"If that's an invitation to an opera, the answer is no." Ray dropped a stack of mail onto Florian's desk with a fine white envelope on top.
"You can't avoid the Countess forever, Ray," Florian teased mildly as he picked up the stack and thumbed through it quickly, finding the usual assortment of bills and invitations. "And no matter how much you protest, I know you enjoyed 'The White Lady'."
"It was a special presentation for charity," Ray reminded Florian, leaning down to bite lightly on Florian's ear; amused by the way Florian shivered. "I'm well known for my philanthropy."
"Saving all those aristocrats from the burden of their jewelry." Florian reached up and caught Ray's tie, pulling him down into a deep kiss. He shifted back against the seat letting out a contented sound when Ray settled onto his lap. "Why are you wearing a suit? Your robes are much easier to remove," Florian complained when they broke apart long enough to unfasten some clothing.
"I could go change," Ray offered, shifting back as if he were going to leave. Florian grabbed the now-open vest with both hands and pulled him back. "Later then," Ray laughed before letting his mouth be claimed.
"One thing," Florian gasped a few minutes later when it became clear they weren't going to make it upstairs to their bedroom. "Close the inkwell this time before you shove everything off the desk."
"So demanding," Ray teased, but he did as Florian asked.
XXXXX
"I'm going to start keeping a box in front of the desk to catch everything," Florian muttered to himself as he knelt to retrieve a stray piece of mail and an errant pen. Ray loved the drama of sweeping everything aside before bending Florian over the furniture, and admittedly, it was better than the alternative - there are places one does not want to have pen marks - but Ray never bothered to help clean up afterwards.
Sighing at the mess, Florian settled into his chair again and started putting everything in its place. When the desk was in order, he turned his attention to the mail, setting aside what was likely an invitation to the opera; he'd handle that last.
Bill paid and acceptances or regrets sent for dinners and parties, Florian picked up the final envelope. It was heavier than usual, and the envelope wasn't quite flat. He turned it over looking for any indication of who might have sent it and noted that the contents seemed to shift. A sense of unease slowed his movements, but he took up the letter opener and slit the top neatly.
Cautious but feeling a little ridiculous, he eased the stiff card partway from the envelope, letting out a soft cry as a scattering of sand spilled onto the blotter. A moment of blind terror caused him to freeze and it was only after he'd forced himself to take several calming breaths that he extracted the card and read it.
Against every bit of good manners his mother had taught him, Florian dropped the card and shouted for Ray.
XXXXX
Although Perrin Renard had a strategist's appreciation for chess, he only owned two sets. The ostentatious gold and ebony set that sat on a custom-made table in the parlor was an object of envy and admiration. On occasion Renard would even indulge a guest with a game.
The second set had its own room and only Renard and his closest servants were aware of its existence. The life-sized figures had been designed by Renard himself, and he'd overseen every step of their creation. In place of the traditional blank faces, each of these chess pieces had an empty frame. It gave the game a more personal touch.
Renard was in the chess room now, watching as his valet fit a new portrait into the white king's frame. His own portrait was already in place on the black queen. One last portrait remained, waiting to be placed onto the white queen. It had been a while since Renard had an adversary worthy of that placement.
"Yes, that's fine Williams," Renard gestured for the man to take a step back so he could admire the newly decorated white king and queen. He moved closer, snapping his fingers and holding out his hand to accept the glass of wine that had been waiting on a silver tray beside a newly-opened bottle.
"It's 'Wilkins', sir," the man said quietly as he handed over the fine goblet full of blood-red liquid.
"Of course it is, Williams," Renard didn't bother to look at the man. He took a sip of the wine as he leaned in to examine the king's portrait. He took another sip absently, then frowned and looked down at the goblet. With a huff of annoyance he threw it aside, ignoring the sound of expensive crystal shattering. "Too sweet. Dispose of the entire case and bring me something else."
"Yes, sir." Wilkins picked up the tray and left quickly. Almost immediately one of the servant girls entered with a bucket and cloth. Renard ignored her, his attention focused on the violet-eyed blond in the king's portrait.
"Florian du Rochefort," he said the name slowly, testing it. "Just another fallen noble. But soon we will have more in common than the color of our hair." He turned his gaze to the white queen's portrait. "Ray Balzac Courland. How unfortunate for you, dear Florian, that I don't like to share."
XXXXX
Ethan Kensington loved Paris. It was noisy and crowded and didn't always smell the best, but it was alive in ways that his desert home would never be. Nevertheless, he was always glad to return home, and this time would be no exception. He wouldn't have even made the long journey if his mission wasn't too important to trust to subordinates.
The address was easy enough to find, but he wasn't in a hurry to announce his presence. He preferred to observe before acting, especially in a situation as delicate as this one. He'd heard rumors, of course, it was almost impossible to travel in certain circles and not hear about the infamous Ray Balzac Courland and his equally infamous companion Florian du Rochefort.
Rochefort wasn't really Kensington's concern, but he wasn't foolish enough to dismiss him out of hand, especially not when the rumors were so... interesting.
It wasn't as if he cared who Courland bedded, but if the relationship was more than physical, it might provide an advantage. Kensington had the feeling he'd need every one he could get.
XXXXX
"Remember Morocco," Ray repeated the card's message for the third time, his eyes on the small pile of sand that had fallen from the envelope. Seated at his side, Florian had gone chalk-white, the glass of brandy Laila pressed on him clutched in his hand.
"Drink that," Laila insisted before reaching for the card. She held it under the light and examined it as if there might be a secret message woven into the fine linen. She looked up and frowned at the patterns Ray was making in the sand.
With a shudder, Florian wrenched his gaze away from the card and downed the brandy in one long swallow. He set the glass down on the desk and stood unsteadily.
"I need air," he mumbled, pushing past them towards the patio doors that let light into Florian's little office. He fumbled the handle before exiting, leaving the door open behind him.
