The Millionaire Rogue Read Free Page B

smelling. She emerged onto a small but immaculately groomed courtyard, illuminated by exotic-looking torches standing guard around the perimeter. With light footsteps she crossed to a door, half-hidden by a budding vine of wisteria. She knocked once. Twice.
    Waited a beat.
    Then knocked twice more.
    The door opened. A tall mulatto emerged, his enormous bulk occupying the whole of the threshold. His black eyes sparked with recognition as they fell upon Sophia’s half-hidden face.
    â€œGood evening, miss.” He bowed. “Please, come in. The madam is waiting for you. Lily will show you up.”
    Sophia stepped into the hall but did not remove her hood.
    The scent of fresh-cut flowers, mingled with a vivid musk Sophia had yet to name, filled her nostrils. She followed Lily, a yellow-haired woman so beautiful it was difficult not to stare, down a wide gallery and up a curving stair.
    The Glossy was as lovely as Sophia remembered. Lovelier even than the first-rate homes of the
ton
, for La Reinette eschewed overstuffed severity in favor of feminine flair. Enormously tall ceilings were frescoed in the Italian style, blues and pinks and naked bodies aflutter. Light sparkled from heavy crystal chandeliers. The gilt furniture was upholstered in various shades of ivory and pink. Paintings lined the walls, depicting lovers past in various states of repose—Tristan and Isolde, Diana and Actaeon, Romeo and Juliet.
    When at last Lily drew up before a pair of painted doors, Sophia was dizzy, intoxicated by her surroundings. Lily opened the doors and Sophia stepped mutely over the threshold, blinking to bring her blood back to life.
    Before she could thank her guide, the doors swung shut behind her. A voice, thick and seductive, called out from inside the room.
    â€œAh,
mademoiselle
!
S’il vous plaît, entrez, entrez
!”
    La Reinette approached, knotting the tasseled belt of her Japanese silk robe. She dropped into an elegant curtsy, and in her excitement Sophia did the same. La Reinette was more legend than lady; really, how did one greet the mistress to prime ministers and Continental royalty? She was called the little queen—
la reinette
—for good reason.
    Madame clucked her tongue and lifted Sophia by her elbows. She drew back Sophia’s hood and smiled in that languid way only Frenchwomen could, placing her palms on Sophia’s neck.
    Her spine tingled at La Reinette’s touch. “Good evening, Madame. I am happy to see you again.”
    â€œAnd I am very happy, yes.” Madame nodded at a table and chairs set before the fire. On the table, several quills were placed beside a mother-of-pearl inkwell and a quire of fine paper. “Come, let us sit. I am most eager to see the work you have done with my tales.”
    Sophia settled into her chair and placed the pages, bound in thin red ribbon, on the table. She watched as La Reinette hovered at a sideboard, pouring red wine into elegant goblets. Without asking, Madame placed a goblet on the table before Sophia and swept into the chair opposite.
    â€œDrink it,” Madame said. “It is very good, from my country. Not the vinegar that is made in Italy. It helps me to remember. I think it will help you to write.”
    Sophia brought the glass to her lips, gaze flicking to meet Madame’s. In the glow of the fire her eyes appeared wholly black, like a stag’s; a striking foil to her pale skin and hair.
    Sophia pushed the bound pages across the table. “The edits from our first meeting are complete, and I compiled everything you gave me from the second. I—” Sophia blushed. “I enjoyed this week’s tales. Thoroughly. That spy you knew, back in France—the one with the curls, who could fell a girl with his gaze alone? He is my favorite gentleman yet.”
    Again Madame smiled. “Yes,” she said. “He is my favorite, too.”
    She placed a reticule, woven with pink thread, before Sophia