A License to Wed: Rebellious Brides Read Online Free

revolutionary fervor.”
    Will watched Elle lean closer to Duret to whisper into his ear. “But that was years ago. Where has she been since then?”
    “
Je ne sais pas.
She reappeared a few months ago and has taken to hosting salons, which are de rigueur in society this Season.”
    “Have you attended her gatherings?” Will asked.
    “I have had the pleasure.” Henri spoke around the meatball stuffed in his mouth. “As I said, the lady is charming. She invites artists, academics, and diplomats, and keeps an excellent table.”
    “I have not been invited,” Lucian said, looking offended at the oversight.
    “And does Duret attend?” Will asked.
    “But of course.” Henri swallowed the last of the
quenelle
. “If he hasn’t already taken her to bed, it is clear he desires to. He rarely leaves Madame Laurent’s side.”
    “What does he see in her?” Lucian craned his neck for a better view of the woman in question. “She’s comely enough, but not exactly a diamond of the first.”
    Will studied the achingly familiar lines of Elle’s face; the high-sloped cheeks and large, wide-set eyes balanced by a straight nose and full lips. It was true. She was not a great beauty. She was much more than that. Elle was the most vitally alive person he’d ever met. Refreshingly honest and candid, she’d always lived in the moment, ready with a lusty laugh, humor glinting in her eyes when she’d teased him away from his studies.
    Few could help being drawn by that exuberance; he certainly hadn’t been able to resist her considerable charms. But even as he’d fallen foolishly and irrevocably in love, he’d known she was above his touch. He turned to Henri. “What do you know of her?”
    “Not much. She is English—highborn, it is said—but her French is impeccable.”
    Lucian eyed her gossamer gown. “She certainly seems to have adopted the Paris style of dressing. No respectable Englishwoman would don the indecent gowns these French chits parade around in.”
    Henri took a healthy draw of his wine. “It is the result of our revolutionary affection for the values of republican Rome.”
    Lucian frowned. “How so?”
    “Even our fashion must reflect these new philosophical and social ideals. The dressmakers are expected to produce a maximum of elegance with a minimum of fabric.”
    Lucian shook his head. “It’s a wonder they don’t catch their death.”
    “Alas, some do,” Henri returned cheerfully. “Our
Merveilleuse
sometimes suffer from Muslin Disease.”
    Lucian blinked. “What the devil? You are making that up.”
    “Not at all.” Henri chuckled. “It is an unfortunate respiratory condition, but one suffers as one must to be in the first stare of fashion.”
    “It’s practically obscene,” Lucian said heatedly as he turned to Will. “Wouldn’t you say so?”
    “I notice the dandies are not expected to endure the same discomfort as the ladies,” Will replied, running a distracted gaze over the young bucks known as the
Incroyables
. They wore their hair long over their ears and favored coats nipped at the waist and flared in the skirt, invariably worn with canary yellow or bottle-green breeches. At least they were clothed, unlike their female counterparts, the so-called Marvelous Ones, who’d adopted the same classical Greek style of dressing as Elle.
    Henri waggled his eyebrows. “Despite its lack of practicality, I find the current style for ladies most pleasing.”
    “No doubt,” Will said dryly.
    That Elle would embrace a daring new fashion didn’t surprise him, but why desert her old life? Had she abandoned her only child in favor of becoming one of Paris society’s Marvelous Ones? Or some frog’s whore? He closed his eyes and forced a deep, calming breath. Imagining Elle in Duret’s bed sickened him, but the idea that she’d willingly placed herself there threatened to drive him to bedlam. He opened his eyes to find Henri’s craggy face studying him.
    “Do you know the