““The dresses are indecent," she said stiffly, the rich silk flowing against her body like water. "But pretty." She shot him another fulminating glance. His eyes lit with that unholy glint she'd learned to mistrust. "Admit it. It's a gorgeous dress and you look gorgeous in it." "It's made for a courtesan." He snorted. "What do you know about courtesans, sweet little lamb?" She narrowed her eyes. "Knowing about courtesans is no character recommendation." "Cutting." His smile reeked satisfaction. "Yet still you wear the gown." "Mrs. Bevan took away my muslin." "She must need a dishclout." She didn't know why she argued. Who could object to wearing something so stylish? While the silk might cling to her body, it wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any London salon. Especially on a lady no longer an ingenue. "No respectable woman would wear this dress." He trailed one finger down her cheek, tracing a prickling path of awareness. "But, amore mio, you're no longer a respectable woman. You're a monster's paramour.””
