Duality
Chapter 4

"Are you feeling well, my lord?"

Dev snapped out of his daze, and looked up at his valet and the neatly brushed coat he was holding. Archibald Sanford was a quiet man, as loyal in his middle years as he had been in his younger ones when he had served Dev's father. Even now, he watched the young earl with concern in his wizened eyes.

"I am fine, Sanford," Dev told the man, giving him a placating smile and turning so the older man could slip on his coat. "Just a tad fatigued from last night is all."

"And you intend to go out tonight as well, my lord?" There was no censure in Sanford's words, but Dev knew he asked out of duty as much as worry. "Of course. Why wouldn't I? I have come here to enjoy myself and I can not do it from the inside of these apartments now, can I?"

"Very well then. Shall I wait up?"

Dev moved to look in the mirror that sat in the corner of his room, his immaculately presented self staring back from the reflective surface. "No, I shall let myself in. No need to stay awake for me," he directed as he gave his snowy white cravat a small tug. He honestly had to respect Sanford. Even with the man's advancing age, he did wonders when it came to tying knots. His valet's handiwork was precise and fashionable, and yet simple enough that it did not paint him as some sort of brainless dandy.

"Thank you, my lord," the older man said as he bowed and silently left the bedchamber for the outer apartments.

Dev let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He had told Sanford the truth. He was still tired, despite having slept the day away. He had returned to his expensive suites just off Rue Saint Michel early that morning after dragging Percy from the arms of his self-professed angel in hopes of clearing his head. But instead, he had fallen down on the massive bed and shut the rest of the world out. Percy had apparently had the same idea because he hadn't heard anything from his friend since earlier that morning when he suggested taking in a play before parting ways.

Yet, when he had woken up late in the afternoon, his fatigue hadn't entirely left him. Or was it fatigue? There was something pulling at his insides, certainly, a flittering memory or thought that danced just beyond his grasp with the delicacy of butterfly wings. Because how else could he explain the distracted state of his mind and the sluggish movements of his body?

A knock at his door drew him from his musings and he turned away from the mirror before inviting the visitor in.

"I hope you don't mind, Dev, but Sanford let me in," Percy said as he opened the door and moved to plop himself down on one of the armchairs. The man never seemed to care about the efforts his valet had put into his attire. "I assume you are ready for another fantastic evening of Percy's unparalleled entertainment."

Dev shook his head mockingly, but couldn't help be amused by his friend's carefree personality. "You know I always am," he replied as he grabbed the overcoat Sanford had laid out on the bed. The brisk autumn air had been unseasonably cool for this time of year, and although Dev did not mind it, he preferred not having his teeth chatter in polite conversation.

"Wonderful!" Percy exclaimed, bouncing up onto his feet. Then, his wide smile dulled, a more serious expression taking its place. "Say, Dev, are you feeling well? You look a little peaked."

Dev gave the other man a reassuring nod, mentally laughing at the echo of Sanford's question. "Quite," he lied. "Just a residual effect from last night."

The offhand reminder brought the cheerfulness back onto Percy's face. "Ah, last night. Very enjoyable, that. I believe we should definitely consider returning to that fine establishment."

"Yes," Dev agreed quietly, although the idea was a little questionable to him.

His lack of enthusiasm was seemingly lost on the other man, whose eyes sparkled with the light of happy memories. "Angelique was perfect. Soft lips, round hips, and breasts that a man would kill to hold ..." Then, Percy stopped and turned an inquiring gaze at Dev. "I almost forgot. One of the other women mentioned that you had attended the auction they held last night, and that you had actually won something. They all seemed mum about the proceedings so I did not learn much, but I did hear that you spent ten thousand pounds? Is this true, my friend?"

Dev froze for a moment at the mention of the auction, but the hesitation was so small that the other man didn't even notice. He grabbed his beaver hat and gave Percy what he hoped was a nonchalant look. "You heard correctly," he said, his own mind struggling to recall specifically the events of the prior evening. "I must admit that I was too soused to remember the exact details, but I am sure that she was quite enjoyable."

