Her mind froze on further implications except that?—
If those things were true, this meeting had just become monumentally more dangerous. For herself, certainly, and for Nathaniel as well.
Because Thérèse might be Lucy.
And Dubois did not trust them.
Please, let my face show nothing.Please, let her trembling not be visible.
As though entirely unaware of any possible subtext, Nathaniel said, “We are pleased to accept.” He tipped his glass towards Dubois. “To the beginning of a profitable friendship.”
Dubois returned the salute. “You will both join us tomorrow evening at ten, then, for this meeting of friends. But now you will be desirous to visit your private room. I have kept you waiting for some time.” He traced the rim of his glass. “You mentioned earlier thesalle céladon. That chamber is already for the night reserved, however.”
She lifted her face. Dubois’s eyes did not match his casual tone.
“I suggest to you another in its place, thesalle écarlate, which will have for you many of the same attractions you enjoyed on your previous visit.” He toyed with a jewel-handled letter opener, running his thumbnail along the sharp blade, more weapon than tool. “Of course, it is not a roomentirelyprivate.” His gaze chilled her when it transferred to her. “Although certainly there is a lock on the door, and you will not be interrupted. Is this for you a problem?”
Her mind blanked briefly at his meaning.
Nathaniel drummed the fingers of one hand against his thigh. “It is not a problem for me, but I will defer to your wishes,chérie. You are new to these sorts of games.”
His fingers called to mind the dark fiacre ride, him in shadows, something dangerous and barely leashed. She laid her hand atop his, pinning his fingers.
The room was a test. What would happen if they refused it? Right now, or moving forward? And if there was any chance that Baron Cuvelier’s companion was Lucy...
It was impossible to refuse the room.
Nathaniel’s expression was unreadable. He had not wished to expose her to the more salacious activities at Le Repaire; it was why he had not wanted to bring her at the outset. Now it seemedthey had little choice but to enact some sort of scene, knowing themselves watched.
Her stomach roiled, but as Nathaniel’s hand slid to hers, clasping it, she steadied herself. If he could brazen out such a situation, she could as well.
She must take the initiative, then, and trust him for the rest. “It suits me,mon amour.”
“How pleased I am that you say this,” Dubois murmured. One could determine nothing from his tone as to his true opinion.
“Come,chérie,” Nathaniel said softly.
Nate would be damned if he’d force Isobel into anything just because she too had quickly grasped the implications. There was no way to confer with her, no chance to set her mind at ease—if such a thing was even possible. There was no time to chastise himself for his own part in exposing her to danger. Later. Later, when they were safely away from here.
It was not impossible that thesalle céladonwas truly occupied, with Dubois merely acting as an accommodating host, but he highly doubted it was only that.
The room was set up much as he remembered thesalle céladon:large bed in the center and a low chest of drawers along the left-hand wall, only with walls of garish scarlet rather than jade green. The wall opposite the chest of drawers was painted with a salacious mural. There would be at least one peephole concealed somewhere within it. Several stands of candles provided plenty of illumination should anyone wish to observe the activities in the room.
It could be that no one was behind that wall. It could be someone neutral, a patron seeking his or her own voyeuristicpleasure. Or it could be Dubois or one of his minions. The consequences of that last scenario... His pulse leapt.
How to play this situation without raising suspicion, asking the least of Isobel? He’d warned her of the activities that took place in Le Repaire, of what she might observe or hear, but her active participation was entirely different. Yet if they did nothing, if a single indiscreet word passed between them, it was entirely possible it would be observed—and reported.
He crossed to the chest of drawers. Nothing in the topmost drawer of use in setting this scene. Or rather, nothing he had any intention of using. Still, best to make a show of looking before closing the drawer.
If they moved towards the chiffonier... Aye, that just might work. He turned back towards Isobel.
She looped her arms around his neck. Fine tremors betrayed her nerves. “I will do whatever you wish,” she murmured against his throat. The words of a lover, but in this scenario, far from it—she meant only she would follow his lead.
He caught her chin, tilting her head sideways. “This act need only look real,” he whispered against her ear on the pretext of kissing it. Her hair smelled of citrus and flowers as it had last night, an inane detail to note at this moment and not especially helpful given what it recalled.
She took a step backwards and stripped off her gloves, finger by finger, holding his eyes. “What is your pleasure,mon amour?” she asked in a clear voice.
“Fucking you on the chiffonier.”
