“Oh, don't be absurd.” She turned back to the door with an impatient gesture. “I'll manage as I am until Gabriel arrives. He'll be bringing all my clothes.”
Julian took her arm, swinging her back to face him.
His eyes rested with calm certainty on her flushed face. “You wish to cancel the contract, Violette?”
Her flush deepened and her eyes flared. “You would renege, sir?”
He shook his head, still maintaining his hold, still regarding her calmly. “I warned you that we're going to play this by my rules. If you don't like those rules, you can back out any time you wish.”
Tamsyn bit her lip in chagrin, wrestling with herself.
She knew he was just waiting for her to give him an excuse to end their agreement. She'd told him she could take anything he threw at her. Was she going to crumple at the first hurdle? And it was a hurdle that would have to be taken at some point, sooner rather than later. She just wasn't ready to cease to be Violette in these circumstances. Plenty of time for that transformation when they reached the peaceful, verdant English countryside that Cecile had so often described.
“Well?” Julian said, aware that the senhora was starring in unabashed curiosity, unable to understand what was clearly an acerbic exchange.
Tamsyn made up her mind. She shook her arm free of his hold, saying with icy indifference, “I see no difficulty.” She began to unbutton her shirt.
“Ay… ay!” The senhora gave a squeak of dismay and hustled her unusual customer behind a worked screen.
Tamsyn stripped, tossing her garments over the top of the screen as she removed them. Shoes, stockings, drawers, shirt, and britches fell in a heap on the floor, while the senhora hastily produced a selection of undergarments, offering them with some reluctance for the colonel's inspection.
“Do you prefer silk or lawn?” Julian asked in the direction of the screen, riffling through a heap of lace-trimmed smocks.
“Silk.” Tamsyn stuck her head around the corner.
“But I don't want any frills or ribbons. They catch on things.”
“Try this.” He tossed her a cream silk chemise and turned his attention to the drawers. “Silk drawers, too, I imagine.”
“No, lawn,” Tamsyn said perversely. “And no frills.”
“That might be difficult,” he mused, shaking out delicate garments under the aghast eyes of the proprietress. “These are about as simple as I can find. They have pink ribbons.”
“Ugh!” Tamsyn appeared from behind the screen, clad in the chemise that reached the tops of her thighs. “Let me look.”
“Ay de mi,” the senhora moaned as the colonel stood aside to let the scantily clad girl examine the offered selection.
A saint couldn't have resisted. She was leaning over the counter, her body brushing against his. Julian's hand slipped to her thigh. He felt her stiffen, but she affected to be unaware, studiously searching through the filmy pile of silk and lawn. His hand moved upward beneath the chemise, over the bare damask curve of her bottom. Tamsyn cut him a quick sideways up-from-under look and grinned wickedly.
He was aware that his breathing was somewhat ragged. What had happened to his resolution to resist the brigand's enchantment? He pinched the firm flesh of her backside with a degree of vigor and heard her quick indrawn breath. Then he turned with a businesslike expression to the senhora.
“Show me some gowns, senhora. I doubt you have anything small enough. I should think something to fit a child would be suitable.”
Tamsyn lost all interest in seductive play at this patent insult. She turned to protest but saw that they'd moved into the rear of the shop and were deep in discussion. She seized a pair of relatively unadorned drawers, a lawn petticoat, silk stockings, and garters and returned behind the screen.
“This, I think.” Julian held up a gown of cream muslin with puffed sleeves, belted below the bosom with a violet sash. Violet embroidery edged the hem and the curving neckline.
Tamsyn emerged from the screen, her expression one of resigned distaste. She examined the gown with wrinkled nose. “It's so flimsy. It'll tear at the first catch.”
“Hopefully, you won't go around catching it on things,” he declared, dropping the gown over her head, standing aside as the senhora hastened to attend to the hooks and buttons and the sash.
“It needs to be shortened about two inches,” the senhora said, restored to equanimity now that her customer was decently clothed. “I can have that done in half an hour.”
Tamsyn took a couple of steps, kicking the folds out in front of her as she did so. “This is ridiculous. How can one move around with all this stuff twisting around one's legs?”
“Most women seem to manage without the least difficulty,” Julian said. “And it'll be better when it's shorter.” He examined her with an involuntary smile. Despite the fact that Tamsyn looked thoroughly uncomfortable, the gown created the most amazing transformation. Her slight figure appeared fragile rather than wiry, accentuating the curve of her bosom and the gentle flare of her hips. The small head with its bright cap of pale silky hair sat atop a long, slender neck rising gracefully from the low, curving neckline.
“Buttercup,” he said with a chuckle. “That's what you look like. No longer Violette, but a buttercup in the sun.”
Tamsyn's expression showed him exactly what she thought of this revolting description. She took another turn around the room and came to a halt in front of the long cheval glass. “Santa Maria,” she muttered. “I look ridiculous. I'll be the laughingstock of the town.” She glared at Julian in the mirror. “I suppose that's what you want… revenge.”
He shook his head. “Not so. Anyway, why should you imagine people will laugh at you just because you look like a woman instead of a some androgynous creature from the mountains?”
“Well, I'll laugh at me,” she declared.
“Get used to it,” he advised. “Because this is the way it's going to be for as long as you and I are involved in this contract.”
“And you're not going to lose an opportunity to get even, are you?” She turned to face him.
“No,” he agreed. “Not a single one.”
Chapter Ten
TAMSYN SAT IN THE BACK ROOM OF THE MILLINER'S SHOP while a young seamstress took up the hem of the muslin gown, and Julian, armed with one of her boots for size, went off in search of shoes that would match her new image.
She'd been neatly outmanoeuvred, Tamsyn reflected morosely, watching the girl's nimble fingers darting through the material. And it rather looked as if the colonel had the perfect weapon to ensure his victory in all such contentious issues. She was more interested in the arrangement's continuing than he was; therefore, she must keep him happy.
There were areas in which she wouldn't at all mind keeping him happy, and she'd rather assumed that he'd consider love play adequate compensation for inconvenience. Unfortunately, Lord St. Simon seemed determined to resist seduction. Although he hadn't been doing too well at resistance up to now.
The thought lightened her mood somewhat, and she stood up to allow the seamstress to try the dress on her. The length was pronounced satisfactory, and Tamsyn went to examine herself again in the mirror.
She didn't look in the least like herself; it was most unsettling, rather as if her head were sitting atop some other body. But she wasn't going to give the colonel any further satisfaction. He would find her cheerfully accepting of this new costume, and if people laughed at her, then she'd laugh with them.
When Julian returned with a pair of bronze kid slippers, Tamsyn greeted him with a sunny smile and amiably extended her foot to try the shoe, commenting how pretty they were.
Julian looked at her suspiciously, meeting only that airy smile. She walked around the shop, pronounced them a perfectly comfortable fit, and asked the senhora to pack up her discarded clothes and boots.