Percy chuckled lightly. "For ten thousand quid, I would hope so. She was worth it then?"

"Every single shilling," Dev added, plastering a smile on his face that felt forced and uncomfortable.

"Well then, let me see if I can outdo myself tonight and introduce you to some fine French actresses," Percy claimed with puffed up flourish and gestured for them to leave.

"By all means, lead the way."

The words left his mouth sounding marvelously excited. But he strangely felt none of the anticipation he displayed. Instead, an inexplicable sadness had descended over him, a sort of disappointment that had nothing to do with the obscene amount of money he had spent last night. And it was in this state that he followed Percy out of the apartments, glad his friend could not see the mysterious burden he carried around like a lead weight.

(***)

Noel adjusted his coat and turned to look at the haberdashery displayed in the storefront window. He rubbed his gloved hands together in an exaggerated gesture to stay warm but his eyes watched the glass before him closely. The darkened evening sky and the busy lamp lit street made the window a perfect inconspicuous mirror. His attention to the fine workmanship of the men's hat and accessories were as non-existent as his attention to the bustling carriages and crowds that scurried passed behind him. No, what he was interested in was only one older gentleman leisurely trotting down the street several buildings away.

Admiral Lacey was right on time, as he had expected. Madame Chartrand had received a report earlier that afternoon about the grizzled naval officer meeting several friends at a nearby gentlemen's club in the evening, and Noel was happy to see that their network was still working, despite the loss of their spymaster. The accuracy of the information then would be put to good use, he decided, and when the old man walked by him, he turned in the same direction, his feet carrying him right up to Lacey.

"Admiral? Admiral Lacey?" Noel asked with his impeccable English, his voice fraught with youthful excitement.

The older man stopped and turned toward him, dark, intelligent eyes scrutinizing him with curiosity, and, as Noel noticed, a small dash of admiration. "Yes? Do I know you?"

Noel widened his smile. "I don't believe you do, sir," he said cheerfully, making an admiring gleam appear in his gaze. "But I do know you. My name is William, Lord William Sterling and I remember seeing you in London a while back, at one of those Society balls."

The admiral gave him a skeptical glance, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Really? Which one?"

A small flower of nervousness started to bloom in the pit of his stomach, but Noel quelled it easily. "Oh, Lord, after a while, all those routs become one and the same," he stated glibly. "Simpering misses with their fortune hunting mamas, and weak lemonade. But I do recall you causing quite a stir. You fought with Nelson at Trafalgar, did you not?"

At this, Lacey relaxed, a rather jovial air entering his posture. "Why, yes. Yes, I did," he said. "And what a battle it was."

One thing Noel understood about men was their egos. If one stroked it just right, especially that of a self-important officer, one could ask them just about anything. "You must tell me more about it, sir," he prompted, working the hero worship into his tone. "Reading about a soldier's exploits in the papers is just not the same as hearing about it firsthand."

He gestured for the two of them to continue walking in the admiral's original direction, and Lacey did so unconsciously as he dove right into the thick of his war stories. Noel nodded and remained wide-eyed at the appropriate parts, asking for elaboration here and there to keep the old sea dog talking. He wanted to glean the required information from the man unnoticed, but when he saw his surroundings several minutes later, he realized that they were fairly close to the admiral's destination.

"Admiral," he interjected when a lull in the story presented itself. "What are the chances that Napoleon would ever terrorize this continent again?"

Lacey laughed softly, his face flushed from retelling his exploits. "Never fear, you young pup. The emperor is exiled on the tiny island of Elba with no way of escape. Why, the only contact the man has with the outside world is through the few sailors who arrive to deliver him food and supplies."

Finally, the old man was talking about something he wanted to hear. Now all he had to do was naturally guide the conversation in the desired direction. "Of course," he said with a smile. "And if that man ever did escape, heaven forbid, I am certain both our navy and army will show him up once again."

