Anne Stuart - Black Ice

“I will be very careful not to wander where I don’t belong,” she said.

“Of course you will,” Hakim said in his distant voice. He had a peculiar air to him, slightly sinister, which must have been her tiresome imagination running amok. He was both bullying and faintly subservient, and she couldn’t quite figure his position among the business partners. It was no wonder she thought something strange was going on, what with people muttering cryptic things in languages she wasn’t supposed to understand, but in the end they were nothing more than a group of people locked away without any form of entertainment. “We will see you at seven.”

A staid woman in a starched black uniform had appeared, more of a Mrs. Danvers than a Mary Poppins. “If you will follow me, mademoiselle, ” she said in French that was clearly a foreign language to her, though Chloe couldn’t begin to guess what her native tongue was.

She knew Bastien was watching her, and it took all her willpower not to glance back at him. She wasn’t supposed to know he was a womanizer, out to bed the first new woman who’d come on the property. Besides, he was married, and that was one standard she shared with her feckless roommate. Sylvia might only sleep with bachelors in her quest for a wealthy husband, but Chloe was looking for something else. What, she wasn’t quite sure. She only knew that Bastien Toussaint wouldn’t provide it.

“At seven,” she agreed, privately wondering what kind of condition they’d be in if they drank for two hours before dinner. But it wasn’t her concern. None of it was, not even Bastien’s halfhearted suggestive comments. He didn’t really want her—she wasn’t his type. He’d have long, leggy models, women with style and a to-hell-with-you attitude. Chloe had been nursing her go-to-hell attitude for years now, and though living in Paris had helped, it was far from a finished product.

She was going to get lost in the damned maze of rooms, she thought, moving through the hall behind Marie’s stiff figure. Her own room was at the far end of one of those hallways, and the moment she stepped inside her misgivings melted. It was a room from a museum—a beautiful green-silk-draped bed, marble floors, a luxurious sofa and the largest bathroom she’d seen since she’d left the U.S. She couldn’t see a television, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but she’d surely be able to find something to read in a place like this. There’d been several well-known, pastel newspapers laid out on the hall table—she could always filch them and work on the crossword puzzles. Crossword puzzles were a well-loved linguistic problem, and a couple of them could probably keep her busy for days. She just had to remember not to pick the Italian or German newspapers.

At that moment she wanted nothing more than to get into something more comfortable and indulge in a nice, long nap. “Where is my suitcase?” she asked.

“It’s been unpacked and sent to the storage area,” Marie said smoothly. “I imagine Monsieur Hakim told you, but they dress for dinner. I think the silver lace would be appropriate.”

If Sylvia had parted with the silver lace then this job must be important indeed to her. She never let that particular dress out of her sight except for emergencies.

It was also just the teensiest bit too snug across her butt and her breasts, but Chloe wasn’t going to tempt fate by trying to guess what else might be suitable for such an occasion. Marie would know, and if she was kind enough to volunteer the information Chloe would take advantage of it.

“Thank you, Marie.” For a moment she felt a sudden panic, wondering whether she was supposed to tip her. Before she could hesitate Marie was on her way out of the room, clearly not expecting anything from a gauche American. She turned back at the last moment. “When do you want to be called? Five? Five-thirty? You want to allow enough time to get ready.”

Marie must have thought such a task to be arduous indeed. “Six-thirty will give me plenty of time,” she said cheerfully.

Marie had a long nose, and she looked down it with the perfect mixture of disdain and concern. “If you need any help you have only to ask,” she said after a moment. “I’ve had some experience with hair like yours.” She made it sound as if it were manure-encrusted straw.

“Thank you very much, Marie. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Marie merely raised her eyebrows, setting Chloe’s misgivings into full play once more.

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