Page 51 of The Spy and the Nightingale
What Nathaniel and M.Dubois called the art gallery was an open space displaying various paintings and objets d’art, lit by oil lamps along the walls and containing multiple sitting areas and alcoves along the exterior.
In an alcove near the entrance, they passed a man reclining on one elbow on a couch, a woman kneeling beside him. His trousers were unfastened, his erect cock bared to passers-by as the woman caressed it. Her lips enveloped the tip before her head bobbed down.
The man inclined his head as they passed, his gaze heavy-lidded as he tracked them.
Isobel stumbled slightly, and Nathaniel’s arm tightened around her waist. “Steady,” he murmured as they strolled towards a display of china figures. At a casual first glance, they appeared to be Meissen figurines until one looked more closely. The figures were partially or entirely unclothed, suggestive of—if not outright explicitly depicting—sexual acts.
She sucked in a breath before unsuccessfully fighting a bubble of laughter.
Nathaniel’s smile, full and genuine, transformed his face into something dizzyingly attractive, as it had once before. Just as quickly his lips returned to their usual austere set, but his eyes were still crinkled at the corners. “Quite something, aren’t they?”
She drew a calming breath, more transfixed by his smile than the shocking china figures. “Remarkable, even. Although I would probably not display them on a shelf in my own home,” she added in a prim tone.
The left corner of Nathaniel’s mouth quirked again slightly before he offered her his arm. “Perhaps you will find the art elsewhere more to your tastes.” He was entirely straight-faced again, but when he caught her eye, she knew—knew—that he was amused.
She was somewhat more prepared for the next piece of art, a painting of a nude woman surrounded by several fully clothed men whose hands and mouths were pleasuring her in various ways. Equal parts titillation and shock twinged in her stomach. With some difficulty she dragged her eyes from the painted woman’s face.
This time she refused to so much as look at Nathaniel, although she was suddenly more aware of the warmth and strength of his body beside her. As for his hands, last night, and his mouth...
A woman, perhaps some ten years older than herself, approached on their left. The woman was dressed more staidly than herself, with eyes far bolder than her own.
Nathaniel drew her close, arm banding her to him. Steadying her.
“Inspirational, don’t you think?” the woman asked.
“Erm, yes. Quite,” she murmured. Nathaniel’s chest vibrated silently against her back. She wanted to laugh too, partially fromnerves but also because she was genuinely amused. This was an entirely absurd situation.
“I have found it so on other visits,” the woman said. “I have not seen you before, I think?”
“It is my first visit here.”
“And tonight I do intend to savor her first reactions entirely for myself.” Nathaniel’s tone—no,Beaumont’s—was careless but offered no room for negotiation.
“Indeed.” The woman leaned closer to her. “That one looks worth savoring as well,” she said sotto voce, tipping her head towards Nathaniel.
A sudden visceral flash from last night of him on his back beneath her, both of them lost to pleasure, warmed her cheeks.
The woman’s smile was knowing. “Bonne soireé.”
“It would seem,chérie, that we must find somewhere else more private if we wish to indulge without interruption.” Nathaniel’s words were for the benefit of those nearby, but the warmth they created in her was genuine. “But first we will find M.Dubois as we promised.”
He directed her forward, hand set against the small of her back, until they located Dubois.
“What are your impressions of our little establishment, Mademoiselle?” Dubois asked. “Is it so far to your liking?”
“Yes,” she managed. “Thegalèriewas quite, ah, thought-provoking.” She nearly choked on the last words, fighting down giddy laughter.
“How pleased I am that you say this.” Dubois beamed. “Perhaps you will now step with me this way, and we shall have our drinks?” He said something further to the girl with whom he was speaking and gestured for Isobel and Nathaniel to follow him along the corridor.
After several turns, he ushered them into a spacious and richly decorated study. “I have just acquired a very fine apple brandy aswell as a most pleasanteau-de-vie de marcfrom the Bourgogne region.” He gestured to a well-appointed sideboard. “Or if you would prefer a drink from your countrymen, I have a whisky that has only recently left your Port of London.”
“We will be glad to share whichever drink you prefer,” Nathaniel said pleasantly.
“Themarc de Bourgogne, then.” Dubois poured for each of them, her glass as generous as his and Nathaniel’s. “Me, I have never developed the taste for your harsh whiskies.”
“I must admit curiosity as to where you acquired whisky,” Nathaniel said. “I have not been offered it during my time in France.”
“A friend brings me many interesting articles from your country.” Dubois’s eyes were keen. “He has means of avoiding pestilential regulations on its import.”
