“You like them big, buxom, and stupid,” she said.
“Intelligence is hardly relevant,” he said, suppressing a ferocious urge to tear her bonnet from her head and stomp on it. “I do not hire them to debate metaphysics. But since you understand what I want them to look like, I should hasten to explain what I like them to do.”
“I know you like to have them take off your clothes,” she said. “Or perhaps put them on again. At the time, it was difficult to determine whether they were at the beginning or the end of the performance.”
“I likeboth,” he said, jaw clenched. “And in between, I like them to—”
“I recommend you try to fasten your buttons by yourself at present,” she said. “Your trousers are beginning to bunch up in an unsightly way over the tops of your boots.”
It was not until this moment that Dain recollected his state of dress—or undress, rather. He now discovered that his shirt cuffs were flapping at his wrists, while the body of the garment billowed in the gusting wind.
While the words “shy” and “modest” did appear in Dain’s Dictionary, they had no connection with him. On the other hand, his attire, unlike his character, was alwayscomme il faut. Not to mention that he was marching through the streets of the most sartorially critical city in the world.
Heat crawled up his neck. “Thank you, Miss Trent,” he said coolly, “for calling the matter to my attention.” Then, just as coolly, and walking at her side all the while, he unbuttoned all the trouser buttons, tucked the shirt inside, and leisurely buttoned up again.
Miss Trent made a small choked sound.
Dain gave her a sharp glance. He could not be sure, given the bonnet and the rapidly deepening darkness, but he thought her color had risen.
“Do you feel faint, Miss Trent?” he asked. “Is that why you have walked straight past what should have been your next turning?”
She stopped. “I walked past it,” she said in a muffled voice, “because I didn’t know that was it.”
He smiled. “You don’t know the way home.”
She began moving again, toward the street he’d indicated. “I shall figure it out.”
He followed her round the corner. “You were going to simply walk back, in the dead of night, to your brother’s house—though you haven’t the vaguest notion how to get there. You’re rather a henwit, aren’t you?”
“I agree that it’s growing dark, though hardly the dead of night,” she said. “In any case, I am certainly not alone, and it hardly seems henwitted to have the most terrifying man in Paris as my escort. It’s very chivalrous of you, Dain. Rather sweet, actually.” She paused at a narrow street. “Ah, I am getting my bearings. This leads to the Rue de Provence, does it not?”
“Whatdid you say?” he asked in ominously low tones.
“I said, ‘This leads—’”
“Sweet,” he said, following her round the corner.
“Yes, there it is.” She quickened her pace. “I recognize the lamppost.”
If she’d been a man, he would have made sure her skull had an intimate acquaintance with that lamppost.
Dain realized he was clenching his fists. He slowed his steps and told himself to go home. Now. He had never in his life raised a hand against a female. That sort of behavior showed not only a contemptible lack of control, but cowardice as well. Only cowards used deadly weapons against the weaponless.
“There seems to be no imminent danger of your endlessly wandering the streets of Paris and agitating the populace into a riot,” he said tightly. “I believe I might with clear conscience allow you to complete your journey solo.”
She paused and turned and smiled. “I quite understand. The Rue de Provence is usually very crowded at this time, and one of your friends might see you. Best run along. I promise not to breathe a word about your gallantry.”
He told himself to laugh and walk away. He’d done it a thousand times before, and knew it was one of the best exits. There was no way to stab and jab when Dain laughed in your face. He’d been more viciously stabbed and jabbed before. This was merely…irritation.
All the same, the laugh wouldn’t come, and he couldn’t turn his back on her.
She had already disappeared round the corner.
He stormed after her and grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Now, you hold your busy tongue andlisten,” he said levelly. “I am not one of your Society fribbles to be twitted and mocked by a ha’pennyworth of a chit with an exalted opinion of her wit. I don’t give a damn what anyone sees, thinks, or says. I am not chivalrous, Miss Trent, and I am notsweet, confound your impertinence!”
“And I am not one of your stupid cows!” she snapped. “I am not paid to do exactly as you like, and no law on earth obliges me to do so. I shall say whatever I please, and at this moment, it pleases me exceedingly to infuriate you. Because that is precisely how I feel. You haveruinedmy evening. I should like nothing better than to ruin yours, you spoiled, selfish, spitefulbrute!”
She kicked him in the ankle.
