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Genevieve—Lady Penbury, that is—has not been seen in Paris since the Peace of Amiens. It became very clear she had not been forgotten, although five and twenty years have passed.”
    “By Jupiter, yes! ” Goodridge cried, slamming his hand upon the table. “That’s it, of course. I was so stunned by Dain’s astonishing behavior with the girl that I never made the connection. Genevieve . Well, that explains it, then.”
    “Explains what?” Vawtry asked.
    Goodridge’s gaze met Dain’s. The former’s expression grew uneasy.
    “Well, naturally, you were a trifle…curious,” Goodridge said. “Genevieve’s a bit out of the common run, and if Miss Trent’s the same sort of—of anomaly, well, then, she’s rather like those things you buy from Champtois. And there she was, in the very man’s shop. Like the Trojan horse medicine case you bought last month.”
    “An odd piece, you mean,” said Dain. “Also, undoubtedly, an outrageously expensive one. Excellent analogy, Goodridge.” He raised his glass. “I could not have put it better myself.”
    “All the same,” said Beaumont, glancing from Goodridge to Dain, “I can’t believe a Parisian restaurant was in an uproar over a pair of odd females.”
    “When you meet Genevieve, you will comprehend,” said Esmond. “This is not merely a beauty, monsieur. This is la femme fatale . The men plagued them so, they could scarcely attend to their meal. Our friend, Trent, was much provoked. Fortunately for him, Mademoiselle Trent exercises great restraint upon her own charm. Otherwise, I think, there would have been bloodshed. Two such women…” He shook his head sadly. “It is too much for Frenchmen.”
    “Your countrymen have odd notions of charm,” Dain said as he filled a glass for the count and handed it to him. “All I noted was a razortongued, supercilious bluestocking of a spinster.”
    “I like clever women,” said Esmond. “So stimulating. Mais chacun à son goût . It delights me that you find her disagreeable, my lord Dain. Already there is too much competition.”
    Beaumont laughed. “Dain doesn’t compete. He barters. And there’s only one type he barters for, as we all know.”
    “I pay a whore a few coins,” said Dain. “She gives me exactly what I require. And when it’s done, it’s done. Since the world seems to be in no danger of running out of whores, why should I go to what we all know is excessive bother for the other sort?”
    “There is love,” said Esmond.
    His listeners broke into loud guffaws.
    When the noise subsided, Dain said, “There seems to be a language gap, gentlemen. Wasn’t love what I was talking about?”
    “I thought you were speaking of fornication,” Esmond said.
    “Same thing, in Dain’s Dictionary,” said Beaumont. He rose. “I think I’ll toddle downstairs to throw a few francs into that rathole called Rouge et Noir . Anyone else?”
    Vawtry and Goodridge followed him to the door.
    “Esmond?” Beaumont asked.
    “Perhaps,” said the count. “I will decide later, after I finish my wine.” He took the seat beside Dain that Vawtry had vacated.
    After the others were out of earshot, Dain said, “It’s nothing to me either way, Esmond, but I am curious. Why don’t you simply tell Beaumont he’s barking up the wrong tree?”
    Esmond smiled. “It would make no difference, I promise you. With me, he has the same problem, I think, he has with his wife.”
    Beaumont rutted with just about anything he could get his hands on. His disgusted wife had decided, some years ago, that he was to keep his hands off her. All the same, she still had her hooks in him. Beaumont was furiously possessive, and Esmond’s interest in his wife was driving him demented with jealousy. It was pathetic, Dain thought. And ludicrous.
    “One of these days, maybe I’ll understand why you waste your time on her,” Dain said. “You could have something very like Leila Beaumont, you know, for a few francs. And this is