"Let him go," Ray told Laila as she moved to follow. "He won't leave the grounds."
Laila knew it was true, but it was hard to remain still; they all carried scars from Morocco.
"It's not from Azura," Ray told her when the silence stretched on too long. "He wouldn't be this subtle." Ray touched the sand again. "All we can do is wait for the person to reveal themselves."
"You think they will? That this isn't some new kind of game?"
"Azura doesn't play that way." Ray assured her. "He wants me back under his control and he wants us to believe he wants Florian dead."
"You don't think he does? Want Florian dead?" Laila looked skeptical. "I thought he made that intent very clear."
"He did. And if Azura had meant it, we would have buried Florian three years ago; he never would have made it back to Paris." Ray carefully brushed the sand back into the envelope. "No, this is someone else, someone who has nothing to do with Azura."
"You'll have a hard time convincing Florian of that."
"It may be better if I don't. Until I know more about this," he tapped the envelope," I want him close."
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Laila said with a hint of amusement. She nodded at the door. Ray turned to follow her gaze and saw Florian standing a short distance away at the edge of the herb garden, his posture stiff as he stared into the distance. "It would be a nice day for tea in the garden. Thirty minutes?"
"Forty-five," Ray countered, touching Laila's hand lightly and giving her a smile of thanks before handing her the envelope and joining Florian outside.
XXXXXX
Natalie Courland was a terrible dancer. Her mother had tried everything from private dance instructors to bribery but it had all been wasted effort. In the end they'd reached a truce and Natalie spent most dances in a remote corner watching her sisters and waiting for the time to pass.
Mother hosted three major events each year and Natalie was required to attend, and to dance, at each one. They'd settled on minimal damage by allowing Natalie to dance at the edge of the dance floor farthest away from the entrance and the buffet. Her usual partner was an unlucky cousin, but at the spring festival she'd been partnered with his friend from university instead.
"This is Benjamin. He's from Arabia and lives next door to me in the university dorm," the cousin had said, making a minimal effort at introductions before fleeing towards the food.
"Natalie Courland," she introduced herself while offering a hand in greeting. She'd never met someone from so far away. "I'm a terrible dancer," she added as a caution and as an apology.
"Benjamin Thomas," he replied after kissing her hand. "I don't know your dances well; I'm hoping to work up to terrible."
"That I can help with," she assured him before allowing him to drag her onto the edge of the dance floor. They stumbled around each other, laughing too much to be proper, but having too much fun to care.
"I believe I am about to be chastised," Benjamin cautioned, catching sight of a woman who bore strong resemblance to Natalie.
"Hello, Mother. Have you met Mr. Thomas from Arabia?"
"We have not been properly introduced." She made it sound like a crime.
"Lady Courland, it is an honor to meet you," Benjamin gave a formal bow. "I am Benjamin Thomas. I attend university with your nephew, Paul."
"A pleasure to meet you," Lady Courland replied stiffly. "Forgive my daughter, sir. She often forgets her manners."
"Not at all. In fact, she has been kind enough to overlook my ignorance of these new dances. I'm afraid my education in such things has been quite poor."
"She's teaching you to dance?" Lady Courland's voice rose a full octave. She looked at the two misfits safely off in a corner, then regarded the rest of the room where the other guests spared them only a few curious looks. It was as good a solution as she could hope for. "If you are sure..."
"Both you and your daughter are showing me a great kindness," Benjamin assured her, giving her hand another kiss, and adding a flourish at the end just to be extra charming. Lady Courland nodded once and took her leave, trying not to look like she was running away.
Natalie made sure her back was to the room before giving Benjamin a wink and a broad smile.
XXXXX
Michel Courland was looking forward to spending three weeks in Paris. He hadn't been home in months and he missed the familiar chaos of the city. He also had a few new acquisitions to show off including a painting that would make his peers green with envy. Well, all but his cousin. Ray was damnably hard to impress.
Small wonder, Michel admitted to himself, Ray already had a treasure that Michel could never match - the companionship of Florian du Rochefort. The man was gorgeous and had a lineage that put the Courland line to shame. The faint whiff of scandal over Lady Rochefort's death only made Florian more attractive, despite his penniless state. If only Michel had gotten to him first...
He sighed and picked up the small hardwood box, admiring the ivory inlay and gold details. It was an exquisite piece, as was the jade carving inside. Michel could just imagine the delight on Florian's face - and the annoyance on Ray's - when he presented it to the man. Michel wasn't much of a diplomat, but he understood the value of a well placed gift.
He set the box down carefully in the center of his desk and smiled. Yes, this would be a most enjoyable stay in Paris.
XXXXX
Solomon Sugar had a weakness for cats. He stared up into the branches of a huge oak tree and wondered when he'd lost his hard-edged policeman's manner. It would be an easy enough climb up to rescue the cat - again - but these were new trousers, damnit, and he didn't exactly have the funds to replace them.
He gave the anxious elderly woman a weak smile and took hold of the lowest branch. Ten minutes later he dropped lightly to the ground clutching an irritated cat and wearing three new sets of scratches. There was a long tear on the left left leg of his trousers and one of the scratches was bleeding onto the collar of his shirt.
It was only eleven, but he decided to quit for the day before anything else went wrong. Accepting the woman's thanks and one more swipe from the ungrateful cat, Solomon hurried away. It wasn't until he'd walked two blocks before he realized he was heading in the direction of Ray Courland's house rather than his own.
It wouldn't be the first time he'd availed himself of Ray's hospitality or Laila's seamstress skills. An easy afternoon of conversation with Florian, spiced with a few barbs from Ray sounded like an excellent cure for Solomon's current ills. Besides, now that Laila had given up cooking, their food was excellent and plentiful and Solomon's pantry was rather sparse these days.
He was anticipating lunch so intently that Solomon nearly missed the messenger boy standing at the gate to Ray's mansion.
