“So! She has your olive complexion, then?” Camille chirped. “And the midnight hair and ebony eyes to go with it?”
Hadrian nearly choked. How did she know these things? “You are quite astute, madam. She is indeed dark and mysterious and exotic—not that she resembles me!” he added quickly.
“So she will look absolutely divine in this new handkerchief linen, in the pale pink, I should think!” Camille bustled over to the shelves, gesticulating with her sketch pad. “And a suit of this coral serge would be ideal! So few English ladies wear that color well, that your beloved will stand out in any crowd. She’ll be the envy of all her companions!”
“I should think the fawn watermarked silk would be ideal, as well,” Colette chimed in. “Perhaps with ivory ribbons and lace to draw the eye to her exquisite face.”
“Quite so! Will there be anything else, Mr. Swann? We’re doing so well!”
Hadrian watched bolts of those fabrics land on the table. And before he could even consider the choices they’d proposed, the Bentley twins had plucked lace and ribbon and other accessories from their shelves to display them atop the fabrics they would soon embellish. He had to admit they were very, very good at what they did for a living.
And why are they plying this trade in the first place? Why do Lord Bentley and his illustrious son allow their wives to work? Unless the state of the family fortune falls beneath what my research suggests?
He smiled again, hoping the ladies couldn’t really read his mind. “Splendid! She’ll be so pleased.”
“And she’ll be the belle of the costume ball next week. This is Lord Herrington’s party, I assume?”
“Yes, I—I’ve come to London to confer with him about—”
“It will be our pleasure to see her there, wearing our creation! And to meet her!”
Hadrian stepped back, toward the door. When he’d followed their subtle lead about the party in the first place, he hadn’t considered that the twins would insist on meeting the woman he escorted. And they’d know exactly which woman she was, too! Damn! These enchanting ladies were his gateway to Bentley, but in their endearing, unwitting way they might have set a trap, as well.
“Will you be coming by to approve the basted gowns, Mr. Swann? Or shall we complete them before you—”
“They’ll exceed my expectations! I’m certain of it!” he gushed. The loud clatter of the brass knocker announced another client as Hadrian replaced his hat, hoping his relief didn’t show.
A man entered in a gust of wind, or at least he had a presence unlike any Swann had ever experienced: windswept brown hair framed his exquisite face, which was dominated by hawklike eyes. A red silk scarf fluttered around his neck. He wore his outlandish purple cape with the panache of a circus ringmaster while exuding an air of arcane power that made everything in the shop vibrate.
“Camille! Colette!” he announced in a breathy voice. “I’m off to conduct a séance for close friends of the queen, should you need me—or should Lord Bentley distress you further about my presence here last night.”
“Thank you, Rubio. I can assure you that my husband…” Camille’s gaze flitted to Hadrian, signaling a subject too indelicate to be discussed before clients. “Lord Bentley got his licks in after we returned home last night. The matter is settled now.”
Got his licks in? Hadrian prickled with curiosity as he followed this Rubio’s response. If he was about to conduct a séance…
“Please excuse my lapse of manners! Mr. Hadrian Swann, may I present Rubio Palladino, the medium renowned across the Continent?” Camille said with a wave of her graceful hand. “Mr. Swann has just commissioned some lovely gowns—”
As the man in the outrageous cape gripped his hand, Hadrian felt a subtle jolt of power…a sensation akin to an electrical current. And when he met Palladino’s gaze, he had the ridiculous notion that this so-called medium already knew more about him than was prudent. Yet it suddenly occurred to him that a man who summoned spirits…a man who had apparently inspired Rutledge Bentley’s temper…might be just the ace he needed up his sleeve for future gaming. “Quite pleased to meet you, Palladino! I’ll know whom to call upon if ever I’m in need of spirited assistance.”
The medium’s slender hand gripped his with surprising strength. “Be careful what you ask for, Mr. Swann. Birds of a feather flock together.”
Now what the hell did that mean? Hadrian released Palladino’s hand, and after the medium said his good-byes and exited in a swirl of flashy fabric, he took his own leave. Better to duck out before the twins pressed him for any more information, considering what they’d already coaxed out of him with their flirtatious ways.
And yet, as he strode down the sidewalk, Hadrian erupted in a chuckle until passersby gawked at him. But what did he care? He’d ingratiated himself to the Bentley women, he’d learned some fascinating things about them and about Camille’s husband, and then he’d found the downright perfect means of carrying out the surprise that would bring old Rutledge to his knees! All within a few minutes of conversation!
And all by toying with the truth!
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