Dair Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

faces; their graceful movements, as they danced about the stage, mesmerizing. Rory delighted in their exuberance and agility, so much so that it was several moments before she realized she was being addressed, and by the principal ballerina fanning herself by the chaise longue.
    “I beg your pardon. I was so taken with your companions I did not hear your question.”
    C ONSULATA B ACCELLI did not immediately respond, taking her time to appraise Rory’s gown of striped mint green taffeta with underskirts of embroidered lilac silk, the outer petticoat ruched and bunched behind to affect the fashionable polonaise. Here was a lady of style, if not of the first society, and she wondered where the young woman’s male chaperone could be—a personal maid at the very least—particularly at this late hour. A lady of quality did not venture from her home on her own, and never into the homes of men, painters in particular; all sorts of riffraff could be present. She wondered if Rory had somehow slipped away from her minders, and if she intended to turn and flee in horror at having walked into a room of disreputable dancers.
    Consulata did not have to wonder why the young woman used a walking stick. When Rory had silently crossed the room, it was evident in her awkward gait that she needed it to move about. The short hem of her polonaise, which was some three inches off the ground, exposed her trim ankles in their white clocked stockings and matching heeled silk shoes; an inwardly twisted right foot answered to the uneven gait.
    Rory was all wide-eyed interest, and Consulata thought it a great shame the young woman would never dance or be graceful in her movements, which surely meant she could never show herself to advantage. But her spontaneous delight at watching the ballerinas playfully spin out across the stage decided Consulata here was a young woman without malice, and she immediately decided to befriend her.
    “Signora—”
    “Signorina. Signorina Talbot,” Rory corrected with a smile, gaze turning to Consulata Baccelli, because the dancers were being ushered back into formation by a weary assistant; another hurriedly coming to his colleague’s aid to help adjust drapery and flowered headpieces. “They dance delightfully. I’m sure you all do.”
    “ Sí. We do. But me, Consulata Baccelli, I am the most delightful dancer of them all.” The principal ballerina laughed behind her fluttering fan at her conceit. “I would show you but for these outrageous robes Signore Romney he has made us wear.” She indicated the blue damask chaise. “Come, sit here with me.”
    When Rory looked about her, as if a chair closer at hand would be more suitable than sitting upon the stage with the dancers, Consulata smiled and patted the damask cushion.
    “Come. Amuse me until the excitement, it begins.”
    Rory reluctantly climbed the three wooden steps and sat where requested, careful not to disturb the bunched petticoats at her back. Her walking stick she kept close to her side, a gloved hand about its mahogany stick.
    “You must be thrilled to have a painter of Mr. Romney’s skill and reputation to immortalize you and your beautiful dancers.”
    “Signore Romney he paints us not as dancers but as part of a Greek allegory. Me? I prefer to be painted as I am, a ballerina most famous. But this—” She waved a plump wrist covered in pearls at the large canvas propped on the easel. “—this painting that has us all dressed in these ridiculous sheets of annoyance, it is painted for the Duke of Dorset. He will hang it in the gallery at Knole.” Consulata leaned in with a sly smile. “And then, because Dorset he is my lover, he will have me painted, dancing. And that painting he will hang in his private apartments, for his eyes only.” Her large brown eyes danced merrily, adding so only Rory could hear, “Dorset, he wants Signore Romney to paint me nude. Perhaps I will allow it, eh?”
    Without wishing it, Rory blushed. Consulata