XXXXX
"This is very good," Florian said after taking another drink of tea. He set the cup down with a soft clink and smiled. He was in proper aristocrat mode at the moment but Ray didn't object; at times like this Florian fell back on his deeply ingrained behaviors to give himself time to think.
"Laila's been to that new tea shop three times this week. Apparently she finds their new clerk interesting." Ray smiled at the spark of interest that flared in Florian's eyes; he and Laila couldn't resist an opportunity to tease each other and this was a rare tidbit. Ray fully intended to sit back and wait to see how Florian used it. He just hoped there'd be less property damage than last time, and that he'd remain nimble enough to avoid the flying cutlery.
Florian's attention wandered again and Ray let it happen. He had his own thoughts to deal with, and the awareness of that envelope and its curious contents.
Thoughts of Morocco always brought memories of Azura. He didn't often think of his life before that, before he and his mother had fled to Fez and lost themselves in the dark alleyways and dim rooms of their tiny apartment. He barely remembered his father's face or the sound of his voice as he sang. Ray didn't waste time wondering what would have happened if he had been older stronger when his grandfather died and his father was murdered. His rightful heritage as ruler of the clan was just one more distant memory. Paris was his life now, along with the man sitting across from him, reaching for his hand.
"We're a pair," Florian said softly, giving Ray's hand a slight squeeze. "Sitting in this lovely garden and both of us miles away."
"Farther than that, I think," Ray replied easily. He used his other hand to lift his teacup, but the liquid had gone cold. He drained the cup anyway, the slight bitterness suiting his mood. Florian favored honey in his tea, but Ray always took it plain.
"There's nothing on the calendar that can't be cancelled or postponed. If accommodations are available we could leave by Friday."
"And go where, exactly?" Ray asked, although he knew the answer. It was too much to ask this of Florian, but he dreaded the thought of taking this journey without him.
"Where we need to go. Both of us." Florian took one last drink of his tea and set the cup down deliberately. "If you even think of leaving me behind, I will follow you."
"I know," Ray admitted, unable to keep the smile from his lips. "Stubborn."
"One of my best traits," Florian assured him. "Too stubborn to remain in fear of an entire country. I may never find a reason to forgive Azura for what he did, but I am more than stubborn enough, and determined enough, to stop being afraid." There was no waver in Florian's voice and his expression and posture left no room for doubt.
"Morocco it is," Ray conceded, reaching over and taking the last cream cake off Florian's plate. Florian caught Ray's hand and held it steady while he leaned in and took a bite. He met Ray's gaze calmly before releasing his hand. Ray popped the rest of the cake into his own mouth and smiled as he chewed.
XXXXX
"They're in the garden," Laila said in place of a greeting, eying Solomon up and down before holding out her hand. Solomon gave her a sheepish smile and handed over his soiled jacket. "Change first and let me get a start on the mending. Those two won't care that you're wearing Ray's old things."
"You're a lifesaver, Laila," Solomon told her, already headed for the guest closet where spare clothes were kept for him. He freshened up and changed in the guest bath and stopped by the kitchen on his way past to claim a piece of shortbread and some coffee.
"Roast chicken for dinner with mashed potatoes just the way you like, so save some room there," the cook chided as Solomon gave her a wave. Violetta was younger than him, but she reminded Solomon of his grandmother. She'd been a welcome addition to Ray's chaotic household, and a necessary one since, somehow, Laila's cooking had managed to get worse over time.
To this day, little Noel was the only one who actually liked what Laila cooked. Now that he was away at boarding school and not so little anymore, Laila had gracefully surrendered the kitchen to Violetta and found more interesting ways to entertain herself. She'd taken up the piano recently, much to Florian's annoyance, and Ray had finally threatened to lock them in the music room and let them duel it out while Ray went out for a long dinner.
Florian had apologized immediately, of course, and promptly taken up guitar. Ray had developed a sudden liking for long walks and the whole thing had settled the way every other uproar settled in this house with one of Noir's ridiculous adventures.
Solomon was just grateful that he was no longer a policeman; it meant that he could appreciate Noir's exploits without being obligated to do anything about them. It still didn't mean he approved, but he had a much better understanding of Noir's methods now, and the ways in which local charities benefitted. Having jewels stolen by the infamous Noir had even become something of a status symbol among the European elite.
"Solomon!" Florian's greeting brought Solomon back to the present. The man was always happy to see him and a pleasant counter to Ray's affected scowl. "Come join us. I see you brought your own tea."
"Coffee this time, but the thought's the same." Solomon took a seat and nodded his greeting to Ray.
"Been chasing cats up trees again?" Ray rarely missed a detail and Solomon hadn't tried to hide his scratches. This wasn't the first time he'd shown up at Ray's with such wounds.
"The angora cat again?" Florian asked sympathetically as he pushed the nearly empty plate of sweets closer.
"Isn't it always?" Solomon asked, adding a bit of drama. Sometimes he enjoyed Florian's fussing, or rather, he enjoyed the way it irritated Ray.
"You are aware that cats can climb down as easily as they climb up? Next time leave the fleabag up there; she'll come down when she's hungry."
"Ray!" Florian wasn't really as shocked as he pretended to be - he had heard this before - but he knew Ray expected a reaction in front of Solomon, so he provided one. Florian also knew that Ray had asked the cook to save scraps for the local strays, and sometimes, he'd conveniently appeared when Florian was playing with one of those cats on the patio. There was a calico in particular that Ray seemed to favor.
"I would think you would have a particular appreciation for cats, Ray," Solomon said mildly before drinking the last of his coffee. He set the cup down and reached into a fold of the borrowed jacket he was wearing. He extracted the small package he'd acquired from the messenger in front of Ray's gate and held it up for the other men to see. "Special delivery and no return address," he cautioned before handing it to Ray.
