Chapter 19
The carriage carrying Leon, Evander, and the rest of the duke’s team had barely disappeared around the corner before Viggo turned to Ginny and Solomon, his mind racing.
“Solomon, reach out to our operatives working the docks along the Seine. See what they’ve heard about unusual disappearances, dark magic activity, anything that doesn’t smell right.”
Solomon nodded curtly. “And you?”
“I’m going with Ginny. Her contacts move in different circles than ours. My presence might convince them to talk.”
Ginny’s mouth thinned. “You mean you intend to threaten them if they don’t do as you say?”
“If needs be,” Viggo grunted.
Ginny blew out a sigh. “There will be no need for that. The people I know trade in the kind of information that doesn’t make it into police reports. As long as we have something to give them in exchange, they’ll talk.”
She produced a small card from her reticule, the cream paper embossed with the name of an establishment and an address in the 2nd arrondissement.
“That looks rather posh for an information guild,” Viggo said, unconvinced.
“The criminal elite in Paris move in elevated circles,” Ginny said tartly. “And it’s not a guild. It’s a salon.”
Viggo made a face. “So, that’s why I haven’t heard of them.”
Concern flitted in Solomon’s eyes.
“Be careful,” he said, his gaze lingering on Ginny a fraction longer than necessary.
Ginny’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. She nodded.
“We’ll meet back at the hotel before sundown,” Viggo said.
They parted ways outside the Institute, Solomon heading east toward the river while Viggo and Ginny hailed a passing hansom cab.
The driver, a grizzled man with a cigarette seemingly permanently affixed to his lower lip, raised an eyebrow at their destination but said nothing as he urged his horse into motion.
Paris rolled past in a blur of grand boulevards and narrow side streets.
The city felt different from London—older somehow, despite its gleaming new buildings.
There was a weight to the air here, a sense of accumulated history pressing down on every cobblestone that made Viggo curious to find out more, even though he’d been to the city plenty of times before.
He glanced at the woman beside him. “Solomon cares for you, you know.”
“I know.” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “I just wish he wouldn’t put up so many walls between us.”
Viggo hesitated, uncertain how much he should reveal about his friend’s confession from a few days ago.
“He thinks your affair is doomed to end in heartache,” he said quietly.
Ginny stiffened, head whipping around. “He told you that?”
Viggo nodded reluctantly in the face of her sharp stare. “He almost didn’t come on this trip.”
Ginny swallowed hard, her eyes darkening with emotion. “I did not enter this relationship lightly. He of all people knows this.”
Viggo masked a wince at the anger and frustration underscoring her words.
“But you’re a noble and he’s a thrall, Ginny. Nothing will ever change that.”
Her knuckles whitened on her lap. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be together. There is no law that says our relationship is a sin.” She scowled and jutted her chin. “And if there ever was one, I will gladly move to a country where I can walk down the street proudly on his arm.”
Something loosened in Viggo’s chest. “You really are serious about him.”
“I am,” Ginny said defiantly.
Viggo smiled weakly. “Then don’t give up. Solomon might be as stubborn as a mule, but I know he wants to be with you.”
His attention was drawn to the Louvre Museum as they crossed the Pont des Arts.
“So, this contact of yours. Who are they?”
“Her name is Clementine Peletier.” Ginny adjusted her gloves.
“Officially, she runs a salon for artists and intellectuals. In reality, she’s a courtesan like me and a spy for the French government.
The salon is a front for government officials to make discreet contact with their international counterparts and even criminals who hold information of value to them. ”
Viggo narrowed his eyes. “I’m even more surprised that I’ve never heard of this woman.”
Ginny smiled. “Oh, you have my dear. Everyone’s heard of Madame Domme.”
Viggo nearly fell out of his seat. “Wait. You mean the Maitresse?! The one who had an affair with the last French Emperor?”
“The very same.” Ginny’s eyes danced with amusement at his reaction. “She and I have history. I helped her out of a rather delicate situation involving a Prussian diplomat and some compromising letters a few years back.”
Viggo sat back, struggling to reconcile the legends he’d heard whispered in the darkest corners of Europe’s underworld with the idea that he was about to meet the woman behind them.
Madame Domme’s reputation was the stuff of myth.
A creature of shadow and velvet, she had reputedly brought princes to their knees and extracted state secrets from men who would sooner die than betray their countries.
“And she’ll talk to us?” he said warily.
“She’ll talk to me. She owes me after all. And she’ll be intrigued by you.” Ginny’s smile turned knowing. “Clementine has a weakness for powerful men. Especially ones she can’t control.”
The cab deposited them before an elegant townhouse with wrought-iron balconies and window boxes overflowing with winter pansies before Viggo could say anything else. Nothing about the facade suggested anything other than refined respectability.
A maid admitted them to a drawing room decorated in shades of deep crimson and gold.
The air smelled faintly of jasmine and something darker, more exotic.
Velvet drapes pooled on the floor like spilled wine and the artwork on the walls depicted scenes from classical mythology that, upon closer inspection, were decidedly more provocative than they first appeared.
His gaze landed on the woman rising languidly from the chaise longue by the window.
Clementine Peletier was tall and willowy, with raven hair swept into an elaborate arrangement and eyes the colour of burnt amber.
She moved with the fluid grace of a predator, her burgundy gown clinging to her figure in ways that suggested it had been designed for seduction rather than modesty.
A thin leather collar adorned with a single ruby sat at the base of her throat, the only hint of her other profession as a flagellatrix.
“Genevieve, ma chérie.” She kissed Ginny on both cheeks, her voice a honeyed purr. “What a delightful surprise.” Her gaze slid to Viggo. Something that looked very much like hunger flickered in those amber depths. “And you’ve brought me the Ironfist Brute himself. How wonderfully unexpected.”
Viggo forced himself not to tense under her scrutiny. “You know who I am.”
“My dear man, I make it my business to know everyone worth knowing.” Clementine circled him slowly, her eyes tracing his frame with frank appreciation.
“Nightshade’s reputation extends well beyond England’s shores.
I’ve been curious about you for some time.
” She stopped before him, close enough that he caught the scent of her perfume—dark roses and something that reminded him of Eastern incense.
“They say you once stopped a train with your bare hands in Strasbourg. And the whole of Europe knows you did exactly that in London a little while ago.”
“They say a lot of things,” Viggo muttered.
Her lips curved. “They also say you’ve been warming the Ice Mage’s bed these past months. That rumour, I suspect, is even more accurate.”
Viggo’s jaw tightened but he refused to rise to the bait.
Clementine laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, I do like you. Please, sit. I’ll have Marie bring refreshments.”