Tonight she would play a part. She would emulate the sophisticated façade her friend Cecily Pickerel displayed. The scandalous nightgown underneath her thin robe was in fact a gift from Cecily. She would never have had enough courage to buy such a shocking garment for herself.
“You are discreet?”
“What is your name?” Franco asked, ignoring her question.
She would never see this man again. He didn’t move in her circles. With the slightest of shrugs, she answered truthfully, “Anna.”
“Anna,” he said in a husky rasp. The way her name rolled off his tongue sent the lightest frisson along her skin. “It is a graceful, pretty name. It suits you.”
“There is no need to flatter me.” She felt heat on her cheeks. “It is a common enough name.”
“Despite our current situation, my dear, I do not believe you are at all common.”