Solomon watched curiously as Ray examined the package far longer than would seem necessary. When he seemed satisfied, he opened it carefully, his eyes seeking Florian's more than once. At last the plain brown wrapping was set neatly on the table with the white box it had contained held on the palm of Ray's left hand.
Without speaking, Florian reached over and lifted the lid off the box. He held on to it even as his attention was drawn to the hair comb inside. It was tortoise shell with an intricately carved design of flowers and leaves at the top.
"Morocco?" Florian asked, much to Solomon's surprise.
"I'm not sure," Ray answered. We had very little when we fled. What little we had was sold early on for food and lodging." Ray examined the comb carefully, studying it as if the carved detail held the key he needed to understand why someone was sending him mysterious packages.
"What if it's not Morocco? What if that was just the start - a way for you to retrace the journey you took with-"
"That's not the answer, Florian," Ray snapped. "It can't be."
"It's been nearly ten years. Would it be safe for you to go back?" Florian asked urgently. He was gripping his napkin as it would somehow provide surety and calm.
Solomon looked between the two men, aware that he was missing a very important piece of information but unable to even guess when it might be. He took the comb and examined it while reviewing the conversation he'd just heard. Coming to his own conclusion, Solomon set the comb down very carefully and leaned forward, placing both hands down on the table.
"Arrange transport to Morocco as soon as you can." Solomon looked first at Ray, then at Florian before adding, "I'm coming with you."
"No, not Morocco," Ray said at last, his eyes locked on the comb. It all began here in Paris; that's where we're going to start."
XXXXX
"Well, this is a surprise." Michel strode forward, brushing past Ray without pause as he extended his hand to Florian. "I had intended to call on you this evening."
"A bit of good fortune, then," Florian replied, returning the handshake. "Welcome back to Paris. Will you be staying long? There's a new exhibit at the museum you might find interesting."
"You have me for three weeks," Michel replied, flirting shamelessly just to annoy Ray. Florian rewarded the effort with a brilliant smile.
"It's terrible of us to impose like this, but I was hoping you might extend a favor?" Florian leaned in slightly, lowering his voice slightly. It was a familiar game that he and Michel were playing, and one that they'd set limits to long ago. Florian basked in Michel's flattery, and Michel savored the opportunity to annoy his cousin. Along the way, Florian and Michel had become friends. That was the part that annoyed Ray the most.
"We don't have all day," Ray grumbled, pushing himself between Michel and Florian. "Do you still have those old trunks in the attic?"
"Dozens," Michel assured him. "I have better things to do than to spend my free time pawing through dusty relics."
"Then you won't mind if I have a look?" Ray took a step, in a hurry to get this over with, but Florian stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I'll accompany you, if Michel doesn't mind." Florian was glad that Solomon hadn't insisted on joining them, it was enough work trying to keep Ray and Michel calm.
"We'll all go," Michel replied, knowing that there had to be a very good reason for Ray to come asking for any kind of favor. He mentally reviewed the contents of the attic, trying to remember what was actually stored there. There was some old furniture, or course, but most of what he remembered were trunks and boxes of belongings from family members who had moved away or died.
Michel's father was the youngest of four children but he'd inherited the family home - perhaps because it was the smallest of the Courland mansions. Michel wasn't home often enough to care about such matters, and he enjoyed the comfort of familiar surroundings. His parents were rarely around, preferring to travel or spend time in their other homes around the globe.
Michel never mentioned it to Ray, but he suspected the reason his parents had started their peripatetic ways was Ray himself. Michel's father had adored his only sister and he'd been determined to find her and bring her back to Paris. He was the only one who still spoke of her after the rest of the family had severed ties with Natalie.
Michel certainly hadn't been happy to come home from boarding school one holiday break to find a strange boy in his home. Ray was three years younger than him, but seemed like a little, unruly adult. Ray had known nothing of proper behavior, speaking roughly and often refusing to wear shoes. He could barely even read.
Michel shook his head, remembering his own jealousy and the terrible tricks he'd tried to play on his new-found cousin. He'd deeply resented being sent back to boarding school while Ray was allowed to remain in Michel's house and study with private tutors.
Michel didn't come home for more than a year after his first, disastrous meeting with Ray. He'd told his school friends about the savage in his home and they'd offered to let him spend breaks with them instead.
When Michel's mother finally demanded his presence, he'd returned home to find a very different Ray Courland. The wild boy had been replaced by a polite, well groomed young man. In some ways the change made Michel dislike Ray even more. Michel had never been stupid or lazy, but he felt like he was both compared to his brilliant cousin.
Ray had become something of a sensation at parties, for both his wit and his exotic looks. All the young women, the ones who had once vied with dance with Michel, now flocked to Ray. And damn him if he didn't charm every one of them.
After that, Michel found more reasons not to come home for a while. It wasn't until his mother informed him that Ray had been admitted to the Sorbonne and was no longer living with them that Michel felt he could go home again.
He glanced over at Ray who was kneeling on the dusty floor rifling through a trunk with a look of intense determination. His body was stiff, as if he was deeply uneasy.
Ray hadn't lived in his house for years, and had no interest in claiming it now, but the sense of him being so uncomfortable made Michel wonder if his cousin had ever considered this his home.
XXXXXX
"Michel Courland is of no consequence," Renard commented to Wilkins as he handed him another heavy book. "My interest is limited to Ray Courland and his pet aristocrat. The servant girl, Laila, is loyal to Ray, so I may exploit that if there's good reason. The others in Courland's band of misfits pose no challenge." Perrin Renard leaned back, a thoughtful look on his handsome face.
His platinum blond hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck and draped over one shoulder. Perrin toyed idly with the ends, before catching a loose hair. He pulled it slowly until it was free, then quickly wrapped the ends around his hands and pressed the strand against his own neck like a garrote. He pulled it away and considered it for a moment before discarding the hair.
Yes, that would be appropriate for Ray's dear Florian. Quick, but not too quick, and it would leave the man's pretty face unmarked. Surely Ray would appreciate the effort.
