Once, as the fiacre passed an area where the bitter wind had not extinguished the hanging oil lamps, she could just make out that Nathaniel’s eyes were on her.
When the fiacre set them down, the wind had picked up enough that she was immediately cold through. She and Nathaniel did not speak until they had gained hisrooms—Beaumont’s rooms—although he again set his hand at the small of her back.
Once inside, door locked and a single lamp lit, Nathaniel propped himself against the table and waited, eyes on her. As usual, his face contained nothing whatsoever of his thoughts. Although... were his eyes softer than usual?
“I sometimes cannot breathe properly,” she said, although that was so far down the list of what mattered at the moment it was nearly inane. “It nearly happened earlier. The episodes... I can’t prevent them.”
His eyesweresofter. “You managed quite well, all things considered. It was not a good situation.”
She paced, trying to order her agitated mind. “The reference to our eyes. I must believe this Thérèse is Lucy. And yet now that I may have at last found her, I do not know what, exactly, to feel. For it may have endangered us both, just as M.Baudelaire suggested it might.”
“It was a calculated risk, aye. We knew that.”
“A risk to all of us,” she whispered. “Not only to me or to you, but now Lucy as well. If she was not already in danger. Which certainly she was—is—if she is in company with these men. Willingly or otherwise.”
“Aye.” He regarded her steadily. “I will do all in my power to keep you safe, but these are not men to be trifled with. Think carefully about whether you wish to return to Le Repaire. After tonight, I cannot predict what might be required of us.”
Required of them... She shut that thought down. “But you will go regardless.” It was imperative for his work, for all that Dubois had couched it as an invitation. Nathaniel must go or risk all he’d gained to date. And he would face that danger entirely alone, did she not go.
But what help could she be to him if matters went badly? Shewas not one of his trained agents. She could hardly hide Jamie’s pistol in any sort of dress she might wear to Le Repaire, even supposing she could bring herself to use it if the moment came. She’d brought knives with her to France with some thought to defending herself if need be, but she was certain now she hadn’t the courage to pull them if a situation demanded it. Perhaps in utter desperation, but nothing short of that. It was one matter in London, abstractly pondering eventualities that in truth had felt far-fetched. It was different now, having been inside Le Repaire, having come face-to-face with danger with her courage tested. It had been all she could manage, not giving herself away as something other than what she was pretending to be.
She paced to stand by the window. A breath of cold air whispered past a patch of indifferent glazing. She traced the edge of the glass, seeking the source of the leak, as she ordered her thoughts.
“I must return there,” she said finally. “If Thérèse is Lucy, I—we—have found her. Danger to myself, what is that beside...?” She swallowed. “I must believe it is her,” she said again. “I must see for myself if it’s her. And if it’s her, how she does. You might recognize her from the miniature, but Iknowher. Or... did.”
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. The pain sharpened her mind. “If she is Thérèse, it means she is not in a brothel somewhere, that at least Compton did not bring her to Paris for that purpose. That was one of my greatest fears, although I tried not to dwell on it. And I must hope that even if she is not with this Alphonse Cuvelier by choice, that it is a better situation for her than some of the alternatives I feared. Perhaps he is kind to her—or at least is not cruel? Is that foolish of me? Is there any chance at all it is even the truth?”
Nothing outside was visible in the dark, and the outside chill was working its way beneath her skin. Or perhaps she was just cold inside already. Still cold. Always cold, for months now.
She turned to face Nathaniel.
His arms were crossed lightly over his chest, but his frame wasnot relaxed in any other way. “It is not foolish to hope.” His voice had become so very soft, even though his face was not, other than his eyes.
He did not say that it was realistic.
She leaned back against the sash, her mind latching on to the next disjointed thought that tumbled through, a welcome distraction from fear for Lucy. “M.Dubois said thesalle écarlatehad the same attractions as thesalle céladonyou requested. What was in those drawers?” He’d opened them, lifting several items she’d only glimpsed before he replaced them.
“Do you want the truth? It might be better, not.”
She couldn’t look at him. “And then again, my own imaginings may paint it worse than it is.”
He took his time answering her. “Restraints. A riding crop. A specialized whip. I did not catalogue the contents beyond that. They were of no use to me.”
She sagged against the windowsill, unable to meet his eyes. She’d thought herself not entirely naïve, having been married and enjoying intimacy with Jamie for considerably more than the marital act alone. Nathaniel had warned her somewhat obliquely ahead of time about Le Repaire, but oh, the many things she truly did not know.
“I had to look.” His voice was curt. “For the benefit of any eyes on us. But I had no thought of using anything in that drawer on you, no matter who was spying upon us.”
She pushed away consideration of what, even, that meant—using them on her. “You did warn me. You were reluctant to put me in the position of going inside, even aside from the threat posed by Dubois. You cautioned me about what I might see. Amélie did as well. I entered Le Repaire willingly. I trusted you, knowing it was not misplaced.” She tried for a smile. “You were correct in predicting that it was beyond anything I’d previously experienced. Envisioned, even. And yes, some of it was trulyshocking to me, despite your warning and Amélie’s.” Her faint laugh was little more than breath. “Although the china was rather diverting once I caught on to the theme.”
Items in the drawer notwithstanding and necessary pretense aside, there was no mistaking that Nathaniel’s desire in that room had been real, no matter what portion was also for show. And hers too, less obviously so but no less genuine.
She would throw herself into the breach and ask for what she wanted. “In thesalle écarlate, what passed between us was not entirely counterfeit. Yes?”
The lamp guttered slightly as the wind howled its fury outside; a draft of air must have caught the flame despite its glass.
“What do you want?” Nathaniel’s voice was pure gravel again. He’d asked her the same question before Frascati’s, just before the mirror.
As then, the answer was the same. Had she courage to say it aloud this time?
