Heiress in red silk, p.19
Heiress in Red Silk, page 19
“Did I embarrass you?” she asked when Kevin joined her.
“Not too much.”
“I suppose that isn’t done in shops like that.”
“France is still poor from the war. I don’t think you are the first woman to demand a lower price. He probably hoped that because we are English, we would not quibble over ten shillings.”
“I certainly hope your sort of English don’t. Otherwise, why have my shop off Oxford Street?”
She gave the gallery structure more of her attention and realized why she had been drawn to these shops. “The windows are very large and look to be all of a piece. I wonder how they do that without mullions.”
“It is one sheet. They make a long cylinder of glass, then cut it down its length and flatten it while it is reheated. It is exported and there are buildings in London where you can see it.”
“You know such odd and interesting things. Could I have my windows like this?”
“It is very expensive, and I’m told it attracts mischief. Too expensive for a shop that you let, I would think.” He gestured to her reticule. “Have you seen your full and jotted down your inspirations? Or do you want to continue?”
“I am finished, I think.”
They hired a carriage to return them to the hotel, then crossed over to the Tuileries and strolled under its budding trees. Kevin guided her to a bench.
“We need to talk.”
“From your expression I think it did not go well with Mr. Forestier.”
“He has one more demand.”
“Not me, I hope.”
He laughed. “You seemed so oblivious to his flirting. Gracious, but unaware.”
“Oblivious seemed the wisest reaction. What other choices did I have? Flirt back or be very ungracious.” She shrugged. “I have learned that bland incomprehension is often the best response.”
“You will be relieved to learn that you are not part of the payment he requires. He wants a few shares of the company. He wants to have the chance to participate in any success.”
She thought about this unexpected turn in the negotiations. “I suppose that is understandable. It is something I would want if I were in his situation.”
“It is also all but impossible, so we are once again faced with returning to London without the license and knowing someone else will get it. I would like to know who our competitor is, and to what purpose he will put it.”
He descended into his distraction, probably to contemplate what other uses there might be for Forestier’s enhancement. From the way his distance grew, she guessed he also tortured himself with notions that another person had duplicated his own invention.
She took the opportunity to tease out why Forestier’s demand was impossible. “You think that if we give him even a small percent, he will have control.”
“Yes.”
“He would have the final decision, should you and I disagree. He would merely throw in with the side he prefers.”
“That small percentage would carry an outsize influence.”
“I see. As you said, impossible.”
Only he had not said impossible. He had said almost impossible. She turned and gave him a good look. “Get out of your mind’s pondering for a moment and explain what solution you saw. I know you devised one, even if you have not said so.”
He emerged from his thoughts much like an object lifted out of a lake, shedding the private calculations like so much water. “His share would only carry that weight if we each gave up an equal amount. If it all came from one half, his influence would be nonexistent.”
“Not true. Whoever gave up the percentage would be at the whim of whoever didn’t, should Mr. Forestier be persuaded to that viewpoint.”
“I suppose.”
“You don’t only suppose. You know. Let me guess. The almost impossible only exists if I am the one to relinquish some of my half.”
“I certainly can’t give up any of mine.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“I would forever be at a disadvantage in any disagreement. He would be predisposed to throw in with you.”
“You don’t know that. It might not happen that way.”
“Rosamund, I’m not the one he wants in his bed. He would probably agree to anything if he thought it brought him one inch closer to having you.”
What a startling thing to say. “How dare you suggest that I would use that to win an argument about a decision regarding the enterprise. I do not employ feminine wiles that way.”
His arm came around her shoulders. “I apologize. I probably could have said that better. Nor would you need to use any wiles. It would just happen. It would all come from him.”
His discreet embrace felt very nice. She leaned toward him so he might be less careful. “If you are right, that would not be fair. So, we are back to impossible.”
“It appears so.”
He turned her and gave her a kiss. A very nice kiss. Most of her thoughts about Mr. Forestier disappeared.
“Unless . . .”
His kiss moved to her ear. “Unless?”
“What if we did not give him a tiny percentage of the enterprise? What if, instead, after we are successful, we gave him a tiny percentage of the profit? He would have no vote then. No ownership. Yet he would still participate in success.”
He tucked her head against his shoulder and embraced her fully. “He would have to trust us to admit the correct profits. I doubt that he will.”
“Then we need to think of a way to document that to his satisfaction.”
They sat there in silence. She assumed Kevin was contemplating the problem for both of them. She just enjoyed the warmth of his arms and the fresh spring breeze.
“Something like piece work,” he finally said. “In any given year, once we are profitable, he would receive a small amount of what we get each time the invention is used. I’ll need to spend some time with calculations to come up with how much he gets, but I can do that tonight. I’m not sure he will accept your plan, but it is one way to do it.”
She rather liked the way he called it her plan. “If you can find a way for it to work, I’m sure he will accept it.”
“If you wear that red dress again, he probably will.”
