wouldn’t be hard to defend herself, if necessary. She would paint his portrait and that would be the end of it.
“Marietta?” Zeta touched her sleeve. “Can I help you get dressed?”
“Yes, Consul Smith sounds like a good man to know—I don’t want to be late and make a poor impression.”
As Zeta unlaced her dress, Marietta’s thoughts returned to Nico. Holding her knuckles to her lips, she remembered the heat from his touch. Why did the handsome ones always have to be so wicked? It wasn’t fair.
rom the outside, Consul Smith’s house appeared modest, but inside, his wealth showed in every room. Dark burgundy silks and lemon yellow damasks covered the rosewood furniture in the salon, while landscapes from Europe’s finest painters decorated the walls.
Guests crowded the room dressed in their finest attire and drenched in exotic perfume that tickled Marietta’s nose. Her ears picked out English, French, Italian, German, and Russian, each competing with the other to be heard. Never had she been to such a loud dinner party in her life. Before she could get her bearings, a thin, gray-haired gentleman with a tightly-clipped beard introduced himself as her host and swept her into the madness.
An hour later, she found herself on the outer ring of the crowd with Mrs. Brown. “My innkeeper told me Consul Smith kept a wide variety of acquaintances, but I never imagined I would meet so many interesting people in one night.”
Mrs. Brown nodded. “It is a bit overwhelming, and I admit I don’t understand half of what they are discussing. Perhaps if they all spoke English it would help.” She shielded her hand with her fan and pointed to a slim, brown-haired man who argued with their host. “Were you introduced to Mr. Casanova? I hear he is quite popular with the ladies.”
Though they were all in masks, Casanova’s charisma could not be hidden. He conversed solely with the Consul, yet the small group of women that surrounded them hung on Casanova’s every word.
“So I see. I wonder what he speaks of so passionately that he forgets his manners and the beauty around him.”
“If I know Cas, he’s rallying support for Signor Voltaire who has been banned from Paris,” said a deep voice behind her.
She should have known. The man was everywhere. She turned and found Nico against the wall behind them. In a black half mask and a royal blue suit, he looked fashionably bored. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. You remember Signora Brown?”
“Of course.” He took Mrs. Brown’s hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. This in turn caused her other hand to quiver and spill a few drops of red wine from the glass it held. With a sudden curtsy, she excused herself to find her husband. When she was out of earshot, Nico chuckled. “I don’t think she likes me.”
Marietta shrugged. “You scare the poor thing.”
“But not you?” He took a step closer.
When she inhaled his scent of amber mixed with orange, something carnal stirred deep within her. Her heart raced and unladylike thoughts flooded her mind. No, no, no. It’s just another weapon he wielded in his conquests. Her reaction meant nothing. She fanned herself to dispel the heady aroma. “No, you don’t scare me.”
“Perhaps I need to try harder.” He bent closer, until his breath on her neck flushed her cheeks with heat, and she imagined the touch of his lips against her skin. He stood silent, with head cocked and listened to her body. He smiled. “But then, perhaps you aren’t being entirely truthful.”
Determined not to let him win, she sucked in a breath and held it.
Nico laughed at her effort. “It’s all right, Kitty. Eventually, even the most stubborn can’t resist me.”
Back in control of mutinous body, she changed to a safer topic. “Is Signor Voltaire a very dear friend of Signor Casanova’s?”
The crowd around the handsome man had grown as his oration became louder and more impassioned. Marietta could not
“Marietta?” Zeta touched her sleeve. “Can I help you get dressed?”
“Yes, Consul Smith sounds like a good man to know—I don’t want to be late and make a poor impression.”
As Zeta unlaced her dress, Marietta’s thoughts returned to Nico. Holding her knuckles to her lips, she remembered the heat from his touch. Why did the handsome ones always have to be so wicked? It wasn’t fair.
rom the outside, Consul Smith’s house appeared modest, but inside, his wealth showed in every room. Dark burgundy silks and lemon yellow damasks covered the rosewood furniture in the salon, while landscapes from Europe’s finest painters decorated the walls.
Guests crowded the room dressed in their finest attire and drenched in exotic perfume that tickled Marietta’s nose. Her ears picked out English, French, Italian, German, and Russian, each competing with the other to be heard. Never had she been to such a loud dinner party in her life. Before she could get her bearings, a thin, gray-haired gentleman with a tightly-clipped beard introduced himself as her host and swept her into the madness.
An hour later, she found herself on the outer ring of the crowd with Mrs. Brown. “My innkeeper told me Consul Smith kept a wide variety of acquaintances, but I never imagined I would meet so many interesting people in one night.”
Mrs. Brown nodded. “It is a bit overwhelming, and I admit I don’t understand half of what they are discussing. Perhaps if they all spoke English it would help.” She shielded her hand with her fan and pointed to a slim, brown-haired man who argued with their host. “Were you introduced to Mr. Casanova? I hear he is quite popular with the ladies.”
Though they were all in masks, Casanova’s charisma could not be hidden. He conversed solely with the Consul, yet the small group of women that surrounded them hung on Casanova’s every word.
“So I see. I wonder what he speaks of so passionately that he forgets his manners and the beauty around him.”
“If I know Cas, he’s rallying support for Signor Voltaire who has been banned from Paris,” said a deep voice behind her.
She should have known. The man was everywhere. She turned and found Nico against the wall behind them. In a black half mask and a royal blue suit, he looked fashionably bored. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. You remember Signora Brown?”
“Of course.” He took Mrs. Brown’s hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. This in turn caused her other hand to quiver and spill a few drops of red wine from the glass it held. With a sudden curtsy, she excused herself to find her husband. When she was out of earshot, Nico chuckled. “I don’t think she likes me.”
Marietta shrugged. “You scare the poor thing.”
“But not you?” He took a step closer.
When she inhaled his scent of amber mixed with orange, something carnal stirred deep within her. Her heart raced and unladylike thoughts flooded her mind. No, no, no. It’s just another weapon he wielded in his conquests. Her reaction meant nothing. She fanned herself to dispel the heady aroma. “No, you don’t scare me.”
“Perhaps I need to try harder.” He bent closer, until his breath on her neck flushed her cheeks with heat, and she imagined the touch of his lips against her skin. He stood silent, with head cocked and listened to her body. He smiled. “But then, perhaps you aren’t being entirely truthful.”
Determined not to let him win, she sucked in a breath and held it.
Nico laughed at her effort. “It’s all right, Kitty. Eventually, even the most stubborn can’t resist me.”
Back in control of mutinous body, she changed to a safer topic. “Is Signor Voltaire a very dear friend of Signor Casanova’s?”
The crowd around the handsome man had grown as his oration became louder and more impassioned. Marietta could not
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