XXXXX
"Benjamin will be joining us for dinner?" Natalie looked up from her book, giving her mother a smile. The family had accepted Benjamin much faster than she could have hoped for. In a year, when he completed his studies, they'd surely understand her intention to accompany him to Egypt.
"He will be here by five. He had business to attend to after class today, but he was sure he'd be finished in time for dinner."
"Excellent," Lady Courland said, starting to turn away, then stopping. She hesitated, then stepped forward, crossing the room with a look of determination that translated into 'we're about to have a talk you don't want to have'.
"Have a seat, Mother. It can't be that bad."
"You may change that opinion when you hear what I have to say." She sounded regretful. "Your father and I have been talking."
"And?" Natalie marked her place in her book and set it aside.
"We've had a letter from the Gastons. You remember Damian?"
"The spotty fellow with the yellow teeth?" A sliver of cold dread made Natalie sit straighter. "You can't intend..." The flash of guilt in her mother's eyes was impossible to miss. "Never!"
"The Gaston shipyards-"
"They could be the richest family in the world and I'd want nothing to do with them. Mother, surely..."
"You spend too much time dreaming," mother says flatly. "You've known all your life that you would have a marriage of advantage. Don't pretend to be outraged now. You would have a good life."
"I would have an empty life, Mother. And what about Benjamin?"
"Benjamin is a very nice man, but he's not one of us, Natalie. A match with him was never an option; he's just another one of your fancies."
"Benjamin isn't a fancy, Mother. We care about each other. We're simply waiting until he finished university."
"Yes, when he finishes university and returns to his own kind." Mother patted Natalie on the knee before standing. "I believe it would be better if we did not dine with Mr. Thomas this evening. I'll have your father send him our regrets and suggest that he make other plans from now on."
Ignoring Natalie's cry of dismay, Lady Courland left the room without looking back.
XXXXX
"Detective?" Solomon turned quickly but cautiously towards the unfamiliar voice.
"Yes?"
"Ethan Kensington, Detective." The man gestured towards a cafe a short distance ahead. "May I offer you a coffee? There's something I'd like to discuss."
"Of course," Solomon agreed, aware of the busy sidewalk they were standing on. He preferred not to draw attention to himself unless it was absolutely necessary. They found a seat in the cafe towards the back, well away from the few other customers. It was just late enough to have missed the lunch crowd, and not late enough for afternoon tea.
"I haven't had lunch yet. Please join me?" Kensington urged. They placed their orders and made small talk until the waiter returned with their platters and coffee. The food was excellent, and they ate in silence until their plates were almost clear.
"You wanted to discuss something?" Solomon prompted when it became obvious that Kensington was in no hurry.
"I did. I understand you are an acquaintance of Count Ray Balzac Courland?"
"I've met him on occasion," Solomon replied cautiously. His association with Ray wasn't a secret, but he didn't exactly publicize it either.
"I believe it's a bit more than that. You were in Morocco with him and his companions a few years ago."
"I met them there, yes. It was happenstance, not a planned meeting."
"Convenient then," Kensington commented mildly. "You are aware of Count Courland's heritage, are you not?"
"I know he was not born in Paris."
"Indeed. You are surprisingly diplomatic for a former policeman." Kensington pushed his now-empty plate aside and leaned forward, reaching into his inner coat pocket and removing a heavy item which he set down on the table. "What do you know of Arabia?"
Solomon studied the item, weighing his words before answering. He didn't know much about Ray's past, but what he did know Ray had told him in confidence to safeguard Laila and Florian.
"I know of the country but not much more."
"Somehow I doubt that, Detective." Kensington held up a hand to stop whatever Solomon intended to say. "I won't press you, but there are things you need to know that even Ray Courland is not aware of. His past is not as far away as he believes." He picked up the item and showed it to Solomon, making sure the detective recognized the significance of it before returning it to his pocket.
"I assume this is not good news."
"You assume correctly. Your friend has claimed only one of his legacies, that of his mother's people. His father's legacy nearly cost him his life when he was a child. If he is not careful now, it will finish him and all those close to him."
"Why are you telling me this? What is your place in this matter?"
"Ray Courland is the rightful leader of my clan. The man who murdered his father and took his place has brought nothing but misery to my people. He knows there are those still loyal to Ray's family, and he wants Ray eliminated."
"Ray fled Arabia years ago," Solomon said, deciding he could admit to knowing at least that much of Ray's past. "He is successful and content here in Paris and has never indicated any interest in reclaiming his father's legacy."
"Do you think that matters to a man with so much blood on his hands already? He killed Ray's father and is indirectly responsible for the death of Ray's mother. Do you think he will be content letting Ray live when his very existence gives his opposition hope?"
Solomon shook his head, knowing the answer but not liking it one bit. He glanced around the cafe and noted that it was becoming more crowded. He didn't want to continue this discussion where someone might overhear.
"Come with me," he urged. "I'll take you to Ray." A hard lump settled in Solomon's chest. He had no reason to believe this man, and no reason not to. He didn't want to take him to Ray, but it was the only thing he could do. As much as he might want to, it wasn't Solomon's place to make decisions for his friend. Especially not when Laila's and Florian's safety was on the line.
XXXXX
"Here's another one," Florian said, once he'd finished coughing. He was searching in the farthest corner of the attic and had managed to raise a significant amount of dust.
"That makes three so far," Michel said as he approached, helping Florian to move the newly-discovered trunk to the center of the room with the other two. They returned to their search but didn't find anything else labeled 'Natalie Courland'.
Michel was grateful to whichever family member had labeled everything - it made the search easier and less distracting. Regardless, Ray still seemed reticent to actually open the trunks. After a long moment Michel sighed and moved to do it himself. Florian stopped him.
"When you are ready, Ray," Florian said mildly, not a hint of impatience in his voice or manner. The calm acceptance seemed to help and after a several long minutes Ray reached for the first trunk.
