She heard Daniele’s voice, oddly implacable. “Do as you’re told, Giana, else you will prove that you are a prideless child who strews her promises about like so many fallen leaves.”
Slowly, her step awkward, Giana walked back to where Madame Lucienne stood, tapping her foot, her arms crossed over her bosom.
“I shall go through with your charade, Uncle Daniele, but know that no matter what you make me do, I shall have Randall.”
“We shall see, Giana. It is a risk that I will take.”
Giana found quickly that the reality was different from her show of bravado. Eyes downcast, her fingers trembling, she slowly began to unfasten the small buttons over the bodice of her frock.
“At the rate you’re going, my girl, your gentleman’s ardor will have evaporated. You must remember that men do not like to wait.” Lucienne stepped forward and lightly slapped Giana’s hands away. The rest of the small buttons slipped open quickly, and her frock fell to her waist.
“Good,” Lucienne said as her fingers busily unfastened the layers of petticoats. “I am glad to see that your tiny waist isn’t the result of corseting.”
Giana felt her petticoats rustle down into a pile at her feet. Her lovely white muslin gown fell haphazardly over the stiff crinolines. When Lucienne’s hands touched the straps of her shift, Giana closed her eyes.
She grimaced as cold air touched her naked flesh, and tried to cover herself with her splayed hands.
“Kick off your shoes.”
Giana did as she was bid. Lucienne’s hands pulled down the white garters from her thighs and rolled down her silk stockings. She wanted to scream for this to stop, but knew that she could not. She gritted her teeth and tried to push all thought from her mind, to be apart from what was happening, to feel nothing, to be like the statues.
Daniele could not help but stare at her. She was a beautiful girl, all white-fleshed, with but a curling triangle of midnight black hair between her slender thighs. Her breasts were high and round, the nipples a flushed pink. Her waist was narrow and supple above her flat smooth belly.
“She is acceptable, I think,” Lucienne said to Daniele after a studied moment.
“Nice long legs,” Lucienne continued at Daniele’s nod. “Men like long slender legs, girl. I suppose your breasts will grow—after all, you’re still quite young. Now turn around and let me see your back. Round and dimpled. Quite charming.”
Giana jumped when Madame Lucienne lightly ran her hands over her buttocks.
“You needn’t act like I’m going to shoot you, my dear. Our clients like to be enticed, it flatters their vanity and makes them all the hotter. You must learn to hold yourself erect, and at the same time, sway your little fanny to best advantage. If you don’t, they might as well stay in their wives’ cold beds, and lord knows, none of the fine gentlemen want that.”
Madame Lucienne paused a moment, then touched her finger lightly to the small birthmark in the center of Giana’s left buttock. “It looks like a tiny flying bird. The gentlemen would much enjoy that, Daniele. Would you like to have a closer look?”
“No, Lucienne,” Daniele said.
“You can dress now, my girl.”
Giana bent down and clutched her discarded clothes against her. She looked wildly about for a place to hide—but Lucienne and Daniele were paying her no further attention.
“You will bring her back this evening, caro?”
Daniele shook his head, looking at Giana from the corner of his eye. He had been right, he thought, to plunge her immediately into the fray. Had he waited, moved more slowly with her, he might well have lost her. She was shaking, could scarcely manage to roll up her stockings. She was fighting to pull her shift over her head when there was a sound of giggling outside the room.
“Wait a moment, Miss Georgiana,” Lucienne ordered. “Let us see what my ladies think of you.”
Lucienne swept to the door and flung it open. Giana saw three girls, none of them much older than she, craning their necks to see past Lucienne.
“So all of you have been peeking, have you. Well, come in, Lucia, Margot, Emilie.
“Three of my loveliest girls,” Lucienne said proudly, lining them up, still giggling, in front of Giana. Giana was aware of auburn, blond, and chestnut beauty. One girl reached out and touched Giana’s loose hair.
“Very lovely, madame,” Emilie said.
Giana jerked away before Emilie could release her hair, and winced at the sharp pain in her scalp.
“The gentlemen will adore her, madame,” Lucia announced wisely, her black eyes laughing. “We saw how very white she is. And that little patch of black hair covering her secrets.”
Daniele saw that Giana was white with humiliation, her eyes vague with shock. He said to Margot, a French girl with thick honey-blond hair, “Help Giana to dress, Margot. She is tired.”