Colette settled back against her seat as the carriage rolled down the driveway. Were those tears in her twin’s voice? “And?” she prompted more gently.
Camille quickly looked out the window to focus on Briarcliffe, the imposing Bentley stronghold. “I might as well have been wearing mourning—black from head to toe with every inch of me covered! I might as well be an old crone with no teeth or—”
“I’m sorry, dear sister. Sorry I was late, and sorry you feel so neglected.”
“Invisible! Not even worth looking at, if I’m any gauge of my husband’s reaction to—”
“He’s old, Camille. Oblivious to your needs, and—” Her twin’s expression made her nip her lip. This was more serious than Camille’s usual pity fits, if her furrowed brow and tear-streaked cheeks were any indication.
“Needs?” her sister demanded in rising hysteria. “You have no idea of my needs! Why, I was so damned needy—so damned frustrated—I…I watched you this morning! Your hair’s a rat’s nest, and I know how it got that way, and I wish mine looked as raucous for the same reason!”
Colette blinked. She patted at her hair, a futile effort until they reached the couturier. “What do you mean, you watched?”
Her sister’s cheeks flared to match her bold pink gown. “I…I came upstairs, knowing what you and Heath were doing. And I saw the whole blessed thing. My God, Colette, the man’s a monster! I’ve never seen such a pole!”
“A what?”
Camille’s face flushed more deeply. “How do you accommodate all of his…it’s so long!”
As she fought a grin, Colette leaned forward, coaxing Camille to do the same. No need for their driver to catch every juicy detail of their intimate talk, after all. “How do I accommodate the length of what, dear sister?” she whispered.
Her twin swatted her cheek and then flicked the loose tendrils of hair from her face. “His cock, damn it!” she rasped. “Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to be—how much I ached inside for—”
“For Heath?” Colette quizzed slyly. They sat nose to nose, stretched across the carriage’s interior as they gripped each other’s hands. Camille’s frustration was so intense, so vibrant, it enveloped them both.
“For any man! Do you think I’m proud that I went to your wing to haul you out of bed and ended up gawking at you instead? There! I’ve confessed it!”
They fell back against their upholstered seats and crossed their arms.
Colette considered her sister’s admission, feeling slightly irritated and yet intrigued. While she’d been looking away from Heath’s reflection in the mirror, refusing to acknowledge how he’d triumphantly seduced her to make her late, her impish sister had been spying! Ogling! Lusting! “Where were you standing?”
“In your doorway. Looking in through the crack.”
“And Daisy didn’t stop you?”
Camille’s lips twitched. “She was watching, too. I had to swat Miss Adair’s hand away from my backside.”
So it was true! Her maid had eyes for Heath—but that was a matter to take up with Daisy at a later time. Camille was shifting in her seat like a guilty young schoolgirl…or a randy young woman whose longings had never been fulfilled. The thought almost made her pity her pretty twin, but Colette hadn’t finished her inquisition. “And how did you escape without my knowing? Those shoes make such a racket—”
“I run faster without them.”
The image of her prim, sophisticated sister racing away barefoot, to wait in the vestibule as though she were thoroughly irritated, made Colette laugh out loud. But she needed to hear more. And to demand penance. “And what did you observe? And how did it make you feel? Do tell, sister. Did we learn anything from our little foray into voyeurism?”
Irritation rippled Camille’s brow, but she recovered quickly. “I watched your facial expressions—”
“From where you stood, you were staring at my bared backside! And Heath’s!”
“And I know you were merely tolerating his advances, making all the right noises—”
“And did our noises excite you? Did you wish he were making those advances on you, taking out his selfish, arrogant needs just to prove—”
“Yes!” Camille cried. “I wanted to be the one he was pumping with that magnificent piston! That long, hard cock! Because I would welcome Heath’s invasion! Why, I nearly climaxed just watching the way he thrust into you and then pulled it out to thrust—”
“Well, maybe you should just take him!”
“Well, maybe I should!”
The carriage door swung open before either of them realized it had stopped behind the shop, and the footman slyly swept his blond hair back from his eyes. “Ladies?” he crooned as he positioned their step stool. “The morning feels rather warm already. If you need me to open some windows, to circulate some air—”
“Circulate the story you’ve been eavesdropping on, and you’ll be singing soprano in a boys’ choir. Understand me?” Colette muttered. She gripped his hand pointedly as he helped her to the street.
“Yes, milady. Clearly.”
Camille sniffed, avoiding his leer as she stepped from the carriage. As soon as the shiny black brougham clattered away, Colette grabbed her wrist. “Maybe that’s the answer! Maybe you should be with Heath, while I keep company with Rutledge!”
“Switch husbands? Don’t be ridiculous! That’s not only improper—”
“What’s so ridiculous about each of us getting what she wants?”
Camille’s eyes shone like blue china plates in her rosy face. “But that’s fornication! A sin!”
“It’s a sane, convenient answer to both our predicaments and you know it!” Colette vibrated with sudden inspiration, energy she hadn’t felt in months. She might be the left-handed twin, the more logical and grounded and purposeful one, but she also possessed the candor her more artistic sister lacked. “Alice! Alice, it’s stuffy in here!” she called out as they entered the back door. “After you’ve opened the windows, please leave our tea to steep while you fetch us a fresh custard tart from McGilley’s.”
Alice popped out of the sewing room, buttoning her blouse. “And will I be sharin’ that custard tart, milady?” she asked pertly.
“Can’t do that until you fetch it for us, can you?” Colette arched her eyebrow at the young blonde, wondering if she’d just come downstairs…perhaps from Palladino’s apartment. “And have you sewn the lace and ruching on the two gowns for Mrs. Redding?”
“Yes’m, I did! And I stayed up half the night completin’ Helena Farquar’s weddin’ gown, too,” she replied as she scrambled up a short ladder. With an energetic shove, Alice raised the windows on either side of the storefront and then twisted the transom rod to open the window above the door.
“Thank you, Alice. What would we do without you?” Camille smiled kindly at the young woman and then nodded pointedly at her chest. “You might finish dressing before you step out, dear. Unless, of course, you’re advertising our divine new Belgian lace on your camisole.”
“Yes’m! Thank you, milady!” Alice dashed out the front door, still fastening the top of her blouse.
Colette stood silently beside her sister until the buxom seamstress had gone. It was a wonder the scatterbrained Miss Furling accomplished anything, despite her boundless energy. And how had that expensive new lace from their latest shipment shown up on Alice’s