The rear admiral sent his companion a disapproving look at that. It was not the thing at all to comment on a woman’s dress in that disparaging way. Evan was about to interject, but his wife gripped his hand in hers in warning. She’d asked him once before to not interfere in situations like these, and he finally understood why.
Soothing his pride mattered less than her ability to stand up for herself. His place was not as her savior but as her sentinel. Luz Alana Sinclair-Heith could fight her own battles.
“As you so cleverly observed, this gown in particular is not from Worth. But when I went for a fitting with Mr. Worth in the rue de la Paix, he personally advised me to forego the bustle,” she informed the woman, sliding a gloved hand along the side of her gown. “You see, given my lines,” she said as her hand went up her side again, “the bustle would be redundant.” She tipped her chin infinitesimally in the direction of the countess’s bustle. “The enhancement isn’t necessary for me.”
Murdoch choked in reaction to the expertly delivered insult, and Bea’s and Addy’s coloring instantly went to that of ripe tomatoes, while the Leonas looked like a pair of assassins who were only there to confirm their target had been dealt with. His wife simply fluttered her eyelashes, the very picture of a cherub, then turned her attention the rear admiral, who seemed duly impressed with the verbal evisceration she’d just delivered.
“Rear Admiral,” she said with that same charming smile, although this one seemed less sanguinary.
“Lady Darnick, it is a pleasure.” The man looked genuinely happy to meet her. “Welcome to our city. You are from Hispaniola.”
“I am.” Her tone changed slightly then, and he saw the shift in her countenance he’d seen when they’d been with Dairoku.
His wife was getting ready to sell her rum.
“Rear Admiral, I hope I am not being too forward,” she demurred in that sweet-as-honey way she had of speaking when she was ready to move in for the kill.
This woman was perfectly capable of reaching for her dreams, of making them happen: all she needed was to be allowed in the door. He’d happily spend his life bursting them wide open for her, just to see what heights she could reach. “Lady Adalyn and I are in the process of developing a line of medicinal tinctures, syrups and cordials.”
“Is that so?” the man asked, intrigued.
“Yes, and we thought they might be of interest to you.”
“With so many sailors, you may be looking for high-quality medicinal drafts to carry onboard,” Addy contributed. Evan loved seeing a fire in his sister’s eyes again. For so long he thought she’d never regain that old spark of hers, but he could see it now. Once again, he thanked whatever deity was responsible for putting Luz Alana in his path.
“I know you must be familiar with the Dama Juana in Hispaniola, and the syrups are particularly useful for mixing with remedies or tonics.”
“That’s the concoction with the rum and the roots?”
“It is, sir,” Luz confirmed as the man mused over their offer.
“Send me some samples,” he told the two women. “I will be placing an order of whisky from your husband soon and can add your products to that order.”
“Along with a good quantity of my wife’s rum,” Evan added, to which the admiral laughed amiably.
“I need to make an escape before this ambush depletes my entire budget,” The admiral complained, but his open countenance said he was enjoying himself.
As they exchanged goodbyes, Evan noticed that the countess’s combative expression had morphed into something akin to respect.
“Lady Darnick, I host a salon for women in business here in Edinburgh,” she told Luz, then turned to Adalyn. “Perhaps you and Lady Adalyn could join sometime.”
Luz seemed stunned for a moment but recovered in time to dip her head in assent. “I would like that,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased.
After the admiral and the countess excused themselves, the others dispersed to find refreshments and look around the ballroom as they awaited Apollo’s arrival. As the orchestra played a waltz, Evan marveled again at how little appetite he had for what would transpire tonight. For months,for years, he’d dreamed of finally seeing his father destroyed, and now that he was poised to do so, he only wished he had more time to dance with his wife.
“Always refreshing to befriend my husband’s former lovers,” Luz Alana said without much heat as they walked to the edge of the ballroom.
“You don’t have to attend the salon.”
She looked up at him with canny eyes. “I will give her the benefit of the doubt. I am certain I won’t be receiving many invitations, so I might as well take up the ones I do get.” Her gaze heated then, pinning him to where he stood. “And this might come as a surprise to you, but I don’t make a habit of seeing women as my competition. Though it’s true I am not what one would call experienced inaffaires du coeur—” his lips tipped up at her droll tone “—I am not spending my energy fighting for your attentions when I know exactly what I must do to get them.”
“Is that so?” he asked, licking his dry lips as he watched her inviting bosom.
“Yes, it is.” She sounded a little breathless, and it was requiring every ounce of his self-control not to ravage her on the spot.
“You’re playing with fire, wife,” he warned, and she taunted him by biting the thumb he was grazing over her bottom lip. He had to suck in a breath and stepped closer. “First you set my blood on fire by alluding to one of my favorite parts of your anatomy in front of the rear admiral.” That salacious smile that he knew promised every wickedness—it made him weak. “And now you provoke me in front of all these people?”
“And what will you do about it, husband?” Luz teased. Evan looked down at her, resplendent in blue and gold.
