Viggo masked a wince at the anger and frustration underscoring her words.
“But you’re a noble and he’s a thrall, Ginny. Nothing will ever change that.”
Her knuckles whitened on her lap. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be together. There is no law that says our relationship is a sin.” She scowled and jutted her chin. “And if there ever was one, I will gladly move to a country where I can walk down the street proudly on his arm.”
Something loosened in Viggo’s chest. “You really are serious about him.”
“I am,” Ginny said defiantly.
Viggo smiled weakly. “Then don’t give up. Solomon might be as stubborn as a mule, but I know he wants to be with you.”
His attention was drawn to the Louvre Museum as they crossed the Pont des Arts.
“So, this contact of yours. Who are they?”
“Her name is Clementine Peletier.” Ginny adjusted her gloves. “Officially, she runs a salon for artists and intellectuals. In reality, she’s a courtesan like me and a spy for the French government. The salon is a front for government officials to make discreet contact with their international counterparts and even criminals who hold information of value to them.”
Viggo narrowed his eyes. “I’m even more surprised that I’ve never heard of this woman.”
Ginny smiled. “Oh, you have my dear. Everyone’s heard of Madame Domme.”
Viggo nearly fell out of his seat. “Wait. You mean theMaitresse?! The one who had an affair with the last French Emperor?”
“The very same.” Ginny’s eyes danced with amusement at his reaction. “She and I have history. I helped her out of a rather delicate situation involving a Prussian diplomat and some compromising letters a few years back.”
Viggo sat back, struggling to reconcile the legends he’d heard whispered in the darkest corners of Europe’s underworld with the idea that he was about to meet the woman behind them. Madame Domme’s reputation was the stuff of myth. A creature of shadow and velvet, she had reputedly brought princes to their knees and extracted state secrets from men who would sooner die than betray their countries.
“And she’ll talk to us?” he said warily.
“She’ll talk to me. She owes me after all. And she’ll be intrigued by you.” Ginny’s smile turned knowing. “Clementine has a weakness for powerful men. Especially ones she can’t control.”
The cab deposited them before an elegant townhouse with wrought-iron balconies and window boxes overflowing with winter pansies before Viggo could say anything else. Nothing about the façade suggested anything other than refined respectability.
A maid admitted them to a drawing room decorated in shades of deep crimson and gold. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and something darker, more exotic. Velvet drapes pooled on the floor like spilled wine and the artwork on the walls depicted scenes from classical mythology that, upon closer inspection, were decidedly more provocative than they first appeared.
His gaze landed on the woman rising languidly from the chaise longue by the window.
Clementine Peletier was tall and willowy, with raven hair swept into an elaborate arrangement and eyes the colour of burnt amber. She moved with the fluid grace of a predator, her burgundy gown clinging to her figure in ways that suggested it had been designed for seduction rather than modesty. A thin leather collar adorned with a single ruby sat at the base of her throat, the only hint of her other profession as a flagellatrix.
“Genevieve, ma chérie.” She kissed Ginny on both cheeks, her voice a honeyed purr. “What a delightful surprise.” Her gaze slid to Viggo. Something that looked very much like hunger flickered in those amber depths. “And you’ve brought me the Ironfist Brute himself. How wonderfully unexpected.”
Viggo forced himself not to tense under her scrutiny. “You know who I am.”
“My dear man, I make it my business to know everyone worth knowing.” Clementine circled him slowly, her eyes tracing his frame with frank appreciation. “Nightshade’s reputation extends well beyond England’s shores. I’ve been curious about you for some time.” She stopped before him, close enough that he caught the scent of her perfume—dark roses and something that reminded him of Eastern incense. “They say you once stopped a train with your bare hands in Strasbourg. And the whole of Europe knows you did exactly that in London a little while ago.”
“They say a lot of things,” Viggo muttered.
Her lips curved. “They also say you’ve been warming the Ice Mage’s bed these past months. That rumour, I suspect, is even more accurate.”
Viggo’s jaw tightened but he refused to rise to the bait.
Clementine laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, I do like you. Please, sit. I’ll have Marie bring refreshments.”
CHAPTER 20
She gestured toward a settee,then arranged herself on the chaise longue with the casual elegance of a woman accustomed to being watched. Viggo remained standing until Ginny shot him a pointed look.
“We need information, Clementine,” Ginny said once they were settled and a maid had delivered glasses of wine so dark it was nearly black.
