“He broached Frascati’s tonight. Of her joining us there. I had not yet discussed that with him.”
“He has approved, then, of her involvement.”
“Aye. There was a note this morning. One of his men had eyes on the patrons. Isobel’s presence will have been noted and reported elsewhere.” To Dubois, certainly.
“Très bien. For your plan, this is good. Now we have much todo, your Isobel and myself, before tonight. A visit to the café, that is one matter. Frascati’s is rather more.” She flicked a glance at him. “You will make yourself scarce when you have finished your coffee so that we ladies may undertake our work. You have no doubt other matters which take you away.”
Accepting the gentle dismissal—grateful for it, if he were honest—he gulped down the last several swallows of coffee and stood. He did not ordinarily consider himself a coward, but he was glad to escape the room.
And she was nothisIsobel.
Chapter 10
The gown Amélie had chosen for Frascati’s was of figured silk sarcenet in a pearlescent cream. Per Parisian fashion, the waist was dropped more than the current style in England, the skirt’s fullness caught at the back and banded at the bodice with a grosgrain ribbon of a blue so dark it appeared nearly black unless directly touched by light. Short puffed sleeves were embroidered with floral patterns worked in sapphire-colored silk, the flounced hem inset with silk-satin of a matching hue.
Jamie could have afforded more finery than she’d had, but she’d had little need for it, save for one or two gowns for regimental balls. She’d rarely worn anything elaborate and certainly no dresses intended to display her in this manner.
She vacillated now, self-conscious about the way it revealed her form while also accepting it as an armor of sorts, almost as though she were going into battle. Antithetical, the comparison to armor given the drape of the gown and the accompanying scant underthings: a chemise of nearly sheer silk with lightly-boned short stays. However, so little did it accord with herusual mode of dress, it also made it easier in its way to slip further into the role she was meant to play. Certainly the woman in the full-length mirror at L’Orchidée little resembled drab and worry-worn Isobel Graham. This woman was Isobel Blanchet, worthy of attracting Nathaniel Beaumont’s eye.
Per Amélie’s instructions, Louise styled her hair and carefully applied subtle cosmetics. Amélie herself clasped an exquisite sapphire teardrop pendant around Isobel’s neck. She’d protested the jewelry, worried she might lose it, but Amélie gently told her it would look unusual if she did not wear at least one costly gem. M.Beaumont would by now have gifted her some piece of jewelry, arrangements having been settled between them.
When she arrived at his rooms, Nathaniel was not as far along with his toilette as when she’d arrived the previous night. His shirt was still unlaced at the throat, and his waistcoat of fine, dark gold brocade lay waiting on the small table alongside a pair of kid leather gloves. He was again freshly shaved.
This time she did not fidget under his appraisal, although it heated her through. His eyes held definite appreciation before his gaze shuttered.
“Do you feel equal to this?” he asked bluntly. “This will require far more of you and for longer than last evening. I will not think less of you if you reconsider, but if you do, it must be now.”
It would be dishonest to say she was not nervous. She was, however, still quite resolved to do whatever she could, whatever shemust.If she could not find Lucy, she could at least aid in bringing down the man responsible for Lucy’s disappearance.
Doyouwish me to reconsider?That he might doubt her touched off something dark in her mind. “I feel equal to it,” she said evenly. “I am not certain you believe I am.”
His brows came together. “I have not said so.”
“No? I am not one of your fellow—agents? Not of yourworld of intrigues, with whatever rules that entails. You’ve thus far treated me with respect, save for pinning me to a wall in quartier des Marchés.”
He might have been a statue: utterly inscrutable save for two fingers tapping his thigh. Their staccato brought forcefully to mind the fiacre, fingers impatient against a boot.
“So perhaps I should ask, areyouequal to it?” she asked. “Will you set aside respect for my sensibilities if necessary?”
“What do you want, Isobel?” His face was impassive, but his attention, fully on her, was a physical weight.
Those fingers were his tell. She knew that now.
“What do I want? First and foremost, to find Lucy if it is at all possible. Success for my own ends. For yours as well, to bring to justice those responsible for a share of Lucy’s misfortunes, to say nothing of whatever other multitude of evil they have perpetrated. If there remains any chance of accomplishing any of that, however small the chance, I will do whatever I may to bring it about. Tonight or any other.”
He stood with a hip propped against the table. Silent, perhaps because he already knew.
What do you need to hear?Blood rushed loud in her ears as her temper rose, frustration giving way to stronger emotion.
“I have not sought out a man’s company since Jamie’s death. I had not desired it.”Had not.Those words damned her, for they revealed far more than she’d intended to say. She forged ahead anyway, despite heat rising in her face. “I have no intimate knowledge of how men behave in public with their unmarried lovers. Or rather, the sort who openly visit gaming salons or other venues. I presume it goes a deal further than what we enacted at Café de Foy last night.” There had been rumor and poorly concealed liaisons among certain officers and other officers’ wives, but it was all conducted with surface gentility. “I am now your mistress, yes?Or rather, Isobel Blanchet is to M.Beaumont. It will be remarked upon for its oddity if you do not treat me familiarly.”
He had stilled his fingers. “You are, of course, correct.”
She understood rationally that anger directed towards him was somewhat misplaced, but she let it flood her anyway. It wassolong since she’d felt anything so intensely. How much better anger felt than numb remove!
She allowed that anger to color her tone. “You asked what I wanted? I want for you to do what you must. Only, I do not wish to freeze in the moment because I am surprised. What is normal in these situations? I do not know. I have never been inside a gambling hell. I have never been a libertine’s mistress. Or any sort of mistress.”
“What are you saying, then? Are you requesting I handle you rudely now in the name of acquiring knowledge? Learning how men view the women they pay for their pleasure?” His voice was flat. Dangerously low. It sent a shiver up her spine.
