His Dark Desires Read Online Free PDF Page B

have averted my gaze, but some part of me chose to meet the challenge I saw sparking in his eyes. I studied him in return, and his smile deepened.
    The richness of his suit, the silver of his vest, and the gold of his ring and cuff links sparkled like the patrons and guests who used to grace the table, and I wondered if that was why he didn't seem the stranger that he should.
    "Miles to travel before you sleep?" he asked softly, shifting his gaze from the mirror to me. "You looked lost in thought."
    I sipped my wine to wet my dry mouth. Meeting his gaze in the mirror was infinitely easier than a direct encounter with his piercing blue eyes. "I was thinking about La Belle and the way things used to be for my family."
    " La Belle . An unusual name. Have I missed meeting more of your family?"
    "Only my sister Ginette. She is unwell this evening but should be fine by tomorrow. La Belle du Temps is the name of our home. My DePerri ancestors never settled for the ordinary. Everything had to be special."
    He studied the detail around him. "They were wise. The results are beautiful." The last remark was said as he looked at me. Even though I thought his flattery overdone, a blush still warmed my cheeks.
    "And what about you, Monsieur Trevelyan? Were your ancestors wise as well?"
    "I am afraid the answer to that is a matter of opinion. Most will say Trevelyan Manor has no equal to her beauty within a hundred miles, yet the Trevelyan men are not exactly viewed as wise or... trustworthy. Some deserve the criticism, but others, like my brother, do not."
    Not trustworthy? The man was shockingly direct. Before I could decide in which category he put himself, Mrs. Gallier spoke.
    "I hear you went to town today, Mrs. Boucheron. Tell me, was Madame Boussard's Dress Shop open? I spent some time there yesterday while Mr. Gallier and Mr. Fitz attended to business, and I was quite taken by her wares. She had several gowns that were imported directly from Paris this year. Of course they were exorbitantly expensive, but—"
    "Now, Mrs. Gallier. You've no need for more dresses," Mr. Gallier directed.
    "Of course not, Mr. Gallier," Mrs. Gallier said meekly, the sweet smile on her face faltering slightly. Though I could tell she often felt differently, she always agreed with her husband, reminding me of a pastel-hued painting I'd seen. It gave the impression of a woman, but when I looked closely there were no details—just brush strokes that her husband seemed to be constantly orchestrating. I decided I would leave some of my suffrage articles on the parlor table near the chair she frequently used.
    Mr. Gallier was obsessed with finery, making up for his wife's lack. From watch fob to frock coat, he spent his every waking moment impersonating an English dandy.
    Sitting on Mr. Trevelyan's left, Miss Vengle leaned surprisingly close to him and whispered something that I couldn't hear. From the irritation pulling on Mr. Fitz's handlebar mustache, he thought the action overly familiar, too.
    "The dress shop was open today," I said, making a point of answering Mrs. Gallier's question. "So you and Monsieur Fitz were in town yesterday, Monsieur Gallier?"
    "Yes, with excellent results," Mr. Fitz said. "We now have a theater at our disposal, and as soon as we agree on which play to perform, we can begin advertising."
    Mr. Trevelyan narrowed his eyes. "From our earlier conversation, I thought your Shakespearean troupe was well established and contracted to prominent theaters for performances in advance, not that you were just forming a troupe."
    Mr. Gallier cleared his throat. "We customarily do. But we canceled our plans for New York this summer because Mrs. Gallier"—he patted his wife's shoulder—"had a horrific bout of arthritis this winter, and the doctor suggested a warmer climate. Though I am not sure he meant New Orleans. This heat is murderous."
    "It is murderous, which proves my earlier point, Edmund. Macbeth is a poor choice for our play," Mr. Fitz