* * *
As soon as they returned to the hotel, Kevin procured some paper. When he entered his chamber, Rosamund saw him shedding his coats. He moved two lamps to a small writing table, set out the ink and pen, sat down, and disappeared into numbers. She closed the door because he had forgotten to.
At the dinner hour, she went to his door to see if he had plans to dine below. Just as she knocked, a servant arrived with a meal on a tray. At Kevin’s call, the tray went in, not her.
She had her own dinner in her chamber, then went on her terrace to watch evening claim the city. Finally, she decided to see where all those calculations stood. She didn’t even bother knocking this time.
He didn’t notice. He just sat there in the glow of the lamps, gazing down at a pile of papers covered in scribbles and numbers.
“Does it all fit? Have you found the possible?”
He looked over, surprised, then back at the papers. “I think so. I also think that we can use the agreement I brought with me and add this, like a codicil to a will. It does not change the basic agreement. It only expands it.” He flipped through some pages. “I will have to write it out, of course. That should not take long. A few hours at most.”
“I will see you in the morning, then.”
He didn’t respond. Already his mind was back in the figures.
She returned to her chambers, called for her maid, and asked that a bath be drawn. She needed one, and then a good night’s sleep. She wondered if Kevin had been joking about the red dress. Surely he would want those papers signed tomorrow before evening.
She hoped Mr. Forestier did not balk at anything and accepted the solution they presented. She had enjoyed Paris, but it was time to return to London.
* * *
“Come and see this. Let me know if you would accept the proof regarding when the enterprise is profitable or not.” Kevin waved the paper in Rosamund’s direction. “As a gentleman, I of course assume my word would be enough, but I have devised documentation because he will probably expect some.”
He waved the paper again, more insistently. When it remained in his fingers, he looked over at her.
Only she wasn’t there. Where the devil had she gone?
He carried the paper to the door of his chamber. He wanted her opinion on this. It was critical to the entire plan.
Upon opening his door, he almost walked into a servant carrying two large pails of water. Three other men followed him. All of them had mastered this task so that no water sloshed out. They filed into Rosamund’s suite, through a door held open by her maid.
What a time to call for a bath. She could be impossible at times, especially regarding the enterprise. Surely Rosamund understood that they had to settle this tonight, and that she might be needed. Especially regarding this particular part. He read the paragraph again, trying to put himself in her mind. If someone presented this to her, would her practical thinking find it sufficient to her interests?
It appeared good enough to him. And yet—
Hell, he didn’t plan to wait all night to start on the final document. He strode to the door, threw it open, marched to hers, and entered.
“M’sieur!” The maid startled and jumped in front of Rosamund. Who was half undressed, as best he could see. Down to chemise and stockings. Her blue eyes peered over the maid’s head. A copper tub stood in front of the fireplace.
“I need you to read this,” he said, ignoring the way the maid rolled her eyes at his intrusion.
“It can wait, can’t it?” Rosamund gestured to the tub.
“No.”
She reached around the maid and took the paper. She bent and held it to the light of the fire. Which made her creamy shoulders visible, and the swell of her breasts and hip.
She straightened. “This is the best we can do. It is generous, because you allow him to have the accounts examined if he thinks we have cheated him.”
“Would you sign it?”
“Me?”
“Yes. If you were he, would it allay your misgivings?”
The maid tsked at the interference, turned, and began taking down Rosamund’s hair. Strand upon strand of blond silk fell.
Rosamund handed back the paper around the maid’s shoulders. “I would sign the document, but not because of this. I would do it because you have been honest thus far, so probably would be in the future. You did not steal his idea, did you? It seems to me that if someone is honest, documents are formalities. If someone is a thief, no document will protect me.”
The maid dipped her hand into the tub, then gave him an annoyed look and a little gesture saying he should go.
He returned the same. “Allez.”
“Mais, mam’selle—”
Rosamund looked over, curious. Her gaze met his. She touched the maid’s shoulder. “Yes. Go, please.”
* * *
“Do I get my bath?” she asked when the maid had left.
“Of course.” He walked over and threw himself in a chair. “I’ll watch.”
She considered her extreme dishabille. She hardly needed help in removing what was left of her garments. Being watched while she did that . . . the notion dismayed her, but also stirred her.
She let down the rest of her hair, then propped one foot on the tub’s edge to remove her hose.
“The rest first.” His voice came to her in the silence, from the shadows away from the fire.
She hesitated while she contained the erotic reaction that provoked in her. Feeling both shy and bold, she let her chemise drop and stood naked except for her hose.
No more commands came. And it had been just that, not a request. A little wobbly from the shivers titillating her, she rested her foot on the tub again and peeled down her hose.
The other one required her to move. With her back facing him, she made short work of it, but before she had finished he was behind her, caressing her hips. He kept her like that, bent over her raised leg. His arm embraced the front of her shoulders in support while his hand explored her back and bottom, and his kisses thrilled her neck, shoulders, and spine.
