Chapter Nine
WARM MORNING LIGHT FLOODED Alice’s bedchamber. Lounging on her bed in only his drawers, Rupert watched as she twirled and dipped before him, the sheer cloth she used to mimic a veil wrapping lovingly around her body. Sunlight formed a nimbus around her, bathing her in gold as she danced and sheer undergarments teased him with flashes of her skin. As she spun the veil above her head, her breasts almost lifted out of the lace chemise she wore.
Arousal, so recently satisfied, began a lazy curl through him. Who would have thought such naughty undergarments were out there, just waiting to be purchased by a woman such as Alice? And the way she looked in them...Well, he was certain no other woman in all the world looked as good as she did. How could they? They weren’t her. So, he watched as she dipped and twirled, and her underthings flashed him tiny bits of her flesh.
Bloody hell, but helovedher underthings.
Settling into the nest of pillows he’d created, he crossed his arms before him. This display was in aid of the coming Spectacular, an act she wished her dancers to learn. He found it most affecting, but then she could be standing there reading the Magna Carta and he would find her affecting.
Three nights ago, the second Spectacular since his arrival in Ironwood had occurred, and Alice had been just as magnificent as with the first. It had been fascinating, seeing her in the lead up. She’d been tense and on edge and rather panicky, and she’d snapped and snarled at him as she’d sat in bed and worked on her scripts. He’d been content to sit beside her, rubbing her back and giving her comfort when she allowed it.
Then the Spectacular had happened. Afterward, she’d been euphoric and excited and looking to celebrate, and he’d…helped. Lord, how he’d enjoyed helping.
He grinned. Would that he helped every night.
Lacing his hands behind his head, he followed her dips and swirls. A morning such as this was a rare occurrence. In the month since their relationship had begun, he could count the number of times he’d seen her thus in daylight quite comfortably—two, if any cared to know. He still had concern for her reputation, for Ironwood was not so large a town the discovery of a man in a widow’s bed would go unnoticed and without comment.
Alice, it appeared, had no such concerns. When he’d awakened just before dawn in order to stumble from the Diamond as if he’d spent his night in debauch, she’d instead drawn him back, mumbling something as she’d snuggled against him. Gently, he’d suggested he should not be discovered here, but she’d merely snuggled deeper, already asleep again. Weak man that he was, he hadn’t left, and so he found himself propped on her bed as mid-morning light streamed through her window, watching as she danced for him.
With a final flourish, she swept into a deep curtsy, bending at the waist as she held the veil spread before her.
He clapped. “Very affecting.”
“I think so.” Rising, she gave another little swirl before running the veil through her hands. “The girls reckon it’s too complex, but better it be too complex than boring.”
“True.” He held out his hand.
Coming around the bed, she took it, and when he tugged on her hand, she sat on the edge. Head bowed, she ran the veil though her fingers over and again, lost in something only she could see, while he simply looked at her. Dark hair tumbled down her back, offering a contrast between the gold of her skin, and the fan of her lashes against her cheeks just made him want to lay his lips gently upon her. She was so beautiful, his Alice.
“Have you ever been to Paris?”
His eyebrows shot up. That question had come completely out of nowhere. “Paris?”
“Yes.”
Something must be intensely interesting about her veil, as she’d yet to raise her gaze from it. Brow furrowed, he regarded her. “A time or two. Why do you ask?”
She didn’t answer for the longest time. “Do you think this would work in Paris?”
He still had no notion of her purpose, but he had some of her meaning. “Your routine?”
Eyes downcast, she nodded.
Considering what little he knew, he wasn’t sure how valuable his opinion would be, besides which she was acting reticent and strange, completely opposite of the Alice he knew. Her lowered head, her hesitation, the way she wouldn’t look at him spoke of an Alice unsure. He could only think her question held meaning beyond a gathering of words. With the Spectacular just gone, and the one that would come, he’d wager it had to do with her talent and passion for her theatre. If Paris was known for anything, it was an abundance of theatres and the people who populated them, and the opportunity for someone with such a passion was immense.
He had a need to frame his answer carefully. “I think your routine is as good as any I’ve had occasion to see. You know. In Paris.” Christ, he was bungling this. “Why do you ask?”
She lifted a shoulder.
Clearing his throat, he forced his hands to remain at his sides. She wouldn’t welcome his touch, not yet. “There must be a reason.”
“I just—I think it would be...” She drew a pattern on the veil and, finally, looked up. “Paris would be amazing, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Unable to hold back any longer, he captured her hand and gripped it tight when she tried to pull it away. “You want to take this act to Paris?”
She tugged again. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Why not?” Her Spectacular would be perfect for Paris. There were so many different ways she could approach it, and Parisians wouldlovethe romance of the American West. “I should think there are no cabarets in Paris with an American West theme, and people do tend to revere that which is different. I think the Spectacular would work outstandingly well.”