Lacey puffed up his chest even more, if such a feat were possible on his thin frame. "Naturally," he noted. "But that is if he were to escape, which is highly unlikely."

"No, not at all."

Before Noel could continue, the admiral stopped walking. He glanced up at the building before which they were standing, and then back at his younger companion. "Well, my boy, I do believe this is where I am headed."

Noel cursed silently. He hadn't had enough time! But he hid his distress and bowed courteously. "Thank you, Admiral, for taking the time to talk with me. I do honestly appreciate it." In an effort to win the older man over, he gave Lacey a hooded look from beneath his lashes, part youthful innocence and part invitation.

The admiral became flustered for a moment, his suddenly nervous eyes darting left and right to ensure that no passerby had noticed the subtle gesture. Then, he collected himself, and coughed. "You are most welcomed, Lord Sterling. A pleasure," he said as he turned to enter the building. Then, he stopped, and looked back at Noel. "Why, if you do not mind me asking, are you staying in Paris long?"

Noel felt pleased with himself as the other man asked the question. "Yes, until the end of the month at least."

"Splendid! I had planned on taking in the sights of Versailles two days hence. Would you care to keep an old man company?"

Noel wanted to answer immediately, his response already formed as the admiral was talking. But he forced himself to ostentatiously think over the question first for authenticity. "I do believe I am free that day," he replied at last. "And I did come here to take in the sights myself, now that it is safe to do so."

"Excellent. Then I shall see you at Versailles. Shall we say around midday, two days from now?"

Noel nodded, injecting just enough enthusiasm into his action to make it believable.

Lacey took his leave, and then disappeared into the club, abandoning Noel to stand alone outside.

A sense of accomplishment washed through him. He may not have gotten the information he needed, but he did set himself up with another opportunity, and that was more than he could say one day ago.

"Dev! Hurry! The carriage is waiting."

Noel wasn't sure how out of an entire street full of horses and people he managed to hear that shout. But he did. And the sound of that familiar name was enough to give him pause. He looked behind him and noticed a dark haired man standing by a waiting closed hackney, energetically waving to someone further down the street. Noel looked to his right, and saw a tall, darkly clad figure walking toward the carriage - and him - with long, confident strides. Tilting his head down, he watched Dev approached with lowered eyes, unmoving. A flash of silver, a curl of black, and the Englishman walked by him, disappearing into the waiting hack as quickly as he had appeared in his line of vision. The scent of sandalwood and soap lingered in his wake, and Noel breathed the clean smell in deeply before it could dissipate. It wasn't until the carriage had rolled away that Noel realized his heart was racing as if he had run the entire length of the street.

(***)

The Maison des Fleurs was a small, obscure playhouse nestled on the Left bank of the Seine that catered primarily to bohemian Parisians. But it also provided the ideal hunting ground for nobles searching for agreeable mistresses, and struggling actresses searching for rich patrons.

Dev shifted in his seat, the worn cushion a testament to the money the company lacked. Percy had managed to purchase them a box for the evening, one of the few that the playhouse boasted and one that kept them far removed from the swarms of people and food sellers on the ground. However, despite the worn condition of the boards, and the threadbare state of the curtains, the place did have a cozy sort of charm.

"It may not be much to look at, Dev, but from what I hear, the actresses more than make up for it," Percy defended when he saw his friend examining the surroundings.

"Oh, I do not doubt you, Percy," Dev replied, his eyes moving to meet the other man's with good humor. "Sometimes, the rarest treasures may be found in the most unlikely of places."

Percy chuckled in return. "I just hope I won't be proven wrong."

Dev leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and stared down at the stage. Various candles littered the raised dais, all strategically placed to hide the scarcity of set pieces and props. "So, what exactly are we watching tonight?"