There were the usual items one expected to find in a lady's trunk - dresses, some accessories - although nothing that looked particularly valuable - and some books and oddments. Ray flipped through a few of the books, but didn't spare more than a glance at anything else.
The second trunk was much like the first, but the last one, that was the one that stopped Ray cold. Nestled beneath silk and lace was an ornate wooden box containing photographs and drawings and even a topaz brooch much like the one he had locked up in his safe at home. Ray returned everything to the box in precisely the right order and set it aside to take home. He'd claim all of it eventually - perhaps Laila would want the clothing, or at least have a use for the fabric, but he wanted the box now.
"There aren't any letters," Florian spoke softly, almost as if he hated to say the words. "Shouldn't there be letters?"
"She left Paris in a hurry," Michel said into the uncomfortable silence. He wasn't sure how much Ray knew, or how much he'd want to reveal even to someone as close as Florian, but there wasn't much point in keeping it a secret. "Her parents were pressuring her to marry so she fled to Egypt with someone she had befriended."
Ray laughed at Michel's effort to be diplomatic.
"You mean she left Paris with her lover, my father." My mother hated the restrictions Parisian society forced on her. She and father went to Egypt and that's where I was born. They were content there for years, but grandfather died and it was father's responsibility to lead the clan. We were only in Arabia a short time when father was murdered. It was thanks to loyal friends that mother and I escaped. Mother wanted to return home to France, but the only safe passage was by way of Morocco and it took many months for us to reach Fez. By then we were long out of money and had nothing left to sell. The shock of losing father, and the long journey had taken its toll on mother's health. She never recovered and, if it hadn't been for Azura helping me, I wouldn't have survived long enough to be found my Michel's parents."
Michel stared at his cousin, amazed that he'd willingly shared so much. It was rare to get Ray to talk about his past. Michel hadn't realized it at the time, but looking back years later he realized how unwelcoming Parisian society had been to Ray. Michel certainly hadn't done anything to make him feel welcome either. More than once he'd asked his parents why they'd even bothered to search for their lost nephew, let alone bring him back to Paris, and from Ray's behavior at the time, he'd felt the same way.
"Letters," Michel blurted out, suddenly realizing where they needed to search. "It's not your mother's things we need to search, it's my mother's, or even grandmother's. If your mother corresponded with anyone from Egypt it would have been my parents or our grandparents. From what father has said, Natalie wasn't close to either of her elder brothers, but she doted on father."
"Look for Elaine or Marie," Michel told Florian, hurrying off to search and giving the two men a moment of privacy. He glanced back and was glad to see Florian resting a comforting hand on Ray's back.
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The invitation was delivered by a well dressed messenger boy along with a single rose.
"For Count Courland," the boy said as he presented the items on a silver tray. Laila took the items and placed a tip on the tray earning a delighted grin from the messenger. He bowed once, rather quickly, and ran off, the tray under his arm and the tip in his pocket.
Laila studied the invitation curiously before setting it down on the table in the foyer. She carried the rose into the kitchen and placed it in a vase knowing Ray wouldn't mind if she enjoyed it.
She was surprised that they hadn't returned yet and was considering supper on her own when someone knocked. She almost greeted Solomon with her usual "what are you doing here" but stopped herself when she saw that Solomon had brought a guest.
"Ethan Kensington, Miss." The man gave her a half-bow. "Would Count Courland be receiving guests?"
"He's out," Laila replied plainly, directing her answer at Solomon. She frowned at the look he gave her, but relented and moved back. "He shouldn't be much longer. You are welcome to wait."
"I don't want to impose," Kensington insisted, giving Solomon a curious look when he breezed into the house as if he lived there.
"The parlor or the study?" Solomon asked, hanging up his hat and jacket as if it were habit. Kensington removed his own jacket and hat and handed them to Laila with polite thanks.
"Into the parlor with you," Laila made a shooing motion before adding, "Ray's still hasn't forgiven you for your last visit to his study. He had those books out for a reason and you reshelved them. And took the markers out."
"Just trying to help tidy," Solomon said lightly as he led Kensington down the hall. Just before entering the parlor he called out, "We want fruit tarts and cream cakes so don't skimp on the tea cart."
"We just ate," Kensington reminded him, bemused.
"It's the principle of the matter," Solomon replied, settling into a chair and picking up a book from the side table. He flipped through it before setting it down again. "Florian's," he explained, before taking up another book, scanning it, then repositioning the marker a good dozen pages farther into the story. He returned it to the table with a smile.
Ethan Kensington leaned back in his chair and waited, not quite sure he was ready to be in the same room with the count and the detective.
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They'd ended up searching every trunk in the attic. Their spoils lay in three tidy piles in a box. Florian had carefully noted which trunk had yielded which items, but Michel didn't seem to think it was that important. He was more concerned about Ray's hard-edged silence.
Florian refused Michel's offer of refreshments and followed closely as Ray picked up the box and set a rapid pace towards the front door. Florian kept up with the manner of someone who had much practice while Michel trailed them a half-dozen steps behind, his expression caught between thoughtful and troubled.
Florian took care of the niceties required for them to part, but his gratitude was genuine and he touched Michel's hand lightly when he urged him to visit soon. Michel said nothing when Florian took the wheel instead of Ray and he watched the driveway well after the car had driven away.
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"Not now," Ray growled when Laila met them at the door to inform them that Ray had visitors.
"Perhaps I...?" Florian offered. He wasn't really in the mood to entertain, but he'd gladly take the burden from Ray.
"No," Ray bit out, shoving the box of letters at him instead. "I won't be long."
Florian accepted the task without complaint, giving Laila a quelling look before retreating to Ray's study. He preferred the light in his own office, but knew that Ray would take comfort in his own book-lined sanctuary.
