Chapter 12
Reyn made itthrough two days of going to various banks between shopping and strolling through public parks with Velario in a relatively good state of mind. Did he annoy her with his assumptions? Absolutely. But she also felt free in a way she never had before.
He had already decided what he thought of her, and that left her free to leave off her court mask around him. Strange that in the moments when she was purposefully putting on an act to fool observers, she felt the most able to be herself. So long as their body language showed comfort and intimacy, they could say what they pleased during most of their time together. Reyn reveled in baiting Velario.
It was flirting, but not the careful smiles and witty remarks she usually employed. It was shameless. Brash. Fun.
It reminded her a little of her time in Daalj. She had antagonized Lady Celedra, challenging the other woman for her place as the most popular, influential woman at court. There, Reyn had enjoyed the game because besting the other woman helped her friend Merine and because Celedra did not deserve to have power over anyone.
In Tryn, it was a little different. There were moments when Reyn wanted to strangle Velario and she swore that if Selona hadn’t asked her, she would never have given Velario her aid. Then there were the moments when the battle of wills itself became the reason to continue this ruse.
“You can’t be serious.” Reyn pouted at Velario and considered it a triumph when he looked at her lips for a touch too long. They were walking through the most expensive shopping district in Tryn, on their way not to a bank, but a haberdashery. The popular shop had included four counterfeit banknotes in their latest deposit.
“Of course I’m serious. We aren’t here to shop, Reyn.”
“Unless you want your precious secret to get out, that is exactly why we are here. My plan is perfect.”
“My plan is reasonable.”
“Is that how you woo ladies, by being reasonable? No wonder you had to enlist a fake paramour.”
“No wonder you were free to fulfill the post—your erstwhile beaux must be overjoyed to escape the drain on their pocketbooks.”
“Loosening your purse strings is the only way we will learn anything without arousing suspicion, and you know it.”
“That’s why I am taking you shopping at Feathers and Lace. But I hardly see how visiting every store in the vicinity will help anything but your wardrobe.”
“For someone willing to introduce rumors about his personal life in order to protect his business interests, you don’t really grasp the art of misdirection, do you? And we don’t have to visit every store, just a cobbler’s and one other haberdashery.”
“Listen, I have managed to live my twenty-six years without ever stepping foot in a clothing store with a woman, including my mother, aunt, and cousin. Going into the hat shop with you is a necessity, but I don’t see a reason to subject myself to further misery for verisimilitude.”
“I propose a compromise.”
“What?”
“We will stop at only one other shop before our goal: your tailor’s.”
“Why would we do that?”
She leaned her head against his shoulder and patted his bicep. She reached for the part of herself that she had learned could invoke her lure—when she was in the right sort of mood. It worked quite often with Velario. “So that I may design a waistcoat for you before you pick out a new hat for me.”
As always when she amplified her lure, Velario tensed and became surlier. He hated being tempted by her. If she didn’t have so much fun teasing him, she would be insulted by how much he loathed his attraction to her.
“I don’t want you designing my clothes. Word would get out about what happened, and then I’d have to wear it. In public. I am not giving you that sort of opportunity. Even pretending, I’m never going to be so in love that I wear something ridiculous for a woman.”
“Be sensible. I would never risk my own reputation by dressing you in anything less than the height of fashion. As enjoyable as it might be to see you forced to wear a canary yellow waistcoat covered in embroidered, purple butterflies, I will restrain myself—not for your sake, but for my own.”
Velario narrowed his eyes at her, but said nothing more, and she knew she had won.
“Now, where is your tailor?”
Velario had neverset foot in Feathers and Lace before, so he didn’t know if the monstrosity on the table in the center of the shop was a new product waiting to be sold, or a piece of . . . art . . . meant to symbolize the shop’s name.
It had just enough similarity to a hat to be recognizable, but he hoped no one would ever wear such a thing. Peacock feathers fanned out all around as a brim—even wider than the fashion that had lasted a few months a couple of years earlier. Closer to the main part of the hat, the feathers wove in and out of alternating bands of white and black lace, providing some stability, but the majority of their lengths bobbed freely with every puff of air. The rest of the hat, resting on a clear glass form meant to mimic a head, was made of what appeared to be starched lace in greens and blues that matched the peacock feathers.
It was pretty, if you never imagined it on a woman’s head.
Velario was imagining it.
