Page 24 of The Spy and the Nightingale
“It certainly wouldn’t hurt it.”
Several pedestrians were approaching. Isobel waited until they were well past. “Then I suppose Amélie must find me something else to wear.” Her dimple showed for a moment before disappearing. “Unless Mr. Beaumont’s tastes run specifically towards widows in drab clothing.”
“We will defer to Amélie as to specifics, but aye, you’ll need arange of clothing for the next several days.” He caught his gaze lingering where her dimple had been and checked himself. Nathaniel Beaumont’s tastes would not run towards sedately attired Scottish widows, but it seemed Nate Blackmore’s did.
Isobel’s expression turned thoughtful. “What of Le Repaire? Is that not far more likely a place for me to learn something of Lucy, given its connections to both Compton and Dubois? To say nothing of a visit furthering your own aims?”
“It is a place I would prefer not taking you.” Hopefully she’d leave it at that.
“Youwould prefer not to take me? Or Mr. Beaumont, recently come to Paris to enjoy its sybaritic delights at your noble father’s expense?” Sarcasm colored her voice. This time the dimple was well hidden. Her chin was lifted at an angle he was fast coming to understand indicated a tenacious bent.
He did not doubt that she was intrepid, having come alone to France for the reasons she had, and she had not lived a wholly quiet life tucked away in some tiny corner of Britain. But he also knew without needing to ask that she hadn’t life experiences to prepare her for a place such as Le Repaire. Or if she did, he’d give up his work, his instincts having become utterly worthless.
When he remained silent, she pressed the point. “It is because of what I might see, is it not, that you are reluctant?”
“Assignations there are not always conducted behind closed doors, by preference,” he said bluntly. “I cannot predict what may be on display.”
Slight color rose on her cheekbones, but she didn’t drop her chin or her gaze.
He tempered his tone. “It would be unwise for you to go.”
Her chin lifted a fraction of an inch farther. “Unwise only because you wish to shield me? Or because you doubt my fortitude?”
She wanted it spelled out? So be it. He was no gentleman, after all, in any sense, no matter what roles he sometimes played.
“Anything goes, consensually, once one crosses the foyer of Le Repaire, and many of its patrons have appetites that run to more inventive, extreme pursuits of carnal pleasure than you may have previously considered. Invitations to participate can, of course, be declined, and anyone who presses attentions where they are unwelcome is removed. But propositions are made.” He looked her over, head to toe, quite deliberately. “Youwillreceive advances. Entering as my companion will not shield you from that. If anything, it may invite them.”
“So I will decline all invitations.” She looked more determined than daunted.
He fought to rein in his frustration.
She likewise took a deep breath, released it. “Shall we walk farther?” she asked.
He offered his arm again. “As you like.” They weren’t finished with discussion about Le Repaire but pausing it, of mutual accord.
They walked for several minutes in silence before he broke it. “I imagine you have questions about what to expect, tonight at Café de Foy and tomorrow at Frascati’s.”
“Yes.” She took her time before asking, “Have you done this before? That is, in the course of your work, have you needed to counterfeit a relationship of—of an intimate nature?”
“At times.”
“Was it difficult, feigning emotional intimacy?” She was looking straight ahead, but he sensed her full attention was on his answer.
“No, not as part of a job; one does it as a means to an end. And generally it is necessary for only a short duration anyway. One outing or one night or maybe a handful of days. A few weeksat most, mostly out of the public eye. Sometimes it’s merely the suggestion of a relationship—sharing quarters, for instance.”
Isobel glanced at him and then away. “What if a suggestion is not convincing enough to satisfy suspicious persons?”
“For safety, do you mean? Then one does what one needs to do. Does that worry you about this scenario?”
“Compton is a dangerous man, so I can only assume this Guillaume Dubois is as well.”
It was not really an answer. Before he could formulate a response, she continued, “There is never a... misunderstanding between partners? The boundaries between fact and fiction remain clear, no matter what’s required?”
“It’s a means to an end, as I said. A job. Nothing more.”
“Impartial, then.” Her color was high again, but it might only have been that the chill wind had picked up.
Trust runs both ways,she’d said, and rightly so. He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his hat. “Not always... impartial.” Bloody hell, she deserved more than an indirect answer. “For the most part on assignments, there are days or weeks on end where one is alone. Observing, gathering information from a distance. Waiting on someone to make contact, moving on to the next place once it’s happened, perhaps only tangentially working with anyone else. I’ve rarely used so public a persona as Beaumont.” They had stopped walking by unspoken accord. “On occasion, with a partner who understood both the stakes and the isolation, and the impermanence of it, if we otherwise suited one another...” He lifted a shoulder.
