Those Scandalous Ravenhursts. Louise Allen

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      Shopping with a woman was a new experience. At the age of twenty-nine one did not have many of those, and certainly few that were so entertaining. If his sister, Bel, had asked him to accompany her through the fashionable lounges and shops of London, he would have pretended an attack of mumps sooner than oblige her, but Eva’s delight at being let loose in the bourgeois shops of Grenoble was infectious.

      In her travel-worn gown and cloak she darted from shop window to shop window, ruthlessly dragging Jack with her. ‘I must have a hat,’ she declared. ‘I feel positively indecent without one. Which do you think? The amber straw with the ruffle or the chip straw with the satin ribbons?’

      ‘Have both,’ he suggested, ignoring the inner warning that a carriage stuffed with hatboxes was not the efficient vehicle for clandestine travel he had designed it to be.

      ‘Really? May I?’ He was still looking into the window as she glanced up at him. Something about the reflected image of himself standing there with this lovely woman on his arm, her head tilted to look up at him with delight in her eyes, hit him over the solar plexus like a blow from a fist. They looked right together, and the sight gave him an entirely unfamiliar sensation of possessiveness. Jack tried to analyse it, but Eva was still talking.

      ‘Only I haven’t bought a gown yet, and I ought to buy that first and match the hat.’

      ‘Really? Is that how it is done?’

      ‘I think so—when I have new ensembles made they all come together with a selection of hats and shoes and so forth. I’m not used to shopping like this.’ Her nose wrinkled in doubt and Jack grinned. That was an expression far from the grand duchess he was used to.

      ‘Come on, let’s break the rules.’ He pushed open the door and held it for her as the little bell tinkled, summoning the milliner. ‘And you will need something in case we have to ride.’

      ‘If we do, that will be an emergency? Yes?’ Eva stopped inside the door and lowered her voice.

      ‘Yes. We’ll be picking up saddle horses a bit further north as a precaution.’

      ‘Then I need breeches.’ Jack felt his brows shoot up. ‘I will explain later, but I can ride astride.’ Eva turned to the shopkeeper, who was bobbing a curtsy. ‘There are two hats in your window I would like to try, if you please.’

      Ride astride? How in Hades had she learned that? It was certainly useful—if they had to take to horseback then it would be because they had to abandon the carriage and move both fast and unobserved. His mind strayed to wondering how one bought riding breeches for a woman off the peg in Grenoble. Eva was tall and slender, but definitely rounded in a way that no man or youth was.

      ‘Jacques.’ He pulled himself away from a frankly improper contemplation of the curves hinted at by the fall of her gown and found himself confronted by a nightmare he had heard other men gibbering about. He was expected to make a judgement between two articles of clothing worn by a woman. ‘Which do you think?’

      Eva was wearing the chip straw, the bow tied at an angle under her jaw. The deep green of the satin ribbon did things to the colour of her eyes he could not explain, but which made him want to cover a bed with velvet in exactly that shade and lay her upon it. Naked.

      ‘Delightful. It definitely suits you.’ He remembered to talk in French just in time.

      ‘Or this?’ She replaced it with the amber straw. The brim framed her face, the colour brought out golden tones in her hair. The daydream changed to a bed strewn with amber silks. ‘Delightful. Have them both.’

      ‘Yes, but then I saw this.’ She was biting her lower lip in thought. Jack closed his eyes for a moment’s relief and opened them to see a pert confection he had no name for. The only word for it was sassy and it made his dignified grand duchess look like a seventeen-year-old, ripe for a spree.

      ‘Wonderful. Buy them all.’

      ‘Jacques, you aren’t taking this seriously. You must prefer one of them, or don’t you really like any?’ It was exactly what friends had moaned about. Women asked you for an opinion and then were upset whatever you said.

      ‘I think they all look marvellous on you,’ he said, trying to inject sincerity into his voice. ‘But I think that whatever the hat, you would look good, so it is very difficult to express a preference.’

      ‘Ah, monsieur.’ The milliner obviously thought this was a suitable answer. Eva cast him a roguish glance that made something deep inside respond. He knew his pulse rate was up and drew in a deep breath to steady it.

      ‘Thank you. I think I will have СКАЧАТЬ