She smiled but it wasn’t friendly. Her teeth looked predatory as she lowered his head to hers.
Against all common sense, John’s flagging cock twitched with interest.
“I’m glad your memory is in good health.” She flicked her tongue against his lower lip before staggering him with a devastating kiss. “Remember this, John Chaucer. The pleasure you give me is sweet.”
She nipped his jaw. “But revenge is sweeter.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Not the jonquil, I think.” John squinted, but the color of the gown against Netta’s body still offended his sight. “She has pink undertones to her skin and the yellows just won’t do.”
Netta held out an arm and examined the sleeve. “I like yellow.”
“I’m sure you do, poppet.” He crooked his finger at the modiste, and she scurried to bring over another gown. “But yellow doesn’t feel the same about you.”
They stood in one of his favorite shop’s in London. Pile after pile of gowns were strewn over all available surfaces as Netta was measured, fussed over, and trussed up in every fabric and style. Usually John shopped for his mistresses, and his choices were more provocative. Dressing a woman from morning gowns to ball gowns and everything in between was a novel experience.
One that would have been more diverting had Netta appreciated his and the modiste’s efforts instead of scowling at every rejected gown.
“Turn to face the window, will you?”
“It’s not going to look any different facing north,” Netta said, but she did as he asked.
“That window faces west, but you’re right. Full sun doesn’t improve the picture.” He turned to the modiste. “Let’s stick with the blue fabrics for the walking gowns. We’ll take the four pelisses we discussed, the eight gowns over on that settee, and we really must talk about slippers.”
The owner of the shop muttered something to the seamstress next to her, who scribbled notes furiously. A portable wooden desk was wedged to her side with one arm, the contraption not looking nearly large enough to hold the list of purchases that were accruing. The girl dipped her quill into the inkwell on the corner of the desk, nodded to the modiste, and wrote some more.
This bill was going to make his banker wince.
The modiste turned her attention back to John. “I also have some lovely Belgium lace just in. It will make the most charming of chemises, or perhaps a seductive night rail or two.”
Netta’s cheeks flushed a delightful rosy hue. After last night, he hadn’t thought she would suffer from embarrassment. He knew every inch of her body, knew how she sounded, felt, when she was brought to completion. Yet discussions of undergarments still made her blush.
He rocked onto the balls of his feet, his limbs feeling light. Netta acted as though she were a gently-born woman. He’d worried over this idea of his, wondered if she could pull off her part, but the answer was clear. She could charm any gentleman she chose.
He should know. She had charmed him.
“Include them in my order.” He looked about for the gown Netta had worn into the shop. “I’ll assist Miss Courtney in dressing while you prepare the bill.”
The seamstress plucked Netta’s gown from the top of one of the piles and bustled forwards, handing it to John. Her feet tangled in the skirt and she tripped.
John reached for her elbow. He should have reached for the desk. It flew from the chit’s hands, the inkwell tumbling end over end and splashing against his jacket.
His pale peach jacket of Lustring silk with seed pearls and topaz stones embroidered into the collar and lapels.
The girl’s face crumbled. “My deepest apologies,” she said, addressing her employer instead of her victim. “I didn’t mean to ruin another garment.”
The modiste flapped her hands. “Never mind that! Get a cloth and wash basin. Monsieur, if you will give me your jacket I will see to it at once.”
Netta winced. “I don’t think soap and water will save it. No ink fell on my gown, did it?”
John shrugged out of the stained garment and examined the damage. “Your concern for my apparel is overwhelming,” he said dryly. He looked down. “Your gown is fine. Not that it matters since it’s my property, as well.”
“Yes, but you can walk about without your jacket. I can’t do the same without a gown.”
John arched an eyebrow.
Netta planted her hands on her hips. “No.”
