“Stanhope—and I am not at all sure that it should be—then why are we rattling across the cobblestones of Paris en route to a soiree chez Sarah?” I inquired with what I thought was admirable restraint.“Because,” Irene answered imperiously, “I wish to meet the Empress of All the Russias.”“Truly?” returned I. “From your costume, I had concluded that you were intending to play the Empress of All the Russias.”“That she could.” Godfrey’s smile looked doubly dazzling under the dark portcullis of his mu...stache. He eyed his wife with an approval I couldn’t fault, for Irene did indeed look fit to hobnob with an empress, if not to be one herself.“I have renounced thrones for more interesting pursuits,” she said, unfurling her gauze and ostrich-feather fan rather theatrically. Her evening jacket was a transparent affair of black lace and jet that glittered like fairy netting in the soft light from the carriage lamps. “For the time being,” she added wickedly. “Besides, I am most curious to know why the Empress of All the Russias acquired such a sudden desire to meet me that she would break long custom and deign to visit Sarah’s salon.”“We know why,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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