A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) (17 page)

The rat was dazed, its feet clawing at the air as Minnie marched upon him. She was tired of this life. She was tired of nights filled with the promise of money, only to return to the boarding house hungry and a few francs richer. It had been four years since she’d left London, and she had nothing to show for her time working at the rundown dance hall in Montmartre as a lowly chorus girl and waitress.

With a grip on its tail, she opened the window and chucked the rat into the alleyway. “Adieu,” she said, addressing the rat with a wave of her hand. Her farewell carried more weight as she turned and brushed her hands over her skirts. Chantal and Vivien exchanged shocked looks.

“Tonight, I finally have my chance to dance.”

*

The suit was borrowed, but no one else need know, especially as the fit was near perfect.

Alex tugged at the end of his sleeve, brushing off a speck of lint. Of all nights, this was the one where he needed to make the best of impressions.

Monsieur Peprin could give him the world tonight, and it couldn’t come at a better time. Alex had next to nothing that wasn’t meant for the theater. The dream that once seemed impossible beckoned like the prostitutes that lined the alleyways of the East End. All Alex had to do was have Peprin pay his debts to Ainsworth, and in return, Ainsworth would help Alex purchase the theater.

The footman announced his entrance, but that’s where the formalities ended. It wasn’t the sort of party that required one to follow rules. Alex never had been good at that, but he had struggled to learn since the fiasco in London four years prior.

Dinner was a slow affair; course after rich course, and wine flowed as surely as the Seine. Conversation, which started out respectful, had turned rowdy and lewd. Alex managed it all without slipping into his accented English. It took concentration, but he followed along and spoke in French as if he actually were an English gentleman abroad on business, not a hired man of a casino owner in London. The other guests found him entertaining and he found the woman seated at the corner of the table by Peprin remarkably entertaining as well.

More, actually. Fascinating. Stunning.

Alex wasn’t the only one who found her intriguing. Not only was she the picture of perfection, she had others perched at the edge of their seats as she regaled the latest social gossip. He didn’t care much for the topic, but she could recite the dictionary and he wouldn’t mind.

When dinner was finished, she threw her napkin to the table wearing a large smile. Alex could not make out her face, shielded by a black lace mask, but there was no mistaking she was beautiful. She met his stare, watching him over her empty champagne glass with interest. He turned to his neighbor to ask the dullest question he could think of to calm his racing pulse.

The high-pitched strike of a knife against crystal drew his attention back to Peprin and the mysterious woman a few minutes later.

“Our lovely Evangeline has agreed to entertain us this evening.”

“If you will assist me, gentlemen,” the masked woman said, speaking over the hushed excitement of the guests. She stood and pulled out her chair, studying the eager group surrounding her. Whoever the lovely creature was, she was sure of herself and her place in the world.

She raised her skirts and stepped onto the chair, offering Alex a peek at her long legs wrapped in black silk stockings. He choked on his champagne when he spotted the lacy frill of a scarlet garter.

Two men assisted her onto the tabletop. With a graceful pull of her shoulders, she moved her body forward, one slow step at a time, commanding the attention of the party.

“Oh, please sing,” clapped one woman sitting in a man’s lap.

“Yes, sing, Evie!” The others raised their glasses, with no care to the spilling of expensive spirits onto the host’s rug.

She twirled a lock of chestnut hair around her finger, playing to the group with practiced flirtation. “If you insist.”

Alex wasn’t sure why this caused his blood to boil with lust, but it did. Somehow she read it on his face, because she bent forward in front of him, offering a view down her dress as she did so. “May I?” She plucked his champagne glass out of his grip. It made no difference that she was wearing black lace gloves. Her touch was like the shovel full of coal he used to feed to the boilers until they glowed red with fire. And she knew, the blasted woman. She winked at him before draining the last of his champagne.

She snapped her fingers as if to draw him out of a trance and backed away to the center of the table. He was left holding an empty glass of champagne with the print of her red lips at its brim.

Alex was still staring at the tempting mark when she started singing in a low voice, rich and deep, like the chocolate torte served for dessert.

She bowed forward to those seated, tugging at the men’s ties, swatting at the feathers stuffed in the women’s hair. The song wasn’t an aria from an opera or a dainty love song, but rather a bawdy dance hall song. The way she moved seemed as if she was stripping bare before them, yet she never touched her clothes. Step by slow step, the long blue silk skirts followed her down the table until she stood before an empty chair that magically appeared before her. With another playful glance over her bare shoulder, Evangeline lifted her skirts, stood on the chair, then leaned forward and rode its fall to the floor.

The guests jumped to their feet, clapping and laughing as she spun back around. “Was that entertainment enough, Monsieur Peprin?”

Alex didn’t pay attention to the older man flashing her an appraising look. He recognized the look and realized the man was most likely thinking what he was, envisioning her naked in his bed. It wasn’t far of a stretch, as her dress was held up by very little and her breasts were so clearly on display.

She was intoxicating. She was er—

He froze as she dipped into an exaggerated curtsey, clumsy.

Suddenly he wanted to knock Peprin to the ground for eying the woman, because that lovely temptress, that skillful seductress, was none other than the runaway who robbed Alex blind four years ago—Anne Gibbons. No, Anne was just another role. The thief, the lovely temptress now commanding the room’s attention, was none other than Minnie Ravensdale. To hell with their lovely Evangeline.

