Dubois smiled faintly, his eyes sliding to Compton. “There are not now so many excesses as in Napoléon’s day. As to the other, sedition... It has now a different flavor, but in France, these schemes will never go away.”
Numerous flavors of sedition and dissent remained just below the surface in postwar France, displeased by the Bourbon Restoration but without cohesion. There were sufficient numbers it would be disastrous for peace had they a common cause, but each had differing motives. Bonapartists desired a return to imperialism. Ultra-royalists strove to resurrect the absolute monarchy and aristocratic structure of the ancien régime. Doctrinaires advocated for a more constitutional monarchy.
He made a noncommittal noise, an invitation for Dubois to proceed.
Dubois ran a finger along the rim of his goblet. “Men must decide for which particular flavor one has a taste.”
Dubois’s seditious entanglements comprised the intersection of his work and Baudelaire’s. The Foreign Office’s interest—and hence his own—was in Compton’s involvement in French affairs. It was decidedly not benign. And somehow Lucy Muir had become entangled in their web.
“And if one has not yet had opportunity to sample all the flavors?” he asked.
“Perhaps we might offer you the choicest of morsels,” Duboisreturned smoothly, eyes shifting to a point behind Compton. His face changed. “Ah. I see in the doorway one of Fouché’s men.”
He glanced to where Dubois looked. Across the room stood a foppishly dressed man with an air of self-importance, raising a hand in greeting.
The distaste on Dubois’s face appeared entirely genuine. “A tiresome man, but I must acknowledge him as he eases for me the way to run my establishments as I prefer. This may require no small number of minutes. He is a man very used to hearing his own voice. You will excuse me?”
“Certainly.” An opportunity gifted by serendipity to gain answers from Compton out from under Dubois’s watchful eye. Precisely what he’d been working for these past weeks.
He must tread extremely carefully. Leaning back against the wall, he took a sip of his wine as though Dubois’s temporary departure was of little interest. “This is a fine wine. I am appreciative of the chance to join you and M.Dubois if this is an indicator of the meal to come.”
“Yes, they are well stocked here,” Compton replied. “You will find most anything you wish. In terms of drink, that is. It lacks some of the...amenitiesto be had at other gaming establishments.”
Available women, likely. He raised his eyebrows.
Compton’s expression took a sly cast. “Of course, you need not avail yourself of those amenities at present.”
“No,” he said coldly. “And Isobel is not up for discussion, as I’ve already made clear to you and Dubois. Your friend Oberlin as well. I do not share what is mine.”
Compton grimaced. “Oberlin is no friend of mine. I have only met the man a handful of times. A thoroughly disagreeable man, but Dubois has uses for him.”
“Dubois would do well to keep him better in line. He did a very poor job of spying on me at Frascati’s last week.”
Compton’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed. He lacks subtlety. But the reason I bring up these amenities... Perhaps it will not surprise you that I supply Dubois with some of the girls for Les Moineaux. It is in my interest to hand select some of the offerings.”
He feigned interest. “Is that so?”
“It is not important whether they can speak a single word of French or display fine manners. Not for Les Moineaux, whose offerings are not of a caliber to tempt worldly men such as yourself.” Slightly mocking now. “But Dubois and I have connections, men like Cuvelier, who become suggestible when made happy with women and drink and the idea that they hold some degree of importance in matters of interest to us.”
“While you and Dubois in truth retain all the true power. I admit I was intrigued when Cuvelier said you introduced him to... Thérèse, I believe her name was?”
“As far as Cuvelier knows, it is Thérèse.” Compton’s lip curled.
“One of your acquisitions?” He washed down his disgust with a swallow of wine.
“A wise man knows when best to call in what he is owed. If the debtor hasn’t the money to pay, well...” Compton lifted his glass. “There are many forms of profit. There are always other arrangements to be made.Thérèserather fell into my lap.”
For Isobel’s sake, to learn more of what landed her sister in Paris by Compton’s hands, he wished he had leisure to probe deeper—but he didn’t. This opportunity to connect with Compton was the only one he’d had. With the timing, with Dubois’s mistrust, it was quite possibly the only one he’d ever have. He needed to shift conversation elsewhere before Dubois returned.
Resolutely he turned his mind from Isobel and her sister. “Awiser man does not allow himself to fall into debt in the first place.”
“You are an unusual man for one who enjoys gaming.” Another challenge in Compton’s voice.
He lifted one shoulder. “The prospect of winning—and the exhilaration of raking in money in the event one does—is enough of a lure for some.”
“But not so for you, Mr. Beaumont.”
“I find power both more entertaining and more profitable, Mr. Compton. Something you understand. Dubois as well.”
