Page 45 of The Proposition
Clemency—Miss Rose—gave a polite curtsey in time with Delphine.
“And Ralston is plain Ralston?” Miss Paisley teased. “What am I saying? Ralston is as strapping as ever. All that riding in the country has done you well.”
Both she and Delphine turned to see Ralston, generally unflappable and serious, turn beetroot red. Delphine tittered beneath her dark purple veil.
“Is there room for us this afternoon?” Ferrand asked.
“Of course, Mr. Ferrand. There is always room for you and your party. Please, follow me.”
They did, and Clemency felt her stomach growl with hunger as they weaved through the occupied tables to one on the far side of the stage, back a ways, just close enough to enjoy the music but not so close as to be overwhelmed by it. The men held out the chairs for the ladies, and then Miss Paisley wafted away, blown to the refreshment tables like a pretty pink cloud.
Clemency studied her as she left, envious of her shiny blond hair and the intricate braids it had been styled into, each weaving into the other, then pinned in a crown across her head. Her dress too was fine but not ostentatious, in last summer’s style, no doubt, but fitted so well to her figure that it maintained a timeless appeal. She had a dancer’s grace and swished through the maze of tables with her hands delicatelyaloft, her chin high, though her manner was impeccably warm and welcoming.
“They always overfeed me here,” Audric grumbled, settling into the chair beside Clemency’s. He tucked his knuckles under his chin and let his eyes wander to the fiddle player. “An old Parisian acquaintance introduced me to this place when last I was in town. I had come to hunt down, well, a quarry a client wanted me to find. Miss Paisley was kind enough to help. They find the most beguiling entertainers here, voices to rival any reputable opera house in London.”
“We must stay to hear them,” Delphine swooned. “You know how I adore a well-sung aria.”
“Out of the question,” he muttered. “We will be back in Grosvenor Square before dark.”
Clemency thought of the pillories out on the street and shuddered. How odd, she mused, that it should feel so cozy inside, lightly fragrant with perfumes and lacquered wood, while such an ugly threat awaited just outside the door.
Ralston and Delphine struck up an animated debate about the fiddler’s style—Ralston was for, Delphine found it a bit too meandering.
In a low voice, Clemency waited until they were distracted to lean closer to Audric. “Do you think Boyle comes often to such places?”
“No, not this one. This is a fine establishment; Boyle couldn’t afford it.” Audric smiled as Miss Paisley returned with a tray of assorted sweets for them, as well as summer wine and a bottle of sherry. Clemency knew it was impolite, but her stomach was making demands, and she snatched a buttered tart for herself. Audric smirked at her.
“Prescient, Miss Paisley, my thanks. And quite obviously hers as well.”
“Yes, thank you,” Clemency replied softy. “You have a lovely establishment here.”
Miss Paisley glanced at Audric with her entrancing hazel eyes and then gave an answering curtsey. “I will give your compliments to our proprietor, Miss Rose.”
Again, she told herself not to be jealous as Mr. Ferrand noticeably watched Miss Paisley leave them—she even threw a look over her shoulder that was clearly just for him.
“It is hard to imagine you coming here all alone,” Clemency told him. She nibbled her tart. “Or anywhere, for that matter. I can only picture you on your great hunts, pacing your office while concocting plans, spinning a dagger, and cackling at your own brilliance.”
“Occasionally I cease my cackling and put down my dagger and indulge in a bit of respite,” Audric replied, a little shuttered, in her opinion. “Very occasionally. And why can you not imagine me here? Among the company of women, among the company of men. Does that shock you?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. Though the veil might make deception easier, she saw no benefit to lying. He had said it himself, hours earlier—her Round Orchard sensibilities were one way, and now that needle was moving ever so slowly and ever so slightly. “Are you shocked that I’m shocked?”
“No,” he said, chuckling. His green eyes flashed with interest as he too leaned in toward her. “You are taking it well, all things considered.”
“It is new to me, but I see no harm in it,” said Clemency quietly. “You must be patient.”
“You have not run screaming out the door, nor fainted inalarm,” he observed. “So I wager there is hope for you yet. I frequent many of these places when I am hunting curs. Often, they would blow through such establishments and make a greater mess. It alarmed me at first, the things I saw, but I have found more courage, kindness, and generosity in these refuges than in all the gilded operas, assemblies, and great houses of England combined.” He gestured broadly to the room. “Some of the men here might wear women’s clothes, and the ladies may dress as men, but they are not masquerading, here they are their true selves. Boyle is never himself to anyone; that is more reprehensible than anything you will find here before or after dark.”
“Their pastries are very good,” Clemency told him, finding it was not at all easy to eat with the veil. “Thank you for bringing me here. I might read widely but there is no substitute for the education of experience.”
Audric stared at her for a long moment, until she wanted to hide her face even with the protection of the veil between them. She would have paid a high price to know his thoughts just then, or for him to bestow upon her another sudden kiss.
“I fear it will not be fun and games in the coming days,” he said darkly. “We must pursue Boyle’s past. His connections. We must know more if we are to humiliate him.”
“Denning Ede,” replied Clemency.
Audric’s green eyes snapped to hers with renewed vigor. Her breath caught. He leaned closer, so near that his words skittered across her chin, rippling her veil, and she sighed.
“How did you know that name?”
