The bodice had small puffed sleeves made to be worn off the shoulder. The gown left the arms very bare, intended to be worn with gloves. Plenty of those in the cupboards.
“Put that on,” Daniel said. “And we’ll go to the fanciest restaurant in town.”
Violet gathered the satin and beaded velvet to her bosom. “Steal the gown? The theatre manager would go spare. And make me pay for it. If he didn’t cancel our contract. Both probably.”
Daniel came to her, took the gown, and held it up against her. “I want to take you out. You can’t go in a prim shirtwaist. I want you to rival the fanciest women in Marseille, respectable or otherwise. Wear the dress, or we don’t go.”
Violet strove to keep a teasing note in her voice, though the heat of Daniel through the dress made her thoughts incoherent. “Will we go elsewhere if I keep to my prim shirtwaist?”
“No. Dress. Now. Don’t worry. We’ll bring it back.”
His eyes held his usual glint of mischief, but also something deeper that she couldn’t decipher.
Violet knew she should go sedately back to her boardinghouse, count the take, settle her mother, and look through the requests for private consultations. She should not steal a gown from the theatre’s costume room and go out on the town on Daniel’s arm like a common courtesan.
But Daniel had made clear he didn’t want to spend his evening with a young woman in sensible clothing. If Violet refused him and went home, like the good, respectable daughter she worked hard to be, she’d spend her evening as she usually did, alone, tired, looking after everyone but herself.
Being the good girl could be so very lonely.
Violet turned away with the dress and went resolutely behind the changing screen. She threw off her skirt and shirtwaist, putting on the costume over her corset and underthings.
“I need a lady’s maid to do up the back,” she said, holding the bodice around herself as she emerged.
“At your service.” Daniel turned Violet around and expertly fastened every button up the bodice. He did it swiftly and competently, which told Violet he was used to helping women dress.
Violet remembered the beautiful courtesans she’d seen him with and swallowed a sudden burn of jealousy. Don’t think of it, she told herself. I’m with Daniel tonight.
She found gloves, but Daniel wouldn’t let her wear her own shoes. Lace-up boots didn’t go with the shimmer of the satin gown, he said.
They searched until they found a pair of high-heeled slippers that fit Violet. Violet suspected they went with the Marie Antoinette gown, but it didn’t matter. They were silver satin, fit, and looked perfect. A velvet cloak to keep her warm completed the ensemble.
Daniel helped Violet bundle her own clothes into her valise, took the key from her to lock the theatre door, then walked her down the alley to the waiting carriage at the end.
The vehicle was another sumptuous conveyance, with lacquered inlay and soft cushions. The driver greeted Daniel with friendly courtesy.
Daniel took Violet to the most fashionable restaurant in town, a giant dining room with a soaring ceiling punctuated with multitiered golden chandeliers. Smart waiters in black glided about the room, crowded at this hour. Violet’s gown received many admiring glances, the onyx beading shimmering as she moved.
Daniel ordered a feast. He gave Violet champagne, bubbly and sweet, delicate salads, roasted squab in a smooth sauce, tiny fish in an aspic. Elegant food for elegant people.
After the meal, Daniel ordered up hothouse strawberries, which were served alongside a bowl of sweet cream. Daniel plucked up a strawberry, dipped it into the cream, and tilted his head back to bring the confection to his mouth. He closed his lips over the strawberry, tongue coming out to lick the cream.
Suggestive, sinful. He swallowed the strawberry, looked over at Violet, and laughed.
“You look shocked.” Daniel dipped another strawberry into the cream. “Don’t you know I’m a wicked man? Here, have one.”
He held the strawberry out to Violet, its peak plump with soft cream. Violet leaned forward and closed her mouth around it. Daniel didn’t let go, waiting until she’d taken a bite.
Violet flushed as she came up, noting the people around her staring at their wonton display. Some looks were disapproving, but some were indulgent, the latter from couples watching as though remembering their courtship days.
Daniel fed Violet another strawberry. She bit down on the bright berry, contrasted with the smooth cream, the combination delightful.
Feeling bolder, Violet finished her strawberry, picked up another, slid it though the cream, and fed it to Daniel. Daniel closed his eyes as he bit down, cream dotting his lips.
He’d talked about desire—Deep down, belly-clenching, blood-heating pleasure. Violet was feeling it now, in the middle of a restaurant, in the middle of a crowd, with she and Daniel doing nothing more than feeding each other strawberries. When they finished the bowl, laughing together, they washed the berries down with more of the heady champagne.
If this is what it is to be bad, I never want to be good again.
Daniel also engaged Violet in conversation. Real conversation, as though they were friends. He told her about some of his travels and asked Violet about hers. Violet and her mother had performed in many cities, mainly on the Continent—France, the Italian states, Bavaria, Prussia, the Netherlands. Daniel, on the other hand, had traveled more extensively—from Russia through the Austrian Empire, to the Ottoman Empire, including Greece, Egypt, and Constantinople, and to other parts of the Middle East.