Annette Blair - Scandalous Brides

The concierge snapped to attention and began issuing instructions to various lackeys, and within a very few minutes they were shown into a luxurious suite on the third floor. A basket of fruit, wine and mouth-watering French pastries awaited them there.

“How perfectly lovely!” said Nessa again. “Merci, monsieur. C'est magnifique!” Jack smiled. Her accent was quite passable. She must have learned the language under the tutelage of a true Frenchman.

Simmons and Parker began the unpacking at once, while Nessa sampled one of the pastries, exclaiming at its delicacy and flavor.

“You'll not wish to spoil your appetite, my love.” Jack smiled indulgently. “Once we have dressed, I mean to take you to Rocher de Cancalle, where you may experience the finest cuisine to be found this side of heaven.”

“Oh, I remember reading about it in one of the London papers,” she said excitedly. “'Tis said to be worlds above anything in England. And we are to go there tonight? Shall we visit Tortoni's while we are here, for its famous ices? And the Louvre— perhaps tomorrow we may view the artworks there? Oh, and the Palais-Royal! 'Tis the place to see and be seen, is it not?”

Jack laughed at her childlike enthusiasm. He loved it when she forgot to play the sophisticate. “Yes, yes, my love, we shall go to all of those places, and more. But one step at a time. I will leave you to dress for dinner, while I do likewise. Come, Parker.”

He retired with his valet into the adjoining chamber. Half an hour later, impeccably attired, he tapped on the bedchamber door and then entered. Nessa, resplendent in pale blue satin, stood up from the dressing table, where her maid had just put the finishing touches on her hair.

“Well?” she asked, twirling for his examination. “Shall I avoid disgracing England, do you think?”

He came forward to take both her hands in his. “Indeed, my dear, after one look at you, the Frenchwomen will abandon their flounces and outrageous bonnets to imitate your elegance. You are exquisite.”

And she was. He was tempted to suggest having dinner sent up so that he could have her to himself, in fact. But no, he had promised her Paris. Helping her into her wrap, he led her downstairs, and out into the now-twilit streets.

“Stay close to me,” he cautioned her. “Paris is not Mayfair, neither as well lit nor as safe, even in the better areas.”

She drew nearer, her eyes wide as she took in the scene surrounding them—the thronged humanity of all social classes, the scrawlings upon the walls, proclaiming, “ Vive l'empereur! “ in defiance of Napoleon's defeat. Prostitutes lounged in doorways, street vendors hawked their wares in French and broken English.

Instinctively, Jack wanted to protect Nessa from the evils that he knew lurked around every corner and within every alleyway. He'd been mad to bring her here.

“This is wonderful! Amazing!” she breathed. “I've never seen anything like it. How exciting!”

He groaned inwardly, not only at her words, but at the memory of his own similar enthusiasm upon his last visit to Paris— and of the wild excesses it had led him to. Was he so certain that he could not be similarly tempted now? That Nessa would not? It would be best, he decided, if their visit here were kept short. Tomorrow he would make certain inquiries…

They reached their destination none too soon for his taste. Jack's anxiety receded as he watched— and shared— Nessa's enjoyment of gustatory pleasures beyond her dreams. Whatever else he might say against Paris, the food here was the best on earth.

“Now I understand the wages true French chefs command in England,” Nessa commented when she finally pushed back from the marble table after their prolonged and leisurely meal. “And I begin to believe those who claim to travel to Paris solely to dine here. That was magnificent.”

“Now that you have experienced the best Paris has to offer,” he teased, “we may as well return to England. Anything else we do here is bound to be anticlimactic.”

“Oh, I think not,” she replied, her eyes dancing. “The very atmosphere of this city inspires me to things most climactic, in fact.”

Jack grinned, his body responding instantly to her innuendo. “Indeed? Then I suggest we return to our hotel without further ado.”

~ ~ ~

NESSA STRETCHED luxuriously upon awakening to her first full day in Paris. If last night had been any indication, she was going to thoroughly enjoy her stay here! A fabulous meal, followed by even more fabulous lovemaking with the man who had made this possible.

Turning to express her gratitude yet again, she discovered that Jack had already risen. He was on the far side of the enormous room, almost finished dressing. Before she could speak, a tap came at the door. Jack opened it to receive a tray of something that smelled positively heavenly. The moment the door closed again, she sat up.

“Mmm! Is that our breakfast?”

He turned with a grin that melted her insides to water. “It is indeed, and an excellent one, I should think. One reason I chose this hotel was the reputation of its kitchens.”

She bounded out of bed, only belatedly remembering to snatch up her silk wrapper when Jack's eyes brightened appreciatively. “After breakfast,” she promised. “You wouldn't want me distracted by that mouth-watering aroma, would you?”

His blue eyes smoldered. “No, I'll want your undivided attention, as I plan to give you mine.”

Sitting at the small table, Nessa saw only familiar foods: eggs, meats, pastries, coffee. But everything was hot— something rarely experienced in England— and the quality set it apart as well. The coffee was the best she'd ever tasted, full, rich and strong.

“That was nearly as good as last night's dinner,” she declared as she drank the last drop, to wash down her final bite of croissant. “If we spend many weeks in Paris, I fear I shall become as large as a cow!”

“Then I must make certain you take enough exercise to compensate.” Jack tossed his napkin onto the table and rose. “I have a particular activity in mind right now.”

Nessa came to him eagerly, and soon they were engaged in a most pleasurable exercise indeed. As so often happened after she was sated, however, she had to fight the urge to tell him she loved him. She had faced that truth some time ago, but after the incident with Miranda Dempsey, she felt reluctant to voice feelings that might not be reciprocated. When it was time, she would know.

Wouldn't she?

Today, however, she refused to dwell upon the matter. Paris awaited! “Where shall we go today?” she asked, almost before her breathing had slowed to normal. “One of the palaces?”

“I am wounded! Could I distract you no longer than that?” But he smiled indulgently. “The Louvre, I believe. Then perhaps the Tuileries?”

“Oh, yes! And then, tonight, the Palais-Royal? Please?” She'd read and heard numerous stories of its shops, cafés and gaming establishments.

For a moment she thought a fleeting frown crossed Jack's brow, but the smile never wavered. “Of course. Up with you, then! We have a busy day ahead of us, it would seem.”

Back in the streets of Paris, Nessa again felt assailed by the odors— mostly unpleasant— and the crowds. Why, all of Europe must be here! English gentlemen and officers in their blue and red coats, Frenchmen in their more sober black, ladies of all nationalities in every color of the rainbow, in everything from simple English styles to the more ornate French and German ones.

Just ahead, she saw an English officer exchanging angry words with what must be a French officer. The Frenchman then slapped the other resoundingly across the face, and the Englishman bowed. Turning aside, they continued their conversation at a less audible volume.