She formed a sympathetic bond with the other women, thelorettes, that transcended their cultural and lingual barriers. In London, women of her station would find a quiet nook and conduct their own conversations. These Parisiennes, however, remained glued to the sides of their men. Content to be displayed in an ornamental capacity, they maintained a specific disinterested mien that only French women could properly deploy. In fact, it was this French insouciance that managed to salvage their dignity.
The women’s attire snagged her attention. Indeed, Nick had been correct to send this crimson monstrosity with tonight’s instructions. It integrated her seamlessly into her surroundings with its cinched waist, revealing neckline, and garish color. She scanned the row of women clad like jewels in hues of sapphire, ruby, emerald, and amethyst, arrayed like a rainbow of sin.
Oh, how very moralistic, Mariana chided herself. Perhaps she should step down from her high horse. After all, she didn’t fully understand these women’s lives or livelihoods. It was a tough world for women with no means. She would do well to remember that.
Nick had been correct . . . again.
Even with their revealing clothing, or because of it, these women were invisible in every meaningful way. She shifted her body toward Nick, attempting to emulate their specific pose of sophisticated insouciance. But she had difficulty deciding where to place her hands. Her neck felt oddly angled, and she desperately longed to cross her legs. What looked entirely natural on thelorettes,felt entirelyunnatural on her. It struck her that their entire demeanor and comportment was a subtle art form. It would take more than a single evening for her to become one of them.
A sudden touch pulled her attention toward her ungloved hand. The tip of Nick’s finger had begun tracing soft figure eights on the tender skin of her palm, tickling nerve endings that in turn sent signals across her body. The competing cacophonies of jangly music, shouted conversation, and riotous giggles were reduced to muted background noise when his finger began a feathery ascent up her arm to her shoulder before languorously descending to the tip of her middle finger. Her body longed to sway toward him like a cat, encouraging, even begging him to do it again.
Her eyes popped open. When had they drifted shut?
She glanced at Nick to find him still engaged in conversation with the other men. He hadn’t even broken conversation to stroke her. This was the sort of treatment these men doled out to theirlorettes. It was like a statement of ownership toward a beloved object . . . or a favorite pet. By claiming her in this way, he was rendering her ever more invisible. Even if it was a role for one night, she couldn’t help bristling at the treatment. She most definitely wasn’t anyone’s pussy cat.
Nick repeated the motion, and her nipples tightened into hard buds. Her body didn’t seem to understand what her mind did. Of course, it was possible that her body simply didn’t care. The memory of another sensation came to her. One of his velvety tongue gliding across her skin. Oh, last night . . .
Mariana sat up straight and clasped her hands together. There would be no more of that.
A carafe of green liquid and a small accompanying glass appeared before her. The glass was topped by a sugar cube nestled within what appeared to be a tiny sieve.
Nick leaned back and cocked his head, so his lips almost brushed her ear. “Meet the Green Fairy.”
“Absinthe?” She abandoned her earlier pretense that she was well-acquainted with the substance. “How does it achieve that particular green glow?”
He inclined his head a fraction, and his serious gaze found hers. “Follow my lead.”
As she watched, he took the carafe in hand and poured the unearthly—there was no other word for it—substance over the sugar cube. As the liquid filtered through the sugar, the two substances melded together in the glass.
“We’re to drink that?”
She thought she saw a quicksilver smile flash across his well-defined lips, but she could have imagined it so seriously whispered were his next words. “Remember what I said. You mustpretendto drink it.”
It wasn’t only the content of his words that riled her, but the way he spoke them as if he was telling her gently, but firmly,no.
Well, that wouldn’t do. It was time for her to remind him who she was.
Without a second thought, she reached for the glass. Nick’s hand shot out and closed around hers. She brushed him off and lifted the glass to her lips. Strong notes of anise met her nose. It wasn’t her favorite scent, but there was no turning back from here.
Her gaze met his above the rim of the glass—she had his full attention now—and her lips curved into a smile. “Vive la France!” she sang out and tipped her head back, downing the absinthe in one swift gulp before slamming the glass onto the table.
Chapter 13
Fox’s paw: The vulgar pronunciation of the French wordsfaux pâs. He made a confounded fox’s paw.
A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue
Francis Grose
Within the space between one heartbeat and the next, Mariana’s world transformed into a wonderland composed entirely of helium and ether. She wasn’t certain it was exclusively the effect of the absinthe, either, instead suspecting it might be her act of disobedience fueling the feeling.
No, that wasn’t the best characterization of the feeling or herself. Disobedience was the act of a child attempting to assert power and control.
She was no child; she was an adult woman. Perhaps downing a glassful of an unfamiliar liquid emitting an unearthly green glow wasn’t the most adult way to assert her independence, but Nick’s steady, gray gaze told her she’d gotten her point across loud and clear. Except, how utterly unsurprised he looked.
She took a self-conscious glance around the table. A dozen pairs of eyes regarded her with equal parts bemusement and astonishment, awaiting her next move. Then the moment evaporated as they seemed to realize in unison that she had no more moves.
The men continued their conversations while the mistresses’ eyes lingered half a beat longer, assessing, indulgent, but not warm. The peculiar Englishwoman was dismissed, her novelty gone as quickly as it had come. Raucous music and the general cacophony of café esprit roared back to life, and the outside world tumbled in.
