady Godwin’s nerves.”