How to Seduce a Spy - SNEAK PEEK

Prologue

Paris, France

January, 1880

Two men had propositioned Elle on her way into the music hall, and it hadn't even opened yet. Was this to be her new life? Dodging groping hands and enduring lecherous stares? The indignities suffered as a shop girl would be a nightly ritual at the Folies Bergère.

She pushed the negative thought away. The pay was better here. That was all that mattered. The extra coin would put more food on the table, and would pay a nurse to visit Aunt Madeline every other week.

Elle fingered the loose bit of lace along her neckline, evidence of her poor mending skills. Aunt Madeline would have made the repairs, once, but her rheumatism had grown worse and delicate movements pained her once-nimble hands. She made sparing use of the potion Elle had created to ease her aunt's symptoms. They both knew they couldn't afford more serum if Elle's cherished supply ran out.

Elle followed her guide through the empty theater, her eyes drinking in the sights, learning this place where she would now spend most of her waking hours. The light of the potion-fueled chandeliers glinted in the polished mirrors and the gilded walls sparkled, screaming of decadence in eerie silence. Half an hour more and patrons would flood in, filling the seats, roaming the halls, eager for entertainment, drink, and potions to take their minds off life outside the walls.

"This is where you'll be." Marie, the petite barmaid assigned to mentor Elle on her new position, waved a hand at a marble-topped counter. "You performed so well at your interview that you've been assigned to a high-traffic area. Keep the pretty bottles and a few ingredients on display, but anything valuable stays under the bar. If you come around back, you can see the drawer where the serum jars are stored. Keep it locked unless you are standing here. One girl had a bottle stolen, and not only did she lose her job, but she had to pay to replace the serum."

"I won't lose anything," Elle promised, speaking as much to herself as to Marie. This job meant too much. It was the first step up. Maybe the last step she would ever take, but enough to fuel the hope that had never died inside her. The hope of enough coins to begin saving. The dream of security and independence.

A bit of the lace snapped off in her hands. Work would calm this unease in her fingers. With the tools and ingredients of her trade at her fingertips, her new situation would transform into something familiar. While she mixed she could take her mind off the rude customers and low pay and focus on the craft she loved. Keeping busy would keep her sane.

"Are you removing that trim from your dress?" Marie asked. "Good idea. It will display your figure better. Lean over the counter while you work to give the men a good look. They buy more when they are distracted."

Elle glanced down at her dress. She loved the style and thought the low, square neckline flattered her. She wore it for herself, though, not to lure men.

"I wish I had your shape," Marie continued. "You are small, but round in all the right places, while I am tiny everywhere."

"You are lovely. I'm certain you catch the eye of many men."

Marie shrugged. "I try. But beware the upper-class men. These Italian contes and English earls come to spend their money and fall in love with pretty French girls. They will shower you with gifts and declare their undying affection."

The passion in her voice caused Elle's brow to furrow. "Does this happen often?"

"Only once to me. He did love me, I believe, but not enough. The world is not kind to those who move outside their own social sphere. His family, his friends, his job all pulled him away from me, as mine pulled me from him. I warn all the girls. I wouldn't give up Luc for the world, but he is forever without a father, and our life is hard."

Elle recognized the grim look in Marie's blue eyes. One of wisdom beyond her years, forged from pain and adversity. The expression of a woman getting by with what little she had. Elle dared a glimpse in the mirror behind the bar. Were her own struggles reflected there in her light brown eyes?

"You needn't worry about me," she said. "I can't spare time in my life for romance."

"Good. Don't forget. My other warning is to protect yourself when coming and going. The drunks can be belligerent, and there are men who prey on working girls. I take this when I walk at night." Marie withdrew a small pistol from her skirts.

A childhood memory shuddered through Elle's mind—blood running between the cobblestones, screams echoing through the street, the sightless eyes staring up at her, a six-year-old girl who had borne witness to murder. Elle recoiled in terror.

Marie quickly hid the gun in her clothing. "I am sorry, chérie. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Elle steadied herself with a deep breath, willing the memory away. "Don't blame yourself. It's an old childhood fear. I will never use firearms as you do, but I have other defenses. I will not walk unprotected."

She knew recipes for defensive potions. Making them would require several precious drops from her dwindling serum supply, but her life and safety were worth the price.

Marie smiled. "I like you. You are smart and capable. You will do well here."

"I like you too. Thank you for your advice and your kindness. My work will be less arduous with a friend nearby."

"I'm glad. I will be just over there if you have any questions, and I will bring you a list of the most requested potions. It's good to have a few on hand when the customers first arrive."

"Thank you." Elle took up her place behind the counter, running her hand over the smooth marble. "Someday this will be my counter," she whispered. "My shop."

Marie stopped in her tracks and spun around. "You hold on to that dream, Elle Deschamps. Hold it tight. For all of us."

"I will," Elle vowed.