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Why?”
    Cornelius bit his lip, but this time the tic made Johann ache for him. “We must pretend. For my friends.”
    Yes. Johann knew this part. “I am pirate. Pretend pirate.”
    “Not a soldier.” Cornelius looked terrified. “You must not say you are a soldier.”
    Ah, at last Johann understood Cornelius’s terror. “Austrian soldier, not good here.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I talk German. Bad French.”
    Cornelius launched into incomprehensible French, saw Johann’s blank expression and stopped with a sigh. “No speaking. Little speaking.”
    Don’t talk much. That would be easy. “I do what you say.”
    Cornelius touched Johann’s face. “ Vous êtes un trésor. ”
    I am a…something. Johann frowned as he tried to work it out, then froze as Cornelius’s lips brushed his cheek.
    It wasn’t really a kiss—nothing more than the usual dry French buss. But it rekindled that strange sensation, made Johann unconsciously follow Cornelius’s mouth as it moved away.
    In the flickering, hissing gaslight, their gazes met and held. Cornelius’s lashes were outlined, Johann realized, with kohl. Johann stared at the eyeliner, that strange sensation in his belly curdling until, to his astonishment, it made his cock swell ever so slightly in his trousers.
    With a gasp, Johann drew back. He blinked rapidly, as if whatever was happening to him was some kind of grit in his good eye.
    Blushing, his smile fading, Cornelius turned away. “Come. We go to the café.”
    Johann followed, not entirely certain of what had just happened, but eager to move on from it, whatever it had been.

Chapter Three
    The café was terribly French.
    Johann knew enough about the city to understand this was one of Calais’s many petits cafés littéraires , with tall windows, cozy booths, and bright young men and women standing on tables, shouting philosophy while delicate chandeliers dangled overhead. A handful of women were present, prostitutes by the look of them, though Johann admitted he wasn’t well-versed in distinguishing that sort of thing. He’d always been nervous around whores, because they were so pushy and grew more aggressive when they discovered he was shy. He refrained from looking at the women here entirely, hoping to avoid any confrontations.
    Cornelius kept hold of Johann’s arm, transforming as they entered the room. He was all bright smiles and winks, and his voice took on the same flirty quality that had so dismantled Johann at the emporium. Everyone who came to greet Cornelius hugged and kissed him, and many kissed the tinker’s cheeks several times before relinquishing him to the next acquaintance. Johann couldn’t catch much of what they said, but it seemed to be largely revolving around, “Where have you been?” and other concerns over Cornelius’s absence.
    Finally someone said, looking at Johann, “Who is this ?”
    Cornelius introduced Johann, touching him a great deal, stroking his arm and his chest and leaning into his side. It was clear Cornelius was incredibly nervous but working hard to hide that fact. Johann wanted to help him, but he knew opening his mouth and letting them hear his Austrian accent would alarm the room.
    A young man pushed his way to the front, and even before he spoke, Johann suspected this was the one who’d burst into Cornelius’s room earlier in the day. Valentin Durant, Cornelius introduced him as. The man bowed prettily, never letting his gaze leave Johann.
    This was the man to impress. This was the one who needed to believe the lie. So Johann did his best to project pirate and continued saying nothing.
    A few gentlemen in the crush surrounding them asked Johann questions— where did you come from? —but Cornelius always answered in his rapid-fire French, deftly keeping them away. Johann began to think perhaps this could work, him standing quietly and Cornelius doing all the speaking.
    Then one of the women pushed her way to the front and put her hand on