Luck of the Wolf. Susan KrinardЧитать онлайн книгу.
he said, “I trust rest and a meal have improved your health.”
She glared at him from under the mane of blond hair that had fallen over her face. “I am very well, Cort.”
“Did you enjoy your visit with Yuri?”
“I don’t like him.”
It surprised Cort that Yuri hadn’t tried to make himself agreeable, given his ambitions. “Perhaps you will like this better,” Cort said. He unwrapped one of the packages to reveal half a ham and another that held a loaf of bread, butter and jam.
The girl’s nose twitched again.
Cort set the food on the table. “You are free to eat as much as you like,” he said.
“I can get my own food.”
“By stealing it? That would be unwise, ma chère.”
“Stop calling me ma chère.”
“As yet you’ve given me no alternative,” he said.
Pretending to ignore his comment, she eyed the other packages. “What are those?” she asked.
“Clothing for you. Proper attire for a lady.” He put one of the boxes on the table and began to untie the ribbon.
“A lady?” she echoed.
Her voice held a note of scorn that surprised him. “Certainly. Is that not what you are, mademoiselle?”
She tucked her chin against her chest. “No. And I don’t want to be one.”
Cort let the half-untied ribbons fall back onto the lid. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve seen many ladies. They can barely move in the clothes they wear, and they act as if they are weak and helpless.” She sniffed. “I don’t have to be like them. I don’t want to be.”
The contempt in her voice startled Cort into silence. The situation was far worse than he had imagined. She had not only forgotten that she had been raised as a lady, but she felt no desire to become one. What in God’s name had given her such a low opinion of her own sex?
In truth, was his opinion any better?
“When did you decide this, mademoiselle?” he asked.
“Before I came to—” She stopped, looking at him warily from under her lashes.
Before she came to San Francisco? Had she begun to remember? “If you were not a lady, what were you before?”
“Just …” She averted her gaze. “Just what I am now.”
“You are a woman, are you not?”
She seemed to struggle with an answer. “Not every woman is a lady.”
If Cort had been prone to despair, he might have felt it then. “That is true,” he said. “Some are—”
“A lady would never go to the places those men took me.”
“You are hardly at fault for what they did. If you come from one of the families I mentioned, you are a lady by birth and breeding. And not all ladies are as you described.”
“They all wear those awful dresses, don’t they? The ones with the.” She gestured at her blanket-clad body with eloquent distaste. “The stiff things they wear on top, and the bottoms like hobbles for ponies, and the pointed shoes and the silly hats and—”
Cort raised his hand to stop her. “The dress I have brought you is quite plain, mademoiselle,” he said with all the patience he possessed. “It was purchased ready-made and can be put on without the help of a maid. You need have no fear of resembling the fine ladies you speak of.”
One of her feet emerged from under the blanket, as if she were dipping her toes into frigid water. “But I’ve never worn a dress before,” she said plaintively. “At least … I don’t think I have.”
“How were you dressed when the men took you?”
“Like you.”
He barked a startled laugh. “Like me? You were wearing a man’s clothes?”
“Yes. Is that so funny?”
Appalling, Cort thought, but hardly funny.
“No,” he said, attempting to soothe her agitation. “It was a wise precaution if you were alone on the streets. Someone must have told you to disguise yourself.”
“I don’t remember.”
That refrain was rapidly becoming tiresome. “You have no clothes of your own. Wherever you come from, whatever your past, society has certain expectations of any young woman.”
“Even loups-garous?”
“Even loups-garous.” He took the lid off the box, unfolded the paper in which the dress was wrapped and draped the garment over his arm.
“Surely you have no objection to this,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed. “How can I run in something like that?”
“As long as you remain under my protection, you’ll have no need of running.”
He could see her preparing to remind him that she didn’t need protection, but she seemed to think better of it. “Can you take it back?” she asked in a small voice.
As he had guessed, she wasn’t nearly as confident as she pretended. “I suggest you try it on before you make any decisions.” He laid the dress over a chair and glanced at the other boxes with a frown. One contained sensible but attractive boots, another stockings and undergarments and the last the corset no lady did without. The shoes and undergarments would surely not be objectionable, but the corset?
He left that box aside and opened the others, leaving their contents in place. “I will wait in the other room while you dress,” he said, and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
For what seemed like hours he paced the small room, twice bumping into the beds with uncharacteristic clumsiness. He imagined her letting the blanket fall, standing naked as she examined the dress. He envisioned her slipping the drawers over her strong, slender thighs and easing the chemise over her head. The thin lawn was just sheer enough that her nipples would show pale brown and tempting through the fabric.
Cort wiped the image from his mind. He heard the rustle of heavier cloth, noises of frustration and the clatter of shoes. When he could bear it no longer, he opened the door.
The girl was standing in the center of the room, the dress in place, balancing on one booted foot. She was very red in the face.
“Here,” she said. “Are you happy?”
Happy was not the word for his feelings at that moment. The dress was very plain, as he had said, intended more for a shop girl than a well-bred lady. But she … she made it look like the most expensive French couture. Her figure needed no corset, nor could her stiffness and embarrassment hide her natural grace. His body stirred in unwelcome rebellion.
“Parfaitement,” he said in a half-strangled voice.
She gave him a suspicious glance and suddenly lost her balance. Cort was beside her in an instant, but she shoved him away.
“I hate these shoes,” she said, kicking off the one she had been wearing.
“But you like the dress, yes?” he asked.
She pulled the sides of the skirt away from her body. “No.”
He took a seat in the chair and rubbed his chin. “How can I help you, ma chère, if you refuse my assistance?”
The girl bristled. “What do you want in return for this ‘help’?” she demanded.
He