Page 31 of Frankly, My Dear

His eyes crinkled a bit with mischief as he immediately understood her reference, and Selene berated herself for inadvertently offering him another opportunity to bait her.

“Oui, but your breasts make up for a world of defects, and your legs in those odd silk stockings aren’t so bad, either.”

Selene should have been outraged, but, instead, she felt a thrum of pleasure course through her at his backhanded compliments. Her delight soon turned to chagrin when he added, “And we could always put a gag in your mouth and a feed bag over your head if I’m not able to rise to the occasion.”

She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but James refused to let go. Chuckling, he bowed to her with exaggerated gallantry and proceeded to lead her back to the rotunda where Fergus and Reba awaited them anxiously.

Selene bit her bottom lip furiously to prevent a hasty retort to his needling. Finally, when she calmed down enough, she asked with forced politeness, “What about your date?”

“Date?”

“With Lizette. The opera.”

He groaned. “I forgot.” Then he looked at her, rubbing his fingertips thoughtfully over his full lips. A dark shadow of whiskers covered his face, and fatigue underlined his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d like to attend the opera with Lizette, taking my place?”

“Me? Hardly. And I don’t think Lizette would consider me a good substitute. I doubt I’m what she has in mind for the evening’s entertainment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that your little Southern belle has got her eyes on you, babe. Criminey, Lizette made it perfectly clear back there in the dress shop that she’d like to take you home and have you for an afternoon delight. Hey, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already monogramming the sheets.”

“Afternoon delight!” His eyes widened slightly. “You’re wrong. Lizette doesn’t think of me in that way.”

“Oh, Lord! Men are so blind when it comes to single-minded women. Their favorite organ isn’t their brains, that’s for sure, and when a blonde woman is involved, well, their common sense just flies out the window.”

“Please spare me. Not another blonde joke.”

“Actually, James, did you hear about the blonde and the brunette who jumped off a cliff? No? Well, guess which one hit the ground first?”

“The brunette, of course,” he answered sarcastically.

“Well, you’re right, because the blonde had to stop and ask directions.”

The edges of James’s lips turned up slightly as he shook his head from side to side. “You really do have a bizarre sense of humor, Selene.”

“Do you think so? Boy, you should have met…” Selene’s words trailed off with a gasp as she saw a younger, more beautiful version of her agent Georgia standing in the rotunda. Clutching at James’s arm, she cried frantically, “Oh, my God, there’s Fleur. And she’s with Victor.”

“Fleur? Victor’s placée? Mon Dieu! How do you know her?”

But Selene had already taken off across the exchange floor. Fortunately, Victor left the beautiful quadroon’s side for a moment and stopped a short distance away to speak to a man with a large handlebar mustache, who was carrying a lethal whip in one hand. Selene had to warn Georgia’s ancestor of the danger. She knew, without a doubt, that Victor was the man her agent had told her about, the one who’d murdered, or tried to murder, his pregnant placée, Georgia’s ancestor.

Anxiety caused a rush of adrenalin to soar through Selene. The young girl, no more than sixteen, looked just like Georgia, yet she was innocently pretty in her off-the-shoulder pink organza gown, which highlighted her silky mocha skin and tiny waist. Tiny waist. Either Fleur was not yet pregnant or not very far along. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

James grabbed her upper arm in a pincer grip and pulled her to a halt. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She motioned toward Victor’s mistress with a jerk of her head. “I’ve got to save Fleur. She’s in grave danger.”

“That girl has been in danger from the moment she first agreed to be Victor’s placée, and you, my troublemaking wench, are not about to become her savior.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I beg to differ. You go anywhere near Victor, or his property, and I wipe my hands of you.”

“Property?” Selene bristled.

“Yes, property,” James hissed, practically nose to nose with her. “Get it through your thick head, once and for all. Slaves and placées are a fact of life here, like it or not. Nothing you say or do can change that.”

“But—”