Free The Lace Balcony by Johanna Nicholls Page B

quest for fresh sexual stimulation.
    â€˜But what’s this at the bottom of the box? It could only come from Paris!’
    Wanda read the label. ‘It did.’
    Vianna gasped at the sheer audacity of the almost invisible gauze concoction. She slipped into the two separate filmy legs of the undergarment attached to a ribbon Wanda tied around her waist. Both giggled at the transformation – a wicked surprise hidden beneath the modest gown.
    â€˜ This certainly wasn’t meant to be worn by a twelve-year-old virgin!’
    Vianna placed the child’s silk dress she had been finishing in a box. ‘Give this to Severin to deliver to my sister Daisy.’ She added carelessly, ‘you might take note of the address.’
    At the top of the stairs, she paused. ‘I trust you’ll be happy here, Wanda.’
    She found Severin in his grandly appointed office, poring over a pile of documents. Taking a deep breath as she did every night before going on stage, she slipped into the role the new gown demanded of her – the private fantasy role reserved for Severin, the naughty-schoolgirl game that amused him – and had led to his most ardent performances in bed.
    She used her gift of mimicry to impersonate the breathless, broken-English accent of her French teacher, and made Severin a pretty curtsey.
    â€˜ S’il vous pla î t , Monsieur. I have fear I disturb you, n’est-ce-pas?’
    Severin barely glanced her way. ‘Usual problems with colonial tradesmen who don’t know their place.’
    His frown indicated a degree of irritation that worried her. Are we in real financial trouble? I’m never allowed to discuss money – or even handle it.
    Determined to hold his attention, she twisted on her heel like a restless child who enjoys watching her skirt swirl out around her. ‘I ’ope you are pleased with your gifts, Monsieur?’ She added in a mock whisper, ‘I am wearing them all. ’
    Severin swivelled around in the revolving chair to face her. ‘I know,’ he said.
    â€˜â€™Ow you know?’ she asked in surprise. ‘The one from Paris does not show.’
    â€˜It does not need to. When a beautiful woman wears deliciously naughty French underwear it shows in the gleam in her eyes, in the way she moves. Every gentleman in the audience will sense your power to excite him.’
    Vianna was confused. ‘You want me to wear this gown on stage ? But it is so demure. So innocent.’
    â€˜Indeed. That is why it is so provocative. You will wear it when you sing the new song I have written for you. Tonight.’
    She abandoned the French accent in panic. ‘I can’t possibly learn a new song by tonight. And what about Guido? We need time to rehearse. I can’t do it!’
    â€˜You can and you will. The melody is that sentimental Irish airyou’ve sung many times. The new lyrics are mine. Quite simple. You’ll have every man in the audience eating out of your hand tonight.’
    Vianna hid her nervousness as she came up behind his chair and looped her arms around his shoulders like a child. ‘I would rather be with you . . .’
    She whispered the phrase used by French courtesans that Severin had taught her was the swiftest way to arouse a man. The words took instant effect.
    His voice was husky. ‘I wonder would you be so eager to do that, if you knew what the words really mean?’
    Dear God, what an earth did I say? Vianna lowered her eyes in mock innocence. ‘I have been very naughty. You should send me to bed, n’est-ce-pas?’
    She noticed the pulse jump on Severin’s temple, a clue to his arousal.
    â€˜Come here!’ he demanded.
    Vianna sat on his lap and watched his expression change as he slipped his hand beneath her petticoats, tracing the outline of the wicked underwear.
    â€˜How clever the French are,’ he said. ‘This flimsy piece of seduction would