The older lady nodded. “Either, I suppose,” she said, not noticing how they teased. “Now, let’s see what paintings are past those columns.”
When Madame Fournier was a few steps ahead, still talking as if her charge were next to her, Serena stopped in front of a painting and Malcolm halted, too.
“Are you working tonight?” she asked him quietly.
He shot her a curious look. “Working?”
“Yes, gathering information for the Prince Regent or the Seventh Coalition? Isn’t that what you do?”
He sighed. “We shouldn’t talk about that.”
“You don’t trust me,” she concluded. It stung, especially after all she’d done to help him already.
“It’s not that. Some things are simply better left unsaid. We’re here today because we enjoy each other’s company, and I hope we will see some impressive works of art such as no Englishman had been able to see for two decades before last year.”
“Because of the wars,” she said.
“Because of the wars,” he agreed.
“There you are,” Madame Fournier exclaimed. “I was halfway along the gallery when I realized you weren’t beside me.”
“We were struck by the beauty of this painting,” Serena lied, glancing at what they were standing in front of, a particularly gruesome depiction of someone having just been beheaded by a particularly large sword.
“Were you?” asked her chaperone slowly, staring at the painting and then back at Serena.
“Mademoiselle meant the attention to detail is quite astonishing,” Malcolm said. “It must be a Flemish artist.”
Serena looked again at the perfectly depicted drops of blood on the lacey collar of the hapless victim. Quite frankly, it was grisly.
“Well, I prefer some of the still lifes with flowers and fruit,” Madame Fournier said. “They look realistic, too, without the ...um... the violent aspect.”
“Show us,” Serena said, eager to leave the painting behind.
As her chaperone had hoped, there was champagne being served from silver trays, and soon they came across one of Napoleon’s prize pieces, theApollo Belvedere, a statue which he’d taken from the Vatican after conquering Rome.
Serena was trying not to stare at Apollo’s manhood but couldn’t keep her eyes from the realistic sculpture, wondering if Malcolm’s manly parts looked similar. She dared a glance at him only to discover he’d noticed her interest.
Feeling her cheeks heat, knowing they now resembled Madame Fournier’s rouged skin, she looked quickly away.
“Rumor has it our emperor spends his free time enjoying the theatre,” Madame Fournier whispered loudly, “as he is quite taken with Mademoiselle Mars.”
“But he is married,” Serena protested. And the empress was reputed to be an attractive woman.Why on earth did he need to take up with an actress?
Madame Fournier shrugged. “Our emperor’s wife has refused to return from Austria to be by his side, or so people say.”
“Our emperor is a rake,” Serena concluded, making her chaperone gasp.
“Every man with a mistress isn’t a rake,” Malcolm protested, causing Serena’s ire to spike.
“Are you defending his philandering?” she asked, hoping even a declared rake would have some set of morals.
“This is most certainly not appropriate conversation,” Madame Fournier complained, even though she’d started it.
But Serena wasn’t finished ascertaining Malcolm’s thoughts.
“Is that Mémère’s and your good friend Madame Archambeau?” she asked, looking past Madame Fournier.
“Where?” Her chaperone’s head was suddenly on a swivel.
