Outside the sun was shining brightly, the sky a cloudless blue. Lord, it must be nearly noon.
“You look much improved, ma che`re,” Sophie said. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Thank you. I’m embarrassed to have slept so late.”
Sophie waved an arm and sat beside her on the bed. “No matter. We all sleep late here.” She gave Lucia’s arm a little pat, and Lucia had to smile at the maternal gesture.
In the light of day, Sophie looked less like the keeper of a brothel. Her hair was still a suspect shade of red, but without the rouge and painted lips, she appeared more respectable. And she was actually quite pretty. She was probably old enough to be Lucia’s mother, but Sophie had an air of youth that radiated from her. She could probably pass for twenty years younger than her true age, and with her curvaceous body, obvious even in her high-necked blue morning gown, Lucia had no trouble seeing why Sophie was so successful in her trade.
“My girls keep late hours,” Sophie continued, “and need the rest. I imagine you did, too. It looks like you spent a very good evening.” She gestured to Alex’s discarded clothing.
Lucia erupted into flame, feeling even the roots of her hair heat. Not that she had reason for embarrassment. Alex had slept on the couch all night. He hadn’t shown the least bit of interest in her. In fact, he’d made it more than clear last night that things were over between them. He didn’t want her anymore. Unfortunately she still wanted him. Lord, she should have been thankful he respected her enough to sleep on the couch. Instead she felt hurt and confused. Why didn’t he want her anymore?
“At least he gave you a chance to eat the food I sent,” Sophie said, indicating the empty tray and wine bottle on the floor.
“Oh, yes. It was very good. Do you employ a cook?” Lucia asked, eager to change the subject.
Sophie laughed. “My, but you are innocent, aren’t you? I’m not at all sure I shouldn’t have some words with Alex about his intentions toward you. We have been friends for a long time.”
Lucia narrowed her eyes, and Sophie laughed again. “No need to look at me like that ma che`re. That part of our friendship is over.”
Lucia shook her head. “But I didn’t—”
“Shh.” Sophie put a finger to her lips. “I am not offended. I like a girl who says what is on her mind. Alex does, too.”
Lucia decided that perhaps Sophie didn’t know Alex as well as she claimed. “He always tells me I talk too much.”
“Don’t let him fool you. He likes what you have to say or you wouldn’t be here.”
Lucia didn’t see how he’d had much choice. “Where is Alex?” She’d held off asking as long as possible, unwilling to admit she didn’t know, but her patience was exhausted.
“I do not know.” She shrugged. “My footman told me he left with Freddie early this morning.” She grasped Lucia’s hand. “But I am certain he will return.”
Lucia nodded. “I know. He’d never leave me.” Would he?
“Of course not. They probably went to meet with the woman who was here looking for your brother yesterday.”
Lucia frowned. “Woman? What woman?”
“Oh, a petite dark-haired wisp of a girl. French.” Camille? But surely she was still in England.
Surely someone had warned her that De´charne´ knew her identity.
“She mentioned Alex’s name, called him Christophe, and then described your brother to me. It was the reason I thought of him when I saw you yesterday. He’d been on my mind. Naturally, I did not tell the woman anything. One cannot be too careful.”
Lucia nodded. “Did she give her name?”
“Nathalie Tissier. Do you know her?”
“I don’t know,” Lucia answered. The description sounded like Camille, and she might be using a false name.
“Oh, I almost forgot. You must try on the dress I have found for you.” Sophie held up a swath of scarlet from the chaise. “It was Claudette’s, and you and she are about the same size.”
Lucia took the dress but only because it would have been rude not to. Sophie had sent a chemise and shoes with the gown, but Lucia did not know how she would ever wear any of it.
The chemise was transparent and the bodice cut too low. It would just cover her nipples and then only because it was fringed with lace. The dress itself was a garish vermilion, the bosom scandalously revealing, almost as low as the chemise. The material was light and silky against her skin, but it was far too thin and flimsy, obviously designed to mold to the wearer’s body.
“Oh, dear.” Lucia looked down at the dress. There was no mirror in the room, and that was probably for the best.
