Page 45 of To Love A Spy
Her fingers stroked over the curls of satin. “I believe in yielding to one who possesses an expertise in a subject, be it art, or fashion, or . . .” She deliberately let her words trail off.
A speculative gleam flickered through the fringe of his golden lashes. “Or anything that requires a certain specialized skill, madame?” Whispers of velvet and lace stirred as he glided through the draped display of fabrics.
“Within reason,” she replied slowly.
“Ah. I should like to hear the American definition of the word.”
However, a call from Mme. Benoit diverted any further flirtation. “La, Pierre, you must come here and settle the debate on which style of brim is most becoming. And do you prefer this shade of amaranthus to azure blue?”
Rochambert turned, but not before flashing Valencia another heavy-lidded look.
Valencia repressed a shudder. The man was as seductive as a snake. There was something flat and reptilian about his eyes . . . but perhaps she was merely allowing her imagination to take flight. As Lynsley warned, she must stay focused on the mission and not let personal feelings color her judgment.
“Do let me show you the selection of bonnet shapes.” Mme. Levalier took her arm and led her to another counter. “Mademoiselle. Cosette is the most renowned mantua maker in all of Paris, and I’m sure you will find a number of designs to your liking.”
For the next quarter hour, Valencia poked through the piles of straw and felt, feigning an interest in all the variations of size, shape and styling. Why ladies made such a fuss over the dratted things was beyond her. She loved the feel of the sun and wind on her face, and the tug of the wind at her hair. Hats were a cursed nuisance, a confining constriction. However, she covered up her indifference by oohing and ahhing over the bunch, then selected the simplest one she could find.
“If I may be so bold, Madame Daggett, allow me to suggest these ribbons to go along with the chip straw bonnet you’ve chosen.” Rochambert suddenly reappeared through the scrim of gauze and netting hanging across the aisle. “The pale peach color will look divine with your raven hair.”
“How kind.” She nodded to the salesgirl. “Please add the final trimmings as the gentleman suggests.”
“Speaking of peaches,” he went on in a silky murmur. ”Have you sampled the ice cream from the stalls on the boulevard des Italiennes?”
“No, I have not yet had the pleasure.”
“They are a treat you should not miss.” Rochambert offered his arm. “It is only a short stroll from here.”
Valencia hesitated a fraction. “Won’t the others think me rude to run off?”
He leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice even more. “Do you really care?”
Her hand slid lightly into the crook of his sleeve. “I trust you won’t lead metoofar astray.”
“Oh, as to that, I make no promises, madame. You see, I’m not really a gentleman.” The door shut behind them, setting off a tinkling of bells. “Does that frighten you?”
“Not particularly. You see, I am not really a lady.”
A bark of laughter sounded. “You intrigue me, Madame Daggett. Tell me a little about yourself.”
“As I mentioned before, my grandparents were Spanish and owned properties in the Caribbean islands. My mother lived on a sugar plantation in Hispanola. She married a prosperous trader from Charleston, in the American Carolinas, which is where I grew up.” Valencia gave a mock shiver. “And now I live in New England.”
“I have heard that Boston is quite a civilized city,” he said.
“I could not say, seeing as we so rarely have a chance to visit it.” She made sure that her pique was pronounced. “New Haven is a very dull place, whose only claim to fame is a college that attracts a rather dour, serious-minded set of young men as students.”
Rochambert flashed a sympathetic smile. “It does sound quite dull.” They paused by one of the street stalls while he purchased a dish of ice cream flavored with strawberries.
She shrugged. “Thomas has money. And he is ambitious. I don’t plan on being stuck in such a provincial place forever.”
“Indeed not.” He gave a wave. “See, you are here in Paris. A city that is most definitely not provincial.”
“The gaiety, the glamour.” She gave a sigh. “It will not be easy to return to America when this is over.”
“Who knows what the future may bring?”
“How very pragmatic, Monsieur Rochambert.” Valencia licked a bit of the ice cream from her spoon. “So you are suggesting that we eat, drink and be merry today?”
“In these troubled times, it seems a wise philosophy to embrace,” he said softly.