The other man shrugged. "Some farce about the royal court written by a local writer. I believe a comtesse has an affair with a pageboy and cuckolds the husband, or something along those lines. Rather cliché. But the play is not the thing. We are here for the women, so I did not pay much mind to the subject matter."

Dev caught the mischievous gleam in his friend's green eyes, and gave his head a depreciating shake. Yes, they were there for the women and all that that entailed. He repeated their purpose over and over again in his head, secretly wondering why the idea wasn't holding as much appeal for him as it usually did.

After several more minutes of waiting, the first player walked onto the stage, heralding the start of the show. It took some time before the audience quieted, but when it did, the first act started.

The said player, an actress, strutted about the stage, her panniers swinging from side to side and her short skirts revealing the slimness of her stocking covered ankles and calves. She was pretty enough, her pert nose and dark eyes complementing her delicate bone structure. Her face was powdered, with bright red spots on her cheeks. Her movements were exaggerated, fit for the farcical genre of the play, and Dev did find himself laughing at some of her antics.

She was the comtesse, he assumed, and did well to present the character with humorous hauteur. But it was when the pageboy stepped onto the stage that Dev sat forward in his seat. The part was played by a youth, his powdered face looking no more than twenty years of age. He skipped around on stage, following the comtesse around with the devotion of a puppy that had the audience laughing. Yet, Dev found nothing funny about the boy.

He watched the actor carefully, seeing the glow of the candles reflect off the satin frock coat and the strands of the white wig escaped from the velvet queue.

A calm voice, low and soothing in its tone but seductive and inviting when the time came.

An impassive smile, unreadable in its set but tilted up with wicked charm when the opportunity presented itself.

Blue eyes, glacial in their depths, but fired with passion and ecstasy when a sexual peak was reached.

"Amauré." The name left his mouth unknowingly, hoarse and desperate.

Percy looked over at him questioningly. "What was that, Dev?" he whispered.

Dev rose from his chair, and placed a stilling hand on his friend's shoulder. "I apologize, Percy, but I just remembered something. I must leave," he explained softly. "But stay and enjoy the actresses. I shall call on you tomorrow."

And with that, he left their box, his mind occupied with images of a man he had almost unforgivably forgotten.

(***)

Surprisingly, he had remembered how to get there.

Dev stood in front of Madame Chartrand's house again, the well-kept structure taunting him with its ordinary façade. He exhaled and watched his breath mist in the cool autumn night. The chill in the air nipped at his nose and ears, and he clenched and unclenched his gloved fingers to keep them warm. Yet, he couldn't seem to command his legs to move forward.

The light from one of the upper level windows flickered and a shadow flashed in and out of view.

He might be in there. Him. Amauré Savourie ... a man... a man who had satisfied his sexual needs the night before. He should have been disgusted with the thought, repelled by the very prospect of being intimate with another male. After all, it played against all the laws of nature and God. But no matter how he analyzed it, he could not dredge up the revulsion he knew he should have felt.

The front door opened and Dev's heart sped up. A short and rather squat gentleman stepped through the door, his complexion slightly ruddy and his stride bouncy. He passed by the standing man without so much as a second glance, self-satisfied smile on his face.

Dev could not understand why he was hesitating or why he was nervous. No one knew what he was here for and everyone who had witnessed the transaction in the auction had been sworn to secrecy. And still, the idea of seeing him again, of seeing Amauré, was somewhat unnerving.

He gave himself a mental shake. If he had told anyone one week ago that he would be standing in front of a whorehouse, nervous, he would have been the first to laugh. Taking a deep fortifying breath, he walked forward.

Madame Chartrand's discreet butler opened the door on Dev's first knock, the man giving him a respectful bow as he was welcomed in.

"Ah, Monsieur, you 'ave returned!"

The woman swooped down on him before he even had a chance to remove his gloves. Dev looked at her blond curls and large expressive eyes, trying to recall her name. Margaret? Marie? Madeleine? Yes, that sounded familiar.

