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was-hings, and it co-ve-red her from her fin-ger-tips to her to-es. As she
clim-bed in-to the nar-row bed in the small ro-om they'd cle-aned at the front
of the ho-use, she fo-und her-self smi-ling in pe-ace-ful ple-asu-re.
The mas-ter bed-ro-om had be-en pre-pa-red for Nic-ho-las. His clot-hes
we-re la-un-de-red and put away, the damp han-gings on the hu-ge bed sha-ken
and aired in the eve-ning air, the flo-ors swept and scrub-bed. Even
spot-les-sly cle-an, the pa-la-ce re-eked of de-cay and dis-so-lu-ti-on. A
fit-ting eno-ugh ha-bi-tat for a de-ca-dent Bri-tish ra-ke.
Exha-us-ted as she was, it was still a long ti-me be-fo-re she slept. Her
body was we-ary, sa-ted by the hard work and the ste-aming bath, yet she was
res-t-less, lon-ging for so-met-hing to ease her. It wasn't un-til she was
al-most as-le-ep that she re-ali-zed with hor-ror what she was mis-sing.
Nic-ho-las.
The light in her ro-om was murky, gre-enish when she awo-ke. She had no
clock, co-uld only gu-ess that it was so-me-ti-me past dawn. And that she was
no lon-ger alo-ne in the tiny ro-om she'd cho-sen for her own.
She ope-ned her eyes. Nic-ho-las was lo-un-ging in the one cha-ir the ro-om
pos-ses-sed, his legs stret-c-hed out in front of him, se-emingly at ease. He
was clot-hed en-ti-rely in black, and his fe-atu-res we-re in sha-dow, his
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ha-ir fal-ling long and dis-he-ve-led abo-ut his fa-ce.
She ex-pec-ted no words of pra-ise for her tran-s-for-ma-ti-on of the
ho-use, and than-k-ful-ly re-ce-ived no-ne. He simply wat-c-hed her for a
mo-ment, and the ten-si-on in the ro-om grew.
"No," he sa-id fi-nal-ly, his vo-ice soft and dan-ge-ro-us, and she didn't
bot-her to mi-sun-der-s-tand him.
He ro-se, cros-sing the ro-om, and re-ac-hed out a hand to to-uch the prim
whi-te night ra-il. "Whe-re did you get this?"
"One of the ser-vants lent it to me."
"You ha-ve no ne-ed to we-ar ser-vants' cas-tof-fs an-y-mo-re. A mo-dis-te
is co-ming by la-ter this mor-ning with se-ve-ral things that sho-uld be
easily al-te-red for you."
"I won't ac-cept clot-hes from you& "
He le-aned for-ward, a dan-ge-ro-us pre-sen-ce, and her words tra-iled off
be-fo-re his ban-ked, in-com-p-re-hen-sib-le ra-ge. "You will ac-cept what I
cho-ose to gi-ve you. Clot-hing, fo-od, jewels if I so de-si-re. Just as you
ac-cep-ted my body."
"You ga-ve me no cho-ice."
"Exactly. Re-mem-ber that, if you will." He stra-ig-h-te-ned, mo-ving away,
and she might ha-ve ima-gi-ned that mo-ment of raw emo-ti-on. "We will be
go-ing out to-night. We've an in-vi-ta-ti-on to the Mar-qu-ise de Brum-ley's
ro-ut, and we will at-tend."
"You'll ta-ke yo-ur pri-so-ner?" she shot back, not re-ady to con-ce-de
de-fe-at.
His smi-le was co-ol in the mor-ning light. "I'll ta-ke my wil-ling
mis-t-ress. Su-itably be-dec-ked in fi-ne clot-hes and jewels. I had a very
suc-ces-sful night at the tab-les."
She wat-c-hed him le-ave. She didn't want his fi-ne clot-hes. She didn't
want his jewels. She didn't want to be his who-re.
But the-re was so-met-hing she did want, so-met-hing he co-uldn't gi-ve
away, be-ca-use he no lon-ger pos-ses-sed it. His abi-lity to lo-ve.
And she was se-ven ti-mes a fo-ol to long for it.
Chapter 21
Ghis-la-ine hadn't worn a dress of such qu-ality in mo-re than ten ye-ars.
She had sto-od very still as Sig-no-ra Bag-no-li had me-asu-red her, pin-ned
and tuc-ked and mur-mu-red be-ne-ath her bre-ath. She had ma-de no de-mur when
Nic-ho-las sat spraw-led in a cha-ir and wat-c-hed the pro-ce-edings. She
ne-it-her knew nor ca-red what the dres-sma-ker tho-ught of a gen-t-le-man
sur-ve-ying the pro-ce-du-re. Most li-kely she was used to such things. She
wo-uld ha-ve no-ti-ced no wed-ding ring on Ghis-la-ine's whi-te fin-gers, and
wo-uld ha-ve drawn her own con-c-lu-si-ons. And she wo-uld ha-ve be-en right.
She glan-ced at her-self in the mir-ror, hol-ding very still. The ser-vants
had cle-ared the dres-sing ro-om that adj-o-ined the mas-ter bed-ro-om, and
Ghis-la-ine had dres-sed in the-re, not wil-ling to bat-tle Nic-ho-las. The
dress was ma-de of a de-ep ro-se silk, cut low ac-ross her bo-som,
ac-cen-tu-ating what cur-ves she pos-ses-sed. The-re was not-hing of a
co-ur-te-san to the dress-it was su-ited to a das-hing yo-ung mat-ron. Her
ches-t-nut ha-ir she ar-ran-ged her-self, fin-ding her hands sur-p-ri-singly,
in-s-tin-c-ti-vely skil-lful. She wo-re the fi-nest silk stoc-kings on her
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