Not unaware after all. Despite her elegant appearance and kind demeanor, Amélie was more formidable even than Nathaniel and every bit as dangerous to enemies. More so, even.
She was profoundly glad that she was not counted one of Amélie’s opponents.Focus on what matters. “It is none of mybusiness.” Truly it wasn’t, objectively, but it was difficult to feelentirely objective this morning. “How may I find... Chrysanthème is her name?”
“There is a trick useful to this situation. We will set loosely the stitches on one seam of your gown, and you may inconspicuously with great ease tear it if need arises. If you then insist upon its repair, it is most likely M.Dubois will send for her. But she will otherwise watch for you and will certainly have knowledge of M.Dubois’s activities.” Amélie rose and pulled the rope to summon Louise. “One of my girls is nearly your size and has a gown that will be most appropriate for tonight, if she is willing to lend you this dress. If it becomes necessary to rip it, I will replace it for her.”
The gown had a narrow, fitted underdress of damson-colored silk georgette with an overdress of sheer white. The bodice was low, fitted perfectly to her after some careful stitching in the back. At the same time the other alterations were made, a seam on the bodice was picked out and restitched loosely enough that she could rip it if needed.
She had never worn a gown half so revealing, but it little mattered. Isobel Graham as she’d known herself had ceased to exist. The woman in the mirror was someone new. Chasing a criminal to Paris, involving herself in a clandestine investigation, taking a dangerous man as lover... None of it matched the comparatively simple life she’d once had.
She would wear this gown proudly as Isobel Blanchet and would not think beyond each moment, only to whatever must come next.
Chapter 15
Le Repaire des Satyres did not have a large number displayed beside the door like registeredmaisons de tolérance; it was in fact fairly inconspicuous, save the metal knocker in the shape of a satyr’s head. Nate dropped the ring against the door with a dull thud.
He produced the token of entry for the burly man at the door. The man’s eyes slid over Isobel without comment.
Dubois glided forward almost as soon as they were inside, greeting them in French. “Ah, M.Beaumont, welcome. You have returned and this time brought with you a lovely friend. Come,ma petite, hand over your cloak.” Dubois took Isobel’s hands, bowing over them before leading her towards the drawing room that opened off the entryway. Several clusters of people lingered on low couches, glancing their way with varying degrees of interest.
Following behind Isobel, he stripped off his gloves before lifting her velvet pelisse from her shoulders, revealing the beaded bodice and thin silk net of her gown. A servant unobtrusively stepped forward for her pelisse and his greatcoat.
Dubois’s eyes paused appreciatively on the expanse of skin above the low neckline. “Yes, you are most welcome here, Mademoiselle?—?”
She allowed Dubois to claim her hand again. “I am Isobel Blanchet,” she said, offering a shy smile.
“And I am Guillaume Dubois, owner of this establishment. You must tell me how you have met M.Beaumont?”
“I am newly come to town and had lost my way on rue Montmartre. It was there that M.Beaumont found me.”
Was Dubois’s expression keener than usual? “I could hardly allow her to continue unescorted.” He lightly traced her collarbone. “She drew my eye at once.”
“I can see most certainly how she would. M.Beaumont has told you of the delights that await?”
“Oh yes, he has told me everything.” A slight tremor was genuine, but it served well enough for what she was meant to be.
“There is a game assembling if cards are your immediate preference, Monsieur. Or other patrons will no doubt find the mademoiselle most enchanting if your pleasure is that for this evening.”
He circled one arm around Isobel’s midsection, closing the other hand possessively around her bare arm above her elbow-length glove. She tilted her head back against his shoulder.
Dubois raised his eyebrows. “Or perhaps you would prefer instead a more private arrangement in one of our rooms?”
He caressed the line of Isobel’s throat. “We will first visit thegalèrie d’artfor inspiration. Perhaps thesalle céladonlater.” That particular room, named for its jade green walls, was free from voyeuristic eyes. He’d met there with Étienne’s contact, Chrysanthème, on his last visit. Other rooms he could not trust.
“But of course!” exclaimed Dubois, clasping his hands together. “And perhaps you will join me for a drink after, and I will see what I may do to enhance your visit.”
It was couched as an offer but had the feel of something farless benign and best not ignored, however much he was reluctant to bring Isobel under closer prolonged scrutiny by Dubois. “We would be delighted, would we not,chérie?”
“Indeed,mon amour.” Isobel’s voice was breathy.
Dubois bowed to her, then him, and gestured towards the gallery. “Please do enjoy, and then come to tell me the mademoiselle’s opinions.”
After stepping away, he murmured into Isobel’s ear, “Shall we?”
She nodded, and he caught the scent of her hair. “I will follow your lead.”
“You need not pretend to be worldly, only interested.”
Isobel touched his jaw and behind his ear. “I trust you.”
