Free A License to Wed: Rebellious Brides by Diana Quincy

Sophie had insisted on tucking into her low-necked gown to protect her modesty.
    “Bother,” she said to the girl, who was fussing with a stray thread in the hem of her gown. “This tucker causes my neck and chest to itch.”
    “You’ll be half-naked without it,” Sophie said, completely without sympathy. “There, I’ve taken care of the loose thread.
Enfin.
You are ready.”
    Elle grimaced. “Not quite.” She tugged on the lace half-blouse. “Help me remove this contraption.”
    “Mon Dieu.”
Sophie shook her head. “No decent English lady should bare her neck and her bits in the bright light of day.”
    “You were in England too long; you’ve become a prude. Besides, we are in Paris.” Elle searched for the side fastening that kept the chemisette in place. “Hurry; Mr. Verney awaits.”
    With a long-suffering sigh, Sophie dipped her hand into the low square neckline and easily unfastened the lace. “There. I hope you’re pleased that your cat-heads are out for all to see.”
    “Do not be insolent.” Elle adjusted her neckline. The cut was low but revealed very little. “I have no breasts to speak of so nothing is exposed. Bring my topaz necklace.”
    “I see what you are about,” Sophie said when she returned with the jewels. “You wish to turn the cull’s head.”
    She sat at her dressing table. “Duret wants information, and if there is some to be had, I will obtain it.”
    Sophie’s belligerent posture eased. “You truly believe the general has your babe?”
    Elle’s gaze caught Sophie’s in the looking glass. “I cannot know for certain.” She inhaled deeply against the sudden pressure in her chest, the usual sensations of regret and loss assailing her whenever she thought of her baby girl, a child who had never known a mother’s love. “But I cannot risk Susanna’s well-being if the general is telling the truth.”
    “I’ve seen the way Duret looks at you.” Sophie fastened the jewels around Elle’s neck. “
Zut
. It’s a wonder he doesn’t make bedding you a condition of the child’s release, to see if you can cure what ails him.”
    Elle shivered with disgust. “Don’t even speak of it.”
    “Maybe he doesn’t care to embarrass himself with a gentry mort the way he does with the whores.” She cast a gimlet eye at Elle’s exposed décolletage. “Although you don’t look like much of a lady with your dairy exposed for all of Paris to see.”
    “I don’t know why I continue to abide your impudence.” Elle stood. “If the sight of my bare neck and modest chest compels Mr. Verney to share his secrets, all the better.”
    —
    They arrived at the Louvre to find the public exhibition had been set up under stately porticos in the courtyard. Crowds filled the expansive space, the spectators lingering at the dozens of individual exhibits. There were separate halls for the art and sculpture displays; the craftsmen had been separated from the snobbish artists who’d refused to show their work in the same space.
    As expected, Mr. Verney lingered over the machinery exhibits and proved knowledgeable about them, carefully answering any questions she posed. He was patient and attentive when she took an interest in the lithograph and engraving exhibits. As the afternoon progressed, Elle was surprised to find herself enjoying Mr. Verney’s company. He could be quite companionable once he relaxed a bit.
    After a couple of hours of wandering among the stalls, they paused for refreshment. Elle welcomed the steamy cup of tea and delicious fresh bread Mr. Verney bought for them. The bread’s exterior was a crispy golden brown while the inside was light and chewy. As they enjoyed the repast, she gently nudged the conversation toward his work at the embassy.
    Like most men of her acquaintance, Mr. Verney was happy to talk about himself at length, but his description of his work—mostly boring reports and endless social engagements—revealed little about whether he could be the