Page 4 of Sir Hugo Seeks a Wife
One didn’t as a rule offer such courtesies to tradesmen.Or tradeswomen.He’d been skeptical of Ivor’s tale that Madame Lebeau was a French aristocrat forced to open a shop to keep body and soul together.Every damned Frog who came to England claimed to be as blue-blooded as Marie Antoinette and a victim of the Revolution or Napoleon’s depredations.But now he was in her presence, Hugo immediately recognized that the woman wasn’t in the common line at all.
“Ah, Sir Hugo,bienvenueto Sweet Little Nothings.You are a friend of Monsieur Bilson,je crois.”
Hugo found the mixture of French and English charming.As he was sure had every other gentleman who ventured into this opulent temple to the confectioners’ art.“Yes, he recommended ordering some bonbons for a certain lady.”
Madame Lebeau stood behind a glass display case packed with sweetmeats of breathtaking daintiness and intricacy.Around him, the shelves were stacked with glass containers full of delights like sugared almonds in every color of the rainbow.The décor featured the lavender and silver familiar from the shop’s distinctive packaging.
“The popular Lady Petronella, you said.”
“Yes.I’ve heard she has a great fondness for your wares.”
“Lucky for us.”Wry amusement tugged at the woman’s lips.“The lady’s penchant for my candied violets has been excellent for business.”
Hugo could imagine.“I’m told that in order to gain favor with Lady Petronella, I also need to include a verse.”
“It’s become a charming addition to my bonbons, monsieur.”Madame Lebeau emerged from behind the counter.She was dressed in a modest green silk dress that even a fashion ignoramus like Hugo could tell had cost a small fortune.Business must indeed be thriving.Unless Madame Lebeau – a widow, he assumed, as he’d heard no mention of a husband – was a rich man’s mistress.If so, the rich man was fortunate indeed.Madame Lebeau cast Lady Petronella’s vaunted attractions into the shade.“S’il vous plaît,come with me.”
Intrigued despite himself, he followed the shopkeeper down a narrow corridor.
“I hope he’s feeling inspired,” Hugo said, as she knocked on a closed door.
With a knowing smile on her lips, madame opened the door.“I’m afraid you have it wrong, sir.”
Hugo found himself entering a small office, featuring a tidy desk and several crowded bookcases.Behind the desk was a woman with smooth black hair pinned back in a severe knot.Her flashing dark eyes lifted from what she was writing to regard him with a coolness that challenged everything he was.
Hugo always responded to a challenge.
“Sir Hugo, this is Aphrodite de Smith.She is responsible for composing the verses that accompany the orders from my shop.”
Only when Sylvie Lebeau spoke did Hugo remember that she was there, too.The proud insolence of the brunette’s expression made him forget anything but her.Heat zapped through his veins, thundered in his ears.His gloved hands clenched on his fashionable cane as he fought the urge to reach over that orderly desk and seize her.He wanted her in his arms.It was as simple and as insane as that.
“Aphrodite de Smith?”he repeated.He was in such a tizz that his doubts about the name’s veracity were audible.
“Yes, that’s right, Sir Hugo,” the woman replied in a voice as clear and bracing as cold water.Unlike Madame Lebeau, the poetess had an English accent as crisp as his own.“I believe you would like to order a poem to accompany a gift for the much-admired Lady Petronella.”
Nothing in the woman’s words indicated her contempt for that idea, but nonetheless Hugo felt the faint whiplash of disdain.The irony was that if anyone asked him right now what Lady Petronella Fitchett looked like, he’d have trouble answering.
“I believe it’s customary to express one’s admiration with such a token,” he said in a neutral tone, even as his mind roiled.“Mrs.de Smith—”
“Miss.”
He shouldn’t care that she was unmarried.But he did.
His hungry eyes devoured her.Aphrodite didn’t suit her at all, conjuring visions of easy sensuality and ready pleasure.Not virginal Diana either, even if this woman radiated “don’t touch me.”Perhaps stern, clever, commanding Minerva might match her.
She made no effort to attract male admiration.No trimming softened her somber gray frock.It was buttoned up to her chin and was almost as forbidding as her expression.
Except that he wasn’t convinced.Every masculine impulse shouted that if a man gained her surrender, she’d reward the lucky fellow with unforgettable passion.
“Sir Hugo?”Madame Lebeau asked.
He realized that the silence extended to a point where it was noticeable.It took a devil of an effort to tear his attention away from Miss de Smith.“Your pardon, madame.I assumed your poet would be a man.”
Even without looking at Miss de Smith, he knew that she bristled at that statement.
“Aphrodite is highly skilled, Sir Hugo.I’m certain you’ll be pleased with her work.All her other clients are.”
“I’m sure I’ll be delighted.”