"Yes, Madeleine, I am," he said as calmly as he could and removed his gloves and overcoat for the waiting butler. The silent man took his garments unobtrusively and left him alone with the woman.

Madeleine took a hold of his arm and smiled up at him warmly. "Did you miss me, Monsieur? Because Madeleine missed you."

Dev wondered if all the women there had taken lessons in pouting because the sad expression on Madeleine's gamine face would have been irresistible under any other normal circumstances.

"I do apologize, but I am here to see Madame Chartrand tonight." He refused to ask any of the working females to see Amauré, and Madame Chartrand was his best alternative.

"Pardon, Monsieur? Madame?" She straightened, playfulness leaving her tone. "'ave I done something to displease you?"

Dev patted the small hand tucked in the crook of his arm reassuringly. "No, no, not at all. You have been most pleasing. I merely have business to discuss with your Madame."

"D'accord," she agreed stoically. "Come, wait in ze parlor while I find 'er for you."

"Thank you."

Arm in arm, Madeleine led him into an empty room just past the main staircase, and deposited him there as she went off in search of her mistress. He thanked her again as she exited and took a few minutes to soak in his surroundings. The parlor was fairly small, with its four Queen Anne chairs and single table, and undoubtedly used for intimate teas and gatherings. The dim lighting and dark neutral colors enhanced its coziness, and Dev was grateful for its privacy.

"Monsieur, you wished to see me?"

Dev turned at the women's question, and gave her a polite bow. Her long gown was a deep wine color tonight, and with her artfully coiled hair, lent her an air of maturity and hauteur that commanded respect.

"Yes, Madame. My name is Deveril Sifton. Do you remember me?"

The woman nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. "Why, of course, Monsieur. You were 'ere at ze auction and paid 'andsomely for one of our prizes."

Dev moved to stand behind one of the chairs, and laid his hands casually on the back, hoping to hide any unconscious nervous habits with the obstacle. "Yes, that is why I am here. I had hoped to request the honor of Amauré's company for tonight."

The words left his mouth smoother than he had anticipated and he breathed a silent sigh of relief after saying it. He was unsure what he would do when he met the other man face to face, sober this time, but something within him knew that he simply had to see him again. However, Madame started at him with a blank expression, which made Dev uneasy.

"I am afraid Amauré is unavailable tonight," she finally said, her posture stiffening with resolve.

"But I do insist," he threw back. "Even if it is only for an hour."

Madame Chartrand shook her head. "I am very sorry, Monsieur. 'e can not see you. 'e ... 'e is wit' another customer."

A spark of anger, unknown in origin, flared in his chest. "All night?" he asked, unwilling to betray his civil exterior.

"Yes."

"Then I shall give you another ten thousand pounds. Consider it, Madame, because it is not an offer one receives often for just one hour of a person's time." Dev did not know where the ludicrous idea came from. All he did know was that he would see Amauré that night.

The woman remained silent; the amount had either surprised her or she was truly considering it. And then, "I am sorry, Monsieur. I can not accept. Amauré is otherwise engaged tonight and is not seeing anyone."

"Except his customer." The contempt was seeping into his voice and he willed it away. He would not sound like a jealous fool, and he would bite his own tongue off if he had to. "Then I will wait."

Madame Chartrand raised her eyebrows at this. "Wait, Monsieur? 'ere? It could be all night."

The more he considered it, the more his stubbornness reared its eager head. "Then I will wait all night."

For once, Madame Chartrand's mask of detached poise slipped. She stared at him, her mouth opened for a second, before she snapped it shut. "Are you certain? You are surely jesting," she said incredulously.

But Dev was not jesting, his gaze solemn and determined. "No, I am quite serious. I shall wait, Madame." And he would stand by his words. He walked around to the other side of the chair and sat down, leaning into the cushioned support and making himself comfortable. Then, he looked at her serenely, a small patient smile on his lips. He was prepared to wait all night ... and every night thereafter if he had to.

End Chapter 4