Clearing the library table, Florian sorted everything into piles by sender before trying to rearrange them chronologically. He was tempted to start with the letters belonging to Michel's mother and father. After all, they were the ones to rescue Ray from Morocco, so they were the most likely to have been in contact with Natalie Courland. But these letters seemed too important to be read by an outsider like him before Ray had the chance to see them. No, he would work chronologically and let Ray scold him.
There were two comfortable arm chairs in the room, recent acquisitions after a couple of intruders had made the mistake of trying to rob the mansion. Other than the old chairs, the property damage had been minimal. The intruders had not been so fortunate and by the time the police arrived they'd been begging to be taken away.
Florian settled into the chair he'd unintentionally claimed, the one closer to the window and the fireplace. There was no fire today - it was much too warm. The sun was low in the sky, but still cast enough light for him to begin reading.
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Perrin Renard leaned back in his chair and surveyed his surroundings. The Gentleman's Club was the most exclusive club in Paris but it was always crowded. He accepted the glass of wine offered by his personal server and waved him off to the side. He knew the man would be there when Perrin wanted something.
It was dinnertime and groups nearby were being served elaborate meals. The smells were enticing, but not enough to distract Renard from his planning.
He'd set the first stage into action by sending the invitation to Count Courland. He expected a response within two days and during that time he would set his servants to work preparing food and tidying the grounds for an elaborate party. He'd invited the cr me de la cr me of European society as cover, but there were only three men he was interested in. Ray Courland and his pet should be no problem, but the third... Ah, excellent timing.
He drained his glass and signaled impatiently for another, grasping the waiter's wrist when he moved to pour.
"Vodka," he snapped. "Bring the bottle and two glasses."
The waiter retreated hastily and only then did Renard stand. He took one step forward to greet the new arrival.
"John Romwell, Jr. It's a pleasure." The new arrival merely smiled, ignoring the man's outstretched hand as he took a seat and helped himself to the vodka that had just been delivered.
"You said there was a matter to discuss?"
"Do you know a man by the name of Ray Balzac Courland?"
"Yes, I do," Romwell replied, answering Renard's cold smile with one of his own.
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"You don't have a choice in the matter!" Kensington ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward in his chair. It was taking everything he had to keep from leaping to his feet and taking Courland by the collar. Why couldn't he see reason?
"I have every choice in the matter." Ray countered coldly. "My legacy as leader of your clan ended with my father's assassination. My mother and I fled for our lives and only the intervention of a friendly tribe of Tuareg saved us. But in the end it didn't matter because mother died anyway and I was left to fend for myself in a place that has no pity for the helpless. If I was so important to the clan, why did it take you so long to find me?"
"Many of those loyal to your father were also killed. The few of us that survived were forced into hiding. It has taken us this long to put the pieces into place to overthrow your father's murderer. Now that he is disposed of, and his minions dispatched, it is safe for you to return."
"Who is in charge until my arrival?"
"The son of one of your father's most trusted advisors. He and his mother were in England when the coup occurred."
"I see. And this interim leader has been prepared for the position? He is well trained and a good leader?"
"He is," Kensington assured Ray quickly feeling as if he was being led into a trap from which he couldn't escape. He cast a nervous glance at Solomon who gave a small shake of his head in warning.
"Why not accept this man as your new clan head?" Ray asked, far too calmly, "I have no training, nothing that has prepared me to be your leader and I have obligations here that cannot be ignored.
"This is your birthright. The clan is your obligation and blood ties are stronger than any of these," Kensington gestured at the room in general, "obligations." He knew the minute he finished speaking that he'd made a grave mistake. Solomon's expression confirmed it.
Without another word Ray stood and started to walk away. He stopped just before the doorway and turned.
"Did you send the sand and the comb?"
"The comb, yes, but nothing else."
Ray nodded once as if he'd expected the answer, then turned on his heel and left the room.
"Well," Laila said with false brightness. "Allow me to escort you gentlemen out." The look she gave Solomon promised all manner of trouble if he didn't comply.
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Florian returned the letter he'd been reading to its envelope and set it on the pile with the others. He rubbed his eyes tiredly before picking up the next one on the unread stack. The handwriting was small and lavish, the letters close together and embellished with extra curls and loops that made it difficult to read. Of the few letters he'd already reviewed there had been no mention of Natalie Courland.
He'd found a few references to Rochefort ancestors that had distracted him momentarily, but he'd pushed those thoughts aside and returned to his task, working his way steadily through reports of parties, family gatherings and travel along with the usual congratulations for weddings and births.
His nerves were on edge but wasn't sure why. There wasn't anything these old letters could reveal about his family or Ray's that would be worse than the reality of Florian's uncle killing his mother and trying to frame Florian for her murder.
He sighed and leaned his head back against the high-backed chair, closing his eyes for a moment. The pain had eased, but there was still a void left by his mother's death that would never be filled. It had been just the two of them for so long and he'd lost her and everything else so quickly that he still hadn't fully adjusted to the loss.
He looked down at the letters still waiting to be read and wondered if he shouldn't just burn them all. Ray's life had been turned upside down twice already, did he really need to have it happen again?
"You're being overly dramatic," he told himself out loud, forcing a smile at his own absurdity.
"I enjoy the drama," Ray replied, leaning against the door frame and trying to appear relaxed despite the visible tension in his shoulders.
"Are the visitors gone?"
"If they know what's good for them. Laila is escorting them out."
"Oh, dear," Florian said, knowing that was anything but good. He stood and moved to Ray's side quickly. "They upset you."
"I've been informed that it is my obligation to claim my place as clan leader."
"Leader?" Florian took a half step back. "But..."
"It's not going to happen," Ray insisted, reaching out and tangling his hand in Florian's hair. He drew his lover close and kissed him urgently. "I won't leave you," he promised when they broke apart. This time Florian kissed him.