Merriment spread like a social disease running rampant in the darkened rooms of the house. The scandalous party took a turn to fiendish debauchery that only Paris could offer to pent-up, conservative Englishmen.

Through the commotion, Alex noted a bottle of champagne and nicked it as he quickly followed her retreating figure. He didn’t need to be offered the opportunity for trouble when he could easily follow the biggest piece of trouble ever known.

*

It was wrong of her to taunt Alex. But after setting eyes on him at dinner, he was impossible to ignore.

In four years, his boyish cheeks had chiseled into the sharp cheekbones of a man. His lips were the same she found herself dreaming of from to time to time. When he smiled, she noted that the passing years of his absence hadn’t changed its effect on her. That was damned unfortunate. He was no longer that tall and lanky boy who pretended to be her husband, no—he was tall and lithe, his arms and chest filling out the fine suit. There wasn’t a bruise on his face, nor a black eye. It appeared his brawling days were over. Such a transformation was a work of God. She prayed she would have an opportunity to admire it closer, to feel him beneath her hands, however wicked a wish that may be.

Minnie caught one last glance of Alex as he stood frozen, clearly transfixed by her performance. She slipped out of the crowded room and lost herself in the maze of hallways, her hand fixed over the fluttering beat of her heart. There was no reason to feel so out of sorts.

A long leg stretched across the darkened doorway and brought her to an abrupt halt.

“Excuse me,” she said, a bit ruffled.

The foot remained pinned across the doorway, even as she reached to remove the appendage from her path. Through the dark, the man leaned forward, his breath caressing her ear as he whispered, “Going somewhere?”

“Yes.” Her face warmed. She tried to skirt around him, but he stood in front of her, advancing on her until she was pinned between him and the wall. She had just managed to charm a whole room with her singing. Minnie was certain she could charm one man into letting her pass, especially when the man was no stranger. She’d know Alex anywhere.

He held a bottle of champagne by her left ear, his other hand hovered by her right ear. “That was a lovely performance.” His face remained a few inches from hers, still covered by the hallway’s shadows.

She moved closer, trying to make out some detail of his face.

“It did leave me wanting.” The way he said it—a long, low rumble in his throat sent a shiver down Minnie’s spine. And not a bad shiver either. One that hit her core and made her breath hitch.

“How unfortunate,” she whispered back. “I thought I was very generous.”

“Mhmm.” His free hand teased the edge of her lacy mask. “I want to know who that lovely creature was dancing on the table.”

Minnie tipped her head up toward the ceiling, praying for some release from his sweet torture. She had been on her way somewhere, she had been thinking of something before his hand grazed her cheekbone. His touch erased it all. “That would take away the mystery,” she answered, finally bringing her face level as his index finger idly traced the long line of her neck. Maybe she should confess before this got out of hand.

His wool suit brushed against Minnie, inciting another anticipatory shiver. “I still want to know.” His request was far from polite; rather a sweet spoken demand that she needed to ignore.

When she didn’t answer, he dropped his lips to the corner of her mouth and pressed softly, willing her to turn her head. She could not find it within herself to refuse. Her head fell back against the wall as his lips trailed a soft line of kisses along her cheek, all the way to her ear. The move was calculated and perhaps it was an influence of the champagne, but she grew a bit weak in the knees, especially as his fingers drew a burning line over her breasts. His finger dipped below her low neckline, stroking the delicate skin of her sternum with the well-practiced hand of a lover. A soft sigh escaped Minnie as his finger swept beneath her corset and brushed against her nipple in a sweet, fleeting touch.

“I want your mask,” Alex said, placing his hand back by Minnie’s ear.

“No.” It was all she could say without stuttering like a fool. She was still reeling from the man’s lovely touch.

“I can be very persuasive.”

“Try,” she challenged. “
Monsieur
,” she purred as his hand dropped to cup her breast.

He leaned in, his lips floating above hers. Heat rolled off him, surrounding her. “This is a very pretty dress.”

Minnie arched her body under his, inviting him to kiss her, but he resisted.

“And this is a clever disguise,” he continued, his fingers reaching for the ribbon securing the mask to her face.

Minnie snapped her hand up to stop his advance.

“Such delicate gloves.” He dropped his lips to her nose, ignoring her attempts to stop his fingers from untying the black ribbon.

“And these are very ample. Perfection, really.” Alex dipped his lips to the crests of her breasts. His hand gripped hers and pushed it back into the wall as he straightened.

“Try harder,” she dared, staring into his blue eyes.

His mouth flirted with the edges of her painted lips again. Her frustration grew as he withheld his kiss. The way he touched her, with calculated effort, void of feeling but full of temptation, was maddening. She opened her mouth to protest, only as Alex bit her bottom lip, worrying her flesh with his teeth.

Minnie was lost. He kissed with the trained skill of an assassin. One minute she was aware Alex had her pinned against the wall, the next, her body burned with desire as his tongue caressed the underside of her lip.

Minnie pressed against his body, her hand snaking into his silky hair. Oranges, she thought in the back of her head, he smelled of oranges when the rest of the dinner party had drowned themselves in the smell of bay rum and money.