Free Improbable Eden by Mary Daheim Page A

she exclaimed, heedless of how the lavender peignoir had managed to slip off one shoulder. “He minimizes the seriousness of his plight, yet it’s quite clear that this is a grievous matter. What shall we do?” She turned anxious eyes to Max.
    Max’s lips twitched. “We?” His glance strayed to the naked shoulder, then fixed resolutely on the letter Eden held in her slim hands. Having taken on the responsibility for her, he must maintain a proper distance. Eden was far too inclined to familiarity, a natural result of her background. Ironically, Max considered himself a very informal person. The situation was awkward at best, even dangerous. Indeed, Max told himself as he made a conscious effort to avoid staring at the tempting rise of her breast above the lavender silk, if he considered Jack like an older brother, then he must think of Eden as a cousin. Or better yet, a sister. “You’re right, of course,” he agreed. “It’s a mutual endeavor. Jack also sent this.” He extracted another, smaller piece of paper. “In his absence, I am assuming the task of your tutelage. Considering the gravity of the situation, we must waste no time.”
    â€œ Doing what?” Eden asked testily. Her bare feet had grown cold, and she stood up, keeping the peignoir clutched tightly against her body.
    Max hesitated, his eyes unable to avoid the soft curves under the clinging peignoir. She was unschooled in courtly manners, but he should be pleased that she was at least a delectable little morsel. Her enticing appearance would make his job much easier. Once she was groomed to seduce the King, he could forget about her and concentrate on Marlborough. And on his own future, he reminded himself, and was annoyed to discover that he had lost his train of thought.
    â€œ Well?” demanded Eden, slipping into a pair of black satin mules and sitting down on a little bench that had feet that looked like lions’ paws. Deliberately she yanked the hem of her peignoir out of Max’s way. “You haven’t answered me. Sir,” she amended hastily. Despite Max’s imposing presence, Eden was having trouble remembering that he was socially superior, even to Jack Churchill’s daughter.
    â€œ Your lessons, of course.” Max became brusque, taking the letters from Eden and putting them inside his shirt. His scowl reappeared, and he sampled a plate of smoked salmon that Vrouw de Koch had left on a small chased silver stand. “Music, dancing, riding, how to dress, deport yourself, engage in courtly banter ….”
    â€œ All that to entice one scrawny man?” Eden tossed her damp hair over her shoulders, discovered that the peignoir had slipped and decorously tugged it into place. “If I’m to be a concubine, why don’t you teach me how to … to ….” Face reddening, Eden broke off, her Huguenot upbringing not allowing her to complete the thought. “What else does a courtesan need to know?” she added.
    The scowl deepened as Max downed another slice of salmon and fixed Eden with a glacial stare. “You are a bumpkin. You know nothing of life among your betters. Being mistress to the King is a great honor.”
    Eden sniffed. “Not according to Maman . She says it’s only vile Papists and their imitators who make adultery fashionable. She also says they’ll go to hell in a hand basket.”
    Polishing off the last bit of salmon, Max kept his level gaze on Eden’s righteous face and wondered how anyone so beguiling could be such a dunderhead. “Do you think King Charles went to hell?”
    Eden thrust out her lower lip. “No. But Charles was different.”
    â€œ Nonsense.” He plucked up the linen napkin that had been resting on the silver stand and wiped his hands. “Charles, like most great men, indulged himself. Look at James in exile, or Louis of France. The women fairly fight for places in