He let her stand then, and embraced her from behind. His palms and fingertips aroused her breasts, skimming and flicking over the tips. Each touch sent an arrow of pleasure down her core. His mouth claimed her neck, making her tremble. Exciting sensations cascaded through her, and each one broke a thread of her control.
A new embrace, with one hand lower. Stroking. Probing. She lost hold of her balance and her mind. She leaned against him while torturous, relentless arousal pleasured and pained. Need began pulsing, absorbing all her thoughts and awareness. His touches left her groaning. Begging.
He bent her again. She found herself facedown on a cushion. The sofa’s rolled arm pressed her stomach while her head lolled on its seat. Her hips rose high and her legs dangled.
Vision blurred, mind confused, she looked back over her shoulder. He stood behind her, his shirt gone now, his torso sculpted by the distant firelight. His gaze met hers.
“Like that,” he said. “I want to see your face.”
His words alone sent a sharp pleasure pulsing between her legs. She wanted him desperately. Only he did not take her then. Instead, he stroked her until he made her need excruciating. Her body shook from it. Her bottom rose higher.
She felt him right there, pressing, and cried out for him. He thrust hard and she moaned in relief. It felt so good. Different from the last time too. She clawed at the cushion and gasped for breath while he thrust again and again. Each new fullness brought her closer to a pleasure all encompassing. And then an unearthly, final tremor began.
* * *
“At least you didn’t lie. I am getting my bath.” Rosamund luxuriated in the tepid water while he washed her. “A very thorough one.”
“It is difficult to keep my hands off you. This way they are useful.” And still on her, even while he made good on his promise.
The sight of her half undressed had obliterated all thoughts of Forestier, the documents, even the enterprise. He had lost his mind when she bent to remove that stocking, and her back had dipped and her bottom curved round and high. He had almost grabbed her right then and thrown her over the sofa’s arm. He was not sorry he’d waited, though. The pleasure she had finally experienced only increased his own.
The erotic memory of her watching him, waiting for him, impatient for him, would not be forgotten. So beautiful. So desirable.
She tucked a long, wet lock behind her ear. “The maid will have apoplexy when she sees what a mess you made with washing my hair. You should have let me do that part.”
“I am here to serve, my lady.” He lifted one of her legs and soaped down its length. Shapely. Even her feet were pretty. It was a wonder she had not married by now. That was because of her misplaced devotion to that scoundrel of course. He should probably send her seducer a gift of thanks.
Only that man was no longer available to make her unobtainable, was he?
“I expect that you have had a lot of men like Forestier,” he said. “Men who pursued you.”
She shrugged. “If so, I did not notice most of them. Only the bold ones.”
“You were never tempted to give up on your lover and—”
“I don’t think you understand how it is for my kind. I was working. Long hours. Even if a man was so bold that I noticed his interest, I hardly had the time to indulge in temptation.”
He could be an idiot at times. She was not some lady of leisure who collected flatteries during the fashionable hour in the park. At least not in the past. Now she was, if she wanted to be.
That notion did not sit well with him. She was not just an heiress, but a very beautiful one. He couldn’t keep an eye on her every day, all day. The last weeks had been spared those advances because she was settling in and setting up that shop and planning her grand reunion with that rogue. All of that would change, very soon.
He moved so he was behind her. He began washing her breasts and chest. “When we return to London, I would like this to continue.”
She managed to look back at him. “You don’t mean giving me baths, do you?”
“That too.”
She untwisted herself and rested back. He lathered her breasts and watched the tips tighten.
“I see difficulties with that, don’t you?” she asked.
“Not at all. It will require some discretion, of course.”
“I have no experience in that kind of discretion. Do you?”
“How hard can it be?”
She laughed. “Spoken like Mr. Kevin Radnor. I doubt there are books on how to do it well, though.”
“I’ll ask. Nicholas and Chase will know where the lines have to be drawn.”
She grew thoughtful. He decided that such contemplation would not benefit him. Affairs like this rarely ended well for women, and she was smart enough to see that.
He set about rinsing her body and kissing her neck.
“See here,” she said. “I don’t think of myself that way. As a man’s mistress.”
“Heiresses are not mistresses. They are not kept women. They are lovers, if anything. Or wives.” He angled around so he could kiss her fully. “I asked before. You declined, but I think the biggest reason was your old lover. Perhaps we should reconsider that idea.”
She did not say no right away, but then, he kept her mouth too busy for that. Still, a quick refusal did not come.
“I will want to think about it,” she said. “I also will want a frank discussion of what it means to both of us, and to the enterprise.”
He stood and grabbed a big towel. “Think all you like. Now, up.”
She stood, a Venus rising from the sea, all slick and creamy and more beautiful than she knew. He bundled her in the towel, then lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedchamber.
* * *
She opened her eyes a slit and looked down her body and her position. She held her bent legs by the knees the way he had told her. It exposed her in a scandalous way.
