Page 56 of Rogue Lyon

“I have never heard of such a thing.”

“They are becoming more and more popular in Paris.” He headed west at a street junction. “And Petit Paradis is one of my favorites when I’m in town.”

Meredith was intrigued. A singing café. Whatever would that entail?

The glass front of Petit Paradis spanned two streets as it hugged the corner plot. Curved, red canopies with scalloped details sheltered a smattering of outdoor seating on either side of the door. A huge, pink climbing rose had taken over the window boxes on the story above, sending tendrils and flowers waterfalling almost to the ground in some places. A chalkboard held a list of the day’s specials—bouillon, potage aux choux, entrecôte, jambon—and was set beside the door.

“Petit Paradis is lively,” Meredith commented as they approached.

“Indeed. That is why we have come here. For some fun. I truly hope you will enjoy yourself.”

Meredith could barely remember going anywhere just for fun. Everything she did had a purpose. Yet here she was in Paris, with her…lover—sort of—and about to experience a singing café of all things.

They stepped into the dimly-lit café and Jules quickly found them a table with two wooden chairs. A small, red candle burned in the center and white linen napkins sat next to it in a stack.

“My love,” he said, pulling out her chair, “is this suitable for you?”

“Very much so.” Meredith sat and breathed in the heavy air. It was thick with the smells of food, perfume, and tobacco.

“Two red wines, please,” Jules said, holding up his hand to a passing waiter.

“Certainly, monsieur.”

Jules pulled his seat closer to Meredith and took her hand beneath the table. “What do you think?”

“It’s certainly popular.” The place was busy with every table occupied. There were couples, a few groups of men, and at one table, a group of women who were chattering excitedly.

“It looks like we arrived just in time.” Jules gestured toward a stage not unlike the one in the Lyon’s Den, though the curtains were deep blue and a chandelier hung just in front of it.

A woman in a tight corset dress with a voluminous white gown stepped to the front of the stage. She had tall, fluffy, red feathers in her hair and she grinned at the audience with a confidence Meredith instantly envied. She spoke in French and then in English. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Petit Paradis.”

Meredith had also never seen such bright, blood-red lip rouge. It was startling and made the woman’s teeth appear very white.

“I hope you enjoy your time with us.” She fluttered impossibly long lashes, held out her hands, and then began to sing.

Her voice was high and the French words flowed into one another almost as an instrument would play. Meredith was mesmerized and kept her focus on the woman’s pretty face.

Their wine arrived. Jules chinked his glass with Meredith’s and smiled. “She has a good voice, yes?”

“Oh, yes. I mean oui, oui.” Meredith giggled and sipped her wine. What a fabulous day she was having, and it just kept on getting better.

After a few minutes, the song became a little faster and she began to strut left and right, the feathers in her hair quivering.

Meredith felt her heart rate pick up, almost in time with the tempo.

Jules ordered them two more wines and she realized she had drunk hers without even noticing.

And then the woman’s walk became a stomp. She banged her feet on the wooden stage in time with her song. The crowd’s excitement grew, becoming almost raucous. They were clapping and whistling and singing along.

Meredith joined in with the clapping, laughing as she felt her cheeks flush and her breathing pick up.

The woman was almost dancing now, swirling and flicking her gown so that her ankles were on show to the audience in the front row.

Such an act would have been scandalous amongst the ton, but here, in Paris, it seemed to Meredith that anything was possible.

And oh, what fun that was.

Two hours later, Meredith emerged into the fresh air with her head spinning and her ears ringing.