Paris, October 1788
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LINDSAY CONSIDEREDthe uninspiring hand he’d just been dealt—a six of hearts and a seven of clubs—and tried to conceal his boredom.
“Monsieur?”
At this prompt, he glanced up. The dealer, who had a fine pair of flashing black eyes and an even finer arse, stroked the topmost card of the deck with his forefinger, eyeing Lindsay with subtle interest.
Lindsay sighed. He’d have liked nothing more than to shove the lad up against the nearest wall—but that was impossible this evening. He gestured for a further card to be dealt and the young man obliged.
The queen of spades.
With a grunt of disgust, Lindsay tossed his cards onto the table and leaned back in his chair, feigning a disappointment he could not feel, while beside him his guest, Monsieur Aubrière—a man of little charm and less grace—laughed uproariously at his defeat, spraying the table with his spittle.
“Ah, you’ve no luck with the cards tonight, mon ami!” Aubrière exclaimed delightedly. “Perhaps you will have more with the ladies. Shall we retire upstairs?”
Lindsay smiled at the man whose company he’d been courting for the last fortnight. He had no wish to spend any more time than he absolutely had to watching Aubrière pawing the tired whores who plied their wares upstairs.
“Shall we have another bottle of wine first?” he suggested smoothly.
Aubrière’s rheumy eyes gleamed at this suggestion. “Why not,” he agreed with a grin that revealed an unfortunate collection of brown and yellow teeth arranged in no discernible order. “Another bottle of Bordeaux and a few more hands ofvingt-et-unand then we’ll see to those nymphs, eh?”
“Quite so,” Lindsay replied, scanning the gaming room in hopes of finding a manservant.
So far as these sorts of establishments went, the Perle Noir was on the shabbier side, but it had been Aubrière’s suggestion to come here and since the purpose of this evening was to secure the man’s good favour, Lindsay had naturally agreed. Now, though, Lindsay wished he’d suggested somewhere else. He should have done so as soon as he’d clapped eyes on the décor. The brocade wall hangings looked to be at least a century old and quite nibbled at the edges, and the once crimson velvet upholstery of the armchairs had long ago faded to a dismal and spotted pink.
Lindsay caught the dealer’s eye. “Is there someone who can fetch us some wine?”
The dealer sent him an apologetic look. “I regret I cannot leave the table, Monsieur, but someone should be along directly to serve you.” He began dealing the next hand.
Standing, Lindsay laid a hand on Aubrière’s shoulder and, leaning down, murmured, “I need to relieve myself. I’ll find someone to fetch our wine while I’m at it.”
“Good man,” Aubrière mumbled absently, distracted by his cards.
Lindsay crossed the gaming room at an unhurried pace. His clothes were too fine for this place and he did not miss the glances—both suspicious and interested—that his appearance attracted. He had begun this evening at the Opera and had dressed accordingly in pale blue brocade and silver lace with his hair powdered and his face rouged. In this second-rate pleasure palace, he stood out like a peacock among pigeons. Or perhaps, he thought—eyeing an ugly fellow with an alarming scar bisecting the left side of his face—vultures.
It was all Aubrière’s fault they were here. He’d insisted in front of his wife that he adored the Opera, prompting Lindsay to invite him to seeIphigénie en Tauride. But after barely half an hour of the performance, the man had begun begging Lindsay to accompany him to the Perle Noir. Admittedly, Lindsay had not entirely believed that his claimed passion for music was genuine. Nevertheless, he’d thought Aubrière might at least sit through most of the performance before suggesting alternative entertainment. And he certainly hadn’t been expecting to have to take a carriage trip across the river to this place with its shabby furnishings and well-used whores.
Halfway across the room, and without the slightest hitch in his stride, Lindsay adjusted his coat, to better display to the patrons currently eyeing him the small sword that lay aside his hip. Not that he actually needed a weapon to deal with any trouble that came his way, but it was a convenient way of making his point, and he had the satisfaction of noting a number of heads turning back to their cards in response... though not the scarred gentleman’s, admittedly.
The gaming room gave onto a narrow, poorly lit corridor, at the end of which stood a row of piss pots. Lindsay headed for them, and quickly relieved himself, careful to avoid splashing his new pale blue damask shoes. He would not have worn them had he known he would end up in the Perle Noir, and now he was annoyed at himself for not considering that possibility. He really ought to have anticipated this from an oaf like Aubrière.
Ah well, never mind. His manservant, Wynne, was quite the magician when it came to getting even the stubbornest stains out of the most delicate fabrics. As for Aubrière, tonight would certainly be long and excessively dull, but by the end of it, Lindsay would have secured the valuable monopoly that Philippe Colbert wanted for his paper mill and that Marguerite had promised to him. Precisely why she had promised such a boon, Lindsay didn’t know, only that she had, and so it fell to him to make it so. That was his role. To implement Marguerite’s decisions.
Which, in this case, meant keeping the odious Aubrière happy.
As Lindsay fastened his breeches, he heard the approach of soft footfalls behind him, and a new scent bloomed in the cold air, sour and sharp. Turning around, Lindsay was unsurprised to find himself facing the scarred fellow who had been watching him in the gaming room. The man stood quite close, little more than an arm’s length away, effectively blocking the corridor.
“Good evening,” Lindsay said pleasantly. “May I help you?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the scarred man snarled. “You’re not welcome here.”
Lindsay raised a brow. “Are you the proprietor of this establishment?”
He got a glare for that. “The fuck I am.”
“Then I’m afraid it’s not for you to decide whether or not I’m welcome,” Lindsay replied, smiling ruefully.