"Can this wait?" Florian gestured towards the letters. "I need..." he choked off the words, unable to express the desperate wave emotion that filled him. He clutched at Ray as if they were drowning.
"It can wait," Ray assured him, grabbing his arm and dragging him from the room.
Laila stood in the hall and watched as Ray led Florian upstairs. At one time it would have made her jealous, but she'd learned to set aside those feelings. It didn't mean she loved Ray any less, but she'd finally accepted that she would never provide what he needed the way Florian could.
So she turned towards the kitchen intending to have a word with the cook. She knew from experience that Ray and Florian would want to take dinner in their rooms tonight. It was something she tried not to think about, preferring instead to be grateful that Florian could calm Ray and bring him back from the dark places he slipped into on occasion.
She had held back some of the cream cakes when she'd prepared the tea cart for Solomon and that Kensington fellow. She would make sure those cakes were included with the dinner delivered to Ray's rooms this evening.
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"Let me," Florian growled, pressing Ray back against the door as soon as it was closed. The maid had been in to clean the suite but Florian barely noticed. He was too intent on removing some of the layers between him and Ray's skin.
Ray went compliant, letting Florian do all the work of removing clothing and tasting skin. It was only when Florian dropped to his knees that Ray moved. He put a hand on Florian's head and pressed him forward, taking control as Florian took Ray's hardening flesh into his mouth and began to suck.
There would be no teasing, no drawing out the pleasure. That would come later. But now, at this moment, Ray needed release and he intended to take it.
Florian didn't resist as Ray set a harsh pace, thrusting deep and withdrawing for his own pleasure and without a care for Florian's. It was rare for Ray to need this, so Florian remained compliant. He moaned deep in his throat and put his hands on Ray's thighs - not to guide him or push him away, but just to have some kind of contact as he allowed himself to be used.
Florian tried not to let himself think of anything beyond the slide of flesh across his lips and the heat of Ray's hands on his head. It became easier as the pace increased and by the time he was swallowing frantically, the only thought left was: Ray.
When Ray stilled, Florian tightened his lips around Ray's flesh, holding on as he shifted forward and rested his body against Ray's legs. Florian was hard and his body was practically vibrating with want, but he set his own needs aside to just be there for Ray.
"Come on," Ray said after a long silence. He pulled free and reached down to help Florian stand. He helped Florian to the bed but didn't let him sit. Instead, he methodically stripped Florian until he stood before Ray naked. Ray lifted Florian's arms up so they were away from his body and left them there as he removed his own clothing and tossed them on the same chair as Florian's.
When they were both unclothed, Ray pressed himself against Florian's chest, drawing the man into a tight embrace. He left one hand on Florian's upper back while the other skimmed downward to Florian's lower back. Pressed together as closely as they could manage, Ray began to sway. Florian responded instantly, his hands sliding into the proper positions for an intimate dance. They moved in a slow circle with Florian humming under his breath until some more of the tension in Ray's back eased.
They clung to each other a little longer before Ray eased Florian down onto the bed. He followed him down, covering the slender body with his broader form. Ray tucked his face into Florian's neck and they rested like that, Florian tracing small patterns on Ray's arms.
"I don't want to lose you," Florian confessed into the silence.
"Selfish," Ray teased, his tone more serious than his words.
"I know I am," Florian confessed, his chest hitching as he took in a ragged breath. "I know."
"Shh, shh," Ray soothed, lifting his head to kiss Florian's eyelids. "You're not going to lose me."
"They wanted you dead. Azura wants me dead. I just want-" his voice broke and he couldn't continue. He was trembling.
"We're safe, Florian. Come back." Ray hated when Florian slipped into the dark place where he'd gone after Morocco. It happened less often now, but it left them both shattered when it did.
"Make me feel you?" Florian asked, spreading his legs as an invitation. "I need to feel you."
Ray hesitated for a moment before nodding reluctantly. He'd drawn blood from Florian before - the first time Florian had made this request. It meant the man wanted it rough and with little preparation. Normally Florian hated rough sex, but when the dark place beckoned, he needed it. Ray never managed to refuse, although he was left a wreck afterwards.
The oil was lightly scented and sweet but they barely noticed as Ray slicked himself and pressed in. Florian tensed around him, unable to stop his reaction to the sudden invasion. Ray pressed harder and won, sinking in almost halfway. Florian left two fingernail stripes down Ray's back, his entire body arching.
"More," he begged desperately as Ray pulled back then slammed forward.
Florian gasped, wrapping his legs around Ray, trying to keep him deep inside. Ray pulled back and slammed forward again. Florian pressed his forehead against Ray's shoulder and held on for a very rough ride.
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"You're not bleeding," Ray told Florian as he ran a damp cloth lightly across his body. The memory of that first time still turned his stomach.
"You didn't hurt me, Ray. Not more than I asked for."
"I wish you wouldn't ask." Ray tossed the cloth aside and lay down beside Florian, kissing him sweetly.
"I know, but we needed this, both of us." Florian ran his hand along Ray's jaw, then used one finger to trace his lips. "I love you, Ray. I'm sorry that makes me selfish."
"You're not," Ray insisted, kissing the tip of that exploring finger. "Just try to believe that I won't ever leave you willingly." Ray felt Florian shudder at the addition of that last word. They both knew how easy it would be for one of their adversaries to separate them permanently. All they could do was trust each other and hold on tight.
"I can't take you again," Ray said, shifting onto his back and pulling Florian along with him. "Would you?" It was extremely rare for Ray to make such a request and Florian couldn't help but agree.
"Let me love you, Ray," he whispered before shifting Ray onto his side. They always used this position when Florian took control; Ray had trouble relaxing in most other positions. So Florian stretched out beside him and used the oil to slowly ease Ray open. By the time he slid inside, Ray was willing and relaxed enough to accept the joining.
It was unhurried and sensual, with Florian touching Ray everywhere. When they finally slept, Ray remained cradled in Florian's embrace.
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